She was free of it.
CHAPTER 22
Linden said, “What’s this?”
Briar showed him the dried carnellas the following morning, though not much of them remained to look at.
“Remember my ghosty flatmate situation? She hid this before she died. They’re called red carnellas, and they were special somehow, but she can’t remember everything, and now they’re extinct. I wondered if you knew anything about them?”
Linden’s eyebrows reached into his hairline. With reverence, he took the box from Briar’s hands. “Where to begin? Did your, er, ‘ghost roommate’ remember anything about them at all?”
“Only that they had special properties that were difficult to harness.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Linden agreed.
“So you’ve heard of them?”
“I have. You recall I mentioned rumors of a panacea found in Coill Darragh? The red carnella was purported to be the primary ingredient.”
Hope pulsed in Briar’s heart.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Linden said quickly. “But I wouldn’t put too much faith in this. Literature on red carnellas is spartan given their rarity, but from what I understand, the use of carnellas as tithes yielded nothing. They were fragile, temperamental. Whatever magic they contained was too easily broken down.”
“Then how did anyone know a panacea was possible using them?”
“Ah, who’s to say? Rumor, local legend. Perhaps someone, once, in a fluke bit of luck, managed something with them long ago, and no one’sbeen able to recreate it since. I believe it’s a myth, but—” He slid a finger over the lip of the box, a slight pinch between his eyebrows. “It’s worth investigating further. Any hope of finding something that could help you, I’ll take.”
In the years since Bowen’s Wane began devouring Briar’s future, he’d avoided hope like it was a snare ready to choke his final days. It was easier to press himself to work hard and bury himself in distractions, all the while convinced he’d live what time he had to the fullest rather than pray for the impossible.
Now, hope was a feverish, desperate burn in his breast.
“May I borrow these for study?” Linden asked. “I promise to return them to you and your—friend?”
“Gretchen.”
“Gretchen.” He took Briar’s hand, kissing the knuckles. “I’ll return them to you both, whether I find anything or not. I… I very much hope I do.”
The shy sincerity in his voice compelled Briar to grab Linden around the shoulders and squeeze. After a stunned moment, Linden hugged him back. His tactility still surprised Briar every time. Linden had made advances in the bedroom, but Briar shied away from anything more intimate than a kiss, using his health as an excuse. He felt guilty, and could see it wounded Linden, but he didn’t know how else to handle his lingering flame for Rowan. But in moments like these, where the intimacy was spontaneous and emotional, Linden froze up.
When Briar drew away, Linden’s eyelids fluttered. He looked as if he wanted more, even leaned forward to—Briar’s instincts bucked, and he drew away. Seeing Linden’s guarded persona snap back into place immediately, he said quickly, “I’m sorry. It’s not—Can I tell you something?”
Cautiously. “Of course.”
“I can read auras. Have since I was little, and it’s always been comforting. It makes me feel closer to people. Like I can really see them. But with you—your amulet prevents it. I haven’t felt your aura since that first night.”
“Ah…” Linden looked even more uncertain. “I didn’t know.”
“I know why you need it. But I think it’s why I sometimes feel like I barely know you.”
Linden touched his shirt where it covered the talisman. “It’s dangerous for me to go without it. There are plenty of witches happy to curse someone for the crime of being popular.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I just thought I’d explain why I’m sometimes—”
Linden lay a hand on his shoulder. “No need to apologize, Briar. It’s understandable, and it need not be forever. When you come with me to my estate in Pentawynn, I’ll be protected there and can remove this blasted thing.”
“Come with you? To Pentawynn?”
“Of course. I assumed you’d want—”
