“Tell anyone?” He chuckled, a brightness sparkling in his pale eyes. “I’m probably the best secret keeper in this whole village—been doing it from myself for years! Do we have an appointment?”
She shook her head tightly.
“Well, you ought to follow me anyway, in case you forgot too.” He turned, gesturing with an age-spotted hand.
Celeste glanced back at the way she’d come, but the door was no longer there. With no other choice, she followed, pulling her elbows in and holding her satchel tightly to avoid upsetting anything else. She opened her mouth to ask after what he had meant about secrets and forgetting, but then she stepped through an archway at the room’s back, and the question was swept away along with her breath.
Her hair whipped her in the face, wind tearing past her. Blinded, she batted at the strands to gape out over the bridge on which she stood. Narrow and surrounded with a thick, wooden railing, the thing appeared sturdy, but they wereso highup that her knees buckled. Mistiness swirled below, and mountain peaks dotted the blue-grey landscape, tiny specks of birds circling far off in the never-ending sky.
“Come, come, it’s safe.” Her host had already passed over the bridge and was disappearing through another arch, darkness beyond it and so out of place against the clouds. “I use this room to help remember. It’s decided to be Ashrein Ridge for now, but it’s only an illusion. I think, anyway.”
Celeste skittered over the bridge and let out a relieved sigh at the warmth that took her when she passed through the darkness at its end. The next chamber was dull, if only in comparison. Two fireplaces roared to life across from one another, one blue and one green, but neither gave her pause. Colored fire was nothing compared to teetering hundreds of feet in the air, illusively or otherwise.
“Wh-whatwasthat?”
“Hmm? Oh, like I said, it’s supposed to help me remember.”
“Remember what?”
He shrugged. “I forget, but I think maybe everything. Now, we’re not already acquainted, correct? None of the locals have hair black as midnight like yours, and most of them are pretty firmly in here by now.” He tapped the balding part of his temple.
When she shook her head, a proud smile crawled up his face. He stood in the room’s center, a surprisingly clear space, then snapped. Two big, fluffy chairs popped into existence, surrounded by a smattering of little tables covered in doilies, a set of arcane lamps, and a lumpy, teal rug.
“But you are here, and we don’t have an appointment, nor do we know one another, so—”
He was interrupted by a terrible, muffled squawk, and when he pulled the corner of the rug back, a mess of scarlet feathers took to the air.
“Zak!” A bird swept by, much larger than any of those in the forest, its long tail trailing behind as it maneuvered itself right out of the room. “Haven’t seen him for half a moon. Anyway, what did you say your name was?”
“Celeste,” she said, “but I didn’t say.”
“You don’t have to mollycoddle me—the one thing I can always remember is that I forget.” He chuckled and dropped into one of the seats. “You can call me Geezer, everybody else does, and it’s better than a name because it’s easy to remember too.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Geezer.”
“Just Geezer—don’t complicate it with any misters.” He waved a hand through the air and a cup popped into existence before his fingers with a clink. “Now, I assume you’re here because of that, uh,you knowback there?”
Celeste shook her head. She did not want to talk about noxscura. “Actually, I was just wondering if you’d figured out whatever broke the lights on East Road?”
“Oh, probably the same thing that blew up the lamps on North Road and South Road too.”
Briarwyke sure was clever with their street names.
“Which was?”
“Arcana. Not entirely convinced of what kind yet.”
And Geezer sure was clever with his answers.
She took a tentative seat across from him, and a cup appeared before her as it had Geezer. She scrambled but caught it before it dropped into her lap. Thoughtlessly, she brought the tea to her mouth and then nearly choked—that wasnottea.
Her reflection sloshed in the amber liquid inside the cup. The fiery taste stabbed at her mind, waking a memory of being offered something similar by her sister many, many years ago. She’d refused it after a sniff, but then was forced to drink the entire cup when teasing inevitably turned to the threat of a much worse alternative. At least Delphine and her henchmen, Tarquin included, were amused by her agony.
Tarquin—she hadn’t thought about him in a long time.
Celeste wiped at her mouth and stared hard into the liquid, so much stronger than any ale and deeply amber. Amber like that knight’s eyes.
She swiftly set the cup aside and pulled open her satchel’s flap. The urn was much lighter now that it was empty, but it did feel more eminent, as if laden with answers for which she didn’t yet have questions. She held it out, and the old man leaned in close, pale eyes wide. “I know it’s a very, very long shot, but is there any possibility that whatever broke those lights could have come out of this jar?”
