Chapter 4 What The Coin Buys
Ryan's POV
The second time I walked into The Remedy & Ruin, I had a perfectly respectable reason prepared, which was unfortunate because it had almost nothing to do with why I was there. Professor Grant had mentioned a reference text during yesterday's Potioncraft lecture, and I could claim I had come to ask Riley whether she stocked it, while the actual reason sat in the back of my mind: I wanted another look at the silver coin.
The bell gave a bright chime when I opened the door, and the shop answered with rosemary, warm wax, and something sweet simmering beneath it. Riley stood behind the counter with her sleeves pushed to her elbows, sorting labels into a neat stack while a small brass kettle watched from the corner as though it had developed opinions about the arrangement.
She looked up and paused when she saw me. “You came back.”
“I said I would if I learned anything useful.”
“You said that after staring at my coin like it had personally offended you.”
“I was not aware I had been that obvious.”
“You were.”
Her mouth tilted with satisfaction, and I disliked how quickly I noticed it. I walked farther into the shop and tried to look as though I had arrived for a book rather than because I had spent the walk from the academy wondering whether the coin would still be there.
It was sitting on the counter beside a row of amber bottles, and even from several steps away I recognized the faint silver sheen along its edge. The flower-and-curling-lines design mattered less to me than the three tiny cuts worked into the rim, marks I had seen before and had no desire to see again.
I stopped beside the nearest shelf and gestured toward the books. “Do you have anything by Professor Vale on advanced concentration theory?”
Riley gave me a long look. “That was a very specific question for someone who walked in looking at the coin.”
“I looked at several things.”
“You looked at one thing.”
“I am beginning to think you enjoy being difficult.”
“I thought you had not decided whether I was competent.”
“I have not.”
She reached for a book anyway, then stopped when the brass kettle gave a sharp whistle. Riley turned toward it with an expression of mild betrayal, and when it whistled again, I glanced at the kettle and said, “It appears to disagree.”
“Do not encourage it.”
“I would not dream of it.”
The kettle settled with a smug little hiss, and Riley muttered something about household objects developing opinions just as the bell rang again. Netty hurried inside, cheeks pink from the cold and hair escaping its pins, clutching a small bottle against her chest with the immediate expression of someone who had walked into the wrong room and was considering pretending otherwise.
Riley's voice softened. “You are all right.”
“I need to return this.”
Riley took the bottle carefully and frowned at the label. “Did it not work?”
“It worked too well.”
“This is the confidence draught from yesterday.”
Netty nodded. “I drank it before I saw him, and then I told him everything.”
Riley's eyebrows rose. “Everything?”
“I also told him I had practiced the conversation in the mirror for three weeks.”
Riley considered that for a moment. “That part may have been more information than he needed.”
Netty groaned, and I looked down to hide the beginning of a smile. Riley did not laugh at her, although the corner of her mouth threatened to.
“What do you want me to do?” Riley asked.
“I want something that makes me stop caring about him.”
The shop seemed quieter after that. Riley set the bottle down and leaned one hip against the counter before answering.
“I cannot make you stop caring about someone.”
“Why not?”
“Because that is not what my magic does.”
Netty looked miserable. “But you do Heartcraft.”
“I do.”
“And Heartcraft is supposed to fix feelings.”
Riley's expression softened. “Heartcraft helps me understand what is hurting. It does not give me permission to decide what someone should feel.”
Netty stared at her, so Riley continued in the same calm voice. “If you want something that helps you sleep tonight, I can make that, and if you want something that steadies your stomach before you see him again, I can make that too, but I will not brew something that turns your heart off simply because being hurt is inconvenient.”
Netty's fingers tightened around the counter. “What if I do not want to see him again?”
“Then you do not have to.”
“And what if I still care?”
Riley held her gaze. “Then you still care.”
There was no judgment in the answer, which seemed to surprise Netty more than the refusal had. Riley reached for a small blue vial, measured moonmint into a mortar, and added a pinch of glittering powder while the kettle began to whistle again.
Riley closed her eyes briefly. “I know.”
The kettle stopped, and when Riley opened one eye, she looked toward it. “You are taking his side now?”
The kettle gave a tiny click.
I glanced at it. “I think it has chosen wisely.”
“You are both unbearable.”
Netty laughed, quietly at first, then with enough relief to loosen her shoulders. Riley returned to her work, grinding the moonmint until it released a cool green scent that mixed with rosemary and honey.
When she poured the mixture into a fresh bottle, the liquid turned pale silver at the surface and sent a thin ribbon of steam curling upward. The steam smelled faintly of rain on stone, and Netty breathed it in before Riley corked the bottle.
“This will not make you stop loving him,” Riley said. “It should help your thoughts settle enough that you can decide what you want without panic doing the deciding for you.”
Netty looked down at the bottle. “That sounds harder.”
“It is.”
“You could have lied.”
“I could have sold you something useless and taken your money.”
Netty gave her a watery smile. “You really would rather lose a sale.”
“I would rather have you come back because something helped.”
Netty tucked the bottle into her bag and thanked her before leaving. The bell chimed behind her, and the shop returned to its quiet hum, but something about Riley's refusal stayed with me.
I had expected a shopkeeper to care whether a bottle worked. I had not expected Riley to refuse a customer precisely because the easiest answer would have been the wrong one, or to make a harder remedy simply because she believed the customer deserved to remain herself.
I found myself looking at the coin again, and Riley noticed. “You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at the coin like it owes you an explanation.”
I considered telling her the truth, but instead I said, “It is unusual.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she let the matter rest. I stepped closer to the counter, and the coin was still cold despite having sat in the warm shop long enough that it should not have been, which made the three cuts along its edge impossible to dismiss.
I knew those marks, and the recognition settled unpleasantly behind my ribs. They belonged to an old fae debt-token tradition, though I had never expected to see one here, in a human shop, beside a bottle of moonmint and a handwritten sign about tea.
Riley was watching me. “You know something.”
It was not quite a question, but I answered it as though it were. “I know that your book is probably not on that shelf.”
She stared at me. “That was not what I meant.”
“I know.”
For reasons I could not explain, I was relieved when she chose not to press. I picked up the book I had supposedly come to find and glanced at its cover.
“This will do.”
“You did not even open it.”
“I recognize the author.”
“You asked whether I stocked it.”
“I have confirmed that you do.”
“That is not how books work.”
“I am learning.”
She folded her arms, but amusement had returned to her expression. “You are very strange.”
“I have heard rumors.”
“From whom?”
“Unreliable sources.”
She laughed under her breath, and I looked away before the sound could make me stay longer than intended. At the door, I paused with my hand on the handle and glanced back at the coin one last time.
The three cuts were not random, and I had known that from the moment I saw them. I pocketed the detail without telling Riley, leaving with the book under my arm and the more troubling certainty that whatever had brought that coin to her shop was not finished with either of us.
