Vatii sighed. “What does your intuition tell you?”
“I don’t have a single, solitary intuition, Vatii. Just a raging hardon for probably the wrong man.” He paused. “But… I don’t know, it sounds like Linden to me. And that’s a good thing, really. He’s attractive, he’s been kind to me, we’ve got things in common. I could learn so much from him.”
“Then maybe,” she said, “you should spend more time with him.”
A half dozen sketches were spread out on the desk in front of Briar. Smears of pencil and charcoal expressed his vision in sweeping lines. He’d spent the week on them, and finally he was satisfied.
Following his trip to Rowan’s farm, inspiration flowed more easily. Or perhaps he was only trying to distract himself from the ghost of Rowan’s kiss, which lingered on his lips every time he closed his eyes to sleep.
He shuffled the sketches together and left to go next door.
Linden’s emporium buzzed with activity. The interior’s color palette had swapped to blue and silver for winter, an enchantment of songbirds trilling overhead. Briar’s pulse ratcheted. Everything here filled him with whimsical longing and anxiety both. He’d never lacked confidence, stead-fast in his pursuit of dreams so many people had disparaged him for. He summoned his courage, but he wore it like an ill-fitting suit when surrounded by such powerful magic.
A clerk manned the counter. He was familiar—the same man who’d bought an engagement ring from Briar and proposed to Aisling on Saor ó Eagla. He looked tired, but he recognized Briar and smiled.
“Congrats on your engagement,” Briar said.
“Oh, thanks, mate! She loves the ring.”
“I’m Briar, by the way.”
“Kenneth.”
They shook hands, and Briar noticed something odd. Kenneth’s wrist was bare, the wardstone bracelet gone.
Kenneth followed his stare. “Perks of true love and marriage round here,” he explained. “It makes you one of the locals. Who’s the lucky lad, lady, or gentlethem for you, then?” He pointed at Briar’s equally bare wrist.
“I’ve had some wild nights, but last I checked I wasn’t married.”
“Ha, all right, keeping it out of the rumor mill. Fine, fine. What can I help you with?”
Briar’s nervousness returned in full. “Just wondering, is Linden in?”
Kenneth looked dubious. “You, uh, got an appointment, mate?”
Briar offered his drawings as explanation, and Kenneth disappeared upstairs to check. He returned with an apologetic expression. “Sorry about that, mate. Just have to hold the line against fans, know what I mean?”
Given permission, Briar went upstairs, emerging in a flat so unlike his own he felt transported to another dimension.
An expansion charm made the low beams of the ceiling rise in a tall vault, spelled to look like a snow-flecked sky. Glittering trinkets suspended in the air cast prismatic lights in fractals over the walls. Every surface was draped in gauzy fabrics or home to curios that whirred and trilled soft notes. In the kitchen, a kettle billowed steam and whistled. It was dazzling yet overwhelming. Not a single place for Briar’s attention to rest.
Linden sat behind a grand desk. “Ah, Briar. You’re just in time.” He snapped his fingers, and the dried petals in a jar beside him moved as though a few had vanished. The kettle rose to pour tea for them. “Would you like a cup?”
Most witches had to touch the tithe in order to use it. Linden’s ability to use something without physical contact was extraordinary.
Briar tried not to appear too dazzled. “Yes, please.”
While the kitchen contents floated and made them tea, Linden shuffled aside his notes and spun in his chair to face Briar. “Come! Sit.”
Briar sat on the wing-backed sofa nearest, spreading his designs over his knees and smoothing the pages. He caught sight of the sheaves Linden had shoved aside on his desk. Many bore long alchemical formulas and scribbled-out potion recipes. Vatii hopped onto the coffee table, pecking at the swirling contents of a vase.
“Vatii, stop that! Come here.”
Linden waved a hand. “She’s all right.”
“How are you enjoying Coill Darragh?” Briar tried not to feel self-conscious of his rollicking accent next to Linden’s smooth, clipped one, or of Vatii, who’d begun bobbing for the berries floating in the vase. He would kill her later.
“It’s lovely,” said Linden. “A bit of an adjustment. I’ve never been away from Pentawynn so long. It’s all very new.”
