We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Sarah Beth Durst’s romantasy debut The Spellshop, a lush cottagecore tale full of stolen spellbooks, unexpected friendships, sweet jams, and even sweeter love—publishing with Bramble on July 9.
Kiela has always had trouble dealing with people. Thankfully, as librarian at the Great Library of Alyssium, she hasn’t had to.
She and her assistant, Caz, a magically sentient spider plant, have spent the last eleven years sequestered among the empire’s most precious spellbooks, preserving their magic for the city’s elite. But when a revolution begins and the library goes up in flames, she and Caz save as many books as they can carry and flee to a faraway island Kiela was sure she’d never return to: her childhood home. Kiela hopes to lay low in the overgrown and rundown cottage her late parents left her and figure out a way to survive without drawing the attention of either the empire or the revolutionaries. Much to her dismay, in addition to a nosy—and very handsome—neighbor, she finds the town neglected and in a state of disrepair.
The empire, for all its magic and power, has been neglecting for years the people who depend on magical intervention to maintain healthy livestock and crops. Not only that, but the very magic that should be helping them has been creating destructive storms that have taken a toll on the island. Due to her past role at the library, Kiela feels partially responsible for this, and now she’s determined to find a way to make things right: by opening the island’s first-ever secret spellshop.
Her plan comes with risks—the consequence of sharing magic with commoners is death. And as Kiela comes to make a place for herself among the kind and quirky townspeople of her former home, she realizes that in order to make a life for herself, she must learn to break down the walls she has built up so high.
Chapter 7
“I came to apologize,” Larran said.
Oh! That was nice! But wait, no, he couldn’t be here right now. Kiela had left the spellbooks piled on the bed, and who knew what was happening with the in-progress spell in the garden… He really had to go away. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Standing on the front step, he hadn’t crossed over the threshold, but he also wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to leave. Glancing behind her, out the back door to the garden, she saw Caz hide the spellbook beneath her father’s shirt. I can’t let him come in.
“I did. I mean, I do,” he said. “I… pushed too hard. With the chimney. With the eggs. I didn’t ask what you wanted.” He was blushing. “I’m not really good with people.”
You and me both, she thought. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She wanted to add: Now, leave. But she couldn’t figure out how to phrase it politely.
“I’m sorry I caused you to,” he said. “And I promise I won’t show up uninvited again.”
He looked so earnest and so obliviously unaware of the fact that he was already in violation of that promise that she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Other than right now,” he clarified. “Allow me to make it up to you…” He took a step forward, as if to walk through the doorway, and Kiela wedged herself diagonally, leaning her shoulder against one side of the doorframe while her feet were in the opposite corner, as if that were a casual and normal way to stand. He halted.
“If you’d like to make it up to me…” She paused, hoping a brilliant idea would come to her. What could she propose? A walk in the woods? A trip into town? A visit to the bakery? What would interest him enough that he’d abandon his idea to come into her house, where he could see the spellbooks and discover she’d cast a spell in the garden… “Your merhorses!”
He looked confused, and she was suddenly aware of how ridiculous it was for her to think she could block the doorway if he decided he wanted to walk through. He towered over her without even trying. If he wanted to, he could have scooped her up one-handed and set her aside, but thankfully, he stayed put on her front step. “My merhorses?” he repeated.
“You offered to let me ride one,” Kiela said.
Wait—was that what she wanted to do? She’d never done such a thing. She’d seen it, when she was a kid, and she’d begged her parents to let her try. When you’re older, they’d always said, but by that time, they’d moved to the city, where there were no merhorses or merfolk or anything but minnows and trash in the canals.
Caz piped up behind her. “You did! You said it. Before. I heard you.”
“I didn’t think you wanted…” Larran began, and then he shook his head. “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea. The ocean’s warm today. Perfect weather for it. I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Of course I am!” She smiled brightly at him, and it felt so fake that she thought her cheeks might crack. She hoped he couldn’t tell that under normal circumstances she would never voluntarily suggest any kind of extended social activity. If he’d shown up just an hour later, after she’d had time to hide all the evidence…
Cheerfully, Caz shooed her outside. “Great! It’s settled. Have fun, you two.” Shoving with his tendrils, he shut the door firmly behind her.
“If you want to change your clothes…” Larran suggested.
“Nope, I’m fine as is.”
“Your skirt will get wet. Likely, all of you will—”
“I’ll dry,” she said quickly. “I’m not made of sugar.”
Larran smiled at her, and Kiela looked up at him and hoped this wasn’t a mistake.
He led the way toward the path through the forest, and she glanced back to see Caz plastered against the window, filling the panes with his leaves, as he watched to ensure they left. She then followed Larran through the green, to the cliffs. The wind had picked up, and it blew her blue hair into her face. She pushed the strands back behind her ears. Waiting for her at the top of the wooden stairs, Larran held out his hand.
She blinked at it. “I’m fine.”
He blushed, lowering his hand. “Ah. Of course.”
Just because she’d lived most of her life in the city didn’t mean she was incapable of doing anything for herself. The sooner he learned that, the better they’d get along.
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The Spellshop
Of course, he’d be more impressed with my ability to be independent if I hadn’t almost burned down my house, lost my one and only chicken, and violated imperial law all within twenty-four hours. At least he didn’t know about the last one. She intended to keep it that way.
Kiela followed him down the stairs, holding on to the railing as the wind picked and pulled at her hair and her clothes. The sea was choppier than it had been when she’d gathered the rosebuds. White crests rose and disappeared. She heard waves crash against the rocks as if they wanted to shatter them.
He hadn’t said anything since they’d started down, and she wondered if he was regretting agreeing to this. And fixing her chimney. And gifting her eggs, cheese, and cinnamon buns. He’d only stopped by to apologize; he couldn’t have anticipated a brief courtesy call turning into an outing in which he’d have to spend time with her. Why had he said yes? He can’t have been charmed by my friendliness, Kiela thought. She hadn’t encouraged any of it.
Perhaps it had to do with whatever had happened when they were children. She wondered again what she’d done back then to make him feel he had to try so hard to be nice to her now. Or what her parents had done. But instead she asked, “How do you ride a merhorse?”
Turning his head, he smiled back at her, and she knew she’d asked the right question. “First, you need to earn one’s trust…” He went on to describe the different merhorses in his herd and which treats they preferred. “Sian, she’s the golden mare, is fond of tomatoes. I discovered that when the apple trees on Caltrey sickened and wouldn’t produce anymore. You might want to start with her. She can be fast, but she won’t play tricks.”
“Tricks?” Kiela asked.
“A few of them like to submerge with riders on them,” Larran said. “Merhorses have a sense of humor, you see, but it’s not quite a human sense of humor.”
Maybe she should have stayed back at the cottage and found a different way to distract him from the spellwork in the garden. The merhorse herders had always looked so gloriously wild and free when she used to watch them as a child. Now it was beginning to sound a bit more reckless. She wasn’t used to taking risks.
That’s a good enough reason to do it. Her life seemed to be all about taking risks lately, starting the second she’d taken the lift down to the canals. Maybe that’s who I need to be now if I want to thrive here—a person who takes risks.
He led her past his house, a sweet yellow cottage squeezed between the cliffs and the sea. It had a porch that wrapped around the front, as well as a balcony on the roof. Rocks served as a buffer between his porch and the waves. He paused to remove his boots and socks, and she did the same, leaving them safe on the sand. She used the ribbons on her skirt to hike it up above her knees.
Following Larran, she climbed barefoot over the stones that jutted out into the sea.
Spray flew into the air as the waves crashed against the boulders. He straddled two rocks, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled. The whistle pierced the wind.
In answer, several merhorses neighed.
Kiela watched the herd swim toward the shore. There were at least a dozen of the half-fish half-horse animals, and each was as beautiful as the sea itself. Water sprayed from the manes, and Kiela couldn’t tell what was horse and what was ocean.
Closer, she could see how sleek and perfect they were. They weren’t like some of the illustrations in the library’s illuminated manuscripts, half a horse stuck unceremoniously to half a fish. Instead, they were one cohesive creature. The horse head and neck, with forelegs, flowed into a sleek dolphin-like body that narrowed into a gorgeous mermaid-like tail covered in shimmering scales. Their coloration varied from pale to jewel tones—shades of blue, green, purple, and red. One was as golden as the sun.
Kneeling, Larran snapped his fingers. “Sian, to me!”
He beckoned to Kiela to come closer as one of the mares separated herself from the rest and swam forward, her hooves pawing at the waves as her tail propelled her toward the rocks. She was a rich gold with black streaks in her mane, and her eyes were a fathomless blue.
“Aren’t you a beauty,” Kiela cooed.
The horse-fish tossed her mane as if she understood her.
From one of his pockets, Larran produced a tomato. This time, he didn’t have the excuse that he was rushing to her smoke-filled house. He simply had a tomato in his pocket. She wondered if they ever ended up squished. He handed it to Kiela.
“Hand flat,” he said softly. “Offer it to her.”
Squatting next to him, Kiela held the tomato out flat on her palm. Water from the wet rocks soaked into the hem of her skirt, but she ignored it—she’d dry, eventually.
Sian swam forward and then treaded water a few feet too far away.
“You’re new, that’s all,” Larran said, still soft. “She’s being cautious, but not as wary as she could be. If she was with foal, she’d never have come this close. But she isn’t. None of them are.”
There was a note in his voice that sounded… sad? Worried? She wanted to ask more questions. Were they supposed to be with foal? If so, why weren’t they? But before she could form the words on her lips, Sian stretched out her neck and swam closer.
Kiela held still, marveling to be so close to such a beautiful creature. They were one of the wonders of the Northern Sea. No one knew how they were created, whether by a deliberate spell or by accidental magic, but the stories claimed they’d suddenly appeared one season, while a group of island fisherfolk were trying and failing to catch any fish. Day after day, the fisherfolk had been returning with empty nets. Their families were starving, and their villages were dying. But then one day, the merhorses appeared and drove the fish directly into their nets.
From then on, there was a relationship between the islanders and the merhorses. Herders like Larran would care for the herds, ensuring they were healthy, helping them with the often-dangerous birthing of foals, feeding them when the winter drove the fish too deep for the horse-fish to dive. In return, the merhorses would aid the fisherfolk in their boats during the spring, summer, and fall.
“The key,” Larran said, so close to her ear that she felt the warmth of his breath, “is to not be afraid. She won’t let you drown. You need to trust.”
What if this time the merhorse decided she didn’t like her rider? What if that nonhuman sense of humor that Larran had mentioned caused her to dunk Kiela? To think it funny if she panicked, flailed, and drowned? Larran wouldn’t have agreed to this if he didn’t think it would be okay.
She didn’t know if she trusted Sian.
But part of her wanted to trust Larran. She just didn’t know if it was the sensible part or the new reckless part. She thought of what she’d done in the garden with the seeds and the spell. Even knowing how dangerous it was, she didn’t regret the attempt. I’ll try again. And again. Until it works. It was worth the risk.
“How do I mount?” Kiela asked.
“Like this.” And then his strong arms were around her waist, lifting her onto the back of the horse-fish. He lowered her gently, as if she were a precious thing he didn’t dare break. She felt the warmth of his skin through her shirt, and then she felt the cold of the waves as her legs dipped into the ocean. She hiked her skirt up to her thighs, but it was already soaked.
He held her a moment longer, allowing the merhorse to become accustomed to her.
“How do I steer?” she asked.
“You don’t,” he said. “She steers. You ride.”
He then released her. Instinctively, she leaned forward and grabbed onto Sian’s mane as the merhorse lunged away from the rocks. Sea spray and wind spattered Kiela’s face.
The merhorse picked up speed, jumping through the waves like a dolphin. Kiela clung to her mane, feeling as if she were holding on to seaweed, slippery but soft. She let out a shriek as Sian leaped over the top of a large cresting wave, and then she laughed as they sailed down the other side.
She’d never felt anything like this. It was terrifying. And wonderful.
She felt as if her blood had become the wind, and her breath had become the sea spray. She tasted salt, and she tasted freedom. Both were glorious.
They galloped away from the island into the wide blue.
Beside her, Kiela saw Larran on a purple merhorse. He had the widest smile on his face, and she knew she was seeing him in his element. This was where he belonged. This was what he loved. She could see it as plainly as she could read words on a page. He’d allowed her into his world with this ride. It was a gift, as much as the cinnamon buns and the chimney repair.
It was easy to be annoyed with him for the way he’d overstepped. But maybe, after this, she could forgive him. At least a little. Maybe he was just as awkward with people as she was, in his own way.
The men and women on the fishing boats raised their hands in greeting as Kiela and Larran rode by. Larran waved back. She didn’t dare release the mane, but she smiled as they passed.
Soon, they were beyond the last of the boats. Only blue was around them. Waves swelled gently, and the horse-fish slowed. They swam side by side, and Kiela caught her breath. On their sail in the library boat, she and Caz had been surrounded by as much blue, but somehow this was different. She felt a part of it, linked to the sea.
Her dress was soaked, and her skin was saturated. She had goose bumps all over from the chill of the wind, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want this to ever end.
“You like it?” he asked, almost shyly.
Kiela turned to him with a smile that felt like a laugh. “Oh, yes!”
“Not everyone does.”
“I guess I’m not everyone.”
He smiled. “You’re not.”
It was the first time such a sentiment felt like a compliment.
At a leisurely pace, they rode in companionable silence back toward shore. Halfway there, she remembered the question she wanted to ask: “Why hasn’t Sian foaled?”
“None of them have,” he said with a sigh. “Not for five years.”
Five years? “Not one in five years?”
“A merhorse doesn’t foal easily. They aren’t as fertile as other creatures, and their birthing… It’s difficult, and often fatal for the foal. Sometimes for the mother as well. It used to be the sorcerers would visit twice a year, once to help them conceive and once to help with the birthing. We’d have new foals every single year, at least five or six. Sian’s herd… It used to be triple in size.”
As Bryn had said, the herd was dwindling, which meant the fisherfolk would catch less, which meant the islanders would have less to eat and less to trade. Kiela thought of how run-down the village had looked and the hint of desperation, of flat-out poverty, she’d seen in the people. Behind the friendly smiles, there was a lot of struggling going on. It might not have been visible to Kiela as a child—and indeed, it might not have been true when she was a child, since the emperor had only just begun to tighten the laws and withdraw the sorcerers—but it was clear now.
She rode the rest of the way deep in thought.
When they reached the rocks, Larran helped her dismount. She thanked Sian and also Larran. “That was magnificent,” she said sincerely.
He smiled, again a bit shyly. “I’ll take you whenever you want.”
“I’d love that.”
“If you’d like to join me for a meal… and to dry off…”
Her blouse stuck to her skin, her blue hair was plastered to her neck, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But there was an idea that had dug its talons into her mind and wouldn’t let go. “I have to check on my garden. And Caz. There’s a lot to be done around the house.”
Larran’s smile dipped, and for an instant, she wished she’d said yes. “I understand.”
She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t him. Not this time. She wasn’t just making up excuses to leave. Pulling on her socks and boots over her wet feet, she said, “Another time?”
He brightened. “Another time,” he agreed.
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Excerpted from The Spellshop, copyright © 2024 by Sarah Beth Durst.
