Page 34 of Wizards & Weavers
“I promise, I’ll be more careful next time,” Augustin said, this hallowed hero of Aidun speaking with all the quiet contrition of a schoolboy who had grazed his knee.
Braiden chuckled as his weaving spell completed, a length of clean, fresh gauze stretched between his fingers. “It’s not the hugest bother, as long as you don’t get yourself poked with more holes as we go deeper down the dungeon. You’re a wizard, not a pincushion.”
“Yes, of course,” Augustin said. “But we should save our magical reserves. Forcing you to expend your power on trivial things like bandages only means we’ll have fewer options when danger rears its ugly head.”
“A bandage is not a trivial thing.”
It surprised Braiden, how the words had come so automatically. A vague memory bubbled to the surface. Was it Granny Bethilda dressing his badly scraped elbow? Or making a smaller bandage for one of the many times he’d pricked his finger on a needle or the spinning wheel?
He was struck by how domestic this all felt, the three of them gathered at the table for something other than a simple meal. Augustin with his leg stretched out, Braiden with the length of magicked cloth in his hands, the soothing grind of stone against stone as Elyssandra mashed heart leaves and healing herbs in a pestle and mortar.
So homey. So familial. Braiden swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his attention back to the task at hand.
“There,” Elyssandra said, scooping some of the fragrant paste she’d produced with a tiny wooden spatula, smearing it on and around Augustin’s wound. “This should help the healing process.”
The wizard winced, but said nothing. He was a well-behaved patient, if nothing else. Braiden wrapped the bandage around Augustin’s leg, watching his face for signs of pain or discomfort. There were none. Very heroic. And sure, maybe Elyssandra was right. A little handsome, too.
“Finished,” he pronounced, patting the side of Augustin’s leg. “I’ve infused the gauze with a little more magic than usual. This should last you through the night.”
Augustin gave a pinched laugh. “It’s more than I deserve. I’ll be more vigilant, I swear it. And thank you. Both of you.”
The wizard’s eyes regarded each of them with gratitude, the gray of them brighter, like the sky after a storm. But his gaze, for whatever reason, lingered longer on Braiden’s face.
“It’s hot in here,” Braiden complained, desperate to break eye contact, feeling too hot and flustered. “Isn’t it a bit hot? I should take this off.”
The sweater came up and over his head, leaving his hair sticking up in all places, but it was better than dying of a mysterious heat stroke in the comfort of Elyssandra’s magical elven cottage.
Braiden knew he was blushing, too. He had to be. He folded his sweater neatly, casually avoiding Augustin’s gaze, knowing out of the corner of his eye that the wizard was still watching him with quiet bemusement.
“We should get dinner started,” Braiden said, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his trousers. “Now, Elyssandra, what can we eat out of all this?”
“Oh,” she said, lighting up as she bolted out of her chair. “It’s not just this. The house comes stocked with its own supplies. Come and see.”
She waved them over to the kitchen counters. Braiden helped Augustin out of his chair while still successfully avoiding his gaze. He was, however, quite unsuccessful at avoiding contact with his body. How else was he supposed to help the man stand?
Elyssandra was right. The wizard was surprisingly well built for someone accustomed to only using magic. Those arms belonged on a farmer, or a swordsman. Braiden followed Elyssandra to the kitchen, confident that Augustin could make the rest of the very short way on his own. That was enough helping for one night.
“Here you go,” Elyssandra said, pulling on various drawers, opening numerous bins. Braiden’s jaw dropped, his mouthfalling progressively open as Elyssandra revealed more and more of her alarmingly well-supplied kitchen.
The bins contained nearly everything anyone needed to make a huge range of staples, and more to boot. Oats. Flour. Rice. Sugar. Salt. Pepper. Cinnamon. The burlap sack sitting on the counter was filled to the brim with potatoes. There were at least a dozen eggs in the ice box, too.
Braiden pinched the bridge of his nose. That way, he might stop his brain from escaping through his nostrils.
“Why?” he began, struggling to phrase his question politely. “Elyssandra. Why were you always half-starved when you had these supplies in your kitchen all along?”
She threw her hands up, eyes wide. “I told you, I wasn’t prepared for this journey! What was I thinking? I’m constantly afraid of setting the house on fire. I could burn water by boiling it. In fact, I’m sure I have.”
Augustin nodded with all the pompous wisdom of a wizard twice his age. “Cooking can be quite the intimidating task. Why, even the greatest alchemists still find themselves brewing up accidental explosions all the time. I don’t blame you.”
“What are you talking about?” Braiden asked. “You cannot possibly compare brewing a complicated potion to making a simple breakfast. Elyssandra, so help me, I am going to teach you the basics. You’ll be making pancakes in your sleep by the end of all this.”
She beamed, positively delighted. “Your grandmother’s recipe? I look forward to it.”
Braiden shook his head, waving his hand at a kitchen that he now realized was even more fully stocked than his own.
“How have you survived at all if you’re too afraid to start a fire or light a stove?”
“Well, you see — at the start of my journey, these were filled with fresh ingredients.” Elyssandra slid open a few moredrawers, wearing a long, despondent face. “Apples, tomatoes, oranges — there was a loaf of bread, too. They came with the house. I’ve since eaten them all. If it weren’t for some of the kinder adventurers at the encampment, I might have had to beg or steal to eat.”
