Page 69 of Love At First Roar
“Depends on if I get bribed with scones,” Cora said, easing into the doorway.
“I brought better than scones, sweetheart.” Twyla swept into the room, laying the bundle down on the bed with a dramatic flourish. “A little something from Hollow Oak.”
Cora raised an eyebrow. “Is this a post-saving-the-town gift?”
“It’s a welcome-home gift,” Twyla said, smoothing the velvet open.
Inside lay a delicate charm with braided silver cord wound with strands of glimmering lion fur and soft, dried moonflower petals. At the center hung a teardrop-shaped piece of polished amber that caught the sunlight and seemed to hum faintly with something old and kind.
Cora reached for it, fingers trembling slightly. “What is it?”
“Protection and recognition,” Twyla said. “Moonflower blooms only for those the forest accepts. And the lion fur… well, that came with Maeve’s blessing. Took some convincing. She plucked it right off Callum’s patrol cloak when he wasn’t looking.”
Cora laughed, the sound catching on something deep and grateful. “This is beautiful.”
Twyla tilted her head. “So are you. Especially when you finally believe it.”
Cora looked down at the charm again, then tied the cord carefully around her wrist. The moment the knot held, a soft pulse fluttered through her palm—magic and something more. Home.
Twyla rose, brushing off her skirt. “Now that you’re officially part of the forest’s good graces, there’s one more thing to do.”
Cora blinked. “There’s more?”
“Oh yes. You need to get your potions registered.”
“Registered?” Cora followed her down the steps, mug in hand, braid swinging. “Like, with paperwork?”
Twyla grinned. “Official Hollow Oak Craft Registry. Edgar’s been asking about it all week.”
Cora stepped out onto the front porch. The sun warmed her cheeks, and the breeze carried birdsong and the smell of fresh bread. She never thought she’d live somewhere that wanted to claim her name. Now she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“I didn’t think anyone would want what I made,” she said, more to herself than to Twyla. In all honesty, Cora didn’t know anyone knew she made anything outside of Twyla and Miriam.
The café owner paused at the bottom of the steps, turning back. “Honey, we’ve all been using your pain balm since the last storm knocked out half the tavern roof. Edgar swears your sleep draughts helped Varric dreamwalk finally after ten years. And the lemon-verbena elixir you brewed last week made Rufus cry.”
Cora blinked. “Rufus Tansley cried?”
“Just a little,” Twyla said with a wink. “He said it tasted like memories.”
Cora pressed a hand to her chest, overwhelmed by the quiet truth of it all. Her magic wasn’t dangerous anymore. It wasn’t wild and broken. It was part of this town now, stitched into its rhythm. Into the people.
Into Callum.
She followed Twyla across the square, waving to Miriam at the café window and dodging a playful nudge from Maeve’s broom, who apparently now flirted with everyone after Callum jokingly gifted it to her. Her satchel bumped at her hip, full of sample vials and dried herbs wrapped in labeled parchment. It felt oddly official. Like she was walking toward a version of herself she never knew was waiting.
The registry building was tucked beside the old stone well, nestled beneath an ivy-draped roof. Inside, Edgar stood behind a counter surrounded by shelves stacked high with scrolls and dried herbs and magical ingredients of every kind. He adjusted his glasses when he saw her and smiled like he’d been waiting.
“Well, if it isn’t our newest resident enchantress,” he said, beaming. “All ready?”
Cora nodded. “Think so.”
They filled out a form—handwritten, ink smudged from her still-shaky hands. Twyla handed over a certificate scrawled in her looping script and wrapped in blue ribbon.
“There,” she said, tapping the seal. “Now you’re official.”
Cora traced the edge of the parchment. “Thank you. Really.”
“No, thankyou,” Edgar said, voice softer now. “This town’s been through its share of darkness. You brought light back. That matters.”
