Page 38 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Continue acting righteous if it helps you sleep at night,” he said coldly, “but I refuse to glorify ridiculous ideals like sacrifice and duty.”

Rosa opened her mouth and closed it again. A terrible chill passed over her face. Niamh could not bear to watch a moment longer.

“So!” Sinclair clapped his hands. “About that game.”

“Yes,” Miriam agreed readily. “What kind of game shall we play?”

“I was thinking blindman’s buff.”

Kit perked up, reluctant interest kindling in his eyes. But what he said was, “Really? How childish.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Sinclair said. “Helovesthis game. We used to play with Jack and my sister all the time. I still remember that time you got so competitive, you rolled your ankle. Jack had to carry you back inside. That was when you both were cute.” He winked at Rosa. “Can you imagine?”

“As clear as day,” she said archly.

“That was a long time ago.” Kit turned scarlet and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “I seem to recall you falling into the lake. Serves you right.”

“Aw, come on,” Sinclair cajoled. “You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.”

He scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“All right, then.” Sinclair strode forward, squaring up to Kit. “Prove it.”

His grin was roguish, a challenge. It hit its mark, because Kit’sentire demeanor changed. From the glint in his eye, Niamh could see plainly the competitive boy he’d been. He dropped his papelate, then ground it underfoot. Smoke curled sinuously between them.

“Fine,” he said resignedly. “Since it matters so much to you.”

Niamh raised her hand. “Excuse me. I have a question.”

“No,” Sinclair said, “you cannot work instead of playing. Any other questions?”

She huffed indignantly. “Whatisblindman’s buff?”

“I, too, would like to know,” Miriam chimed in.

Sinclair stared at them in open dismay. “Allow me to expose you ladies to the finer points of Avlish culture.”

It was a simple game of tag, Niamh learned. One person was blindfolded, guided—or misled—only by sound and magic. Once they caught someone, they guessed the identity of their captive. If they were wrong, the game continued. If they were right, the captive became the next blind man.

“Ah,” Rosa said. “It’s gallina ciega. This should be interesting.”

“How fun!” Niamh clasped her hands together at her chest.

It was, indeed—and complete chaos. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such fun.

In the first round, Sinclair and Miriam teamed up to lead Rosa in circles for a solid five minutes with nothing but their voices, shouting so loudly she eventually surrendered due to “sonic exhaustion.”

In the second, Kit lingered within arm’s reach of Sinclair for the entire round, pivoting and dodging like a fencer while Miriam cheered him on. Eventually, he lured Sinclair directly into Niamh. She swore she caught Kit smirking at her cry of indignation.

But, at last, it was her turn.

Sinclair tied the blindfold over her eyes. The fabric scratched against her nose, and she held in a sneeze. Once she was settled, he took her by the shoulders and turned her slowly around in a circle. She spun and spun, until she felt dizzy and a little unsteadyon her feet. The darkness before her eyes listed and whirled. Her every sense sharpened. The rustle of the leaves sounded as loud as the crash of the ocean. She relished the warmth of the sun on her forehead, the scent of limes and river water.

“Here I come,” she called.

She held out her hands and took an uncertain step forward. The moment her foot touched down, a gust of wind nearly knocked her over. Her braid whipped around her shoulder. Miriam’s laughter was soft, slipping away sylph-like, as Niamh stumbled toward her. Static crackled through the air, and a sharp tug on the pendant around her neck guided her back the way she came. Magic shimmered around her, golden even behind the blindfold.

“This way,” Sinclair taunted, in a truly terrible impression of Kit’s voice.