A particular silence gathered, the pause preceding a necessary truth.
“If we’re truly going to Aurillion,” he went on, fiddling with a cardigan button, “you’ll need clothes from this century, and we’ll all need supplies. Boots that fit. A lined coat. Something that doesn’t scream cursed artifact from a hundred years ago.”
Smoothing my hands over the thinning fabric, I agreed, “You are right.”
The words tasted of surrender. Each practicality was another step forward. Another step on the road back to the place that once tried to own me—where my name, my future, and my very breath had been requisitioned.
Branrir cleared his throat. “In the meantime, you’re welcometo borrow something of mine. I fear they’ll be quite long on you, but it’s better than freezing.”
I nodded, accepting his offer with quiet gratitude.
He beckoned with a gangly hand. “Come along, then. I’ve a few things upstairs that might serve until we can visit the market.”
The wood creaked beneath our feet as we followed him up the narrow staircase tucked at the back of the shop. At the top, we were welcomed by a low-ceilinged apartment; a cozy, cluttered warren of bookshelves and parchment rolls. Papers covered nearly every surface, interspersed with teacups and ink pots.
“Apologies for the state of things,” Branrir said, brushing dust from a chair with his sleeve. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It is lovely,” I said, casting my eyes around the warm, lived-in space.
Branrir disappeared into an adjoining room, returning with a neatly folded stack of clothing in his arms. “Not the height of fashion, but this should do for now. You can change in any of the rooms.”
He pointed at a door and handed me the clothing. I stepped into the nearest room and shimmied out of my gown. The borrowed wool trousers puddled around my ankles until I rolled the cuffs several times, and the cream linen shirt’s sleeves swallowed my hands entirely. Branrir, being nearly three heads taller than I, offered a belt to keep the ensemble from slipping any further into indignity. The result was absurd—but comfortable.
When I emerged, Branrir offered a faint, approving nod. “Better,” he said. “You look almost like a Hindsight yourself.”
“I look like a child playing dress-up,” I muttered.
Vesper’s whiskers twitched. “A dignified child.”
Mav’s gaze caught mine, lingering long enough for my breath to falter. “You wear it well,” he said quietly.
Heat prickled across my cheeks. “Then perhaps I shall keep it,” I murmured.
“Nonsense, we’ll get you proper clothing that fits.” Thistle’s hand alighted on my shoulder. “There are a few good shops in the market, aren’t there, Branrir?”
He nodded, encouraging. “Best get started, seeing as we haven’t much time, Lady Quinn.”
We filed through the door, pausing as Branrir turned the key behind us. Outside, the light had shifted. Late afternoon painted the cobbles in gold and gray. Mav said nothing, but when I glanced his way, his expression was guarded and kind, the look of a man who knew what it cost to return to the site of one’s breaking. We would prepare for the next leg of the journey that would inevitably take us to where my spell began.
11
MAV
The marketplace hit us all at once: color, noise, and hundreds of scents vying for attention. Vendors lined both sides of cobbled lanes, shouting over one another in a dozen dialects. Spices burned the back of my throat as we passed one stall. Another had silks strung between poles, catching the breeze and flashing impossible shades of turquoise, coral, and magenta. A merchant roasted skewers of honey-lacquered meat over open coals while a toothless woman sold candied fruit shaped into miniature beasts. A caged flock of mimic birds shrieked out stolen gossip—“He’s not even her real husband!” and “That’s not soup, that’s swamp!”—until their seller thumped the bars and hissed for silence.
Somehow, Quinn drew more stares than anything else. People couldn’t help but look. Even in Branrir’s overly large clothing, she held herself with more regality than I’d wager this town had seen in years. She kept close, scanning the stalls, fingertips occasionally brushing the weave of a scarf or trailing over glass beads with hesitant awe. The world seemed to surprise her continually. Perhaps it did after a century of change.
I tried not to notice how many heads turned as she passed.
Tried harder not to notice how beautiful she looked in the light.
“We’ll gather the necessities,” Branrir announced, rattling off a list. “Tents, dried goods, travel ink, maps, canteens, salve for saddle sores. Thistle, you’ll handle the bargaining.”
“I always do.” She braced her hands on her curved hips.
“I’ll oversee the quality,” Vesper purred from his perch on Thistle’s shoulder.
Branrir chuffed. “Of course you will.”
