The summons came just past midnight.
Lytavis arrived at Illaria Silverglade's cottage to the sound of shouting.
The door was half open, lamplight spilling through the gap. Inside, Illaria sat on a low stool, hair damp with sweat, breath coming quick and shallow. A man paced before her, fury in every line of his body.
"You've ruined everything!" he snarled. "You should have ended it when I told you to…"
Lytavis stepped in before he could finish. Her voice was steady. "You need to leave. Now."
He turned on her, eyes burning. "Who are you to tell me…"
"Someone who knows how to make you regret it."
He lunged. Lytavis didn't think. Her hand lifted, magic flaring sharp and precise - a flash of violet light, the crackle of Arcane power. The blast caught his sleeve and singed half of his beard.
The smell of smoke and panic filled the cottage.
She lowered her hand. "Next time, I'll take the other side."
He froze. Then, muttering curses under his breath, he stumbled out the door.
Lytavis exhaled and turned back to Illaria, whose labor had intensified during the chaos. "Let's focus on you," she said gently. "He's gone."
The birth came quickly after that - swift and blessedly uncomplicated. Illaria's daughter arrived crying and perfect, small fists waving indignantly at the world.
"Indara," Illaria whispered, tears bright in her eyes. "Her name is Indara."
Lytavis smiled. "It suits her."
She stayed until both mother and child were settled, then tidied the room and stepped outside into the dawn. The city was just beginning to wake, soft light spilling over the canals, washing the cobblestones gold.
She was bone-tired, but she wasn't ready to go straight home. Instead, she followed the smell of sugar and spice down a narrow lane until she found the source - a little café called "The Gilded Crumb."
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of rising dough and cinnamon. The baker's daughter stood behind the counter, flour on her cheek and a wide, sleepy smile on her face.
"Fresh batch just out of the oven," she said, lifting a tray. Steam curled upward in fragrant waves.
Lytavis's stomach growled in answer. "I'll take four," she said, then, after a moment, "No… six."
"Big family?" the baker teased as she boxed them up.
"Hungry one," Lytavis replied, smiling faintly. "And I intend to share."
Coins clinked softly on the counter. Lytavis turned with the warm parcel in her hands - and stopped short.
Jace sat at one of the corner tables, a cup of tea before him, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked as though he belonged there - calm, watchful, and quietly amused.
"You look like someone who's been up all night," he said.
"I have," she admitted, dropping into the chair across from him. "Delivered a little girl. And an Arcane Blast."
His brows lifted. "An unusual combination."
She laughed softly and told him what had happened, ending with, "He won't bother her again. Not with half his beard missing."
"Good," Jace said, his voice turning quietly serious. "And you?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
He studied her a moment, then smiled again - softer this time. "Then promise me dinner when you're rested."
She hesitated only a heartbeat. "All right. But not tonight."
"Tomorrow, then. Or the day after. We'll figure it out."
He stood as she rose, reaching to hold the door for her. "Go home, Lytavis. Sleep."
She grinned, holding up a paper parcel. "After cinnamon rolls."
"Practical and wise," he said. "Remind me to learn from you."
She left him there in the early sunlight, the scent of sugar and spice trailing behind her.
Later that morning, Jace walked to Illaria's cottage. He knocked softly, and when she answered, wary but smiling, he said simply, "I'm a friend of Lytavis. I came to ward your home. Caladon Nightbender won't trouble you again."
Illaria pressed a hand to her heart. "Thank you."
He inclined his head. "Thank her. I'm just following her example."
Notes in the Margin – Lucien Ariakan
Our daughter knows how to draw boundaries and still cradle the world. She may one day be known for her gentleness, but she will never be mistaken for frail.