“You came for answers. Here they are.” She tapped the Two of Cups. “With your humble man, you will find a heart that can hold yours. A soul divinely paired to your own. True—”
“Don’t say it.”
“True love.”
Briar’s gaze stuck to the card beneath, where a skeletal rider on a pale horse grinned back at him. “But I’ll die.”
Niamh spread her hands above the cards, the many faces of which stared dispassionately at Briar. “Yes,” she said. “You’ll die.”
It hurt. It confirmed every instinct that had told Briar to keep away from Rowan, but still it hurt. He bit back the vinegary sting, the lump of things he couldn’t say lodged in his throat. “So I can choose to live or love. Not both.”
Niamh considered Briar across the table. She’d never been the nurturing sort. Cudgel blunt and sensitive as an iron maiden. He didn’t expect to see the sympathy brimming in her eyes. “I’d say it’s a sight more complicated, but yes. These are your choices.”
Her face began to blur. Mortified, Briar swiped at his eyes, thinking he’d let himself cry. He hadn’t, though. The SoothSight spell wore thin.
“It’s time you went and met that destiny of yours, Briar,” Niamh said, her voice distant yet sonorous. “I’m sure as anything I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Then the real world grabbed Briar by the scruff and pulled. Niamh’s desk melted away. He heard the caw of birds as he slammed back in his chair. It rocked hard enough he nearly tipped over. Vatii, the source of all the screeching, regarded him with beady concern.
“You started shaking something awful,” she said.
He felt awful. While scrying, his symptoms had been distant. Now they swarmed in. Holding his head, he went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard reserved for all his potions, unstopping one and draining it. Connor had said to take them whenever his symptoms worsened, but the current dosage should have been enough. He’d taken one that morning—
He looked out the window, the sun blearily high in the sky.
“You were gone a long time,” Vatii said. “I was afraid to call you back.
It must have been important. What did Niamh tell you?”
The impotence of his answer drained him. “Nothing good.”
Vatii commiserated over the cryptic content of Niamh’s reading. It hadn’t illuminated anything about the mysteries of Coill Darragh, but at least it put one theory to bed. The man from her initial vision had to be Linden. Rowan, according to Niamh, would only bring a swift death.
Briar didn’t want to think too long or hard about his love life, so he returned to the trusted method he’d always employed when he didn’t know what to do with himself: his vision board.
Reviewing the goals he’d listed upon arriving in Coill Darragh had a sobering effect. He’d accomplished most. He’d brewed Diarmuid his potion, made amends with Maebh, knitted a scarf for Rowan. He’d created a number of garments and sold them. Even, he liked to think, made many clients happy. He recalled the woman he’d knitted mittens for holding the small ones for her children. “The kids’ll outgrow them in no time, but maybe they can give them to their kids.” It touched him to think he could make something that became a family heirloom.
Now, as he pulled out a purple card to write his goals on, the first thing that came to mind was,Don’t die.
Composing himself, he came up with something to redirect his focus.
1.
Create a collection that leaves my mark on the world.
2.
Uncover the secrets in Coill Darragh.
