The buns were round, fat rolls the size of Rowan’s fist, powdered liberally with icing sugar and stuffed with different flavors of jam. Rowan ordered an apricot one. Briar doubted he could finish a whole bun himself, they were so large.
“It’s traditional to share, too,” Rowan said sheepishly. “If you’d like to—”
“Love to.”
They walked to a tarped-over area with heat lamps and picnic benches. The furniture looked crafted for children with Rowan sitting in it. Briar sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Rowan tore the bun in half and gave Briar the piece with more jam.
The first bite was heaven, the buttery dough melting and soft, the jam sweet and tart.
“Everything here tastes so good,” Briar groaned. The coffee chains of the big cities had nothing on Coill Darragh’s mom-and-pop shops. At Rowan’s smirk, he added, “Don’t get smug. You didn’t tell me how you happened to find me in the big magic, evil woods.”
“You didn’t tell me why you were there either.”
“You first.” He took a bite of his bun. Vatii fluttered onto the table, looming pointedly. Rowan, to her flapping surprise, tore off a chunk of his own for her, which she gobbled down. She took up an expectant pose in front of him.
Rowan said, “I don’t really know the answer. I have blackouts. That day in the woods was one of them.”
“What, you have no memory of it?”
Rowan’s eyebrows drew together. “Woke up when I found you. Carried you out. I don’t know how I got to you.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Mm. More and more.”
It sounded terrifying. Briar took another bite of his bun. “Rowan, why does everyone avoid the forest? Why are we wearing crowns to protect us from it? Seriously, it’s starting to freak me out.” His curse felt like a stake through his ribs. He didn’t understand why the forest first cursed his mother, but he’d come to believe it had, and he wanted answers.
“We’re a suspicious lot, Coill Darraghns. Plenty of stories about bad things befalling those who mess about with it. Most will say they don’t believe it. Just tall tales. Still, won’t catch any Coill Darraghn going in of their own accord.”
“But you went in.”
“Not of my own accord.”
Briar shivered. Thinking he was cold, Rowan leaned closer. A subtle gesture, but one Briar basked in, sidling up to Rowan’s ribs. Rowan was a small sun next to him, warmth seeping through Briar’s hip and arm where they touched.
He considered telling Rowan about the tree. About the mark on his arm. About the curse cast by the forest they all feared. He didn’t, though. He swallowed his last bite of apricot bun and the story with it. He felt stupid for ignoring Gretchen’s warning, but he didn’t know how else to get ingredients for spells. Besides, he was marked for death already.
“It’s your turn to tell me why you went in,” Rowan said.
“I needed some lichen for an elixir.”
To Rowan’s credit, he didn’t ask why Briar hadn’t just bought some. “Next time, come to me.”
“You’re the alderman, my fairy-tale rescuer saving me from murderous trees, and now you’re a herbalist too?”
“No, but I have a garden.”
Hope struck like flint in Briar’s chest, but there was something dark and fearful with it. Rowan’s idle generosity was one thing, but Briar couldn’t allow himself to depend upon it. In the end, this was his quest, his fate to meet alone.
“You and Sorcha have already helped me.”
Rowan shrugged. He finished his food, and with no napkins available, licked the jam from his fingers, behaving as though his kindness was the norm and naught else. Some of Briar’s gratitude swelled and stuck in his throat. The words “thank you” seemed paltry.
Rowan gave him a quizzical look, and Briar realized he must be blushing. He was spared having to explain by a child’s shriek and the sudden assault of tiny arms around his waist.
“Ciara, what have I told you about jumping on people—”
Ciara stepped back, holding up the ends of her cloak and twirling. Behind her stood a man who could only be her father. Ciara shared his red hair and freckled complexion.
