Page 58

Desperately craved.

Might yet commit murder to protect.

There was a reasonably large crowd of customers when Briar finally opened her doors, which was a relief, considering Mr. Crane’s visit. Ethan had returned without a word, sitting in a chair and sharpening his knife on a whetstone. It was most uncivilized.

Briar could not have said why she found it so comforting.

The tall, scarred Iron Crow, the grim set of his jaw, the repetitive scrape of metal on stone. A teashop should be full of whispers and birdsong and the light tinkling music of a harp.

Which sounded dreadfully boring all of a sudden.

When he moved on to whittling a chunk of wood, he did not look any more refined.

She served strong tea and scones with clotted cream and strawberries. The queen cakes were popular, decorated with tiny marzipan swans. Children were allowed barley sugar candy and chocolate drops and candy comfits, even though it was still early in the day. Her customers were more nervous than they had been yesterday, even the locals. The dropped shields and circulating Keepers were beginning to take their toll. Problems with Lyonesse’s magical barriers were usually mended more quickly than this.

Aidan returned, frowning at the white flowers. Of course he had noticed. And of course he was suspicious.

Everybody wanted answers and no one had any to give. In its absence, gossip would do. It was clear in the way people sat, shoulders tight, glances flickering. There were a lot more iron-nail pendants, which had never been popular in Haven. They weren’t nearly pretty enough. Some enterprising soul had already begun to sell them ornamented with pearls and rock crystal.

Briar brought Ethan a pot of tea, even though he had not asked for it. She added a marzipan dove because it amused her that a grim-jawed Iron Crow might eat a pink bird of peace. He held her gaze and devoured it in two easy bites.

Something warmed in her belly. Something most inconvenient. The struggle not to blush was real.

“Charles Bloody Aster is lurking in the bushes,” Sorcha announced not long after, and with deep distaste, as she marched into the shop. The tip of her nose was red from the sun. She had been walking the moors again. Briar hoped she had found the Black Shuck. “And it’s dodgy, even for him.”

“Wonderful.” Briar sighed. She was not surprised, not after yesterday. But she had hoped the damage to Charles’s favorite hat might have put him off.

“And there’s some other bloke very carefully circling your peonies.” She lowered her voice. “Which are all white now. Why are all of your flowers white?”

“I don’t know,” Briar whispered back. “They were like that when I woke up this morning.”

“I told Old Man Harlow out on his stoop that you did it for the festival.”

“I can’t turn an entire garden’s worth of flowers white.”

Sorcha shrugged. “He doesn’t know that. And he’s stopped making the sign against evil toward your front door. Someone else already painted an evil eye on the street outside your cottage.”

“Wonderful.” Briar sighed again. “Have a cup of tea—the evil eye is free, on the house.”

Her friend snorted. “Nothing’s free in Haven.”

Briar snorted back. “True enough.”

Sorcha leaned against the wooden counter and plucked a chocolate drop from a jar, crunching it between her teeth, the colorful sugar sprinkles catching the light. “Why are these so good?”

“They’re even better when you let them melt on your tongue instead of chomping away like a badger.”

Sorcha waved a hand. “Who has the patience? We could all die tomorrow.”

“You’re very cheerful.”

She grinned. “I like any excuse to eat more chocolate.”

“I am aware.” Briar grinned back. She smacked her friend’s hand when it returned to the jar. “Eat the broken ones, you savage.” She brought out the plate she had already put aside for her.

Sorcha ate half the pile before raising her eyebrows meaningfully in Ethan’s direction. “He’s still here, is he?”

“He’s been…helpful.”