#and this is why miryn tensed up about lindy catching a mage

[iturbide]

Summer Storm

7,066/50,000 words

The two people at the table looked up at him as he closed the door behind him.  Dain sat comfortably on one side, legs crossed at the knee and arms folded over her chest -- though her cool smile softened when she met his eye.  “Welcome back, Miryn,” she called, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table and her chin over her laced fingers.  “How was the market?”

“I sold out,” he beamed, easing his pack down beside the door with a bright clatter of glassware.  Turning to the man standing opposite his sister, he bobbed his head in easy greeting.  “It’s good to see you, Leander.”

The man returned the nod, hawk-like gold eyes looking between Miryn and Dain.  “I was wondering where you were -- market day, huh?” he asked, giving the short tail of his red hair a brief tug.  “Maybe you can help me convince Nightshade to help me out.”

“You know my price, Lee,” she said calmly, shrugging as he planted one hand on the table and the other on his hip.  They all knew his attempts to put pressure on her with simple posturing wouldn’t work (though that had never stopped him from trying).  “A quarter.”

“Highway robbery,” he shot back while Miryn unbuckled and opened his packs, removing his market purchases and bustling about to put them in their proper places.  “Ten percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.  Final offer.”

She stared him down, a triumphant smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.  “Fine,” she agreed.  “Give me the details.”

Leander dropped into the empty chair across from her, pulling a folded map from the pouch on his hip and spreading it across the table.  Miryn only half-listened while he prepared dinner: slicing vegetables, scaling and gutting and deboning fish, crumbling dried herbs and mincing fresh, and adding a splash of the stock simmering in the pot over the low-burning hearth to the heavy dish, before covering it and clearing a place for it to cook in the embers. 

With that done, he left them to their discussion, moving into his room and emptying his satchel of the plants he’d collected along the way to and from the city, laying them out along his workbench and windowsill to dry: some would be key ingredients for his recipes, others would be moved to their kitchen to season their meals.  The berries he piled into a bowl at the corner of his desk -- in easy reach for later when he needed a snack.

He'd cleaned his equipment the night before, after he’d finished packing the last of his market wares.  Now he reached up to the shelves over his workbench, pulling down jars of dried leaves, seeds, flowers, and bits of bark, each neatly labeled in his most careful handwriting (though he hardly bothered to look at them anymore, knowing by habit what each one contained).  Adding a thumb-sized piece of willow bark, a few dried catmint leaves, a sprig of goldenrod flowers, and enough water to cover them to a stone bowl, he placed it into the open cradle over a charred plate, a small pile of dry twigs and leaves already piled and waiting.

It would be a while until and Leander finished their discussion and dinner was ready to serve.  Spreading his arms, he pulled in a deep, steady breath, and pulled the quiet energy of the room around him, focusing it by will alone into a bright spark that set the kindling aflame.  

And with magic humming at his fingertips, Miryn rolled up his sleeves and set to work again.