“No. I exhausted everything on that tour. My parents, well, I wanted to make them proud.”
Vatii rolled her eyes. “Boo-hoo.”
Briar had more sympathy. He didn’t understand how Linden’s parents could be anything less than ecstatic to have a son capable of healing. They’d pushed him to such lengths he’d lost those abilities altogether. He recalled his own mother, dying and devastated she wouldn’t get to see him grow up, saying she was so proud of him. And he’d done little back then.
“I’m sorry,” Briar said. “That’s not fair.”
Linden said, “Ah, but I didn’t ask you here to burden you with my family’s squabbles. We’re here to celebrate the success of this first project, aren’t we? And to get to know one another better.”
Briar allowed Linden to sidestep the topic, which clearly discomfited him. The sentiment didn’t quite leave him, though.I’d appreciate it if you ceased stooping to criticize whatever leisure I find or who with.Linden’s parents clearly didn’t welcome Briar’s involvement.
Linden ordered a bottle of champagne for them. As he poured, he asked Briar questions. Where he went to college, what type of magic he excelled at beyond fashion and enchantments. He asked all with an increasingly languid smile while twirling his champagne flute. For a moment, the bubbles and the private atmosphere warmed Briar enough to forget his confusion over the “precursor.”
“What are you trying to create, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I wouldn’t burden you with it. It’s all very dull,” said Linden.
“I can be the judge of that. Maybe I can help?”
Linden rolled his last gulp of champagne around in his mouth. “Perhaps. But we’ll need more alcohol.”
This was Briar’s cue to get the next round. “What would you like?” Linden said a nice Riesling wouldn’t go amiss. Briar went to speak to
Aisling and nearly fainted at the price of the bottle. It was well outside his budget, but the idea of telling Linden so was humiliating. The cost would set him back—he wouldn’t be able to afford the ghost orchid pollen until after Christmas, weeks away. The only reason he could buy the pollen over food was because Rowan frequently fed him. He consoled himselfwith distant hopes. Maybe, if the night went well, Linden would offer him another job. A paid one. If Linden’s promotion attracted enough attention, he might never have to feel sick at a three-digit price tag again.
Briar took it to the table and poured them both a glass, managing not to spill despite the slight shake in his hands. If Linden noticed, he politely pretended not to. He took his glass and sniffed, swirling the pale liquid before bringing it to his lips.
With an air of revisiting the grave of a relative with whom he shared a troubled history, he said, “My parents have demanded that I create a… panacea of sorts. A curse cure.”
Briar’s alcoholic haze sharpened into something bladed and acute. “A curse cure?”
“It’s quite the conundrum, yes? Apart from killing the caster—a most sordid solution we needn’t investigate—a curse can only be lifted by the person who cast it, so how to bottle that kind of individual intent and make it universal? So that anyone could drink the elixir and be relieved of their affliction.”
“That is a challenge,” Briar said faintly.
“It’s impossible. Near as I can tell, all tales of a successful cure are in the same league as Pandora’s box and the Holy Grail. Utterly fabricated. And yet…” He raised his brows, taking another swig of wine. “I’ve heard stories of a genuine version created in Coill Darragh. So here I am.” The wine mellowed Linden’s nature. His words blended instead of ending in clipped consonants. “Complete bollocks, if you’ll excuse my language. I’ve searched and found no evidence whatsoever. Folktales for children, I suspect.”
The proclamation sank in one sick degree at a time. The wine, the private atmosphere, and the hooded look from Linden nearly compelled Briar to speak of his own curse, yet he held back. He knew well the look of pity that people wore when he told them, and he did not want his relationship with Linden to be based on charity, or the idea that Briar needed saving. Intent on earning his own station, he grasped the confession tightly behind clenched teeth.
Privately, he also thought that it felt a bit like fate. Another confirmation Linden was the man from his prophecy. A cursed man’s life entwined with the one who sought a cure.
“Why would your parents give you an impossible goal?”
Linden snorted. “They presented the hypothesis of my inferiority long ago. They would rather be correct in their assumption than admit they were wrong.”
Briar couldn’t help it. “That’s horrible.”
Linden’s fuzzy expression resolved into something curious. Intense. “Pardon?”
“I said, that’s horrible. They’re horrible.”
Linden’s smile felt like a long-held breath, finally released. “Ah, there’s that candor I admire so much in you. No one else would dare speak ill of my perfect, powerful parents.”
“Well, I don’t know them,” Briar said. “But I’m getting to know you. I think you can do it, by the way. Find the cure.”
Linden’s smile wavered. He leaned across the table and laid his hand over Briar’s. His cool fingers warmed against Briar’s skin, a spark of some-thing hopeful in his eyes. Then his expression turned troubled, and he withdrew. “Your certainty is misplaced, but it means quite a lot to hear. From you. Ah! But it’s getting late, and I haven’t even asked you the very thing I invited you here for.”
“Oh?”
