Page 10 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)
Chapter
Seven
Braiden weighed the jars of white powder in his hands, pretending he was a balancing scale. He squinted at each one with suspicion. Gods, but he could never remember whether pancakes called for baking powder or baking soda.
Good thing he could always count on Granny Bethilda’s recipe cards.
An entire stack of them lived in the kitchen, all held loosely together by a clip.
He smiled as he ran his thumb along their weathered edges.
The house, Braiden could give up. But Granny Bethilda’s little flipbook of wisdom? This was priceless.
Birds twittered outside the window, chirping their lovely song as Braiden worked. He’d left the window open to let the kitchen air out while he cooked, but also so he could listen for Elyssandra’s arrival.
He had bacon and eggs ready to go in the icebox, a small luxury he could afford after selling the old family house and moving into the shop’s attic.
All right, so that made two very important things in the kitchen.
A chest with a strong enough ice enchantment to keep food from spoiling? Also priceless.
He flipped through the stack with his thumb, decades of Beadle words and wisdom streaking by on the cream-colored cards. And there it was: Card No. 63, Bethilda Beadle’s Perfectly Plump Pancakes.
“Baking powder it is, then,” Braiden said, putting away the jar of soda, then tipping some powder into the pancake batter.
Memorizing the rest of the ingredients, Braiden put the cards aside, taking care not to set the stack anywhere wet, never mind that Granny Bethilda had already personalized it with a mosaic of jam smears and coffee stains over the years.
It wasn’t just a collection of his family’s favorite recipes, after all.
It was also a repository of magical lore.
A witch inscribed her great works in a book of shadows, while a wizard might choose to secrete his spells in an ornate grimoire.
Bethilda Beadle’s Book of Everything , as Braiden liked to think of it, was her very own version of a spellbook, a record that included everything from her favorite tea blends to homemade burn ointments.
Tucked among the recipes and random musings on life in Weathervale were lessons on the weaving way, cards that offered practical tips on the arcane arts of fabric and thread. Card No. 37 was a deceptively innocent discussion of how to use magic to tie shoelaces.
Braiden remembered being disappointed by the spell’s simplicity, until he read the part on casting it on someone else’s shoelaces. Someone who needed to be tripped over, perhaps. That made it far more useful and far more entertaining.
As he puttered around the kitchen, he noted all the things that needed replenishing. He might need more sugar by next week, and definitely some more eggs. But he would need to adjust his shopping, if only for the short term. He was heading into a dungeon, after all.
“Oil for a lantern, a week’s worth of rations, a flask for water,” Braiden muttered. He needed to make another list, hopefully one that a certain wizard wouldn’t ruin with his ostentatious signature.
Where had Braiden even put that thing? Possibly in the garbage where it belonged. He’d memorized all of the important points on his list, anyway.
And you could never go wrong with some rope in a dungeon. Braiden stared at the tip of his finger. Maybe he could save a few coins. Would his spells be strong enough to conjure an entire coil of rope?
“Hello?” came a faint call from outside. “Braid, is that you up there? I hope I have the right address.”
Oh, right on time. Braiden stood on tiptoes as he peered out the window, waving when he spotted Elyssandra standing outside the shop.
“I saw the window was open,” she said, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Do I just — come up?”
She made a vague gesture with her hands, as if climbing an invisible rope. This seemed an opportune time to test his “it’s just a longer, thicker piece of thread” theory, but Braiden didn’t want to risk sending his new friend plummeting to the ground with a hastily conjured rope.
“Be right down,” he yelled, yanking his apron over his head. He dusted his hands off and did his best not to throw himself down the staircase in his excitement.
Elyssandra was his key to finding the Wizard of Weathervale without having to personally scour every inch of town himself. In a way, she was the key to the dungeon, too, and to keeping Beadle’s Needles open.
Above all else, Braiden was thrilled to make a new friend. He didn’t think it was embarrassing to be excited about that. But he did think it best to glance in the shop mirror just to make sure he hadn’t accidentally painted himself a clown face with his floury fingers.
“I mean, I do all right,” Braiden said, pushing his hair back with his fingers. He didn’t think he looked especially remarkable — lanky, skinny, tallish, but not quite tall.
Was it too brazen to consider himself ever so slightly above average, but in an awkward way?
Braiden never knew what to do with his hands.
His elbows were always knocking into things.
At least he had his mother’s hair, in soft brown ripples like waves on a windy sea.
And Braiden had the Beadle eyes, blue like his father, like Granny Bethilda, like a clear sky over Weathervale.
Braiden smiled. His reflection smiled back.
Braiden trusted that face. It was mostly friendly, and mostly nice.
If only it could mostly manage to sell more sweaters.
He’d been told he was handsome, one or two times, but every grandmother thinks her grandson is the handsomest boy in the world.
Braiden chuckled, wondering whether Elder Orora thought the same thing about Augustin Arcosa.
“Oh, gods,” Braiden blurted out. “The door.”
He dashed for the front door and threw it open, the bell tinkling as he made way for Elyssandra.
“Come right in. I was just making breakfast.”
“Thank you, I hope I’m not too — oh, my goodness. Braid, this place is incredible.”
Braiden led her past the hanging rainbow skeins of yarn, the neatly sorted spools of colorful thread.
“We can look around later if you like. We should eat for now. Looks like we have a long day ahead of us.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me. I’m starving again, can you imagine? Like I didn’t eat a thing last night.”
“No worries, there’s plenty to eat,” Braiden said as they tromped up the stairs. “Oh, watch your head. This is my family’s shop. I live on the second floor now. Well, it’s more of an attic than a second floor. Had to give up the house when business started going south.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But this is lovely. Truly. I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Most of it is just hand-me-downs from my family, really. It’s been a while, but I couldn’t bear to throw some of these things out.”
Braiden walked her into his combination kitchen and living area, the table where he ate all his meals serving as the same table where he fretted over bills and taxes.
Memories of his parents sat among the nooks and crannies — an old knife that Father used to carve wooden toys for him when he was smaller, Mother’s favorite pincushions, one resembling a little pumpkin, another a tomato.
But Granny Bethilda’s belongings persisted most of all. Braiden couldn’t help that the woman had exceptional taste in all things cozy. The crocheted throw on the armchair was perfect for an afternoon nap. Sugar that came out of her beehive-shaped bowl somehow tasted that much sweeter.
Braiden decorated like a grandmother — like his own grandmother, really — and he didn’t feel an ounce of shame for it.
Nor did he feel an ounce of shame for essentially living among the rafters. There was a small, separate room up here for his bed and some personal things, but that was about it. Life above the shop wasn’t so bad. It was small, but it was comfy, and it had everything Braiden needed.
“Family is nice. I miss mine, too.” Elyssandra frowned, rethinking her statement. “Well, sometimes.”
Braiden chuckled. “You know what else is nice? A good breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.”
He pulled out a pitcher of orange juice to go with their meal.
Elyssandra thanked him and tucked right in.
Braiden rested his chin on his hand, watching with amusement as she scooped scrambled eggs and bacon into her mouth, barely pausing for breath.
It brought him an odd sense of satisfaction seeing her enjoy the things he’d made.
Maybe it wasn’t so odd, only rare and unfamiliar, because it was the same sensation Braiden felt when he used to make breakfast for his family, or when he saw the brightness in someone’s eyes when they put on a sweater or a scarf he’d crafted with his own two hands.
“This is an amazing spread,” Elyssandra said, squeezing the words out between hungry mouthfuls. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. Thank you so much.”
Braiden laughed, his chin digging into his palm. “I did tell you that I needed help with something. It’s only fair that I feed you breakfast before I ask you to — well, to do whatever it is that helps you track down your heroes.”
Her eyes lit up, her utensils clattering against her plate as her hands flew to her hair.
“That’s right! I was so hungry, I forgot.”
Braiden could tell that Elyssandra wasn’t eating as well as she could.
He hated to think of her starving out in the encampment.
Again the urge to invite her to the dungeon bubbled up his throat.
They could watch each other’s backs, and Braiden could make sure they both didn’t die of starvation down there.
She returned her hands to the table, spreading them to reveal a pair of golden sprigs. Tiny spherical jewels gleamed like glass beads, clustered in a crown of leaves at the center of each sprig.
“These accessories aren’t just decorative,” she said, shaking her golden mane, reminding Braiden of the delicate little pins that held up her braids and kept the hair out of her face.
Elyssandra cupped her hands and raised them to her mouth, whispering to the tiny sprigs. Braiden couldn’t understand the words, but the tingle of Elyssandra’s spell raised the little hairs on his arms. He’d never seen elven magic at work before.
She picked up one of the sprigs by the stem, then twirled it in her fingers.
It floated from her grasp like a bit of dandelion fluff, flying lazily out the open window and hitching a ride on the breeze.
She did the same with the second sprig, waggling her fingers goodbye as it followed its sibling out into the Weathervale winds.
“There,” she said, picking up her utensils, ready to attack her breakfast once more. “I told them to keep a lookout for a handsome wizard with clear olive skin, a dazzling smile, and white patches of hair on his temples that make him look very dignified without actually making him look any older.”
“Really? That’s how you would describe him?” Braiden frowned. “Why not start with the overpriced boots, or the obnoxious cloak?”
“Oh, I mentioned those, too. I also mentioned how well-muscled and leanly built he is for a man who mostly uses magic.”
Braiden rolled his eyes. “We’re trying to track down the Wizard of Weathervale, not documenting how wonderfully his jet-black hair moves with the wind, or how his gray eyes are the color of a rainstorm. You see how silly that sounds?”
He hadn’t expected to get so worked up. He breathed through his nose, still frowning. Elyssandra allowed the silence to linger a little longer. And then she smirked.
“Bouncy black hair and stormy eyes, eh? Admit it. You think he’s handsome, too.”
“Eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” Braiden grumbled. He grabbed a piece of toast and speared his fork into a rasher of bacon, except — huh. He blinked at his plate. He glanced at Elyssandra’s plate and blinked again. “Did you just take my bacon?”
“Oh, no,” she said, flustering as she scooped the bacon back onto his plate. “I’m so sorry. That happens sometimes.” She went to the frying pan to pick out another piece of bacon and went right back to eating.
That happens sometimes? Did an unconscious part of her actively steal bacon without her realizing? And where did those magical berry pins come from? If she had access to this level of elven enchantment, wouldn’t she have the resources to feed herself out on the road, too?
“You eat awfully well for someone whose business is supposedly in the dumps.” Elyssandra sat up straight, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh. I’m so sorry. That came off so rude.”
Braiden shook his head. “Not at all. My Granny Bethilda always believed in eating well. Can’t think on an empty stomach. As for the rest of it, well — it’s honestly a long story.”
And so Braiden told her that long story. Elyssandra was a very attentive listener, holding his gaze even as she nibbled on another slice of bacon. He told her about the horned warrior, about his hastily scrawled notes.
He told her about Augustin’s plan to seal the dungeon, about the meeting with Elder Orora. Braiden did not tell her how the Il-venessi dragons found their way into his coin purse. They could discuss that mess later. Maybe. Not just yet.
“And that’s why I want to try my luck in the dungeon,” Braiden said.
“It’s better than sitting in the shop and waiting for a miracle.
If this dry spell goes on much longer, I won’t be able to pay rent, much less feed myself.
Speaking of which — I know I sort of mentioned it before, but seriously.
About the dungeon. Would you want to — ”
“Hold that thought,” she said, whipping her head around as if she’d heard something from the window.
Braiden hadn’t expected one of her little sprigs to fly back so quickly. The golden sprig twirled into the kitchen, the sunlight turning the jeweled berries into something translucent and delicious, like pieces of candy. Elyssandra caught the sprig in one hand. She held it up to her ear, listening.
Braiden strained to hear something — anything — but only silence. The berries glimmered, relaying their message. Elyssandra brought the sprig up to her eyes, squinting into the berries like they were tiny crystal balls. She tapped one with her fingernail.
She stood bolt upright. Braiden nearly fell out of his chair.
“He’s still in town. I think. We have to go. Right now.”
Elyssandra shoveled the last of her food in her mouth and glugged down her juice. Braiden gathered up the leftovers and threw them into the ice box.
They had to get a move on. They were off to see a wizard.