Page 86 of A Fragile Enchantment

He looked at her as though he didn’t recognize her at all. “Is that why you were so kind to me? To figure out if I was hiding something?”

It felt like he’d punched her in the gut. “No! I would never. Kit, please… I spent time with you because Iwantedto.”

“As if you’ve ever done anything you wanted to. Tonight was just…” The scorn in his voice faltered. “You’ve made a complete muddle of things. You’ve made me…”

Of everything he’d said to her, all the rude and petty things, the way he cut himself off stung the worst of all. “I’ve made youwhat?”

“Nothing,” he said sharply. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve made this situation impossible.”

“You can’t do that. That isn’t fair.” She felt like a child, protesting so helplessly. “You cannot shut me out just because being angry is easier than being hurt!”

“You’re no better! You’ve isolated yourself, Niamh. You throw yourself into work just so you don’t have to look too closely at yourself.”

She reeled back from the bitterness in his voice. Kit knew her too well to overlook the worst of her. A second idle was a second wasted, yes; such was the curse of her short life. But a second idle was also an open door for the truth to slip through like a thief: that no matter how much she did for others, no matter how much of herself she gave, no matter how much of their burdens she carried, she would never be worthy of love.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Bythis,he clearly meantyou.He crumpled the letter into his fist and shoved it into his pocket. “Stay here. I’m going to kill Sinclair.”

Right now, he might very well mean it. Men had dueled over much smaller slights. Duels weren’t especially common in Caterlow, but even she had heard of the politician who’d killed his rival for calling him a liar during a Parliamentary session. And in Avaland, where they cared so much about things like propriety and honor… She could not imagine how many had died over petty insults and wounded pride. The offended party chose the weapon (pistol, saber, or magic), as well as the victory conditions (first strike, first blood, or death).

Sinclair did not stand a chance against Kit. The thought made her mind blacken with terror. She grabbed his arm. “Kit,wait.”

He wrenched away from her. “Don’t touch me.”

The pain in his eyes gutted her. She curled her hand into a fist and cradled it close to her chest. “You don’t have to forgive me. I wouldn’t ask you to. But please listen to me. If you confront him now, in front of all these people… That is a very, very bad idea—for both him and for you.”

“Strangely enough,” he said, “I don’t care anymore.”

Without another word, he stalked out of the room.

“Kit!”

As she gave chase, he swiped an arm out in front of him. The window to her right splintered, and a tide of nettle spilled into the hall. Their vines knitted tightly together, trapping her on the otherside of a wall of spines. Niamh staggered backward in surprise. Oh, he was playing dirty. She slipped on her gloves and tore through the barrier, but her skin burned through the thin fabric and the spines snagged determinedly in her hair and gown. She wriggled free of them and set off sprinting down the halls.

By the time she caught up to him, he’d already dragged Sinclair from the drawing room. From the top of the staircase, she could see them making their way into an abandoned hallway. Kit walked determinedly ahead, his every muscle tense with anger.

“Do I even want to guess where you’ve been?” Sinclair’s voice filtered up to her. The playfulness in his voice was strained.

Kit moved faster than Niamh could blink. He shoved Sinclair into the wall so hard the paintings rattled. Kit was a good six inches shorter than Sinclair, but his simmering anger filled the room to bursting.

“What the hell, man?” Sinclair spluttered. “What is this about?”

“What do youthinkthis is about, Sinclair?” Kit snarled. “Or is it Lovelace?”

Niamh had never seen Sinclair caught off guard. But now he went deathly pale. His body slackened against the wall, and he lifted his hands placatingly between them. “Kit…”

“Don’t use that voice on me. I’m not your dog to call off.” Kit dug the flat of his elbow into Sinclair’s neck. He was incandescent with rage, but his voice quavered with a horrible, betrayed vulnerability. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not weaseling your way out of this. How could you try to sabotageeverythingand pretend to be my friend this whole time? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sinclair wheezed uselessly, and his face grew blotchy.

Niamh barreled down the stairs. “Kit, enough!”

Kit’s shoulders tensed. He let him go and took a step back with a disgusted sneer on his face, as though Sinclair was a filthy puddle he’d narrowly avoided stepping in. Sinclair slumped to the floor, coughing. “Well?”

“Because I thought you were just like me,” Sinclair rasped. “Empty inside.”

Kit flinched as though he’d struck him.

“When you first came back, you were so angry,” Sinclair continued. “I didn’t think you could see anything outside that. There was so much injustice all around us. I didn’t know how you could stomach it. So I thought, fuck it. I may be anonymous, but at least I’m trying to do something.