Linden softened. “I knew you’d understand.” He patted Briar’s hand, and Briar wished that didn’t make his skin crawl. Something still seemed wrong in all this. “We should get ready for dinner.” He crossed the room. Atticus lingered, eyeing Briar, then followed.
Linden had a point—the forest was a terrible, malevolent force. It had killed Briar’s mother. He should want vengeance, want it gone. It could save his life, Rowan’s life, and countless others if what Linden said was true. But the plan rankled. Killing the forest outright? Was his hesitation borne of nothing more than spending so long in Coill Darragh that the tradition of respecting the forest as much as fearing it had sunk into him as well?
It wasn’t this that irked him, though. Vatii put to words why he so distrusted this.
“He needs you to marry him for this plan to work, Briar.”
Briar shuddered. Linden began courting him so suddenly, after he’d said he only wanted to be friends. So how long had he been planning this, really?
Briar called out, “Linden… are you only asking me to marry you so you’ll be Coill Darraghn? So you can kill the forest?”
Linden turned. The softness in his voice had gone. “Are you here because you love me or because I have the cure?”
The ugliness of the question hit Briar in the sternum. Winded him.
“You should get ready for dinner,” Linden murmured. “My parents won’t like to be kept waiting.”
A servant led Briar to the dining room, candlelit with a circular table and settings for four. A fireplace roared with cerulean flames. Suspended above the table in an enchanted glass sphere, an aquarium of tropical fish cast eerie, dancing lights over Linden and his parents.
“Ah, there you are,” Linden said. “Thank you for joining us.”
Both Gresham and Adelaide had removed their talismans; Adelaide’s aura was a finger sinking through overripe fruit. Gresham’s, the smell of a hospital.
A servant pulled out Briar’s chair and tucked him in, unfolding the napkin shaped like a swan to lay on his lap. Servers glutted their glasses with wine in a synchronized dance. In the flickering blue light cast by the fire and the aquarium, Linden’s parents frightened Briar, and he weighed the pros and cons of surviving the meal while plastered.
Linden led the conversation. First, to Briar’s adept persuasion of Finola to invite them to her gala. Then, to Briar swaying the press to reconsider their views on taboo magic like flesh tithes.
“And that man? The alderman,” said Gresham.
Linden let Briar answer. “A friend. The photo looked like more than it was.”
There was a blessed quiet when the first course arrived—beluga caviar on blini with sour cream and chives. Briar would have watched to see how Linden ate it, but all eyes were on him, awaiting his verdict. Did he use utensils or just pop it in his mouth with his fingers? It was very small. Briar opted to use his hands. He hardly tasted the thing, too nervous to appreciate it. He said “Mmm!” and Linden’s parents nodded, satisfied.
Briar drank more wine. He was glad for the aquarium, which gave him something tranquil to look at. Fish in rainbow colors danced through thewater and corals. A particularly mesmerizing one had red fins like chiffon veils. More courses arrived, each with a list of ingredients Briar had never seen at the grocery store.
Adelaide addressed Briar, at first neutrally. “How do you like the food?”
“It’s delicious.”
“We hope you’ve made yourself comfortable. How do you find the estate?”
“It’s beautiful. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t think you told us where you’re from?”
“I moved around a lot,” he said. “But I grew up in Port Haven.”
“Lovely place,” said Adelaide. “Quaint, but friendly.”
Summoning courage, Briar said, “You won’t remember, but I saw you there, years ago.”
Both Adelaide and Gresham stopped eating.
“During your Miracle Tour. I saw Linden cure people of so many fatal ailments, and I guess I was smitten from the start.”
Linden smiled as he lifted a spoonful of bisque to his lips.
Gresham and Adelaide exchanged an indecipherable look. “You were there?”
