A Spell for Heartsickness (The Rune Tithe #1)

by Alistair Reeves

“You look like a harlot.” “An expensive one, though.”

“Everyone could see this man’s heart beat slow when he was calm, fast when he was scared, and skip when he was in love. He tried to build over the hole in his chest, but his heart was too full of feeling, and every material he used melted.”

“Until an idiot showed up and was too stupid to be scared of the mask. With much time and patience, the man took off his mask and gave his heart to the stupid one—”

That is how you’ll meet your destiny,” Seer Niamh finished. Just as Briar demanded with all the weight of righteous indignation, “Am I the stupid one?”

“How many times a day can I call you before it’s too much? Five? Fifty?”

Then he went back inside, where he caught and gently relocated all the squatters from Briar’s residence one by one.

Everything always cost more when you had less. The injustice of it stung in older, more grievous wounds.

“What does your intuition tell you?” “I don’t have a single, solitary intuition, Vatii. Just a raging hardon for probably the wrong man.” He paused. “But… I don’t know, it sounds like Linden to me. And that’s a good thing, really. He’s attractive, he’s been kind to me, we’ve got things in common. I could learn so much from him.” “Then maybe,” she said, “you should spend more time with him.”

Rowan’s heart was a hearth, the circle of his arms a home, and Briar felt sick with the longing to stay there forever. He realized, with a drop in his stomach, that he was falling in love.

“So I can choose to live or love. Not both.”

Chose love. I hate Linden with a burning passion.

“You sound surprised. You don’t like him?” “He’s very… posh,” Rowan said neutrally.

HE IS EW.

“Marry me,” he blurted. Rowan’s uncertainty melted. “But we’re already married.” Briar flung his arms around Rowan’s neck, kissing every inch of his face. “Again,” he said. “Marry me again.” Warm brown eyes shone and fluttered closed. “As many times as you like.”