Page 15 of Wizards & Weavers
“Hello again,” Braiden told the elf.
She started, then sighed in relief when she saw that it was only him.
“Oh. Um, hello. From the tavern, right?”
Braiden nodded. She seemed so closed in on herself compared to when they’d met earlier. The way her arms were wrapped around her torso prompted Braiden to check if she was clutching that precious book of hers again. Apparently not. Her hands were cradled around her stomach.
Izzy called out to the elf. “You ordering anything? The shrimp is going fast.”
The elf gaped for a moment, but she shut her mouth and shook her head, backing away from the stall. Braiden couldn’t help himself. He rested his hand on her arm. She paused, uncertain.
He could spare a coin or two, now that he had this horrible loan hanging over his head. Besides, it would annoy Elder Orora to no end if she ever learned that Braiden had put the money to charitable use.
“She’ll have the same as me, Izzy. Oh, and throw in some of those balls, after all. Beef, chicken, and a prawn, please.”
The elf simply had to try Izzy’s famous meatballs. The chicken and beef balls were great, but Braiden’s favorite were the crispy breaded prawn balls: tender, sweet, and juicy meat encased in a delightful deep-fried crunch.
“Coming right up,” Izzy shouted back.
The elf wrung her hands. “Why are you — I couldn’t possibly — you didn’t have to do that.”
Braiden shrugged. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. And it’s nice not to eat alone sometimes.”
The elf’s cheeks reddened. She scratched under her eye and sniffled. “That’s awfully nice of you. Thank you.”
Thank Elder Orora, Braiden thought, passing Izzy some coins as she handed out their orders on large green plates. They were lily pads, actually. Some enterprising local elf had thought to infuse them with magic, making them sturdy enough to use as plates.
Braiden led the elf to a common seating area, a mix of tables, chairs, and benches. They settled on a bench tucked away from the market’s main thoroughfare, a little quieter for conversation. He set the plates down, then smacked himself in the forehead.
“Oh, gods. I forgot the drinks.”
She shook her head, hungrily eyeing the skewers. “You’ve paid for enough. I could drink from the river, for all I care.”
“It’s nice to have something to go with all the food. Do you like fruit juice? I’ll get us some. Go ahead and start without me. I’ll be right back.”
One of the night market’s juice vendors had invested in a cheap wand enchanted with a very weak ice spell. Invoking the wand’s magic while stirring a cup of juice caused the liquid to slowly freeze and crystallize, resulting in an incredibly refreshing drink that resembled fruit-flavored snow.
The trick worked for any potable liquid, and soon many of Weathervale’s beverage vendors had their own frozen versions to sample: frosty milk, tea, wine, and more. It was too chilly to drink any of those, so Braiden bought slushy apple and orange juice instead.
Even in the beverage arena the people of Weathervale were trying new and interesting things. Braiden thought of what the elf had said earlier at the tavern, how everyone could do a bit of magic. Maybe some day his bit of magic would work wonders for him, too.
He tried not to let it bother him too much, the thought that none of these small innovations could help boost Beadle’s Needles in the slightest. No amount of hand pies and lily pads and ice wands would magically make all the miles of yarn and the mountain of sweaters in the back room suddenly disappear.
“Apple or orange?” Braiden asked the elf.
“Any,” she replied, her mouth full of grilled shrimp. “And fank you.”
Braiden handed her the apple juice and took a tart, sweet sip of his own drink before he tucked into his skewers. Izzy was generous with her portions: three shrimps on each stick, a whole small squid, and three chunks of seared tuna. It was hard to complain at Izzy’s prices, and they were so delicious, too.
The elf clearly agreed, nibbling at the last bits of seafood from the skewers she had picked clean.
“That’s the best I’ve eaten in days,” she said, sighing contentedly as she patted her belly. “I can’t thank you enough. And I was so rude to you outside the tavern today.”
Braiden bit off a chunk of tuna and shrugged. “I don’t know about rude. I think it was just a misunderstanding. I really thought you were in line to ask the wizard guy for a spell.”
She laughed. “Could you imagine? The nerve of me. No, I really just wanted Augustin’s signature for my book. I collect them, you see. The great heroes of Aidun, the living legends — I travel in hopes of meeting them. You hear all these amazing stories, and to see these people in person — it’s exhilarating.”
The elf had produced her book again, the leather-bound journal that she’d asked Augustin to sign. She hugged it to her chest, her cheeks flushing as she gushed.
