He gagged on the words. His shoulder jerked. Electric white light crowded his vision and blotted out the world one shock at a time, and then he fell from his chair. He felt the impact of his head on wood, the ringing afterward like a television set to a vacant channel. He was vaguely aware of Vatii flapping above him, begging him to come around.
He lost consciousness to her shrieks of alarm.
When he came to, the acrid taste of milk thistle elixir soured his tongue. Vatii perched on his chest, chattering low in her throat. Looking to his left, he nearly jumped. Huge blue moons peered down at him. Atticus, his white fur aglow in the lamplight, got up and bounded off the bed, giving Briar full view of his room. The floor was a chaotic sprawl of things Briar had torn down with him when he fell. Beads glittered like tiny jewels, trapped in the cracks of the floorboards, winking from under the dresser.
In the desk chair, hands steepled before him, face a wan mask, was Linden. His expression held a confusing glut of emotion. Troubled, disturbed, guilty, concerned. On the desk beside him, a vial of Briar’s regular potions sat empty except for a few drops at the bottom.
Vatii said, “I screamed until Atticus heard me. They were the closest ones who could help. Gretchen tried, but she couldn’t pick anything up.”
Briar had the most ungrateful thought. He wished it had been Rowan he’d awoken to.
“You never told me you’ve been cursed,” Linden said.
Briar tried for levity. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t tell anyone.”
“I told you I was working on a curse cure, and you didn’t think to mention your own? Did you know about my work prior to our meeting?”
Even foggy as he was, Briar recognized the barbed accusation. “You think I’ve been spying on you.”
“Are you insinuating it’s only a coincidence? My work was prompted by the emergence of Bowen’s Wane specifically, and you so happen to have it.”
Briar swallowed, head still reeling. “I didn’t know. Linden, I promise you, I had no idea.”
Linden stood up. He paced, heedless of the beads sent skittering away. With a hand, he rubbed at his temples. Briar had never seen him so agitated. After a moment, he stopped and said, “Yes, of course. You must forgive me for finding it all suspect. It’s just that my life has often been dogged by—it doesn’t matter. Perhaps I’m paranoid, flinging such a baseless accusation. What matters most is your health. Are you all right? How far along is it?”
Briar winced. The last time he’d had a blood test, the results came back fine. Less than ideal, but not bad. Yet, what he’d just experienced—a fit, loss of consciousness, violent muscle spasms. These were symptoms his mother had in her last year alive. The thought winched around his throat like a wire. On his chest, Vatii blanketed him with her wings for comfort.
“Not far? I inherited it recently.”
“Inherited.”
A deep breath. “My mother.”
Linden’s face fell further, distraught. Briar might have felt touched if he didn’t feel so sick.
“She died two years ago.”
“And how long have you been performing flesh tithes?”
With a spasm of horror, Briar looked down at himself. In his dazed state, he hadn’t noticed. His shirt, its ties undone, had slipped over one shoulder to reveal the scrawl of tithes creeping across his skin. He startled Vatii off him in his haste to cover it, though it was too late. He held his shirt collar together like a maid protecting her virtue.
Linden huffed and sat on the edge of the bed. He brushed Briar’s hand aside and swept his shirt down enough to expose the marks. If Briar had been smart, he might have started using his legs. Easier to cover those. His sleeve of them, like a tattoo, and a band around his thigh, meant neverwearing T-shirts or going to the beach. But he lived in a cold, rainy country with two weeks of decent weather. He’d deemed it a reasonable exchange. Most witch’s clothes involved long sleeves anyway.
He prepared himself for judgment, but Linden’s gaze softened. With a thumb, he touched the arrowheads on Briar’s collar. The ones he’d used to soothe Rowan’s pain.
“You wound me by presuming my question comes from a place of judgment. I ask out of concern for your health. These tithes could be exacerbating the curse.”
To Briar’s embarrassment, tears pricked at his eyes. His doctor had said there was no evidence flesh tithes had negative effects, but then, so little was known about his condition. Linden’s family likely knew all sorts of things he didn’t, with their knowledge of magical medicine. He should never have tithed so much in the past week to keep working. “I didn’t know.”
Linden moved his hand to Briar’s forehead, smoothing back his hair. “How do you feel now?”
“I feel like an idiot.”
Linden gave a surprised laugh. “You are very strange.”
“You aren’t the first to say so.”
“If you’re well enough to joke, then that’s a relief.” Linden stood, straightening his clothes. “I’m going to mix you some more milk thistle elixir. The ones you’ve got aren’t potent enough.”
