Page 19 of Wizards & Weavers
“Most of it is just hand-me-downs from my family, really. It’s been a while, but I couldn’t bear to throw some of these things out.”
Braiden walked her into his combination kitchen and living area, the table where he ate all his meals serving as the same table where he fretted over bills and taxes. Memories of his parents sat among the nooks and crannies — an old knife that Father used to carve wooden toys for him when he was smaller, Mother’s favorite pincushions, one resembling a little pumpkin, another a tomato.
But Granny Bethilda’s belongings persisted most of all. Braiden couldn’t help that the woman had exceptional taste in all things cozy. The crocheted throw on the armchair was perfect for an afternoon nap. Sugar that came out of her beehive-shaped bowl somehow tasted that much sweeter.
Braiden decorated like a grandmother — like his own grandmother, really — and he didn’t feel an ounce of shame for it.
Nor did he feel an ounce of shame for essentially living among the rafters. There was a small, separate room up here for his bed and some personal things, but that was about it. Life above the shop wasn’t so bad. It was small, but it was comfy, and it had everything Braiden needed.
“Family is nice. I miss mine, too.” Elyssandra frowned, rethinking her statement. “Well, sometimes.”
Braiden chuckled. “You know what else is nice? A good breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.”
He pulled out a pitcher of orange juice to go with their meal. Elyssandra thanked him and tucked right in. Braiden rested his chin on his hand, watching with amusement as she scooped scrambled eggs and bacon into her mouth, barely pausing forbreath. It brought him an odd sense of satisfaction seeing her enjoy the things he’d made.
Maybe it wasn’t so odd, only rare and unfamiliar, because it was the same sensation Braiden felt when he used to make breakfast for his family, or when he saw the brightness in someone’s eyes when they put on a sweater or a scarf he’d crafted with his own two hands.
“This is an amazing spread,” Elyssandra said, squeezing the words out between hungry mouthfuls. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. Thank you so much.”
Braiden laughed, his chin digging into his palm. “I did tell you that I needed help with something. It’s only fair that I feed you breakfast before I ask you to — well, to do whatever it is that helps you track down your heroes.”
Her eyes lit up, her utensils clattering against her plate as her hands flew to her hair.
“That’s right! I was so hungry, I forgot.”
Braiden could tell that Elyssandra wasn’t eating as well as she could. He hated to think of her starving out in the encampment. Again the urge to invite her to the dungeon bubbled up his throat. They could watch each other’s backs, and Braiden could make sure they both didn’t die of starvation down there.
She returned her hands to the table, spreading them to reveal a pair of golden sprigs. Tiny spherical jewels gleamed like glass beads, clustered in a crown of leaves at the center of each sprig.
“These accessories aren’t just decorative,” she said, shaking her golden mane, reminding Braiden of the delicate little pins that held up her braids and kept the hair out of her face.
Elyssandra cupped her hands and raised them to her mouth, whispering to the tiny sprigs. Braiden couldn’t understand the words, but the tingle of Elyssandra’s spell raised the little hairs on his arms. He’d never seen elven magic at work before.
She picked up one of the sprigs by the stem, then twirled it in her fingers. It floated from her grasp like a bit of dandelion fluff, flying lazily out the open window and hitching a ride on the breeze. She did the same with the second sprig, waggling her fingers goodbye as it followed its sibling out into the Weathervale winds.
“There,” she said, picking up her utensils, ready to attack her breakfast once more. “I told them to keep a lookout for a handsome wizard with clear olive skin, a dazzling smile, and white patches of hair on his temples that make him look very dignified without actually making him look any older.”
“Really? That’s how you would describe him?” Braiden frowned. “Why not start with the overpriced boots, or the obnoxious cloak?”
“Oh, I mentioned those, too. I also mentioned how well-muscled and leanly built he is for a man who mostly uses magic.”
Braiden rolled his eyes. “We’re trying to track down the Wizard of Weathervale, not documenting how wonderfully his jet-black hair moves with the wind, or how his gray eyes are the color of a rainstorm. You see how silly that sounds?”
He hadn’t expected to get so worked up. He breathed through his nose, still frowning. Elyssandra allowed the silence to linger a little longer. And then she smirked.
“Bouncy black hair and stormy eyes, eh? Admit it. You think he’s handsome, too.”
“Eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” Braiden grumbled. He grabbed a piece of toast and speared his fork into a rasher of bacon, except — huh. He blinked at his plate. He glanced at Elyssandra’s plate and blinked again. “Did you just take my bacon?”
“Oh, no,” she said, flustering as she scooped the bacon back onto his plate. “I’m so sorry. That happens sometimes.” Shewent to the frying pan to pick out another piece of bacon and went right back to eating.
That happens sometimes?Did an unconscious part of her actively steal bacon without her realizing? And where did those magical berry pins come from? If she had access to this level of elven enchantment, wouldn’t she have the resources to feed herself out on the road, too?
“You eat awfully well for someone whose business is supposedly in the dumps.” Elyssandra sat up straight, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh. I’m so sorry. That came off so rude.”
Braiden shook his head. “Not at all. My Granny Bethilda always believed in eating well. Can’t think on an empty stomach. As for the rest of it, well — it’s honestly a long story.”
And so Braiden told her that long story. Elyssandra was a very attentive listener, holding his gaze even as she nibbled on another slice of bacon. He told her about the horned warrior, about his hastily scrawled notes.
