A Spell for Heartsickness (The Rune Tithe #1)

CHAPTER 27

T he ferry sailed parallel to the shore, giving all aboard a long look at Pentawynn’s glass spires winking in the sun. Briar had postcards of the skyline from every time of day—amber dawns and starlit nights. The crowning jewel was the Magician’s Council Tower, a spiraling skyscraper like a unicorn’s horn.

It was colloquially referred to as the Horn for that reason, which usually made Briar laugh.

He found it difficult to laugh now, but something exultant filtered through at the view before him. He’d dreamed of it for years, and now he was here.

Linden had arranged for a driver to pick Briar up at the pier. He’d expected a taxi. Instead, the driver took him to a horse-drawn carriage, splendid in white and gold and surrounded by paparazzi. They parted, flashes leaving Briar temporarily blind. Linden waited there, hand extended, dressed like a prince in a half cape, jodhpurs, and riding gloves, smart and sharp as the slap Briar’s cheek still remembered. As Briar stepped up, Linden tilted his chin and kissed him chastely while the cameras flashed. Briar hoped they didn’t capture his despondence.

Settling into the carriage, a tickle of magic passed over them. “There’s a privacy spell to keep the press from eavesdropping, so we can speak freely here,” said Linden.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I hope the ferry ride was to your liking.”

Briar pushed out the memory of Rowan. “You were right. Pentawynn looks incredible from the water.”

“Good, I’m pleased. There’s much to discuss before your arrival at the manor.”

The horse’s hooves clopped against the pavement, and they pulled away into the streets. It felt like entering a jungle. Cars all around them, and buildings that increased in height the farther they went, until Briar had to crane his neck to see the sky. Bustling through the streets were countless witches, identifiable by their hats and skittering, flapping familiars.

Linden ran through a list of things he’d prepared for their showing at Finola’s Gala Runway. He went into detail about the stories he’d fed the press regarding the photo snapped of Briar and Rowan. They were only good friends, the photo only gave the appearance of something more, Linden and Briar were deeply enamored with each other and this was another attempt by the press to defame him, etcetera.

Briar stroked a hand through Vatii’s feathers, wistful for an alternate reality where he could fully enjoy this, where his eyes didn’t feel papery from crying, where his body didn’t ache like it was aflame.

The entrance to Linden’s estate was accessible down a private road. As the carriage passed under an arched gate, a wave of wards like the ones guarding Coill Darragh prickled over Briar’s skin. A thicket of trees obscured the grounds from public view. Through it was a long stretch of road framed by manicured topiary and symmetrical gardens. At the end, the manor strove tall and white toward the sky in pointed turrets and basrelief colonnades. The carriage pulled up to the entrance, and the driver opened the doors.

Inside the main foyer, the grandeur of the manor sank in. Curving staircases framed a three-story atrium. A crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling flung prismatic color against the walls, refracted from the sun coming through the skylights above. Everything was cut from the same cloth as the city itself. Glass, crystal, white walls, gold embellishments.

The grandeur and ostentation made him feel small. Such excess, while he’d pinched pennies for beans on toast.

Linden beheld Briar’s awe with satisfaction. “I’ll show you to my apartments. Well, ours .”

They climbed the stairs to the third floor, flanked by a footman carrying Briar’s luggage. A long hall from the atrium balcony led to a master bedroom. The doors off this hall were open to let in the sun, and through them were rooms for every occasion. A sitting room. A library. An alchemist’s laboratory. A crafts room.

One door was closed. “My study,” Linden said, and procured a key to open the door, revealing a tidy room of bookshelves and an oak desk with a stained-glass lamp. “It’s nothing special, but there are legal and private documents, so I prefer the servants leave it.” He locked it and returned the key to his pocket. Briar prickled at the mention of servants. Linden’s home was so large it needed an HR department.

Linden’s bedroom was enormous, with a four-poster bed so wide it was a ten-minute taxi ride from end to end. Enough room to spread out and not touch. Briar never slept in the same bed as Linden in Coill Darragh. Once cured, would expectations of a more physical relationship follow? Briar’s stomach twisted at the notion, his meager breakfast threatening an encore.

Linden took off his jacket, a servant hurrying to take it from him. He pulled the talisman from around his neck and tossed it on the vanity amongst bottles of beauty potions. Briar noticed the talisman’s surface was blackened and dented.

Following his line of sight, Linden tutted. “I’m afraid the effectiveness of my talisman is diminishing. It’s a sign it’s been under duress to protect me. I’ll have to get another.”

Atticus jumped up on the windowsill, eyes trained on a bird splashing in one of the shallow fountains behind the estate. Linden came to stand next to Briar. Freed of the talisman’s influence, his aura swept through Briar like a cool wind sneaking through gaps in his clothes.

“My parents want you to join us for dinner. I’ve left clothes for you on the bed.”

A waistcoat with a back panel of blue fabric speckled like the night sky lay on the coverlet. Trousers, a poet’s shirt, and some jewelry came with it.

“How do I…” Briar didn’t know how to phrase the question. “How do I make them like me?”

“It’s not in their nature to be pleased by anything or anyone. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is our destiny, not theirs.”

A splitting ache in Briar’s head made it impossible to contemplate things as large as destiny. “Linden, I don’t mean to push, but the cure. Do you know when it will be ready?”

“Yes, I wanted to discuss that with you. I thought maybe after dinner, but—no. Sit, sit. I’ll get your potion.”

Briar abandoned his trunk, which he’d been struggling to open. He hoisted himself onto the bed. Linden returned with his elixir, which Briar drank.

“The cure is a complicated endeavor, I’m afraid. Not nearly so simple as drinking a potion.”

“How much more complicated?” Briar said.

“Very. Before I explain, promise me you’ll listen. When I first thought of it, I was convinced it would be impossible. Unreasonable. But I see no alternative.”

Briar’s heart kicked. “I’m listening.”

“I researched the red carnellas. Seeing as you had a small sample, I thought perhaps something could come of them. However, my search bore nothing. What little I did find reported the same thing—the blooms are fragile. Whatever unique magic they possess, it breaks down easily.

“So I researched the wood they came from instead. Did you know? The red carnella’s extinction occurred ten years ago—I thought that could not be a coincidence. Though I cannot prove my theory, I believe the erection of the wards destroyed the flower entirely. Made the land unsuitable to its growth. So—”

“You want to destroy the wards?”

“No,” Linden said. “I want to destroy the forest itself.”

Briar reeled. He harbored no love for the forest, but he’d seen what happened when people threatened it. At the revulsion on Briar’s face, Linden took his hands.

“I understand your reaction. I felt the same, particularly after that business with that man—Kenneth, was it? But please consider, Briar, your time is short. We can waffle over theories and mythical panaceas, or we can cure you by the most sure-fire, expedient means, of which there are only two. The curse caster releases you, which it has refused to do, or the curse caster dies.”

“But—” Briar sputtered. “H-how? How do you kill it without hurting, maybe even killing , all the people connected to it?”

“I had the same misgivings, but I discovered that, even all those years ago, and with the exception of éibhear, the forest has never killed a Coill Darraghn. It has injured plenty, but I believe killing its people would be counterproductive. If it uses the energy of Coill Darraghns to heal its wounds or feed its power—like batteries, if you will—it can’t lose them completely.”

Briar absorbed that. “But how do you know it won’t lash out at you . You’re not Coill Darraghn.”

“If you married me, I would be.”

“I’m not Coill Darraghn either.”

Linden pointed at his bare wrist. “The forest treats you otherwise.”

Briar’s brow scrunched. Many things crowded in his head, too many to voice all at once. He started with the most obvious. “It killed Kenneth, and he was technically Coill Darraghn after his engagement. He didn’t wear his bracelet.”

“I considered that. I believe Kenneth erred when he failed to nurture his relationship with Aisling. Spurned, she considered the engagement broken, or perhaps she stopped loving him, and his citizenship was revoked.”

The theory picked at the scabs of Briar’s wounds. If what Linden said was true, then Briar’s own acceptance was conditional on Rowan’s love for him. Given what happened on the pier, Rowan should hate him.

He didn’t, though. He’d stood on that pier, watching Briar leave. His love held, dependable as the rising sun.

“Say we go through with this,” Briar said. “How do you kill an entire forest? What spell could possibly be powerful enough?”

“A challenge, but mostly a question of resources. As we’ve already seen, siphons can damage it badly. It wasn’t fully recovered from the wounds inflicted by Kenneth while we were there. I could create enough siphons to devour it like it’s been devouring you—however, it recovers too quickly and harms Coill Darraghns in the process. I needed to discover its weakness. On this point, I was at a loss. I hate to admit it, but the alderman’s predicament is what gave me the final piece to the puzzle.”

Briar prickled with suspicion, but he asked, “Rowan’s?”

“The forest calls upon him, doesn’t it? In its time of need, it draws him in as a sacrifice to heal itself. Given what his father did, I thought it best to delve into the history of magical human sacrifices. A grisly topic, but I learned of an interesting principle. A sacrifice, willingly given, produces much more powerful spells than something stolen or traded. It explains why the energy the forest takes forcibly from Coill Darraghns fails to heal it satisfactorily, while éibhear’s singular sacrifice has powered the wards and the forest’s magic for a decade.

“I believe éibhear is the true source of the forest’s power, and that his remains, wherever they are, continue to feed its growth. Destroying them would render the forest vulnerable, make it easy to clear with fire or siphons or any normal means.”

“So you want to, what? Dig up éibhear’s body?” Briar couldn’t disguise his disgust. “And do what? Burn it?”

Linden sounded frustrated. “I know it sounds crude, but think about what the forest has done to you. What it’s currently doing to the alderman. I bear no love for that beastly man, as you well know, but the forest is a menace. It ought to be dealt with, and if it’s the source of your curse, perhaps it cursed every person inflicted with Bowen’s Wane. Had you considered that? Would burning one man’s remains really be so criminal if it could free everyone ensnared by this malignant thing? We can grow more trees.”

Vatii looked uneasy. “I don’t like this.”

Briar didn’t either. When he’d gone into the forest last, it had been a shade of itself, ravaged by siphons. Had Linden planted them during his experiments, endangering Rowan’s life? Even in pursuit of a cure, Briar recoiled at the thought of it. But their options were limited. If this could free Rowan…

“You’re confident this will work?” Briar asked.

“More confident than I’ve ever been.”

Briar hesitated before asking, but he had to know. “Would it hurt Rowan or free him?”

“It would likely unbind the sacrificial magic,” Linden said with a hint of reproof. “He’d be safe.”

Briar said, “Okay… In that case, yes. Let’s do it.”

Linden softened. “I knew you’d understand.” He patted Briar’s hand, and Briar wished that didn’t make his skin crawl. Something still seemed wrong in all this. “We should get ready for dinner.” He crossed the room. Atticus lingered, eyeing Briar, then followed.

Linden had a point—the forest was a terrible, malevolent force. It had killed Briar’s mother. He should want vengeance, want it gone. It could save his life, Rowan’s life, and countless others if what Linden said was true. But the plan rankled. Killing the forest outright? Was his hesitation borne of nothing more than spending so long in Coill Darragh that the tradition of respecting the forest as much as fearing it had sunk into him as well?

It wasn’t this that irked him, though. Vatii put to words why he so distrusted this.

“He needs you to marry him for this plan to work, Briar.”

Briar shuddered. Linden began courting him so suddenly, after he’d said he only wanted to be friends. So how long had he been planning this, really?

Briar called out, “Linden… are you only asking me to marry you so you’ll be Coill Darraghn? So you can kill the forest?”

Linden turned. The softness in his voice had gone. “Are you here because you love me or because I have the cure?”

The ugliness of the question hit Briar in the sternum. Winded him.

“You should get ready for dinner,” Linden murmured. “My parents won’t like to be kept waiting.”

A servant led Briar to the dining room, candlelit with a circular table and settings for four. A fireplace roared with cerulean flames. Suspended above the table in an enchanted glass sphere, an aquarium of tropical fish cast eerie, dancing lights over Linden and his parents.

“Ah, there you are,” Linden said. “Thank you for joining us.”

Both Gresham and Adelaide had removed their talismans; Adelaide’s aura was a finger sinking through overripe fruit. Gresham’s, the smell of a hospital.

A servant pulled out Briar’s chair and tucked him in, unfolding the napkin shaped like a swan to lay on his lap. Servers glutted their glasses with wine in a synchronized dance. In the flickering blue light cast by the fire and the aquarium, Linden’s parents frightened Briar, and he weighed the pros and cons of surviving the meal while plastered.

Linden led the conversation. First, to Briar’s adept persuasion of Finola to invite them to her gala. Then, to Briar swaying the press to reconsider their views on taboo magic like flesh tithes.

“And that man? The alderman,” said Gresham.

Linden let Briar answer. “A friend. The photo looked like more than it was.”

There was a blessed quiet when the first course arrived—beluga caviar on blini with sour cream and chives. Briar would have watched to see how Linden ate it, but all eyes were on him, awaiting his verdict. Did he use utensils or just pop it in his mouth with his fingers? It was very small. Briar opted to use his hands. He hardly tasted the thing, too nervous to appreciate it. He said “Mmm!” and Linden’s parents nodded, satisfied.

Briar drank more wine. He was glad for the aquarium, which gave him something tranquil to look at. Fish in rainbow colors danced through the water and corals. A particularly mesmerizing one had red fins like chiffon veils. More courses arrived, each with a list of ingredients Briar had never seen at the grocery store.

Adelaide addressed Briar, at first neutrally. “How do you like the food?”

“It’s delicious.”

“We hope you’ve made yourself comfortable. How do you find the estate?”

“It’s beautiful. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t think you told us where you’re from?”

“I moved around a lot,” he said. “But I grew up in Port Haven.”

“Lovely place,” said Adelaide. “Quaint, but friendly.”

Summoning courage, Briar said, “You won’t remember, but I saw you there, years ago.”

Both Adelaide and Gresham stopped eating.

“During your Miracle Tour. I saw Linden cure people of so many fatal ailments, and I guess I was smitten from the start.”

Linden smiled as he lifted a spoonful of bisque to his lips.

Gresham and Adelaide exchanged an indecipherable look. “You were there?”

“Yes. With my mother. It was—is—one of my fondest memories.”

Gresham took a determined sip of his soup. Adelaide’s mouth opened and closed. Briar couldn’t determine if his praise had been well received. He didn’t understand how it could be interpreted badly.

Gresham dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Son, I really think we should speak about this—”

“No,” Linden said coldly.

“But darling, this engagement, this affair, it’s all been so sudden,” Adelaide said.

“No more abrupt than your own engagement,” Linden returned. “How soon was I born? Six months after your wedding?”

Adelaide’s attention shot to Briar, then back to Linden, a look of mortification melting into appeasement. “Maybe your father’s correct. We should discuss this alone.”

It had struck Briar as odd that they continued to bring this up in front of him. From the sounds of it, Linden had never given them the opportunity to speak privately, forcing them to engage him with an audience in the hopes they wouldn’t raise the topic at all.

“I already told you there’s nothing to debate,” Linden said. “Briar and I are in love. We’re a good match. That should be enough for you.”

Gresham slammed a hand on the table so hard the bit of bisque left in his bowl splashed. “Dammit, Linden, we hardly know this man! We don’t know how he might—”

Linden’s hand clenched into a fist, and Gresham stopped abruptly. A horror-struck look crossed his face, which purpled with unuttered frustration. His moustache bristled.

Briar’s insides froze despite the heat of the meal.

Adelaide looked between them, a hand to her breast.

“Oh, stop! I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You both,” Linden growled, “are the ones who insist upon calling my judgment into question at every opportunity. My relationships, my choice in career, the way I conduct myself with the public—you’ve never approved, and I don’t expect you to start. Your opinion of Briar is noted but irrelevant. You can either learn to like him or continue to air your misguided sentiments, but do so safe in the knowledge that mine won’t change.”

Adelaide gave a shaky nod. Gresham choked, hardly breathing, but finally nodded, too. He inhaled sharply, the room silent enough they could all hear it.

“Good.” Linden’s hand unclenched to pick up his spoon again. “Ah, it’s gone cold.”

It ended that conversation. Briar was almost sorry for Linden’s parents.

When dinner was finally over, and they all got up to go, Briar noticed the red fish was missing from the aquarium.

There was a bathroom down the hall from Linden’s master suite. It was Briar’s now. Linden had an en suite to himself.

Briar’s bathroom was palatial. He considered soaking in the tub, but he couldn’t figure out what the different knobs did, and given his curse, he decided not to risk drowning. He showered and tied one of the fluffy towels around his waist. In the mirror, his reflection was a shadow of himself. His ribs showed. The inky tithes covered so much more of him than before.

He touched the one on his chest, the one linked to Rowan’s charm. He’d come knowing that, if something happened, it would alert him that Rowan was in danger. But what if the distance prevented it? Or the wards around Coill Darragh, around this estate, blocked it?

A new toothbrush had been provided for him. The toothpaste came from a crystal pump. He’d accidentally used the one that distributed soap first.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” he told Vatii.

She shuffled along the marble rim of the sink. “I don’t know if I want us to get used to it.”

“You were the one always telling me not to mess around with Rowan. That I needed to embrace my destiny, all that. Now you don’t want to get used to it?”

Vatii bowed her head, chagrined. “I know. I’ve tried to guide you down the right path, but the more time we spend with Linden, the more I wonder if I’ve done right by you, or if I’ve given you bad advice.” She hopped across the counter and nudged his hand with her beak. “I’m so sorry, Briar. I’ve failed you.”

Briar’s anger subsided as quickly as it came. “It’s not your fault, Vatii… I’m an adult. I’m past the point where I can blame my mentors and teachers or whoever else for my decisions.”

She hopped onto his wrist and sidled up his arm to nuzzle his cheek. “I’m still sorry.”

He sighed. “Me too.”

Too tired to carry on, he combed out his plait, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He almost didn’t notice the figure behind him, but movement in the mirror made him jump.

Adelaide looked just as she had at dinner, except her hair was loosed from its knot. She took a step into the bathroom, blocking the door.

She spoke so low, Linden wouldn’t hear. “I’ve come to ask you something. I want you to be truthful in your answer.”

Briar spat a mouthful of toothpaste foam into the sink. “Okay.”

“Do you love him? Truly?”

Briar felt like no response was the right one. “I’m not after his money.”

“That’s not an answer.” Her voice was a hiss to keep from raising it. “Countless men and women have thrown themselves at him for years, and none got far. What do you have to offer? You’ve sullied yourself with tainted magic, you’ve already brought the vultures to our door, and they don’t forgive mistakes. Not of people like us. So what is it about you that’s worth the risk?”

Every mark on Briar’s body felt hot as an iron in coals. She wasn’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t Linden’s money Briar wanted, but the power to save his life. Was that, in the end, any different? Probably not to her.

“I’m cursed,” he said. It seemed to echo off the bathroom tiles. “I’m dying, and he can save me. There. Is that the answer you wanted?”

Adelaide’s face went white.

“I’d love to love him, and I’m trying,” he went on, “but he isn’t easy to get to know, and you haven’t made it easier.”

She didn’t seem to be listening. “You’ll be the ruin of us.”

Briar’s emotions flared and sank like a ship tossed in a violent storm. He couldn’t settle on one. He’d never failed so badly to do the right thing, or to make a good impression, or to be liked. These were things that had once come easily. Chief amongst those feelings was a deep sense of unfairness. He’d worked so hard, tried with everything he had to do the right thing, follow a path to success that was hard won on his own. She made it sound as though none of it counted, and it had all been to Linden’s credit.

Briar knew the irony in saying it, but he said it anyway. “Is it really so hard to believe I could make him happy?”

She grabbed Briar’s tithed arm. He recoiled, but she held it hard enough that he couldn’t pull free, and her nails dug crescents into the skin. Vatii let out a squawk of reproach.

Adelaide spoke every word like a string of curses. “You are not so charming that his affection could be genuine. If I find which of these you used to ensnare him, I’ll burn it off.”

Stricken, Briar couldn’t reply. Her grip tightened enough to bruise.

“Mother!” Linden’s voice was a whip crack.

Adelaide released Briar with a look like a chastised child. “Linden, please—”

“You will have your private conversation,” he said, “but you will not like it. Get out.”

Without question, she obeyed.

Briar couldn’t put everything together just yet, but—the manor, the meal, the way the Fairchilds spoke to one another—all of it seemed off, an illustrious feast of rotten food glamoured to appear fresh. Briar’s fear, once focused on Adelaide, pivoted to Linden.

“I’m sorry about my parents. They have no respect for boundaries.”

“It’s all right,” Briar said. He suppressed a shudder as Linden came forward. He recalled the sharp sting of knuckles and a ring impacting his cheek. He recalled the vitriol with which Linden spoke to his parents. He recalled Gresham gasping for air, and a fish vanishing from the aquarium.

Linden tilted his chin up to look into his face. Briar held firm.

“I should lend you some of the skin elixirs I have. The curse is affecting you quite badly.”

Briar said, “My vanity would appreciate it.”

A soft chuckle. “Come to bed when you’re ready.”

Briar sat in Linden’s monstrous bed with his knees tucked up, running his fingers over the fine cotton of the new bed shirt he’d been given, trying to calm his racing heart. The sound of running water issued from the en suite as Linden showered.

The bedroom doors were open, giving Briar a view of the atrium down the hall. Their floor was on a level with the chandelier, which glittered at the edge of Briar’s vision like a shadow that vanished once investigated. The sense of déjà vu he got from it was potent and inexplicable.

His stomach churned. It was not only the meal, or the alienating luxury of the manor, or that altercation in the bathroom. It was the silk on his skin. The open door to the bathroom, where Linden showered. The condom on the bedside cabinet.

That he wanted no part of this was a crushing pressure cracking his ribs.

Linden emerged, mercifully dressed and drying his hair. “I suppose I’ll have to go speak with my parents about privacy. I’ll return shortly. Perhaps, then, we can finally spend time together properly.” He pressed a kiss to Briar’s forehead. By a strong resolve, Briar didn’t shiver at the touch or the oppressive fog of his aura.

Linden shut the doors. His footsteps receded like the ticking of a clock.

Briar swept the covers back and got out of bed. He pulled his tithe belt from his luggage and withdrew a feather—one of Vatii’s. Atticus was with Linden, and his hearing would be acute. So, with difficulty, Briar cast a spell that allowed him to pass without sound or trace, so long as he was careful and nobody saw him. He didn’t have a tithe powerful enough for invisibility, and it drained him terribly just to use the silencing one anyway.

Vatii whispered with pride, “I’m coming with you.”

The oiled hinges on the doors made no noise as he opened them. Vatii crouched on his shoulder. He hadn’t used the silencing spell on a bird before, and didn’t know if it would quiet her wings. Given his fragile state and the risk it could go wrong, they didn’t chance it.

Finding Linden would be difficult. Three stories and two wings, the east and west, to cover. From the exterior alone, Briar could tell that each had hidden depths—guest apartments, additions to accommodate growing art collections.

Linden had said the art galleries were in the east wing, so Briar guessed the residences wouldn’t share the same space and headed down the west hall.

No lights or open doors hinted where Linden had gone. Briar’s steps, silent instead of echoing cavernously, were eerie. These rooms could have anti-eavesdropping charms, so he might not hear voices to follow. The doors he tried were all locked regardless.

At the end of the hall, stairs led down to the floor below. He tried to mark the place in his mind so he could find his way back.

At the bottom, Briar saw the first sign of life. A sliver of yellow light cut through the gap in a door at the end of the hall, and from it issued voices. He crept closer. Headless, winged statues thronged the hall, and he kept to these as cover in case anyone came out the door. He recognized Linden’s voice first, loud enough to be heard several meters away.

“What have I said before? I do hate it when you undermine me.”

His parents’ side of the conversation was muffled, too difficult to hear. Briar gave Vatii a look. She was small and could fly closer, but it was unlikely she could do so without alerting Atticus. She shook her head.

Briar snuck closer, hiding behind the second-to-last statue. He could see, through the gap in the door, Linden standing with his back to them, Atticus seated at his heels. Both Adelaide and Gresham, still in their dinner clothes, looked fretful as their son laid into them. Briar thanked his luck that the hall was dark, but if Atticus turned, his lamp-like eyes would cut through it. Listening instead of looking was best. Briar pressed against the wall and held his breath.

“We only want what’s best for you, darling,” said Adelaide.

“And that stunt with Briar?”

“What your mother means is she fears the threat he poses. To you, to this family.”

Briar scowled. What threat could he possibly pose?

“I had that under control. It is your interrogations that have made him suspicious, so to my mind, it is you who poses the greater threat right now.”

“Linden, if you would only consider,” said Gresham, “the risks if your plan fails could be—”

“Careful.”

“—catastrophic. For us, but for you especially.”

“You doubt me? And why should that ever be a surprise? You’ve never had any faith.”

“We have had boundless faith in you!” Adelaide demurred. “We were happy to support you in every way we could throughout the duration of your Miracle Tour. We gave tithes of ourselves quite happily to make that all happen for you, don’t you remember?”

Gresham said, “If it was any other cursed boy—”

Briar strained so hard to hear, held his breath so tightly that the world went still.

“It cannot be any other. He’s the only Coill Darraghn.”

Gresham’s voice shook. “A Coill Darraghn with a close relationship to the alderman, who can read auras, and who lives in that house—”

“Silence!”

The bark of Linden’s voice echoed down the hall, reverberating in the cage of Briar’s straining lungs. What did Briar’s flat or his relationship with Rowan have to do with it?

These questions were clogged gears screaming into motion. The ticking clock finally arrived on all the answers. Icy with dread, Briar’s arms raised in gooseflesh.

He peeked out to see Linden taking a step backward. It was time to go.

Linden said, “You wanted this life for me, you wanted the fame and fortune. Well, this is the cost. We must take risks, we must protect what we have, and this is the best way, the only way. You’ve seen the papers. It isn’t only idle gossip and conspiracy theories any longer—very reasonable people are calling into question what really happened to our family all those years ago, and it’s only a matter of time before someone comes forward with proof.

Unless we rectify the situation and cover our tracks, as I’ve proposed.”

“But if he discovers that you were behind it all—”

“Our marriage contract will prevent him telling anyone, provided he agrees to marry me, which you’ve very much jeopardized with your rotten meddling. I won’t hear any more of it. Next you raise your voice against me in front of Briar, you will find you don’t have a voice at all. I’ll tithe an entire sea of fish so that I never have to hear you again. Do you understand me?”

Linden and Atticus still had their backs to the door, but Briar could see Adelaide’s and Gresham’s faces. Wan, petrified, pleading. Adelaide said, “Of course, of course, whatever you like, my darling. We’re sorry.”

And Briar saw them as if for the first time. Not as the overbearing parents who’d burdened their son with the weight of impossible expectations, but who had spoiled him so thoroughly that he’d learned he was their master. Had they actually sent Linden to Coill Darragh, or was that just a story, a twisted perspective? Had all their disapproval actually been fear for his safety? He didn’t know.

All Briar knew for certain was that they looked at their son and were afraid.

By now, Briar was sure of things that made his stomach churn like he’d eaten something spoiled. He needed proof, and he thought he knew where to find it.

First, he had to ensure he didn’t get caught.

Clutching Vatii to his chest so she wouldn’t flap, Briar ran back down the hall, casting a backward look as he reached the end of it. Just in time to see a hand push the door open, light spilling out.

He couldn’t climb the stairs—Linden would no doubt see his feet disappearing up the top of them. He turned a sharp left and went as fast as his legs could carry him. This hall stretched all the way back to the atrium. Any second now, Linden would emerge behind him, and there were no more statues to hide behind.

Heart in his throat, Briar pressed himself into the shallow alcove of a doorway and prayed.

Linden’s footsteps rang on the marble, louder as he reached the spot where, if he or Atticus turned, they might see the sliver of a shape sticking out from a doorway. Under Briar’s hands, Vatii’s little heartbeat fluttered. He watched as Linden passed without looking to his left, making his way up the stairs. Atticus trotted at his heels, sweeping up the stairs.

Briar waited a few seconds, let out his breath, then hurried the rest of the way down the hall.

He came to the atrium on the second floor. Heading for the stairs, he heard footsteps again and, looking up, saw Linden emerge from the hall above. Briar was in clear view. Still hugging Vatii, he whirled and pressed himself behind the thick column of the banister.

Linden hadn’t noticed him. His footsteps receded down the hall, but now Briar had a different issue altogether.

Linden was about to return to an empty bedroom.

Climbing the stairs, Briar peeked down the hall to see Linden quietly open the door and push through.

Briar ran, wondering what to do, wondering what to say when Linden inevitably questioned him about where he’d gone. From the bedroom, Linden called his name.

In a fit of mad inspiration, Briar dove left into his own bathroom, not bothering to flick on the light. He managed to shut the door without making a sound and, hurriedly, yanked the pull chain to flush the toilet. The sound of the swirling water seemed deafening. He busily washed his hands, spitting to dispel the silencing charm. He dried off, trying to get his panic under control, trying to convince himself there was no need to fear Linden.

Linden wouldn’t harm him, he thought, but then he remembered the slap and Rowan saying, You were ill and hurting, and he hurt you worse all because he was jealous.

He opened the door.

Linden waited on the other side of it. “Ah. There you are.”

“Er, yes, had to use the toilet.” Briar pointed to it.

“You could have used the en suite.”

Puffing up and doing his best to sound funny instead of out of breath, Briar retorted, “But this toilet’s mine .”

After a suspicious pause in which Linden seemed to doubt his sincerity, he finally laughed.

“Glad to see you’re making yourself at home, then.”

But he held Briar’s hand back to the bedroom.

Inside, Linden closed the doors, offering Briar a last glimpse of the chandelier winking at the end of the dark hall.

The recognition hit Briar threefold.

The last time he’d seen that chandelier was in the window of a portal, through which Gretchen’s murderer fled.

Linden turned back to him. The look he gave Briar then made him feel like a rabbit in a snare. Satisfaction and seductive intent coiled lazily together in the hooded flick of his gaze. He set a hand on Briar’s neck and leaned in to kiss him. Revulsion hit Briar so strongly his memory blanked. Next thing he knew, Linden had pulled away, a smirk playing across the lips Briar couldn’t believe he’d kissed.

“It’s so good to finally be alone with you without the usual barriers. Amulets. The public,” Linden said.

Briar squeezed his eyes shut when another kiss came. He silently screamed into it. This man was a murderer. He could summon sweet words, but Briar could no longer pretend they weren’t sickle-sharp lies. He knew the truth, and it made touching Linden abhorrent, unforgivable. At the same time, it felt dangerous to deny him. Suspicion already clouded their every interaction.

He couldn’t alert Linden to what he knew.

He couldn’t let those hands touch him, either. He’d be sick.

But then, he was already sick.

He feigned a stumble, eyes fluttering, then hit the floor.

Now Linden’s hands were on him, but at least not sneaking under clothes. “Briar?” he said. How had Briar ever thought that voice could sound kind ?

“The curse,” Briar said. “I’m—sorry. I don’t think I can do this until I’m feeling better.”

“No, of course, how insensitive of me. I apologize. Ardor overcame me.

We will have you feeling better soon. For now, you should rest.” He helped Briar into bed and kissed him goodnight.

Briar held his breath and hoped it would be the last touch he ever endured from Linden Fairchild.

It took a while for Linden to fall asleep. Revelations spun in Briar’s head, and the curse ailed him with dogged conviction. He lay on his side with his back to Linden, a gulf of mattress between them.

He’d formulated a plan, and now he waited for the moment to execute it.

The issue was Atticus. Sneaking out of bed without disturbing a person, that was a feat, but not impossible. Without alerting a cat? He had to await the perfect moment, when Atticus was too deeply asleep to notice anyone casting spells.

Mostly, he depended on Vatii for this. She settled on the mattress within reach of Atticus’s pluming tail. Every once in a while, she’d give the hairs a gentle pluck. If Atticus twitched his tail or swiveled an ear, she pretended to sleep again.

Finally, she whispered, “It’s now or never.”

Briar took the feather she gave him and cast the same silencing spell. Vatii went to his belt of tithes and pulled out a small bottle of fine white sand. Normally, he used it to enchant pajamas to make the wearer feel cozy and sleepy. This time it would ensure that, when he moved, neither Linden nor Atticus would wake.

Every incantation now felt next to impossible—dredging moisture out of desert air—but adrenaline helped. The pinch of sand in his palm vanished. Nothing seemed to occur, except Linden took a long, deep breath. A sleepy sigh.

Briar rolled to his feet. If the spells didn’t hold, and he was caught now… well, he had a few lies prepared, but he doubted they would hold water.

It took some searching to find Linden’s keys. The trousers he’d been wearing when he tucked them in his pocket were gone, collected by a servant. Briar looked through the walk-in closet, searching cubbies and drawers. Eventually, Vatii swooped to his shoulder and nipped his ear.

“The bedside cabinet,” she said.

Sure enough, the drawer was slightly ajar. Sleep charm or no, Briar held his breath as he pulled it open, watching Linden for signs of waking. The ring of keys lay amongst a few pouches of tithes. Linden color coded them, and the blue one contained bone powder.

If Briar got caught, that was his escape route. He took out the jar that had contained his sand and scooped a measure of bone dust into it. Before he shut the drawer, he noticed something else. A familiar bracelet, the stone shining in the low light. Linden might notice if he tampered with it, but Briar could not allow him to return to Coill Darragh. Making a snap decision, he took the knife from his tithe belt and sawed through the bracelet, severing it. Then he gently shut the drawer, leaving it slightly ajar like before.

Keys clutched in his fist so they wouldn’t jingle, Briar crept out of the room and to the shut door amongst all the open ones in the hall. He slipped the key into the lock. The plunk of the heavy metal sliding open mimicked the heavy beat in his chest.

The inside of Linden’s study, dimly lit by moonlight, was just as he’d left it. Mahogany bookcases housed heavy tomes. The tidy space left fewer places to explore than the ransacked contents of éibhear’s office, but Briar’s time was limited. He started with the desk drawers. In the first he found nothing but pens, parchment. He opened the next, and his stomach lurched.

A dozen siphons rolled around inside. Similar runes to the ones Briar had drawn were scrawled in the drawer, disguising their foul auras. Briar shut it.

The big cabinet at the bottom housed books with cracked spines and weathered pages. The titles all related to curses and the wild magic of places like Coill Darragh.

None of it was the thing he searched for. The thing he was now certain Linden possessed.

He found other alarming things. Sheaves of paper, notes cataloguing the effects the forest had on his talisman, and on a “Subject K.” Subject K appeared in many of the notes, sometimes carrying out instructions at Linden’s behest, sometimes as a test subject, until a note dated in January which marked him as deceased.

Beneath that, in Linden’s curling script, it read: Engagement or marriage conveys safety, but disruption of relationship possibly responsible for forest’s attack.

Subject K . Kenneth. It had to be.

On the wall, a photo of Linden and his beaming parents caught Briar’s eye. In it, Linden looked no older than sixteen. Shining banners above his head read Fairchild Miracle Tour —it could have been taken at Port Haven, for all that the image sparked Briar’s memory.

And on Linden’s shoulder, faint after spells and probably a good deal of makeup, was a ragged scar that looked like it could have been made by a thorny vine.

He bore it no longer, but it had been there.

“He killed Gretchen, Vatii.” A lump rose in Briar’s throat. “God, he killed her, and he was fifteen .”

Vatii’s feathers shivered. She was likely thinking the same thing, following the dark line of dominos to its inevitable conclusion.

Shoving aside despair, Briar thumbed through book spines on shelf after shelf. Something cold stirred inside him, like the shade of an aura. Not powerful, more of an echo, but he followed it until his fingers stopped on beaten leather. Blood pounding in his ears, he pulled the book out.

éibhear’s journal cracked apart in his hands, the spine broken from being opened time and again to a single page.

Red Carnella Curse Cure , it read. Below that, a recipe.

His hands trembled. There was blood on the pages, éibhear’s untidy scrawl partially obscured, but the recipe was complete, with careful instructions that seemed impossibly simple.

“Why would Linden hide this?” Vatii asked. “Why wouldn’t he just use it?”

In answer, Briar pointed to a single word in the ingredient list. He could have sobbed, but there was more he needed to do. He couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t marry Linden, but if he tried to leave now, he wouldn’t get far. He needed a plan, or he would end up like Gretchen.

Gretchen…

Briar ran a finger over the bloodstains on the journal. They could belong to Linden, but the faint echoes of aura attached felt… different.

He dug charcoal from his tithe belt.

Vatii made a warbling noise. “Be careful.”

Briar lifted a rug off the floor and drew. He could cover it after. He worked as quickly as he could until the summoning circle was complete. He set the journal in the center, its bloody pages open. Pressing his palms into the floor, he concentrated his magic into the circle, drawing on the spirit attached to that blood. He shut his eyes and pleaded in a desperate whisper that it was a tether strong enough to draw a ghost back, that a full exorcism had not been possible when so much evidence of her foul end remained.

Light flickered. Not from the lamps, but from the center of the circle. A lavender flick of smoke. A haze that condensed into the shape of a girl.

Gretchen’s ghost opened her eyes.