It was just like her to read his mind like that. And how proud he was that she could now confidently work a stove without fear of burning the entire kitchen down. It wasn’t long ago that Elyssandra Ileli Emeridan, rogue princess of the Summerlands, fearless spear-fighter and talented thief, was deathly afraid of common kitchen equipment.
“And I would gladly take a cup, Miss,” Craghammer said meekly.
Elyssandra paused as her foot hit the bottom stair, smiling. “Craghammer, I told you. You can call me Elyssandra.”
She trotted up the stairs. Craghammer rubbed the back of his neck and grinned.
Augustin was outside again, rocking on his heels on the cobblestones, his hands on his hips. Braiden tried not to worry when the wizard craned his neck this way and that. Perhaps he was searching the far end of the road for an impending horde of customers eager to slake their thirst on his bubbly elixirs, or to sample the craft shop’s newest wares.
It was a familiar feeling, this hopeful scouting of the streets in search of one — no, in search of any customers at all. Braiden fought the sinking sensation in his belly and pushed out the front door, sidling up to Augustin.
“A watched pot never boils,” he told the wizard. “Or something like that.”
Augustin grinned. “More of your Granny Bethilda’s weaving wisdom, I presume? Something catchy from one of those cards about her favorite teas, perhaps?”
Braiden laughed as he nudged Augustin with his elbow. He’d let the wizard look at the sheaf of recipe cards he’d inherited from his grandmother, what he thought of asBethilda Beadle’s Book of Everything. While the collection didn’t offer much of magical value to a wind wizard, Augustin still thought it was an illuminating and entertaining read.
“Come on inside,” Braiden said, reaching for Augustin’s hand. “It’s barely been minutes since we sent out the flyers. Give them time to fly, and give Weathervale time to actually read them.”
Augustin sighed, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I suppose you’re right. I’m being far too eager. Only I’m very excited about how this goes, you know? I’m sure you understand.”
Braiden smiled. He knew all too well. It was nice seeing Augustin like this, no more of the tired eyes from his days of being fed up with adventuring, no more of the slumped shoulders. His gaze glittered with excitement, his smile more radiant than ever.
And then his eyes lit up even more as he spotted something at the end of the street. Augustin pointed at the piece of parchment as it tumbled and circled on the breeze.
“How curious,” he said. “Why is one of our flyers returning?”
Braiden squinted at the paper. “That’s not one of ours, Augustin. I think I know who it’s from.”
Augustin’s eyes widened in recognition. He opened his mouth, but the words never left his lips. The parchment smacked him head on, stretched over his face like an open hand.
The wizard sputtered and cursed as he ripped the parchment from his face, glaring even as he read the words. Braiden didn’t need to read anything, already aware of its origins from the wax crest. It was stamped with a symbol that could have been an eight-pointed sun, or an eight-spoked ship’s wheel, representing Weathervale and its eight districts.
Augustin Arcosa gulped. “It’s from Grandmother. She wants to see us.”
Chapter
Two
Braiden stalkedthe cobblestones with his hands balled into fists, determination driving his every step. The nerve of Elder Orora springing a surprise meeting on Augustin like this, on this, of all days! It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Augustin did a far better job of hiding it than Braiden, but he was clearly already on edge about opening day for his elixir store.
Well, his elixir stall, actually. More like a counter, really, about as big as the one that Braiden used to service customers. But that didn’t diminish the importance and the significance of everything Augustin had done to prepare for this. Honestly, the gall of that woman.
Braiden glanced over his shoulder, promising himself he wouldn’t take his frustration out on Augustin’s already unraveling ego. He tried not to glare too hard when he found the wizard trailing almost an entire horse cart’s distance behind him.
“It’s only a meeting, Augustin,” Braiden said. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back to the business of — er — running our business.”
Augustin wrung his hands, twisting and crumpling Elder Orora’s missive as he did. There wasn’t anything else written onthe paper, only the council’s wax crest, Orora Arcosa’s signature, and an ominous request.
See me at the Lighthouse. Immediately.
This was so different from the day the pair of them had first traveled to the heart of Weathervale, their first trip to the tower that housed the council. It was almost a direct reversal, in fact, Augustin trailing in the back with a wrinkled letter from the Lighthouse in his hands, his sweaty palms smearing the ink. This time it was Braiden boldly leading the charge.
But the echoes ended there. Augustin was moving as if on the end of a leash, a puppy hesitant to leave the dog park, behaving as if he’d been kicked. He’d been so willful and defiant about dealing with his grandmother before. What was so different this time?
Braiden doubled back, taking Augustin’s hand in his, pulling him gently along. The sun had warmed the wizard’s skin, but the clamminess of his palm was still there. Why was he so nervous?
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Braiden asked. “You’re looking a little pale, even.”
