Page 41 of Wizards & Weavers
Augustin looked at his pants, then at Braiden’s face, then back down at his mostly undressed body.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Thisiswhat I wear to sleep.”
Chapter
Sixteen
When Braiden awoke,it wasn’t to the familiar twittering of birds and golden-yellow glow of morning sunlight. Slivers of turquoise light slashed across the bedroom, the luminescence of the wilds outside piercing through little gaps in the curtains.
He listened for signs of life — beasts, birds, breaking twigs — but nothing. Whatever dwelled in the glowing cavern did a fine job of keeping itself hidden. Accepting that he would never find the creatures that lived outside the cottage, Braiden’s hearing shifted toward the creature still slumbering within, beside him, barely inches away on the same bed.
Braiden learned a few things on his first night in the dungeon. Augustin had been telling the truth about how he liked to dress for sleep. He didn’t bother with sleeping shirts or pajamas or any of that nonsense, instead preferring sparse underclothes and the feel of soft sheets against his skin.
Shorts, Augustin had called them, because they were, in fact, pants that were so very short. Ridiculous. Braiden Beadle, fully dressed, was still very much aware of the heat radiating from Augustin’s mostly naked body, the warmth coursing under the blanket that they had to share.
The second thing he learned was that the Wizard of Weathervale snored like a bear in hibernation. Braiden rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes, blearily wishing he’d gotten a little more sleep. The bed was comfortable enough, but he didn’t exactly have the most restful night.
Part of it was how he’d spent the entire time lying as stiff as a board, careful not to allow any bit of his body to encroach on the wizard’s side of the bed. The other part, of course, was the thunderous snore of the man still asleep beside him.
Still, there was something strangely endearing about seeing Augustin so deep in sleep, his mouth open, head practically lolling off the pillow, his hair a ruffled mess. Braiden knew he wasn’t imagining the bone-deep exhaustion that the wizard surely felt in waking life, the constant pressure to keep up appearances, to demonstrate to his adoring public that he was worthy of being called a hero.
But speaking of heroes, Braiden Beadle still had a craft shop to save. It was time to start his day. He slid his legs carefully over the sheets and out from under the blanket. Augustin slept as soundly as ever, his snoring almost strong enough to rattle the window panes.
Not even an hour later, all the imagined goodwill went out those same windows when the cottage’s three occupants sat down for breakfast. Over a simple meal of foraged nuts, mushrooms, and berries, Augustin had made his wild proclamation.
“It’s actually good for wizards to sleep mostly naked,” he explained. “It allows the body to ground with the earth. Helps to replenish the stores of arcane willpower.”
“That is preposterous,” Braiden said, only just stopping himself from banging his fist on the table. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And now I expect you’re goingto tell me that obnoxious snoring is also somehow linked to the wellness of wizards.”
Augustin turned up his nose and sniffed. “But of course, it is. It’s simply the tension of spellcasting being expelled from the body. The magical residue and waste material produced by reciting incantations leaves through the mouth and nostrils. This is very basic stuff, Braiden. Keep up.”
It was only basic civility that kept Braiden from launching himself clear across the table to grab Augustin by the neck. It was obvious nonsense — all of it — and Augustin knew it, too, smirking over the rim of his cup each time he took a sip of his morning juice.
Elyssandra, who had mysteriously stopped chewing at all, raised both hands in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’m very much behind on things. You sleep mostly naked?”
She kept throwing Braiden meaningful glances even as they cleaned up the breakfast table and packed to leave for the day. By the third time she waggled her eyebrows at him knowingly, Braiden thought he was ready to throttle her, too.
Before they continued their journey, Braiden ordered Augustin to sit down and show them his injury. The combination of Elyssandra’s foraged herbs and Braiden’s bandaging magic had helped heal Augustin’s wound at an accelerated pace, at least enough that it no longer bothered him. No wonder he was so chipper and insufferable this morning.
As the three of them headed out, Braiden noted that they’d picked more suitable colors to help blend in with the dungeon. Elyssandra had selected an even darker, mossier green for her cloak and clothing. Augustin wore yet another version of what seemed to be his beloved uniform, a combination of a finely tailored tunic and pants, but this time in the deeper gray of a thunderstorm rolling in.
The dark red and rusty brown of Braiden’s more common clothing didn’t especially matter for the sake of camouflage. The inky black of his othergoat sweater covered most of the color, anyway. Elyssandra retrieved her hairpin with a whisper and a wave of her hand, collapsing both the jade flower and the hidden cottage with a simple spell.
“Isn’t it odd?” Braiden asked, tightening the straps of his rucksack. “How we still haven’t seen any other adventurers, I mean.”
Augustin shrugged. “We saw some back in the dungeon’s haven, did we not? They were sleeping. I believe some of them were snoring. Probably wizards eliminating their negative vapors.”
The urge to grab Augustin and shake him around a little quickly returned to Braiden’s body, until Elyssandra spoke up.
“It’s funny you should mention that,” she said, crouching on the ground as she stuck her hairpin back in place. “These twigs, this trodden grass. Someone’s been through the cavern.”
Leaning in for a closer look, Braiden found himself bumping against Augustin’s shoulder, the both of them quite unsure of what they were supposed to be looking at.
“These footprints. They aren’t human.” Elyssandra threw her arm out in warning. “Braiden, duck!”
Braiden covered his head and threw himself to the ground. Something whistled above him, slicing at the air. His heart pounded as he scrambled away. He rolled onto his back, sweat already breaking out on his brow. A dark shape seemed to blur through the air as it moved between Augustin and Elyssandra.
Too fast to be human, and yet by every indication — four limbs, a torso, and a head, all clad in dark clothing — a human it had to be. Something clacked, then crashed again. It was the clash of weaponry. Braiden’s stomach fell. What if blades had been drawn?
