Page 27
Chapter Ten
“You look ghastly,” her friend Sorcha said as she walked into the tearoom two hours later, raising an eyebrow at the back door, which was still only barely propped open, and then that same eyebrow at Briar.
“Well, cheers for that,” Briar said, though she was quite sure it was the truth. Her eyes were gritty and she didn’t need a looking glass to know there were smudges beneath them. She had tied on an apron patterned with violets to match them.
“Your swan’s being beastly, even for a swan,” Sorcha added, dropping the covered basket she carried onto the counter. She had two more slung on her other arm and a wagon waiting outside with more. “She tried to bite me when I came up the path.”
“I am sure she is very sorry.”
“I am sure she is not.” Sorcha snorted, not the least bit offended. She was too used to roaming the hills every day with all manner of creatures, both ordinary and magical. She lived alone in her family’s abandoned manor house, baking for the shops in Haven and Hallow. It would have made much more sense for her to move into one of the villages, but she claimed she would only start biting people, which would be bad for business.
Instead, she sent the blacksmith’s son with a cart full of breads and sweets, only popping down herself when the mood struck. But for the Midsummer Festival it was all hands on deck.
“I made what feels like another thousand sunwheel cookies. Do you have any more marigolds? I’m running out of petals.”
“I think I do.” Briar encouraged the marigolds and sunflowers to grow for the festival. And some families hired her to visit their own gardens for a little extra green magic for the season, something to show off to visitors. It was bad luck to run out of them before the solstice.
“So, what happened here, then?” Sorcha added, watching Briar sweep up the last of the broken crockery dust and mud.
“Storm broke the door and made a mess.”
Sorcha leaned against the counter. Her dark hair was in its usual side plait. Haven might strive to be as fashionable as Mayfair, but Sorcha would rather lick rust, and said so on a regular basis. “And here I thought it was having two Keepers on your doorstep last night that has given you that delightful pallor.” She narrowed her hazel eyes in accusation.
Her crow familiar cawed from the threshold. Also accusingly.
As Sorcha had named him Elderberry, he had a great many things to be accusatory about.
“There were Keepers here,” Briar admitted.
“Whatever for?”
Because my sister stole a piece of magic.
Because she’s in trouble.
Because I can’t wake her up.
She didn’t say any of these things, of course. Not with two customers wandering in, talking in hushed, worried tones, followed by Mr. Allens, the busiest busybody that had ever busybodied. He wore his green cravat that he claimed had been blessed by the Toad Mother in the Goblin Market. He was bordering on ancient, and his many years had not made him any kinder.
“Surely you’ve heard the shields have dropped?” Briar asked her friend instead. It must be common knowledge by now. Though happily, neither Bear nor Oliver had returned. Yet. She knew it was only a matter of time.
In the meantime, Petal still slept. Bramble said she had not woken once during the night, not even when the thunder rattled the windows. Her breathing was easy, her color healthy. She did not appear to be suffering.
But she would not wake.
Not even when Briar had cracked a sunlight charm right over her. The acorn had split, revealing a burst of light strong as the sun at noon. She and Bramble had to cover their eyes. It had no effect whatsoever on Petal. Neither had a ring of peppercorns, or iron against the witch knot on her palm.
“There isn’t a single vole left in the deepest den who hasn’t heard about the shields,” Sorcha said.
“It’s just awful,” one of the visitors interjected. “I didn’t sleep a wink all night.”
“My sister frets,” the other said, rolling her eyes. “Magic is tricky, even in Lyonesse.” She patted her sister’s arm. Rather forcefully, it had to be said. “The Keepers will sort it out by the time we have to go home. In the meantime, it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good festival vacation.”
“We saved up for ages to afford it,” the fretful sister admitted. She had black hair to her sister’s blonde. Her familiar was a tiny garden snake curled among the silk flowers pinned to the brim of her bonnet. It glowed fitfully, as if it had eaten fireflies.
Briar nodded with her best shopkeeper’s smile. “I have just the tea for you. A little chamomile, a touch of passionflower. You’ll sleep like a baby.”
“Not valerian?”
