Page 11 of Wizards & Weavers
“And is that Braiden Beadle? Hello, Braiden. Your rent is overdue. Though I suppose you remember quite well, seeing as you’ve brought your bill all the way up the Lighthouse.”
Braiden could have thrown himself down the stairs. His notes, his business plan — all written on the back of the council’s bill, and it was still clutched in his bare, sweaty hand. He lookeddown at the mess of smeared ink and damp parchment. Could this day get any worse?
“Oh,” Augustin said, throwing a sympathetic look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that your shop isn’t doing so well.”
Braiden’s hand tightened into a fist. The parchment crumpled into a ball, the wax seal crumbling with it.
“It’s not that the shop is — you know what, never mind.”
Elder Orora made a noise with her throat that sounded like both a judgmental scoff and a chuckle. “I see that you’ve already made new friends in town, Augustin.”
The wizard shrugged. “We just met. He followed me all the way here.”
Braiden threw his arms up and huffed, far too tired to argue back.
“What sins have I committed in my long life,” Orora asked, “that the gods would blight me with such a cruel, unloving grandson? You don’t call. You don’t write.”
Even with his face turned away Braiden could tell that Augustin was rolling his eyes.
“Calling spells are expensive, or have you forgotten? And besides, what if someone were to intercept one of my letters? I couldn’t bear an invasion of my — I mean, of your privacy.”
Orora tightened her lips and rolled her eyes. “Excuses, excuses. You didn’t have to use the postal system. Might have sent it on the wings of a spell instead. I taught you how myself, or have you forgotten?”
She waved a languid hand over her stack of documents. A strong gust blew in through the open windows, scattering the papers, but in an orderly and deliberate fashion. Off they went in eight evenly divided directions, sweeping through Weathervale’s districts to find their destinations.
So that was how it worked. No wonder Braiden never received his bill from a letter carrier. Quite a few times hisbill had arrived by splatting unceremoniously against the shop window. That was how the horned warrior had found it for him.
More curious, however, was the discovery that Augustin had similarly learned his magic from his grandmother, the way Braiden had studied the weaving arts under Granny Bethilda.
“Well, you see,” Augustin said, scratching the side of his cheek, glancing anywhere but into Orora’s face. “The thing about that is — ”
“Spare me the theatrics,” Orora replied. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you, and you couldn’t be bothered to give your poor decrepit old grandmother a hug?”
Augustin stepped forward stiffly. “The last time this happened, you tried to plunge a dagger in my back.”
“I wanted to see if you were practicing your defensive spells.” Orora shook her head at Braiden and sighed. “Honestly, this one. Always with the dramatics. Here. My hands are empty. My dagger is still in its sheath. No hidden blades this time.”
Braiden held still, unsure of how to react. He was intruding on a family reunion, yes, but it was much too late to throw himself down the staircase now. Perhaps out of one of the windows instead?
Awkwardly, in hesitant jerks and shuffles, Augustin approached again. Orora’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood to embrace her grandson. Augustin’s shoulders relaxed, his body nearly melting against the little woman. Braiden suddenly missed his own grandmother.
“You silly boy.” Orora patted him on the back, her face breaking into a rare smile.
“Sorry, Granny,” Augustin muttered.
They broke apart still smiling, hearts and smiles soft and loose from rediscovered affection.
“Now,” Orora said, reaching up to brush aside a lock of Augustin’s hair. “Tell me why you’ve decided to visitunannounced. Tell Granny Orora about all your lovely adventures.”
Augustin Arcosa stood ramrod straight. His chest puffed out, his head held high, with all the confidence in the world, he repeated his same pronouncement from the questing board.
“Grandmother? I have come to seal the dungeon.”
The wind blew. The Lighthouse whistled. Braiden had never seen someone’s face go from sweet to sour so quickly. When Orora glowered, a chill wind blew through the room.
“By whose authority?” she asked icily. “The dungeon’s location still puts it under this council’s jurisdiction. Absolutely not. This town is thriving. Yourhometown, I might add.”
Augustin scowled as he stalked forward. Braiden flinched. Did the sky around the tower darken just then?
