“I’ve always wanted to go to Pentawynn,” Briar said. At the mention of his home, Linden perked up. “I was dead set on it for my placement, actually. Ithought my life was over when I got Coill Darragh, but…” He paused, wondering if his flirtatious nature would get him in trouble for overfamiliarity, but Briar struggled to be anyone other than himself. “The company’s not so bad.”
It was the right thing to say. Linden looked as smug as Atticus lounging over the back of his chair.
Vatii said, “Oh boy…”
“Yes, that is a surprise benefit. But please, you didn’t come here just to stroke my ego.”
Briar failed to hold his tongue. “I might have come to strokesomething.”
Linden’s expression slackened with surprise. Vatii shot Briar a look of withering disappointment. Briar visibly cringed with self-reproof.
Then Linden burst out laughing. Not the prim, demure noise of before, but a true laugh. Briar eased. “You’re even bolder than I first thought,” Linden said. He held out a hand for Briar’s drawings. “I’m more intrigued than ever to see what you’ve come up with.”
Briar handed the pages over, and Linden spread them on his desk, a thoughtful finger tapping his lip.
“Just some ideas.” Briar watched Linden closely. His blue eyes sparkled just as they did in pictures. His sleek black hair, tied in an elegant knot with wisps escaping, looked soft to the touch. Yet, his aura remained untouchable. It was frustrating. The Linden presented to Alakagram and the whole world felt more real than the private man sitting in front of him.
At last, Linden’s lips bent in a smile. “I love them. Though, I have an idea. May I?” He hovered a quill over the page.
Briar nodded. Linden began scratching over the drawing of the waist-coat and pants set. As he leaned forward, something shiny slipped out of his shirt collar. A necklace. On the end of it dangled a talisman engraved with countless runes.
Briar’s breath caught. He’d heard of such talismans. Famous witches often employed them as protection from unwanted photography, scrying spells, or—worst of all—curses from overzealous fans. They helped maintain some semblance of privacy.
Such a talisman could also block Briar’s aura-reading abilities.
Linden hadn’t noticed his attention. “I love the high collar on the other design, so I thought, perhaps… Yes! This would be perfect, don’t you think?”
He turned the page to show Briar. He’d transformed the waistcoat into a vest with a collar reminiscent of the jacket. It would require stiffer fabric and gave the ensemble a different persona—hard-edged and tall.
“Very sharp. Powerful,” Briar said, though part of him felt a sting of loss that the character of his design hadn’t survived this edit.
“Oh, and what do you think of lacing in the back, like this.”
Encouraged, Linden spent the next hour sketching as they discussed what details could be added to make the ensemble pop. With the grommets, lacing, and piping additions, Briar’s heart rate soared along with the rising cost of materials, but he managed his blood pressure with a reminder: this would draw millions of eyes to his work. Linden had made no offer of compensation so far, and Briar understood that meant the exposure was the compensation. To Linden’s credit, his attention had resulted in many of Briar’s sales thus far. Hopefully those scales would tip in his favor. He’d just have to scrape together the upfront cost.
Once finished, Briar’s lunch hour was through, and he’d only had the cup of tea, but he also had a pile of drawings in Linden’s elegant lines. He stood to bid him farewell. To Briar’s surprise, Linden clasped Briar’s fingers in his own to say, “Thank you, Briar. I daresay, this is the most fun I’ve had since arriving in Coill Darragh.”
If not for Vatii’s claws on his arm, Briar might have needed pinching.
When Briar turned at the door to say goodbye, he saw Linden’s expression shutter as he turned back to his formulas. Linden seemed every bit a showman. Polite, a little coy, but Briar couldn’t help but wonder who the real Linden was.
For the rest of the day, it poured rain, so the shop was quiet, leaving Briar time to work on Linden’s garment. He called Sorcha to get a quote for the additional materials and nearly choked. It would, he hoped, be worth it, but the fabric alone was costly. He would have to work hard to free up money for these extras.
A woman came in, shaking off an umbrella, to commission knitted scarves for her family—seven matching ones to be Christmas gifts. She’d seen Rowan wearing his and asked Maebh where he’d gotten it.
It made Briar’s insides glow like embers.
No one else braved the rain. Sitting on the floor with paper to draw patterns on, he found himself looking at the spools of yarn stuffed in the cubbies behind the counter. The woman had given him creative freedom. “I trust your judgment,” she’d said.
While he worked, Gretchen materialized to prod him about what he’d uncovered at Rowan’s. Briar summarized, telling her about the mysterious invaders and Rowan’s assertion that Éibhear wouldn’t have cast the wardswithout warning her. The news failed to reassure her, as she scowled and picked at the holes in her tights.
The hope it would all jog her memory was for naught.
That left them with two options. Briar could speak to Maebh and Sorcha, but it was unlikely they knew more than Rowan. Alternatively, he could try to contact Seer Niamh.
This presented its own problem—Niamh didn’t use a phone. The only way to contact her was by SoothSight or in person. A trip back to Wishbrooke would take an entire day by broom; with winter settling in, he’d be lucky not to freeze halfway there. That left SoothSight or a ferry ticket. Neither came cheap, but SoothSight had the benefit of time-efficiency. Briar wouldn’t have to abandon his work for an impromptu trip.
He could see the sense in it, but he didn’t have the means. SoothSight required a tithe of ghost orchid pollen, which was rare and expensive. He could make Linden’s garment to his exact specifications or he could contact Niamh.
