3.
Free Gretchen.
4.
Find a cure for my curse and free Rowan from his.
He pinned it between sketches of tailored jackets and trailing gowns, teacup dresses and pantsuits. Ideas Linden had overhauled, but Briar liked his own versions enough to keep them. For later, he told himself.
There might notbea later.
A knock interrupted his brooding. Vatii, who’d been helpfully picking up Linden’s sketches from the desk and chucking them on the floor, flew to the window.
“It’s Rowan,” she said.
A blend of relief and trepidation came over him. Rowan, dressed in a winter coat and—still, even after everything—the scarf Briar made him, smiled with equal relief when Briar opened the door. Since the trip to hospital, they hadn’t seen one another. Briar wondered if he’d wrecked everything they had, if the leftover food had been a bit of charity due to his worsening health.
“Briar. I came to check in, see if you’re all right.” He looked nervous. “How are you?”
“Bit better. Thank you for the leftovers. They really helped.”
Rowan held up another plastic bag. “I brought more. Well, not Christmas dinner.”
In the wash of winter air coming in, Briar shivered. Rowan kicked snow off his boots and shuffled inside. He set the bag on the counter next to the till.
“Thank you,” Briar said again. “I haven’t been able to cook. You don’t have to do this, though. Especially not after I, well—”
“Ah, Briar.” Rowan held up a hand to hush him. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
The hook in Briar’s heart twisted. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Good. You look good. I mean—I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I am.”
“Good. And taking it easy, like?”
“Yep. Getting loads of beauty rest.”
“Good.” He’d said “good” a lot and seemed to know it. He frowned. The anxious fidgeting that had marked his discomfort in Éibhear’s office returned. “I’ve something to show you.” From his pocket, he pulled something spherical, along with something smaller that glinted gold. Perhaps a coin, as he quickly put it back in his pocket. He held the first item in his open palm. It looked like a soap bubble made of semitransparent obsidian. Inside, violet-and-ruby smoke undulated in a storm. Briar took an involuntary step back from it. It had an insidious aura—polluted like rusty water from a groaning tap. He hadn’t noticed at first because Rowan’s aura dominated.
“What is it?” Rowan asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s disgusting. Where did you get it?”
“Mam had a key for the drawer in Da’s office. This was inside. Drawer was marked with runes. Look.”
He showed Briar a photo on his phone of the inside of the drawer. A chain of black runes bisected the bottom and sides—rune wards. Not as powerful as the wards protecting Coill Darragh, but they would protect the thing in the drawer. Or contain it.
