Page 17 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Chapter

Thirteen

The mountain of herbs and berries and mushrooms on the dining table grew and grew as Elyssandra continued to empty her pockets.

“It’s absolutely incredible, all the things I found out there! A lot of them aren’t even indigenous to this area. Can you believe some of these plants? I only see them in the Summerlands. Many of them I haven’t seen in the wilds around Weathervale.”

Braiden nodded politely as Elyssandra described her various finds, tired from their journey, but somehow invigorated by her excitement.

“Look at this one,” she said, picking up a leaf that resembled a sprig of mint.

“Excellent for treating indigestion and gas. Oh, and this mushroom is delicious if you slice it thin and fry it. And look at this,” she said, holding up a sprig of tiny purplish flowers.

“Very good for treating small wounds and scrapes.”

“And for all sorts of tinctures and concoctions,” Braiden continued. “No wonder there were so many alchemist requests on the questing board. Which begs the question — Augustin, don’t you have any healing potions you could drink?”

“They’re very expensive, believe it or not,” the wizard explained. “You pay quite a premium for the convenience of quickly healing extreme injuries. It’s why alchemists are so wealthy. The reagents are so rare. It’s the same all over Aidun.”

Braiden rubbed his chin. “I suppose there really is a fortune to be made down here, provided you go deep enough to find the right ingredients — and as long as you’re willing to risk getting your head smashed in by a giant ball of brambles.”

“Oh, it’s not all bad,” Augustin said, examining his leg. “It’s the cost of coming to these places, you see. With a little experience, you start to understand your limits. That trap, apparently, was mine.”

He’d rolled his pants up and stretched his leg out across two chairs. By now, the gauze that Braiden had conjured was close to dematerializing, no longer clinging as tightly. It was time to apply a new bandage. And luckily, because of Elyssandra’s haul, they could apply some medicinal herbs, too.

“I still can’t believe you went gallivanting around the dungeon with that hole in your leg,” Braiden said, shaking his head.

“See for yourself,” Augustin said. “It’s a clean wound, not that deep. I already told you.”

Braiden came in for a closer look, the tips of his fingers tingling as he prepared another bandaging spell. The wound was indeed shallower than he’d expected, the icicle that lodged there perhaps slowed in flight by Augustin’s defensive burst of wind.

“I promise, I’ll be more careful next time,” Augustin said, this hallowed hero of Aidun speaking with all the quiet contrition of a schoolboy who had grazed his knee.

Braiden chuckled as his weaving spell completed, a length of clean, fresh gauze stretched between his fingers. “It’s not the hugest bother, as long as you don’t get yourself poked with more holes as we go deeper down the dungeon. You’re a wizard, not a pincushion.”

“Yes, of course,” Augustin said. “But we should save our magical reserves. Forcing you to expend your power on trivial things like bandages only means we’ll have fewer options when danger rears its ugly head.”

“A bandage is not a trivial thing.”

It surprised Braiden, how the words had come so automatically. A vague memory bubbled to the surface. Was it Granny Bethilda dressing his badly scraped elbow? Or making a smaller bandage for one of the many times he’d pricked his finger on a needle or the spinning wheel?

He was struck by how domestic this all felt, the three of them gathered at the table for something other than a simple meal.

Augustin with his leg stretched out, Braiden with the length of magicked cloth in his hands, the soothing grind of stone against stone as Elyssandra mashed heart leaves and healing herbs in a pestle and mortar.

So homey. So familial. Braiden swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

“There,” Elyssandra said, scooping some of the fragrant paste she’d produced with a tiny wooden spatula, smearing it on and around Augustin’s wound. “This should help the healing process.”

The wizard winced, but said nothing. He was a well-behaved patient, if nothing else. Braiden wrapped the bandage around Augustin’s leg, watching his face for signs of pain or discomfort. There were none. Very heroic. And sure, maybe Elyssandra was right. A little handsome, too.

“Finished,” he pronounced, patting the side of Augustin’s leg. “I’ve infused the gauze with a little more magic than usual. This should last you through the night.”

Augustin gave a pinched laugh. “It’s more than I deserve. I’ll be more vigilant, I swear it. And thank you. Both of you.”

The wizard’s eyes regarded each of them with gratitude, the gray of them brighter, like the sky after a storm. But his gaze, for whatever reason, lingered longer on Braiden’s face.

“It’s hot in here,” Braiden complained, desperate to break eye contact, feeling too hot and flustered. “Isn’t it a bit hot? I should take this off.”

The sweater came up and over his head, leaving his hair sticking up in all places, but it was better than dying of a mysterious heat stroke in the comfort of Elyssandra’s magical elven cottage.

Braiden knew he was blushing, too. He had to be. He folded his sweater neatly, casually avoiding Augustin’s gaze, knowing out of the corner of his eye that the wizard was still watching him with quiet bemusement.

“We should get dinner started,” Braiden said, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his trousers. “Now, Elyssandra, what can we eat out of all this?”

“Oh,” she said, lighting up as she bolted out of her chair. “It’s not just this. The house comes stocked with its own supplies. Come and see.”

She waved them over to the kitchen counters. Braiden helped Augustin out of his chair while still successfully avoiding his gaze. He was, however, quite unsuccessful at avoiding contact with his body. How else was he supposed to help the man stand?

Elyssandra was right. The wizard was surprisingly well built for someone accustomed to only using magic.

Those arms belonged on a farmer, or a swordsman.

Braiden followed Elyssandra to the kitchen, confident that Augustin could make the rest of the very short way on his own. That was enough helping for one night.

“Here you go,” Elyssandra said, pulling on various drawers, opening numerous bins. Braiden’s jaw dropped, his mouth falling progressively open as Elyssandra revealed more and more of her alarmingly well-supplied kitchen.

The bins contained nearly everything anyone needed to make a huge range of staples, and more to boot. Oats. Flour. Rice. Sugar. Salt. Pepper. Cinnamon. The burlap sack sitting on the counter was filled to the brim with potatoes. There were at least a dozen eggs in the ice box, too.

Braiden pinched the bridge of his nose. That way, he might stop his brain from escaping through his nostrils.

“Why?” he began, struggling to phrase his question politely. “Elyssandra. Why were you always half-starved when you had these supplies in your kitchen all along?”

She threw her hands up, eyes wide. “I told you, I wasn’t prepared for this journey! What was I thinking? I’m constantly afraid of setting the house on fire. I could burn water by boiling it. In fact, I’m sure I have.”

Augustin nodded with all the pompous wisdom of a wizard twice his age. “Cooking can be quite the intimidating task. Why, even the greatest alchemists still find themselves brewing up accidental explosions all the time. I don’t blame you.”

“What are you talking about?” Braiden asked. “You cannot possibly compare brewing a complicated potion to making a simple breakfast. Elyssandra, so help me, I am going to teach you the basics. You’ll be making pancakes in your sleep by the end of all this.”

She beamed, positively delighted. “Your grandmother’s recipe? I look forward to it.”

Braiden shook his head, waving his hand at a kitchen that he now realized was even more fully stocked than his own.

“How have you survived at all if you’re too afraid to start a fire or light a stove?”

“Well, you see — at the start of my journey, these were filled with fresh ingredients.” Elyssandra slid open a few more drawers, wearing a long, despondent face.

“Apples, tomatoes, oranges — there was a loaf of bread, too. They came with the house. I’ve since eaten them all.

If it weren’t for some of the kinder adventurers at the encampment, I might have had to beg or steal to eat. ”

Augustin clicked his fingers. “Of course. Hearty party soup.”

Now they were just making up words. Braiden clutched the edge of the counter. Elyssandra might have eaten those potatoes raw if she felt hungry enough. An elven solo traveler who couldn’t cook to save her life, and now the resident wizard was rambling about — what was it again?

“Hearty party soup?” Braiden asked wearily.

“It’s what they call it out in the encampment,” Elyssandra said, nodding eagerly.

“Augustin is right. A bit of meat or a handful of turnips isn’t enough of a meal for one adventurer on their own.

But if enough adventurers put all their ingredients together?

Well, that’s a different story. So everyone chips in what they have, tosses it into this huge cauldron, and at the end you have a delicious, hearty soup to share with everyone. ”

“Very common wherever you find adventurers,” Augustin said, arms crossed, grinning with smug authority. “I’m certain I saw a large cauldron by the fire pit back at the dungeon haven.”

“People can be very kind,” Elyssandra said. “I could go foraging for some mushrooms and make sure I wouldn’t go hungry for the day.”

No wonder the poor thing seemed so starved all the time. Just as well — Braiden was quickly discovering that the only thing he enjoyed more than cooking was having friends to feed. He scanned the kitchen as he rolled his sleeves up.