“You don’t have t—”
“You should also see your doctor.”
Alarm shot through him. “I have too much work. And I have a blood test after Christmas anyway.”
Linden looked at the state of the flat, and Briar’s cheeks heated. After a beat, Linden dispensed a handful of berries from a pouch at his belt. He closed his fist around them, and a flare of magic lit the room. Beads rolled and floated back into their trays. Fabric scraps put themselves in the bin. Dirty mugs flew to the sink, which filled with water and soap. Even the skewed fabric unstitched and righted itself in the machine. As all this happened, Linden went around the room and folded a few half-finished garments over an arm.
An objection rose on Briar’s tongue. Every muscle in his chest clenched, rebelled against the charity. He wanted to prove he deserved a place at Linden’s side as his equal, but looking at all the other half-finished projects,now neatly arranged on the table, he had to admit he couldn’t do it. Not all of it. Ridiculously, he thought of Celyn strutting into his flat to boast about his placement in Pentawynn. Briar had said he would succeed without help. On his own.
Watching Linden gather his work up felt like leaning upon a crutch too tenuous to hold him.
Vatii said, “You need the rest. Let him help.”
Briar knew she was right and hated it. He couldn’t place where this ingrained sense of independence had come from, why it felt so dangerous to need someone else, but it all bruised worse than the phantom pains of his fall.
Linden sat on the edge of the bed again, his blue eyes downcast. Haltingly meeting Briar’s gaze, Linden took his hand and squeezed. “I told you it was a miracle, what my parents asked of me. That it was impossible. I want you to know that I’ve changed my mind.”
Briar couldn’t be sure whether it was the silky touch or the crushed velvet of Linden’s voice, or simply what he was saying, but he froze.
“I promise you,” Linden said, “I will find the formula that rids you of this curse.”
CHAPTER 16
In Christmas Eve, it snowed.
Briar woke to a text from Rowan.
>>Happy Christmas. Be by around 4PM to pick you up? xxx
He held the phone inches from his face and couldn’t contain a smile.
Since his episode, he’d completed all his custom orders and finally made enough money to buy ghost orchid pollen. He hadn’t told Gretchen yet, waiting to surprise her. Vatii fussed over him and promised not to chide him too often, since it was Christmas. He felt brighter.
The sky was navy by four. Rowan arrived early with a bag of gifts in one hand and snow in his hair. He set the bag down in the doorway and drew Briar out into the cool blue air just to cup his cheeks and kiss him.
It should have set off alarm bells. People could see. They were in the street, only a few steps out the door, aglow in yellow lantern light and—
And Briar didn’t care.
They drew apart. Rowan said, “Happy Christmas.”
Briar rose on tiptoes to kiss him again.
Maebh lived in the flat above her pub. It was a riot of smells and commotion, a roaring fire chasing out any trace of cold. Christmas carols played on an old radio from the kitchen, where everyone gathered to prepare food, except Ciara, who prodded presents under the tree.
“Ey, no spoaching,” Rowan told her as he placed his own gifts there.
Briar brought presents too, wrapped fastidiously like showroom props. Ciara saw these and yelled, “Pretty! Which is for me?”
After letting her shake her gift and chase Vatii around the living room, Rowan led them into the kitchen. Maebh smothered Briar in a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She poured him mulled wine from a pot on the stove, brewed with caramelized oranges. Rowan started preparing dessert—rhubarb pie and custard.
Briar insisted on helping somehow. As he peeled potatoes over a newspaper and the convivial atmosphere seeped into him, Ciara came to sit next to him, a pink diary in hand with a cartoonishly enormous lock on it. She leveled Briar with a serious stare.
“Briar?” she said.
“Yes?”
“When you and Rowan get married, I’m going to be your flower girl. Okay?”
