Chapter 98: See you guys at the Festival

Seeing as there was no way to go about this, Tobias gave in. "All right," he muttered, glancing first at Sophia, then at Ronan, Brynhild, and Lysander, then back at Sophia because like Lysander had said, she was the only one who had no idea about who they were talking about.

"You want to know so badly? Fine. Sam... is someone I’m pursuing."

Sophia tilted her head slightly, curiosity brightening her eyes. "Someone you’re pursuing?"

"Yes but she wants nothing to do with me," Tobias added quickly, his lips twisting into a rueful smile. "But I asked her to attend the festival with me."

Ronan made an exaggerated sound of triumph, slapping his palm against the table. "Ha! I knew it."

Tobias shot him a glare, "You were there and you already knew about this. Don’t pretend like you didn’t."

Ronan chuckled as Tobias continued. "She hasn’t even given me an answer yet. For all I know, she won’t show up at all."

"She will," Ronan said with the certainty of a gambler convinced the dice favored him. "And if she doesn’t, then remember you still have me and another suggestion."

"And me too." Sophia chirped when she saw Tobias’ face and how he looked sad at the thought that Sam wouldn’t show up.

He gave her a quick, grateful look, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally.

Ronan leaned back, arms crossed, smirking. "Look at you, Tobias, my stoic friend turned romantic. Who would’ve thought?"

Even Brynhild chuckled, shaking her head. "We did. We’ve known him too long not to."

Tobias groaned under the weight of their teasing. "Are we done?"

"Not even close," Ronan teased, but the glint in his eyes softened. "But for now, I’ll let you breathe."

The conversation slipped back into easier rhythms after that, their forks clinking softly against plates, the quiet of familiarity replacing the earlier tension. Yet even as they ate, Tobias noticed how Sophia’s gaze kept flicking toward the great oak doors at the entrance of the hall.

He frowned. "Who are you looking for?"

Sophia blinked, caught off guard. "No one."

"You’ve glanced at that door five times in the last ten minutes."

She huffed softly, conceding. "Fine. I was just wondering where the oaf is."

Tobias raised a brow. "The oaf?"

"Orion," she clarified, picking at a slice of bread. "He’s not coming?"

Ronan chuckled into his spiced tea. "Orion prefers eating alone, especially during the festival."

"Some people do," Brynhild added gently, tilting her head toward Sophia. "Not everyone wants to eat where the crowd is loudest."

Sophia only nodded, though inwardly she thought it strange. Orion always seemed to position himself at the heart of everything, his presence a force that bent the pack’s mood around him. It was odd to imagine him somewhere quiet while his people gathered here. Still, she kept that thought to herself and went back to eating.

Unsurprisingly, Ronan was the first to finish. He drained the last of his tea, setting the mug down with a satisfied thud. "I’ll see you all tonight for the main festival," he said, standing and slinging his cloak over one shoulder. "Some of us have work to do, and I know if I’m not there, Orion will be slacking off."

Brynhild snorted softly. "I’m pretty sure he’s already slacking off. Are there papers involved?" She asked him.

Ronan groaned. "How did you know? I swear he has this radar for knowing when there’s paperwork."

They laughed at that.

"Well, I’m off now."

With a casual salute, he disappeared into the tide of people moving through the hall.

Tobias stayed a little longer, pushing the last bits of roasted boar around his plate. "I should go too," he said finally. "The festival stalls don’t organize themselves."

Sophia looked at him, surprised. "You’re in charge of the stalls?"

He nodded. "Everything related to trade falls under my jurisdiction. Imports, exports, internal markets, festival booths. If it’s goods or coin, it ends up on my desk sooner or later."

"I didn’t know that," she admitted.

"That’s because I don’t usually talk about it," he replied, standing and gathering his tray. "It’s easier when people think it just... happens."

Lysander snorted. "Everyone in the pack is aware of this. Don’t let him fool you."

Sophia chuckled at that. "Will I see you tonight?" She asked him.

"Yeah."

And with that, he too disappeared into the chaos, heading straight for the door. The bench felt a little emptier without him and Ronan there, the noise of the hall rushing back in to fill the space they’d left.

Sophia finished her bread and fruit slowly, the edge of her curiosity dulled but not gone. Tobias’s confession about Sam lingered in her mind, a soft echo of her own uncertainty about the people she’d come to know here. Friends, allies, strangers, sometimes all at once.

The rest of the morning passed quietly. She followed Brynhild and Lysander back to their home, the one tucked just beyond the main courtyard with its carved lintels and herb garden perfuming the air. Brynhild moved with practiced ease despite the wheelchair, directing Lysander’s gentle fussing with a patient flick of her hand. The house itself was simple but warm: wooden beams, a stone hearth, shelves lined with jars of dried leaves and bundles of roots. It smelled of healing and hearthfire, a steadiness Sophia found herself clinging to.

They spent the day in easy company. Brynhild shared stories of past festivals, some triumphant, some disastrous while Lysander brewed tea strong enough to make Sophia’s eyes water. The three of them worked quietly to prepare small charms and packets of herbs Brynhild planned to hand out later that night. It felt like the kind of calm that came before a storm, a waiting she couldn’t name but could feel in her bones.

As the sun dipped low, golden light spilling across the floorboards, the distant toll of the bell cut through the evening air. It was a deep, resonant sound, rolling over the pack grounds but this was different. It didn’t sound like the bell that rang during the skylur attack.

But Sophia wasn’t sure so she turned to Brynhild and Lysander.

"What’s the bell for?"