The week before the Harvest Festival transformed Millhaven into controlled chaos. Astrid found herself roped into decorating the village square alongside the other teenagers, which meant spending entirely too much time around people she'd rather avoid.
"Could you actually try to make the garlands look nice?"
Astrid looked up from the twisted mess of autumn leaves and ribbon in her hands to find Senna Blackwood glaring at her. Senna was the blacksmith's daughter—blonde, pretty, and magic-touched with a minor talent for fire manipulation. She was also insufferable.
"They're garlands, not art," Astrid muttered, but she tried to straighten the leaves anyway.
"Everything is art if you have any sense of aesthetics." Senna sighed dramatically, taking the garland from Astrid's hands. "Just go help Marcus with the tables. At least you can't ruin those."
Astrid bit back a retort and moved across the square to where Marcus Fletcher was struggling with a heavy wooden table. Marcus was built like an ox—the butcher's son, broad-shouldered and strong, with brown hair and an easy smile. Unlike Senna, he'd never treated Astrid differently for being magic-less.
"Need a hand?" Astrid asked.
"Always." Marcus grinned. "Grab that end, will you?"
They maneuvered the table into position. Around them, other villagers worked on various tasks. Astrid spotted Kaelen near the platform where he'd have to demonstrate his magic, discussing something with Master Aldric. Even from a distance, she could see the tension in his shoulders.
"He looks miserable," Marcus observed, following her gaze.
"Wouldn't you be? Having to perform for everyone?"
"I guess. Though if I could throw fire around, I might enjoy showing off a bit." Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead. "Must be nice, having that kind of power."
Astrid didn't answer. She'd heard variations of this comment her whole life—people wistfully discussing magical abilities like they were discussing the weather. To most of them, magic was normal, expected. Her lack of it was the aberration.
"Astrid! There you are!"
A blur of motion crashed into Astrid's side, nearly knocking her over. She caught herself and looked down to find a small girl with silver-blonde hair and bright blue eyes grinning up at her.
"Lyra," Astrid said, unable to stop her own smile. "Aren't you supposed to be helping your mother?"
"I finished my chores." Lyra Ashford was twelve—exactly Astrid's age—but somehow managed to radiate more energy than three people combined. She was also Kaelen's younger sister, though you'd never guess they were related by personality alone. "Mother said I could take a break, so I came to find you. Are you coming to dinner tonight?"
"Was I invited to dinner tonight?"
"You are now!" Lyra grabbed Astrid's hand. "Mother's making her special honey cakes, and Kaelen's been impossible all week, so you have to come and make him less grumpy."
"I don't think I have that power."
"You're the only one who does." Lyra tugged insistently. "Please? He actually smiles when you're around. Sort of. His version of smiling, anyway."
Astrid felt her face heat and was grateful Marcus had moved away to fetch another table. "Fine. But only for the honey cakes."
"I'll take it!" Lyra released her hand and spun in a circle, her simple dress flaring out. "Oh, and Father wants to meet you properly. Kaelen talks about you all the time, and Father says anyone who can keep up with his son in training must be exceptional."
"Kaelen talks about me?"
"Constantly. It's actually kind of annoying." Lyra wrinkled her nose. "Astrid did this, Astrid said that, Astrid's combat form is improving. Like, we get it, brother. You're obsessed."
"He's not—that's not—" Astrid stammered, but Lyra had already skipped off toward Senna, complimenting her garland work with the kind of genuine enthusiasm that made even Senna soften.
Astrid watched her go, something warm and confused tangling in her chest. Kaelen talked about her? Constantly?
"Your face is red," Marcus observed, returning with another table.
"Shut up."
"Just saying." He grinned. "The Ashford boy, huh? Didn't see that coming."
"There's nothing to see." Astrid grabbed her end of the table more roughly than necessary. "We're friends. Training partners. That's it."
"If you say so." Marcus's tone suggested he didn't believe her for a second. "But for what it's worth? He looks at you the same way you look at him when you think no one's watching."
"I don't—how do I look at him?"
Marcus just laughed and changed the subject, but the damage was done. Astrid spent the rest of the afternoon hyperaware of where Kaelen was, of whether he was looking her direction, of the stupid flutter in her stomach every time Lyra said something about dinner.
This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.
Kaelen was leaving in spring. He was destined for great things—the Academy, a prestigious career, probably marriage to some nobleman's daughter with actual magical talent. Astrid was... Astrid. Magic-less, stubborn, covered in scars she collected like badges of honor.
They didn't make sense together. They never would.
So why couldn't she convince her heart to agree?
---
The Ashford manor's dining room was elegant but warm, with a fireplace crackling against the autumn chill and tapestries depicting ancient magical battles hanging on the walls. Astrid sat between Lyra and Kaelen, trying not to feel out of place.
"Astrid, we're so pleased you could join us." Eleanor Ashford sat at the head of the table, a slender woman with the same silver-blonde hair as her children and eyes that saw too much. "Lyra has been talking about you for weeks."
"Mother," Lyra protested, but she was grinning.
"It's true. Apparently, you're the only person in the village who treats her like an equal instead of a child."
"She keeps up better than most adults," Astrid said honestly. "When we're training, she doesn't quit. Even when Kaelen's being impossible about perfect form."
"I'm not impossible," Kaelen muttered.
"You made her hold a defensive stance for twenty minutes because her elbow was half an inch too high."
"Precision matters."
"See? Impossible." Astrid grinned at him, and something flickered in his eyes—amusement, warmth, something that made her pulse skip.
Lyra kicked her under the table, waggling her eyebrows meaningfully. Astrid kicked her back.
At the other end of the table, Aldric Ashford watched the interaction with quiet interest. He was a tall man, distinguished, with steel-gray hair and the same pale blue eyes as his son. Where Eleanor radiated warmth, Aldric was controlled, measured. Everything about him spoke of old power, old money, old secrets.
"Kaelen tells me you're planning to attempt the Guild examination in a few years," Aldric said.
"Yes, sir. In four years, when I'm sixteen."
"Without magical abilities."
There it was—the judgment Astrid had been waiting for. She lifted her chin. "Yes, sir."
"Ambitious." Aldric cut into his venison with precise movements. "The Guild examination has a seventy percent failure rate for trained mages. For non-magical applicants, the rate is higher. Ninety-five percent, I believe."
"I'm aware."
"And yet you persist."
"I do."
Aldric studied her for a long moment. Astrid refused to look away, refused to show the doubt that constantly gnawed at her. Finally, he nodded. "Good. Persistence is undervalued in magical education. Too many young mages rely on talent and fail to develop discipline."
"Aldric," Eleanor said gently, a warning in her tone.
"I'm merely observing." Aldric's attention shifted to Kaelen. "Your demonstration at the festival. Are you prepared?"
"Yes, Father."
"Master Aldric believes you're ready for seventh-tier manifestation. That would be impressive for someone your age."
"I'll do my best."
The conversation moved to safer topics—the harvest, village politics, Lyra's progress in her own magical studies. Astrid learned that Eleanor was a healer, that Aldric had once been a court mage in the capital before retiring to Millhaven for reasons no one elaborated on.
She also learned that Lyra was studying water manipulation and had a talent for creating ice sculptures, that she wanted to join the Guild someday too, that she idolized her older brother despite finding him insufferably serious.
"He wasn't always like this," Lyra confided when the adults were deep in conversation about crop yields. "When we were little, before Grandfather died, Kaelen used to laugh all the time. He'd make up stories, play games, act like a normal person."
"What changed?" Astrid asked quietly.
"Grandfather's death. And whatever Father told him after." Lyra's usual brightness dimmed. "That's when he started training constantly, pushing himself like he had something to prove. Mother worries about him. I worry about him."
Astrid glanced at Kaelen, who was listening to his father discuss magical theory with that same controlled expression he always wore. "Has he told you what your father said?"
"No. He doesn't talk about it. Won't talk about it." Lyra pushed food around her plate. "But I hear things. Late at night, when Father and Mother think we're asleep. Words like 'bloodline,' 'duty,' 'legacy.' Whatever it is, it's heavy. Too heavy for someone who's only thirteen."
The weight of Kaelen's earlier words in the laboratory settled over Astrid again. *My family has its own complications. They expect everything.*
"Well," Astrid said quietly, "he's lucky to have you. Someone who remembers who he was before all the pressure."
Lyra brightened slightly. "And he has you. You make him remember too, I think. When you're around, he seems more... real. Less like he's performing."
Before Astrid could respond to that, Eleanor stood, clapping her hands lightly. "Who's ready for honey cakes?"
The dessert was as good as promised—rich, sweet, with just a hint of cinnamon. Lyra monopolized the conversation, telling elaborate stories about her attempts to freeze the village pond for skating and accidentally creating an ice sculpture of the mayor that had taken two fire mages to melt.
Kaelen even smiled—a real one, reaching his eyes—when Lyra described the mayor's outraged expression.
After dinner, Eleanor insisted Astrid take some honey cakes home for her father. Lyra gave her an enthusiastic hug goodbye. Aldric shook her hand with a firm grip and said, "I look forward to seeing what you accomplish, Miss Vermillion."
Kaelen walked her to the door.
"Your family is nice," Astrid said, stepping out into the cool night. "Lyra's great. Your mother's lovely."
"And my father?"
"Terrifying. But in a respectable way." Astrid shifted the package of honey cakes. "He really expects you to perform seventh-tier magic at the festival?"
"He expects me to exceed expectations. That's his way." Kaelen leaned against the doorframe, looking tired. "Thank you for coming. Lyra was right—it was easier with you here."
"I just sat there and ate your food."
"You were yourself. That's enough." Kaelen's voice softened. "You always make things feel less... heavy."
Astrid's heart did that stupid skip again. "Well, someone has to balance out all your brooding intensity."
"Is that what I have? Brooding intensity?"
"Among other things."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the village settling for the night around them. Somewhere, a dog barked. Wind rustled through the birch trees.
"Astrid," Kaelen said quietly. "When I leave for the Academy... I want you to know that I—"
"Kaelen!" Lyra's voice called from inside. "Mother needs you!"
The moment shattered. Kaelen straightened, the mask sliding back into place. "I should go."
"Yeah. Of course." Astrid stepped back, ignoring the disappointment. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Kaelen agreed, but he lingered in the doorway, like there was more he wanted to say.
"Go," Astrid said gently. "Before Lyra comes out here and drags you back inside."
Kaelen's lips twitched into almost-smile. Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Astrid walked home through the quiet streets, the package of honey cakes clutched to her chest, trying very hard not to think about what Kaelen had been about to say.
Trying very hard not to hope.