“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Do you know what this is?” Briar opened the drawer.
In the pause before Linden moved, Briar wondered what he thought he’d been called for. Another emergency, perhaps. He seemed harried. Nevertheless, he straightened the linen of his shirt and came to look in the drawer. Seeing what was there, he stepped back.
“Briar, where did you get that?”
“Rowan found it.”
“Rowan.”
“The alderman. We were wondering what it is.”
Linden’s eyes narrowed. “How did he come by it? And why did he give it to you?”
“It’s a long story involving curses and wards and the town’s history of death and destruction. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Linden’s blue stare was indecipherable. He looked back at the sphere. “It’s a siphon.”
Briar had never heard of such a thing. “I wish I’d been more diligent in my apprenticeship, because you’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
Linden chuckled. “You seem more yourself today. Well, you needn’t worry. They’d never teach you about magic like this. It’s dangerous and taboo.” His eyes flicked to Briar’s arm. “So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you in possession of it.”
“Why is it taboo? What does it do?”
“A siphon hoards tithes from a hotbed of wild magic and contains them, to be used at the witch’s whim for powerful spells. It drains these tithes from any natural source of relative purity. A river, a forest, the sea—wherever tithes can be harvested en masse. They’re notoriously difficult to create and volatile to control when used. Highly dangerous magic.” He hovered a hand over the rune chain containing it. “Though you seem to understand that.”
“Where did it come from?”
“It appears,” Linden said, using the drawer to tilt the sphere just slightly, “that someone wanted to know the same thing. That’s a tracing rune on it.”
Briar’s eyes widened. It was difficult to see, but Linden was correct. A tracing rune had been drawn on the siphon to discover its creator. Had Éibhear discovered who made this and for what purpose? Had it led him to the battle, to his death?
Noticing his discontent, Linden shut the drawer. “You’ve done an excellent job containing it. I wonder, what do you plan to do with it?”
“Leave it there,” Briar said. Or use the same tracing spell to see if he could discover its owner, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
“It bothers you. Why?”
“It feels off.”
Linden tilted his head. He wore a smile so slight Briar almost missed it. “You’re quite sensitive, aren’t you?”
Briar puffed up. “I’d take offense, but yes, I am.”
Linden straightened to meet Briar’s eye. In the flicker of the candlelight, his expression softened like melted snow. “I meant no offense by it,” he said.
Briar only had a moment to register the look Linden gave him for what it was. Then Linden leaned in and kissed him.
It was not quite passionate and not quite chaste. It was just as Linden was—poised and lingering. It lasted long enough for Briar to feel chastened that he hadn’t closed his eyes or reacted at all.
Linden Fairchild was kissing him. Why wasn’t he kissing back?
When Linden broke away, his brow folded in confusion. Alarm bells went off in Briar’s head. This was the destiny laid out for him. He’d left Rowan to follow it, and he was about to spoil it.
“I’m sorry,” Linden said. “I thought you—”
Briar broke from his trance and lunged. He kissed back, eyes clamped shut. With determination, he stuffed away the thoughts and feelings that made him hesitate and guided Linden’s arms around him. He heard the pat of paws and flutter of wings as Vatii and Atticus left to give them privacy.
