Page 13 of Wizards & Weavers
“He does this when he needs to cool off,” Orora said. “He does have a flair for the dramatic. Should have waited till he was older to teach him how to fly. I never could ground him.”
Braiden felt compelled to suggest that the dramatics ran in the family, but he bit his tongue. He watched as Augustin’s ever-shrinking figure faded into the distance.
“The wind magic runs in your family, then,” Braiden said. “The way that weaving runs in mine.”
“Aye, it’s in the blood,” Orora answered. “But it still needs to be taught. Your granny taught you, did she not? I’m a better wizard than I am a teacher, though. I could have been kinder to the boy. More patient, maybe.”
Her eyes took on a wistful glaze as she looked off into the distance.
“But that was then, and this is now. By my understanding, we appear to be on the same page regarding the matter of the dungeon.”
Braiden nodded emphatically. “I can’t lose the shop. I just can’t.” He choked back a sudden sputter. “This is all I have left of my family. This is Granny Bethilda’s legacy. I can’t — and I won’t — let the shop go under.”
A rare glimmer of something like kindness passed over Elder Orora’s face. Within seconds, the sharpness of cunning returned. When she smiled, her lips held the curve of a pirate’s cutlass.
“Bethilda was a good woman. You do this one thing for me, and I will consider absolving you from payment for the month.”
Braiden’s jaw fell. “All of it?”
“All of it, under one condition. There is nothing I can do to stop my grandson from charging into that dungeon headlong. There’s a reason the common folk have given him the title he now bears. Tell a man he’s a hero, and he might just become one in earnest.”
“The Wizard of Weathervale,” Braiden said.
“A bit on the nose, but catchy, too. And not undeserved. I feign ignorance to keep him humble, but I’ve heard of his heroics. The wind brings me stories. It whispers secrets.”
Braiden fixed her with a studious gaze. The wind whispered to her, did it? What else did Elder Orora know?
She slammed her hands onto the great table. A gust of wind rushed through the lighthouse. Braiden jumped, backing away from the windows.
“If — no,when— Augustin enters the dungeon, you must accompany him. Use any excuse you wish. Only ensure that he does not seal the dungeon. You and I both know it would deal a crippling blow to the boost in Weathervale’s business. Blocking off the dungeon serves no one.”
Braiden’s first foray into a dungeon and he was already juggling multiple roles. A small part of him felt proud that Elder Orora thought he could manage this on his own.
“Very well,” Braiden said, offering his hand. “A deal is a deal.”
“A deal’s a deal,” she echoed, shaking firmly.
Braiden pulled his hand away, surprised to discover that she’d palmed him a small quantity of gold coins. He didn’t recognize the currency.
“What’s this? Are you actually paying me to babysit him?”
“Ancient Il-venessi dragons,” she said. “Part of my hoard from my seafaring days. Very rare. You can swap those for new gold. Plenty enough to help you prepare for your expedition.”
“I can’t accept these.” There was a catch here somewhere, a snag in the bargain. “I don’t need them,” Braiden lied, trying to hand the coins back, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Oh, I insist. Consider it a small loan.” The dread pirate Orora Arcosa clasped her hands and showed him her razor grin. “With interest. Run along, now.”
And there it was.
Chapter
Six
Braiden walked ever so slowly awayfrom the Lighthouse, wary of the Il-venessi dragons jingling in his coin purse. Ancient and rare, Elder Orora said. They sounded so different from modern coins. Denser with genuine gold, perhaps, or maybe even laced with old magic.
Weathervale was a lovely town, but Braiden believed in keeping a low profile. Better to be safe. He didn’t want to attract any sharp-eared rogues on his way back home, or worse, mimics. He’d heard that one of the local banks had a mimic infestation in their largest vault. Living treasure chests that liked to eat both precious metal and actual people?
The banking business sounded very stressful. He never understood the rich, but maybe that was because he’d never been rich himself. Weathervale’s wealthiest liked to flaunt the gold and gemstones on their throats and their fingers, their jewelry jingling as loudly as these accursed coins.
