Chapter 10 Quinn #2
Branrir gave a solemn nod. “Then the only one who can undo it fully and without causing any damage is him.”
“Uh, slight problem there,” Vesper said, brushing a paw over his whiskers. “It’s been three hundred years. Wouldn’t he be dead?”
“Very dead,” Mav echoed.
Dark curls shifted as Thistle angled her head. “What about an heir?”
Branrir tapped his chin. “A direct bloodline can reverse an ancestral spell. Yes…I presume it’s possible.”
“Now we’re supposed to…what?” Mav waved a hand around, trying to grasp the absurdity. “Show up in the capital? March to the castle? Knock on the king’s door and ask him to undo a centuries-old spell?”
“That’s one approach,” Branrir said with a dry chuckle. “If we can find him, if he’ll listen, and if he possesses the magical strength to manage it.”
“There are a lot of ‘ifs’ in that sentence,” Vesper grumbled.
Apprehension gnawed at my mounting nerves. “And if he cannot help us?”
Branrir hesitated.
Thistle filled the pause. “Then we try the other option.”
Vesper’s green eyes darted between them. “Which is?”
Branrir lifted a shoulder. “True love.”
Mav met my eyes, seemingly waiting for my direction.
“No,” I said, my tone far more decisive than I felt.
Branrir lifted both palms in surrender. “Had to ask.”
Thistle snorted into her hand, and Vesper let out a hissing sort of giggle.
After the verdict, silence stretched thin and taut.
I could feel Mav beside me, sifting through what we had learned and resisting what we already knew.
We had a destination now. Whether we reached for it with fury or with hope, the path had been charted.
I exhaled slowly, centuries weighing at the back of my throat.
Branrir’s gaze drifted to my deteriorating gown.
“You’re going to attract too much attention dressed as if you stepped out of a painting.
” His eyes tracked the silver-threaded seams, the high waist, and the tattered hem.
“It’s beautiful,” he added, apologetic. “But unmistakably old, and not the fashionable kind, the kind that makes people curious—too curious.”
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 welcome to 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.