“Seeing?” Aoife echoed. “Seeing what?”
“Your fortune or fall, your lover or your child - whatever you desire, if you’re willing to pay the price,” Brenna said. She strummed a glissando of notes, and Ciaran went still, listening intently to the conversation. “You can see the living and the dead, and the yet to be born.”
“You’re a witch,” Aoife said flatly.
“Hardly,” Brenna said. “I’m just a girl, waiting for a boy or a war or something to make my life matter.”
“How much for a bowl?”
“What have you got?”
“I’m a decent spinner,” Aoife said.
“One spool, then.”
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