Linden had arranged for a driver to pick Briar up at the pier. He’d expected a taxi. Instead, the driver took him to a horse-drawn carriage, splendid in white and gold and surrounded by paparazzi. They parted, flashes leaving Briar temporarily blind. Linden waited there, hand extended, dressed like a prince in a half cape, jodhpurs, and riding gloves, smart and sharp as the slap Briar’s cheek still remembered. As Briar stepped up, Linden tilted his chin and kissed him chastely while the cameras flashed. Briar hoped they didn’t capture his despondence.
Settling into the carriage, a tickle of magic passed over them. “There’s a privacy spell to keep the press from eavesdropping, so we can speak freely here,” said Linden.
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Of course. I hope the ferry ride was to your liking.”
Briar pushed out the memory of Rowan. “You were right. Pentawynn looks incredible from the water.”
“Good, I’m pleased. There’s much to discuss before your arrival at the manor.”
The horse’s hooves clopped against the pavement, and they pulled away into the streets. It felt like entering a jungle. Cars all around them, and buildings that increased in height the farther they went, until Briar had to crane his neck to see the sky. Bustling through the streets were countless witches, identifiable by their hats and skittering, flapping familiars.
Linden ran through a list of things he’d prepared for their showing at Finola’s Gala Runway. He went into detail about the stories he’d fed the press regarding the photo snapped of Briar and Rowan. They were only good friends, the photo only gave the appearance of something more, Linden and Briar were deeply enamored with each other and this was another attempt by the press to defame him, etcetera.
Briar stroked a hand through Vatii’s feathers, wistful for an alternate reality where he could fully enjoy this, where his eyes didn’t feel papery from crying, where his body didn’t ache like it was aflame.
The entrance to Linden’s estate was accessible down a private road. As the carriage passed under an arched gate, a wave of wards like the ones guarding Coill Darragh prickled over Briar’s skin. A thicket of trees obscured the grounds from public view. Through it was a long stretch of road framed by manicured topiary and symmetrical gardens. At the end, the manor strove tall and white toward the sky in pointed turrets and basrelief colonnades. The carriage pulled up to the entrance, and the driver opened the doors.
Inside the main foyer, the grandeur of the manor sank in. Curving staircases framed a three-story atrium. A crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling flung prismatic color against the walls, refracted from the sun coming through the skylights above. Everything was cut from the same cloth as the city itself. Glass, crystal, white walls, gold embellishments.
The grandeur and ostentation made him feel small. Such excess, while he’d pinched pennies for beans on toast.
Linden beheld Briar’s awe with satisfaction. “I’ll show you to my apartments. Well,ours.”
They climbed the stairs to the third floor, flanked by a footman carrying Briar’s luggage. A long hall from the atrium balcony led to a master bedroom. The doors off this hall were open to let in the sun, and throughthem were rooms for every occasion. A sitting room. A library. An alchemist’s laboratory. A crafts room.
One door was closed. “My study,” Linden said, and procured a key to open the door, revealing a tidy room of bookshelves and an oak desk with a stained-glass lamp. “It’s nothing special, but there are legal and private documents, so I prefer the servants leave it.” He locked it and returned the key to his pocket. Briar prickled at the mention of servants. Linden’s home was so large it needed an HR department.
Linden’s bedroom was enormous, with a four-poster bed so wide it was a ten-minute taxi ride from end to end. Enough room to spread out and not touch. Briar never slept in the same bed as Linden in Coill Darragh. Once cured, would expectations of a more physical relationship follow? Briar’s stomach twisted at the notion, his meager breakfast threatening an encore.
Linden took off his jacket, a servant hurrying to take it from him. He pulled the talisman from around his neck and tossed it on the vanity amongst bottles of beauty potions. Briar noticed the talisman’s surface was blackened and dented.
Following his line of sight, Linden tutted. “I’m afraid the effectiveness of my talisman is diminishing. It’s a sign it’s been under duress to protect me. I’ll have to get another.”
Atticus jumped up on the windowsill, eyes trained on a bird splashing in one of the shallow fountains behind the estate. Linden came to stand next to Briar. Freed of the talisman’s influence, his aura swept through Briar like a cool wind sneaking through gaps in his clothes.
“My parents want you to join us for dinner. I’ve left clothes for you on the bed.”
A waistcoat with a back panel of blue fabric speckled like the night sky lay on the coverlet. Trousers, a poet’s shirt, and some jewelry came with it.
“How do I…” Briar didn’t know how to phrase the question. “How do I make them like me?”
“It’s not in their nature to be pleased by anything or anyone. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is our destiny, not theirs.”
A splitting ache in Briar’s head made it impossible to contemplate things as large as destiny. “Linden, I don’t mean to push, but the cure. Do you know when it will be ready?”
“Yes, I wanted to discuss that with you. I thought maybe after dinner, but—no. Sit, sit. I’ll get your potion.”
Briar abandoned his trunk, which he’d been struggling to open. He hoisted himself onto the bed. Linden returned with his elixir, which Briar drank.
“The cure is a complicated endeavor, I’m afraid. Not nearly so simple as drinking a potion.”
“How much more complicated?” Briar said.
“Very. Before I explain, promise me you’ll listen. When I first thought of it, I was convinced it would be impossible. Unreasonable. But I see no alternative.”
Briar’s heart kicked. “I’m listening.”
