Waking in our shared inn room is only slightly less awkward than falling asleep in it. That being said, Deirdre cuddles go a long way towards improving the morning.

Sorting out what to do after my unwitting confession from Deirdre’s trickery was rough, to say the least. At first, I refused to budge from the inn’s downstairs tavern. If Deirdre was going to pull a fast one on me, then I reasoned she would have to be the one to march upstairs and deal with the fallout.

Deirdre called my bluff and kept poking at my story of what happened and what I wanted to do about the sudden revelations. Liv being a whole lot less intimidated by the prospect of inner party drama than I was had been a surprise for me, but Deirdre took it easily in stride. Where that left things was really hard to say.

Hiding down stairs and stewing wasn’t a safe harbor for all that long. Liv arrived not a whole lot later, looking freshly washed up to boot. Rather than facing her and finding something to say, I beat a quick retreat upstairs. Deirdre was blessedly merciful and didn’t attempt to wring out more from me while we got cleaned up and then called on Liv to return.

Then came sleep. Much needed, very badly desired, and difficult to catch sleep. Well, sleep after some restless twisting about. Nothing being said, nothing decided, only unanswered questions and lingering doubts really made settling down difficult. Eventually, the exhaustion won out.

I don’t think any of us really mind the slow start to the day. We had bargained for it to be a long one, so taking our time gathering our things couldn’t hurt. Liv was very clearly choked up with wanting to say something. I know she was holding it in last night, being respectful while I was ignoring the elephant in the room while trying to get to sleep.

Today, at least, I doubt she'll keep it so bottled up. Over at our inn room’s allotted table and chairs, Liv was worrying at her boots and socks. Meanwhile, I kept at my hair, doing my best to brush it, which was always very much a hassle with horns in the way.

“Feeling better this morning?” she asks, breaking the room’s soft noises of our various tasks.

Perspective is a funny thing; I feel like it not only smooths out the edges of uncertainty but also acts as a sort of balm to fear. Last night wasn’t the end of the world. If anything, getting so worked up was the most embarrassing part. So there were some tangled webs to sort out between the three of us, that was fine; we could handle that.

“Yeah,” I pause, blowing out a long, anxious breath, “I'm sorry about being all weird last night.”

Liv first flicks her eyes over towards Deirdre, situated not far from me, fishing out items from her pack before continuing.

“Nothing to be sorry about, do you want to talk about it?”

“Are we doing this now? Do we have to?” I ask, sounding miserable, not only to Liv but to the room in general.

“Up to you.” Liv replies back.

“Evelyn, stop torturing yourself.” Suddenly, from behind me, two hands slide themselves around my waist until I’m wrapped up by Deirdre.

Back at the table, Liv holds a patient look, and I groan before giving up the hope of evading any sort of emotional conversation until never.

“What am I even supposed to say? And why are you both so…” I ask, my hands gesturing all around at everything and nothing.

Deirdre pressing up and holding me from behind is pretty nice, calming even. The halfling speaks gently, not inviting Liv to listen to her words but also not exactly whispering to the point of making a secret of them.

“You could start with what you’re worried about,” she comforts.

Thinking it over in my mind is like playing whack-a-mole with intrusive thoughts. Was honesty what it took to get over this awkwardness? Brutal honesty has been a great strategy so far. It certainly worked with Deirdre. Maybe that was the problem in my past life—being too guarded and concerned about what everyone’s perceptions of me were.

Frustrated but giving in, I let out a groan of a reply. “Worried I made a mistake and that this will only ruin our friendship. Just a little scared is all.”

It feels hard to be so earnest, but still, letting it out also felt good. If there were two people in my life I could trust, they would be Deirdre and Liv. In both my lives, really. There is nothing like a frequent life-and-death struggle to forge some strong bonds. The only thing my family back on earth had over these two was time and familiarity.

Wait, trauma bonding—have we been trauma bonding?

“I’m glad you told me,” Liv confides. “I’m not great at this. Relationships I mean, real ones.”

Did she struggle with relationships? By her tone, it sounds like a pretty heartfelt admission.

It is a shock to hear, considering how much of an easy going person she was. Then again, she also seemed fairly uncomplicated, so maybe that was just a shield against the world about sort of the same problem I struggle with.

It made sense really, Liv being reserved in a way, not the one to do more than tease someone. The depth was so striking that she would admit to struggling. Liv, too vulnerable to actually take things too far. This side of her did a whole lot to make her more relatable and less like some kind of perfect Amazonian warrior.

“So neither of us would have said anything forever if Deirdre hadn’t forced the issue? Oh, that's great; don’t let it go to your head,” I tease Deirdre to lighten the mood.

Instead of being chided by my tongue-lashing, Deirdre just leans over slightly to kiss my cheek. “Now I am doubly glad I motivated you to confess."

“So what do we do? Date? Are we dating now?” I ask, flummoxed and sighing.

“Only if you want to,” Liv answers, a bit of her casual happiness returning to her expression.

Those easy smiles of hers, I swear. Each time, they evoke such sweet feelings. Wrapped up in Deirdre arms and slightly flustered makes answering Liv all the more embarrassing.

“Okay.” I manage, blush growing.

“Cool, we’re dating then,” Liv shoots back. “Deirdre?” Liv’s gaze drifts over until it locks over my shoulder, presumably on Deirdre.

“Yes, all three of us.” Deirdre replies from close behind.

Squirming for some personal space, Deirdre holds fast, so I instead end up ruminating about the fact that both Deirdre and Liv actually like someone like me, which does something to short circuit my brain by its sheer intensity.

“This isn’t going to be strange, having two girlfriends?” I end up asking, desperate for the answer to be no.

“Not so strange around here, actually. I’ve actually run into plenty of folks in the same situation during my travels.” Liv reassures off-hand, like it’s not a gigantic piece of new information.

Seriously?

There is no way I missed this. Deirdre being too much of a workaholic to notice such things like open relationships? Did it make sense? Maybe? Give me a break. Was literally nobody going to care about three women all being in a relationship with each other?

Of course, all my worries were for nothing.

“D-deirdre multiple partners isn’t an abnormal thing here?” I question, only sounding slightly flabbergasted.

In reply, Deirdre only shrugs.

Maddeningly, I scramble for how this could have escaped me. Searching my memory for examples in Waldonton I seriously can’t think of a time when three or more people seemed romantically entangled. Those veteran hunters I first met, maybe? Then again, it wasn’t like people were brazenly making out on park benches.

We spent all day out hunting; I didn’t have a whole lot of time in Waldonton for people watching to check against.

For heaven’s sake.

I suppose that would even make sense to some degree. With so many people coming from so many places and times, why would some kind of nuclear family be the standard? Us Reborn folk and whatever preconceived notions we brought along with us would have our ideas about norms, but that didn’t mean anything, not really. In reality, most people were born here into an entirely alien culture that I knew very little about.

Of course, this was happening to me. I'm going to ask someone born here what's really taboo so I stop being surprised for once. Maybe Isabella was game. Fine then. At least I have some measure of security knowing our friendship hasn’t imploded, and our relationship is totally crazy here.

That leaves me with Deirdre’s arms around my waist and Liv sitting in a chair not far away, suddenly in a room with both my girlfriends. Even just the reality was enough for my always traitorous body to flush some more. There is absolutely zero chance of sleeping normally tonight, given how awkward it would be to have Liv sleeping in the same room but on another bed. Damn that innkeeper for putting us in a twin.

“Well, now that that is settled, why don’t we finish getting ready? Big day ahead.” Deirdre says while springing up and returning to her pack.

"Let's not forget your substitute coffee.” Liv chimes in.

Substitute coffee? Oh, the bakery and bee lady.

“Ah, right, we can make breakfast out of it.” I declare still trying to get my emotions in check.

 

***

 

A quick trek around town takes us back toward our breakfast destination. Later, we’ll need to look our best, so we’re dressed in decent outfits so we don’t look like smucks, and our working kit so we look serious. Also, we’ve brought the extra bribe money just in case.

Bee lady and her supposed better than coffee drink await as we find the street she’s located on. Navigating the crowd today is more troublesome than yesterday afternoon. Like a packed modern-day downtown metropolis, Delcaster is up and awake in mass this morning. Most of it is packed, at least, but the teeny tiny cafe sandwiched between two larger buildings is empty when we arrive.

Same as yesterday the inside is full of glassless display cases with muffins, scones, and other less flashy foods. There are plain-looking breads that, by categorization, likely have some sort of fruit or sweet in them, and staples like rolls. Longer breads poke out of a woven basket.

Are those baguettes? Yep, they sure are.

Once again, we are heralded by a soft and pleasant chiming jingle from a bell over the top of the door.

Rapid footsteps circle the corner from where the primary sitting and serving room attached to the kitchen. Suddenly, similarly dressed in a practical long dress with a large apron wrapped around her, the same bee lady from yesterday appears.

“You came back!" she exclaims, sounding disbelieving the moment she notices us, like she expected us to skip town or something.

Still off-kilter from this morning, I gave a little wave in lieu of an answer. She grins from ear to ear as she asks what she could help us with this morning.

“We returned for Evelyn’s fabled coffee,” says Deirdre, a tired sigh accompanying and hitching a thumb in my direction.

“Also breakfast,” Liv adds quickly. “How about these scones, three of each,” pointing at a lineup of blue, red, and yellow topped flaky pastries. Little markers declared them to be blueberry, strawberry, and lemon flavored. 

“Oh, banana bread. That sounds good. I’ll have two of those also.” Liv adds, pointing at another item further away.

The overall display is lovely. Each little pastry in its place, larger breads and sweets flanking them. The bakery absolutely had its presentation down, to say the least.

There were little prices marked on a chalkboard, but when Deirdre makes to pay for our selections, the bee lady tells us to eat first. She even insists we sit and brings our food on a woven tray with a white cloth covering it.

A little more time before setting out to first find then maneuver for a meeting at Tack and Trade wouldn't hurt, so the three of us pulled up chairs at one of the small circular tables inside the establishment.

Hands folded neatly over her apron, the bee lady waits in rapt attention, waiting for us to dig in.

Selecting the red one at random. Aroma wise they were lovely, smelling almost like powdered sugar and almonds. Biting in was a different story. For starters, it was chewy—overly so. The flavor on the inside was totally uneven and bland, mixed with subdued fruit. Not awful, but not good.

"It's, uh, complex,” I tell the waiting bee lady.

“A bit chewy,” adds Liv tentatively, clearly not liking it.

“The berries are alright,” Deirdre blurts out, looking desperete to spit out what she took a bite of.

Our host is clearly crestfallen, her excited grin quickly fading as we took our bites and only becoming a sad frown as we chewed.

“It's awful, I’m sorry. Here, please, let me fix them,” she pleads, close to breaking out in tears.

Before any of us could object, she steps close enough to bring the very tip of her finger a hair’s breadth away from my scone. A subtle flicker of blueish light, almost like a spark, shoots from her fingertip. She held that spark for a full minute before handing it back my way.

Afterwards, she practically fled back to her original position, looking all the more depressed with her head tilted at the floor but also seemingly unconcerned about what would happen next.

Tentatively, I took a second bite. The difference can’t be understated. So much better than the first, overflowing with flavor, crisp in all the right places. It is basically the best pastry of my life.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. What did you do?” I ask as soon as I swallow.

Quietly, the bee lady stepped forward.

“An ability. I will do the same to the rest. Thank you for your patronage.” Grabbing the large woven tray with all our food on it, she quickly retreats to her kitchen.

She returns seconds later, much too quickly, this time holding up a cup.

“I forgot your drink, please try this,” she states, a glimmer of hope returning to her eyes but also looking slightly red, like she had quickly wiped away tears before running back into the dining room.

“The um, coffee substitute, right?” I ask.

“Concentrated Assam chai, with added dark chocolate. It should be very energizing.” She answers, sounding hopeful.

I suppose there was a fifty-fifty chance of it being terrible or spectacular. After a sip, I nearly gag, the pungent taste stinging my tongue and throat like a scorpion. It tasted like burned tree bark.

“Not even a little?” She asks with a crushingly defeated tone, clearly detecting my dislike of the drink.

I shake my head no, trying to subtly choke back the flavor.

“I’m so sorry, please, it’s- it’s free.”

Again, she reaches out to cast her magic on my drink before I can stop her. This time merely cupping the mug and sending a zap through it for a minute before releasing it back into my care.

I know the drink is awful. My brain screams, don’t drink it. Still, logically, I know she’s using some sort of magic to make it good, so I force another sip against my body's insistence that this is literal poison.

Liquid ambrosia. Sweet, glorious nectar of the gods, and it hits like a truck. It’s glorious; it’s marvelous. Is it as good as coffee? Maybe better? Hard to say. I could get used to it, that is for sure.

Eyes squeezed shut in bliss, enjoying the warm, slightly bitter drink, I take a moment to savor the flavor this time around before opening my eyes and catching the bee lady’s heels clicking and clacking back towards her kitchen. This time, I hear a definite sniffle as she retreats.

Deirdre and Liv are rightfully looking mighty confused right about now, so I hold out my scone for them to pass around. A sampling from each is quick to turn their opinions around.

“That’s some impressive magic.” Liv muses before looking between the two of us to gauge our agreement.

I can certainly agree, but more worryingly is the state of the woman using said magic.

“Think she’s okay?” I quickly ask.

Both Liv and Deirdre give consoling looks, but what are we going to do? Have a roundtable discussion about the baker ladies woes?

The bee woman returns some ten minutes later, tray and food in hand. After dropping them off with us, she makes for the entry flipping a sign from open to closed to her store.

“You’re closing?” I inquire gently, not wanting to hurt her feelings about the whole situation.

“Can’t afford to use any more magic fixing the food today,” she says, sounding very choked up about it.

Poor woman. A tricky situation. On the one hand, her food was undeniably amazing after being magicked, but if she only has enough magic for a single meal, what hope did she have to turn a profit? That didn’t explain the less-than-stellar results for the unmagicked food. She was obviously in distress and had my sympathy, but what could we do? We were just customers.

Fortunately for us, the proprietress spent our short meal in her kitchen, helping to avoid the unfortunate awkwardness. Ready to set out, this time we make to pay, an empty food tray to show for the woman’s efforts. It really was wonderful, and the fake coffee hit the spot.

While Deirdre does that and Liv browses the other items, I check out the far side with the dinner breads and rolls. On a very small sign in the corner I missed yesterday, there is a small glass bottle, no bigger than a healing potion, with a ribbon tied around it. ‘Tonic of Eaglesight’ is written on the ribbon in thick lettering.

Squirreled away in the corner as it was nobody was likely to really notice it; I could only guess why. Reaching up and onto the back corner of the counter, I grab the bottle. It’s light, and the liquid inside sloshes slightly as I examine it.

Raising my voice to be heard while they sort out change, I decide to ask.

“You can enchant?” I call out, holding the bottle up.

The bee lady bites her lip before answering, “Just some alchemy, nothing special."

“What would be the difference between enchanting and alchemy, Um,” I questioned, trying to ask for her name without asking.

“Vivianne,” she answers quietly after walking halfway between Deirdre and me.

“Right, Vivianne, what's the difference?”

“Alchemy is for tonics and potions, or basically anything you can eat, drink, or rub on like a paste.”

“And you’re selling this too, some kind of eyesight alchemy?”

“I’m afraid the effect isn't very strong, you see. I don’t have powerful ingredients, so…” she trails off, sounding somehow both disappointed and remorseful.

The little ribbon marked the bottle as four Dallions in price, which was fairly high but less than even a weak health potion. Maybe she had a problem justifying selling these too. Poor woman couldn't catch a break.

"Well, I want to buy this, if you’re up for it, it sounds useful."

Vivianne, the bee lady, doesn't look exactly excited about the sale; instead, something maybe a lot closer to saddened.