Page 42 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Braiden Beadle sighed as he stared out the windows of his craft shop, watching as the sun began its steady descent. The world already seemed so much darker.

He was back at the beginning, back to before this all began, and he hated feeling so helpless. He rubbed his face blearily, sitting behind the counter, resting his weary legs and his even wearier heart.

Augustin’s fleetfoot spell did have some consequences. Belated and mitigated as the effects were, there would still be some muscle soreness, the wizard had explained. But behind Braiden, pacing in and out of the storage room, at least one person appeared to be immune to the spell’s aftereffects.

“Ungrateful louts,” Elyssandra muttered to herself. “They can’t see beyond their noses. Don’t they know how terrible this could be for all of them? For all of us?”

Her feet stomped against the floorboards as she harrumphed back and forth, glaring at the mountain of sweaters in the storage room when she walked in one direction, glaring out the shop windows as she stalked in the other.

Braiden forced a laugh into his voice, anything to lift his spirits. “If you keep that up much longer, you’ll gouge a line straight into the floorboards. If you don’t stomp your way beneath the ground first, that is.”

She stamped her foot and stopped in place, hands balled into furious fists.

“It’s not fair. Those adventurers at the tavern?

Those can’t be the same people I met at the encampment, the ones who made hearty party soup.

Where’s the spirit of community? The sense of what’s right?

” She flung an arm out at the mountain of sweaters.

“How can we possibly move all this stuff? There must be dozens of them, Braid. Maybe hundreds.”

“Granny Bethilda and I made far too many sweaters.” He shook his head and sighed. “Some were for practice, and the others? I think we were trying to use up the yarn that wouldn’t sell.”

Elyssandra walked over to the counter, pulling up a chair next to Braiden and slumping into it sulkily. “They’re very good pieces of knitwear. I’m sure you and your grandmother did a wonderful job. I’m just so angry at all those bloody adventurers.”

“Look at you, cursing after such a short time away from the Summerlands. Very unbecoming of a princess.”

She smacked his shoulder, but chuckled back. At least he got a little laugh out of her.

“Be serious, Braiden. I only wish we could have brought Warren with us up to the surface. That would have convinced the adventurers on sight. Now all we have left to count on is Augustin’s grandmother.”

Braiden turned hopefully toward the windows again. The night had fallen thick and dark over Weathervale, like a blanket of the finest othergoat wool. What Braiden wouldn’t give for a good night’s rest, or a nap.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not while Augustin was still out there. Something in Braiden’s gut told him the wizard hadn’t been joking about stuffing Elder Orora into a sack if she refused to comply.

“This is so frustrating,” Elyssandra said. “Not to mention nerve-wracking. It feels like we should be doing something, but what? Steal some apple carts from the night market, dump out the apples, use the carts to bring the sweaters down the dungeon?”

“Sounds like a huge waste of apples. But that’s a good start. At least you’re coming up with ideas.”

Elyssandra sank deeper into her chair, then clutched her stomach. Braiden didn’t need to listen very hard to hear it gurgle.

“Oh, good,” she grumbled. “And now this bottomless pit of a stomach needs filling again.”

Braiden rose from his chair. “I can fix us something to eat. I haven’t done any shopping since we went down the dungeon, but there has to be something left in the ice box.”

“I don’t mean to put you out,” Elyssandra said, clearly pretending she wasn’t as hungry as she felt. “You really don’t have to. Maybe we can go to the night market really quick.”

“I think we should be here when Augustin comes back. I’m very hungry, too, and we need to eat. Besides, I like to cook. It helps me clear my head. Who knows? I might come up with some ideas up there.”

He trudged up the stairs, the deep ache in his bones fading as he slipped into this smallest role of responsibility, feeding his hungry friend. The fleetfoot spell’s adverse effects were starting to hit her, drawing on her body’s reserves of energy.

It felt nice to have someone who liked his cooking, though Braiden suspected Elyssandra was the type who would enjoy most anyone’s cooking. Still, she liked everything Braiden had ever put on her plate, and that was all that mattered.

He peered through the cupboards, shaking his head at their emptiness. He really needed to do some shopping soon. He checked the ice box, surprised to find some bacon in there. And he still had all the ingredients for Granny Bethilda’s Perfectly Plump Pancakes, didn’t he?

“Elyssandra,” he called down the stairs. “It looks like we only have bacon and pancakes. Again. Is that fine for you, or should one of us run out after all to get some — ”

“Yes!” she yelled back, invigorated. “I mean, yes, please. That sounds perfectly lovely.”

Braiden smiled and set to work. This time, he remembered to use the baking powder.

This time, he would leave frying the bacon for last, to make sure it was still crisp by the time the pancakes hit the table.

He stirred up the dry ingredients, mixed in the milk and eggs, poured the first perfect white circle into a hot, buttered pan —

And then the first tear spilled. And then another, and then the dam broke. Braiden rubbed at his eyes, embarrassed and furious that he would let himself cry like this, scolding himself in case he let the pancakes burn.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, their grand adventure. All the heroes in all the books — in Elyssandra’s book — they always saved the day. His shoulders trembled as he watched the raw batter bubble and set, the frustration burbling out of his body.

Granny Bethilda would know what to do. But Granny Bethilda wasn’t here.

“Sorry,” came Elyssandra’s voice from much closer by. She stood in the doorway, a small smile on her lips. “I thought you could use some help.”

Braiden sniffled and wiped at his eyes again. “Yes. I could use a little help, I think.”

Elyssandra paced forward and squeezed him. He hugged her back, hiding his tears in golden hair that smelled of flowers. When he was done having a good little cry, it felt as though she’d squeezed all the tears out of him.

“I shouldn’t let the pancakes burn,” he said, flipping the first one in the pan.

“You’re doing just fine,” Elyssandra said, peering over his shoulder. “They still look perfect to me.”

A short while later, the two of them were tucking into bacon and pancakes, very much the same meal they’d shared that morning before their adventure, the morning before they’d tracked down the Wizard of Weathervale.

Even as he ate, Braiden kept eyeing the plate of food he’d set aside for Augustin — kept out of filching reach of the thieving princess, of course. Elyssandra had slid it out of range herself, distrusting her own unintended tendency to steal bacon.

She was washing dishes in the sink and staring out the attic window when she suddenly dropped the scrub brush.

“Augustin! He’s back.”

The two of them raced down the stairs, slowing only long enough to let each other pass without colliding in a tangle. Braiden panted as he rushed for the front door, nearly beating Augustin to the bell.

But from the slope of his shoulders, the gloom enshrouding him that didn’t come from the dark of night, Braiden already knew. Help wasn’t coming. The bell above the shop door gave a melancholy tinkle as Augustin stepped inside.

“I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t at the Lighthouse, and she wasn’t home, either. The message should have reached her by now.”

“I hope she’s all right, at least,” Elyssandra said. “Wherever she might be.”

Braiden kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. “I don’t understand. Elder Orora knows what’s at stake.”

Augustin shrugged. “Maybe she had a change of heart. Maybe the message didn’t find her.”

“I made some food,” Braiden said, his head in a haze, no longer so angry, only disappointed in the whole situation. This was all to save Weathervale. Why wouldn’t Weathervale save itself?

“Nice shop,” Augustin said, lost in his own haze as he looked around at the shelves. “Sorry. Normally I would have something more complimentary to say, but — you know.”

“We’ll talk more once you’ve eaten,” Braiden said, forcing a smile, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Maybe you can try another message once you’ve built back your strength.”

Braiden pushed some bacon around on a hot pan to crisp it up again, glancing over his shoulder at the dinner table. Elyssandra held her head in her hands, glaring angrily at nothing. Augustin leaned against the back of his chair, head lolling as he looked emptily up at the ceiling.

Hot food in the belly and a bit of rest always helped. He tipped bacon onto Augustin’s plate and patted him on the back. The wizard gave him a grateful smile as he picked up his fork. Augustin had barely started on his bacon and pancakes when the bell above the door tinkled again.

“It couldn’t be a customer this late at night,” Braiden muttered.

Three pairs of boots tromped down to the ground level, the staircase creaking, unused to the weight of so many visitors.

Braiden peeked around the corner first. Elyssandra pinched the hem of his sweater in her thumb and forefinger.

Augustin was so close behind that Braiden could hear him still crunching on a rasher of bacon.

Braiden’s hair stood on end when he spotted the green-skinned man hovering at the doorway, enormous war hammer in hand.

“Oh, gods,” he hissed. “It’s the orc from the dungeon. He’s come to finish the job.”