Page 65 of Wizards & Weavers
And so he told them everything, inserting apologies to both his friends whenever it felt necessary. The two of them shrugged it off.
“I think Augustin has the beginnings of a very solid plan,” Elyssandra said, a twinkle in her eye. “I will, of course, be one of his first, most loyal, and very loudest customers.”
“And all this business about the moongrass sounds good to me,” Warren said, still on his stomach, his feet kicking lazily at the air. “Burrowfolk basketry and magic weaving? Who knows what you might discover? I support it.”
Braiden really couldn’t have asked for better friends. By the time he returned to his bedroom, Augustin was already finished with his bath, a towel wrapped around his waist. He gave Braiden a languid smile and swept an arm toward the lavatory. Braiden chuckled, then gathered his night clothes before heading in for his own bath.
When he emerged from the lavatory, he found the Wizard of Weathervale already tucked under the covers. Braiden knew he wasn’t asleep because the rafters weren’t rattling from his thunderous snoring. He still tried to be polite about it, slipping quietly under the covers on his side of the bed.
He was very much lying when he implied he didn’t like sharing a room or a bed, of course. Braiden might never admit it out loud, but this, of all things at the end of the day, was especially nice.
“Psst,” Augustin hissed. “Are you awake?”
“No,” Braiden said, following the lie with a small chuckle. “What is it?”
“I just wanted to tell you. I’ve met all sorts of adventurers on my travels. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself quite like I’ve enjoyed myself with you.”
Braiden held still. “With me, and Elyssandra, and Warren, you mean.”
“Well, yes, with them, too. But you know what I meant.”
This was new, the wizard being so earnest and vulnerable. Did he really like Braiden that much? Adventuring with him, of course. That was what Augustin meant, wasn’t it? Braiden swallowed, so grateful that Augustin couldn’t see him reddening in the darkness.
Augustin stretched his legs out under the covers, the sheets rustling as he breathed a long, satisfied sigh. “I didn’t come back to Weathervale expecting to make new friends. Imagine that. I ventured far and wide in search of adventuring companions. There were good people waiting for me in my hometown all along.”
Braiden smiled. That made two of them, then. He always thought he could use more friends, and now he had several more. Not a lonely tomato anymore.
“I’ve been so long on the road that — you know, I never really thought about it. I don’t even have a home, Braiden.”
Something sad twisted in Braiden’s chest. He’d never thought about that, either. The adventurer’s burden.
“And you like your grandmother well enough,” Braiden said, “but one of you might end up murdering the other if you moved back in.”
The sheets rustled again as Augustin chuckled. Braiden was surprised to hear his laughter so close to his face. In the dark, under the sheets, the wizard had turned to face him.
“See, you understand me. You get it. All this time out in Aidun — maybe I’ll go adventuring again one day. But for now, I’m just — I’m very tired, Braiden.”
And Braiden knew what the wizard meant: tired of their adventure of the day, but also of his days on the road. It must have felt strange to wander Aidun without someplace to return to. But if the wizard moved home to Weathervale, Braiden would get to see him more often. That didn’t sound like a bad thing at all.
Braiden had his home in the shop, up in the attic of Beadle’s Needles. Decades ago, a young Bethilda Beadle had her own dream of setting down roots and setting up shop in Weathervale. Who was Braiden to discourage the wizard’s dream?
“You’ll find somewhere to stay,” Braiden said. “I’m sure of it. When this is all over, I’ll help you find the perfect home.”
Augustin’s breath came rushing over the pillows, warm and smelling of mint. The sheets rustled again as his arm stretched out, as his fingers sought the crooks between Braiden’s fingers, clasping gently, palm against palm.
“You’re wonderful, you know that? I’d like that very much.”
A molten warmth coursed through Braiden’s body, pooling in his chest. He’d never been told he was wonderful before. Before he could answer, Augustin’s breathing had settled into a peaceful, steady rhythm. He was fast asleep and still holding Braiden’s hand.
To the best of Braiden’s recollection, Augustin Arcosa did not let go the entire night.
And neither did Braiden want him to.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Braiden rosethe following morning feeling uncommonly refreshed. He must have slept so soundly, snored loud enough to wake the dead — certainly enough to emit those residual arcane vapors that Augustin kept going on about.
