Linden said, “You feel it too, don’t you? It’s only a forest, yet it hates us. I can’t comprehend that people spend their lifetime living in its shadow. Few witches, though. I think it would curse us all if it could.”
Did Linden know about Briar’s curse, or had the conversation turned by coincidence? “Why did you come here, then?”
“Ah, several reasons,” Linden said. “Something about the wood compels me. Wild magic is rare these days. Most natural places have been polluted by mankind, stripped for tithes by witches. Coill Darragh’s is one of the last remaining. Possibly the oldest. So much of its power remains mysterious. It’s why I’ve come—to study it. To see if, perhaps, there are healing secrets yet to be learned from the sources of magic themselves.”
Briar considered telling Linden that the forest had cursed him. Perhaps he would know more. Perhaps he could find a way to healthat. The possibilities spun in Briar’s head in dizzying circles.
“You know so much about these things. You must really love it.”
“I admit, I do it mostly to fulfill my parents’ wishes for me.” A wave of disappointment came over Briar that he barely disguised. Linden’s expression pinched. “I hope you won’t judge me too harshly. I admire the art of medicine. I always hoped I would develop a passion for it, but since my talents fled me, I…” Slender, long-fingered hands tightened around the handle of his broom. “Never mind.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to fashion after?”
“I don’t know. I believe my course was set long ago. My best hope is that I succeed at it and can perhaps pursue what I love as leisure instead.”
It didn’t sound so bad to Briar, whose leisure so far had involved a hike into woods that nearly killed him, and even that had been for work purposes. Aside from Saor ó Eagla, he’d had little time for himself. Linde looked serene, but beneath that, a little sad.
Briar tried to lighten the mood. “Well, I’m not going to complain. Let’s be honest, I’d probably have sunk if I’d been in direct competition with you.”
That sparked a genuine smile. “I do appreciate your candor with me. Most people only speak to me because they want something. It isn’t often I can speak freely. You’re quite… disarming.”
Briar’s feelings clashed. A flutter of flattery mixed with a sinking guilt. Had he done that? Approached Linden solely to establish his own success? He hadn’t meant to. He’d looked up to Linden for so long and appreciated his talent. Linden inspired him. He’d wanted to be his peer, his friend. Maybe more.
Had he only wanted that for personal gain? He didn’t think so, but Linden’s words worried him. “I’m sorry. That must be lonely.”
Linden waved it off. “The truth is, I often fly because I like being alone. Curiously, your company seems to be an exception.”
That sounded flirtatious, and yet Briar couldn’t find the words to flirt back. Perhaps because Linden still felt distant and untouchable. Becausehe was rich and Briar was poor. Because, if this was “speaking freely,” he wondered what Linden was like completely closed off. And mostly because his lack of aura made Briar edgy. Like he’d never truly know the man.
“I try my best to be exceptional.”
Linden said, “By any measure, I’d say you are that and more, Briar Wyngrave.”
The Swan and Cygnet smelled of cider and mince pies. After his evening with Linden, Briar had decided there was still time to talk to Maebh.
A number of people crowded around tables, but few lingered at the bar, where Aisling washed an already-clean glass, moving in a perfunctory trance. From her puffy red eyes and despondent expression, she appeared to have been crying.
Maebh caught Briar’s eye and came to greet him. “Briar, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How’re you getting on?” Powdered sugar dusted her fingers and mince smeared her apron. The first occasion they’d met, she’d been cross with him. The second, far warmer. On this third, it was as if he were an old family member.
“Good, good. And you?”
“Ah sure, I can’t complain. Can I get you a mince pie?”
“If there’s one going.”
She disappeared and reappeared with a tray and jug. Briar was used to shoveling cold mince pies into his cheeks like a squirrel without bothering to warm them. Maebh presented him with a plate of fresh pies and a dollop of custard. The last time Briar enjoyed them like this, it had been with his mother at Christmas dinner. The recollection felt a touch bittersweet.
Maebh asked after his shop and how it was doing. Even mentioned she’d been meaning to ask for a scarf like Rowan’s, now it had gotten colder. The fresh mince pies tasted so good, he burned his tongue in his eagerness to eat them.
He asked what had Aisling so down. Maebh cast a furtive glance toward her barmaid and sighed. “Her man Kenneth’s done a runner, hasn’t he? Got cold feet, I imagine. Bless her. I told her to take time off, but she insisted on the distraction.”
Shocked, Briar looked over Maebh’s shoulder at Aisling. Upon closer inspection, she no longer wore the engagement ring. With a pang of sympathy, he made a mental note to prepare a heartbreak tonic for her.
It seemed a shame to bring down the mood with his prying questions, but he couldn’t put it off longer.
“Maebh, I have a question for you. It’s about a witch who lived in my flat.”
He explained about Gretchen. Maebh took the news that he lived with a ghost in stride. That it was the ghost of her late husband’s apprentice didn’t faze her either.
