The next morning smelled faintly of bread and pine trees. Marron blinked at the discolored wood above her bedroll. She fully repaired the roof, and that was why they were camping inside the inn.
Now she was trying to piece together why her chest felt heavy but her head felt… light.
The day before had been long—repairs, that little flare of anger at the market, the debuff she'd shrugged off because I'm not even cooking today—and yet the heaviness hadn't fully lifted.
She stepped outside. Meadowbrook's air was cooler in the morning, the grass damp, the repaired roofline casting long shadows across the square. Mokko was already there, sitting on the edge of the well, sharpening one of the Whisperwind knives with slow, even strokes.
Lucy popped up from behind the cart with a tiny sprig of something in her gel. "Morning! I found a mint plant!"
Marron smiled faintly. "That's… great, Lucy."
But Lucy's glow dimmed just a fraction, and Marron felt the smallest twist of guilt.
Mokko watched her for a moment before setting the knife down. "You still thinking about the market?"
She let out a breath. "I'm thinking… it's just dinner, Mokko. Just a meal I served. Why are people acting like it's some huge political shift? Back home, I made soup for office potlucks. Nobody wrote letters about it."
"That's because you're thinking like someone from Earth," Mokko said simply. "Here, flavor is power. In Savoria, the right meal can make someone remember home, forgive an insult, or even make an enemy see you as a friend. You got the Snake Queen and the Jackal Lord to sit at the same table without drawing steel. That doesn't just happen."
"I didn't—" she began, but he cut her off with a quiet rumble.
"You did. And a newcomer doing it? That's why they talk. Some respect it. Some think you tricked them. Either way, you made them see the possibility."
The weight in her chest shifted, but didn't fully leave. "I just… feel like any second someone's going to realize I don't belong here."
Mokko's gaze softened. "Belonging isn't a prize someone hands you. You build it. One brick, one loaf, one roof patch at a time."
Before Marron could answer, Lucy, who had been fidgeting with her mint sprig, blurted, "Oh! I mailed those letters you wrote to the Queen and Lord Jackal!"
Marron froze. "…You what?"
"They were just sitting there," Lucy said, sounding both proud and defensive. "You wanted advice, and they're smart! They made big cities! They'll help!"
Her pulse skipped. "Lucy… I didn't send them because I didn't want to bother them."
Lucy's gel shimmered uncertainly. "Oh. You're mad."
Mokko shot Marron a warning look, but her voice came out sharper than she intended. "Yes, I am. Those letters were mine to send."
Lucy went still, the mint sprig sinking slowly into her gel until it vanished. Without a word, she slipped away toward the bakery.
Mokko waited a beat before pushing himself to his feet. "I'll check on her."
"I didn't mean—" Marron began, but he was already walking after Lucy.
She stayed in the square, leaning against the cart, the sun climbing higher. The repaired roof looked solid. The barrel gleamed by the well. But the emptiness in her chest felt like it had grown, just a little.
+
Mokko found Lucy in the bakery, tucked into a corner between the empty shelves and the unused oven. She sat motionless except for the faint, slow ripple of her gel.
He crouched so his eyes were level with hers. "You didn't mean to upset her."
Lucy's glow flickered faintly. "I thought… if the big leaders said yes, Marron would be happy. Like… poof! Problem solved."
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small linen bag tied with string. "You ever seen blue tea?"
Lucy hesitated, then bobbed closer. "Blue… tea?"
"Mm. Got this from the last chef I worked with. She left to chase something different in another universe. Before she went, she gave me this." He untied the bag, letting a handful of dried petals spill into his palm—deep indigo with a shimmer that caught the light.
He filled a chipped cup from the water bucket and dropped a few petals in. Almost instantly, the water blushed a brilliant, glassy blue. Lucy leaned in, fascinated.
"Now watch," he said, reaching for a wedge of lemon from his pack. The moment a few drops hit the tea, the blue swirled into violet, then a rosy magenta.
Lucy let out a delighted burble. "It changed!"
Mokko smiled faintly. "Because of balance. Too much acid and it sours, too little and it's dull. Same with people. Marron wanted to choose when to add the 'lemon.' You tossed it in early."
Lucy swirled the tea with a tendril, watching the colors shift. "…I didn't know it would make her taste bad inside."
"She'll get her balance back," Mokko said, tucking the petals back into the bag. "But sometimes, even good intentions can throw off a recipe."
Lucy went quiet, still staring at the cup. Then, softly, "Do you think she'll still want to drink tea with me?"
Mokko's gaze warmed. "I think she'll be the one to ask for it."
+
By evening, the air in Meadowbrook had cooled again, carrying the faint scent of baking bread from somewhere down the street. After fully repairing the roof, they saw the inn's kitchen was no longer functional. So, Mokko suggested they camp inside the bakery.
Marron lingered outside the bakery, hands shoved in her apron pockets, unsure if she was ready to go in.
That's when she caught it—something floral, almost fruity, layered over the familiar smell of flour. It wasn't anything she'd brewed before. The scent curled in the air like a question.
She stepped closer to the open window and saw Mokko and Lucy at the far counter. Lucy was leaning in over a steaming cup, her glow bright and curious, while Mokko poured from a battered kettle with the focus of a jeweler setting a gem.
They didn't see her. And for the moment, she didn't want them to. She simply breathed in that strange, beautiful scent a little longer.
It wasn't quite an apology yet. But it was enough to make her think—maybe tomorrow.