Page 52 of A Fragile Enchantment

Sofia turned toward her sharply. A flicker of surprise passed over her face. “Miss O’Connor. Is there something you needed?”

“No, nothing.” She hesitated, suddenly feeling quite foolish. She averted her gaze and studied the pattern in her hands. It was as precise and restrained as Sofia herself. “But I did promise to help you with your needlework, if you’d like to sit with me. However, I cannot help but notice that your stitching is very fine. I do not think you need my assistance at all.”

“How kind of you to remember,” Sofia said. “And even kinder of you to say, when you make such wondrous things. To stitch your emotions so freely into something… It is a beautiful gift.”

Something about her tone gave Niamh pause. She forced herself to meet Sofia’s eyes and saw such terrible sadness there. “Your Highness… Are you all right?”

“Yes, I…” Sofia trailed off. Slowly, she sat on the lowest step of the imperial staircase. She did not speak for a long moment, and when she did, her voice broke. “I am just very tired.”

Niamh took a few tentative steps closer. “Has something happened?”

“This evening was a disaster. I do not know how we are going to make it through the next three days,” she said, so quickly and quietly, Niamh had to strain to understand her. “I am sure you have noticed we are short-staffed. Many of our servants have left, and the ones who remain are overworked. And when this event goes awry, the court will grow more impatient with my husband.”

As the emotions poured out of her, so did her magic. Golden light danced faintly beneath Sofia’s skin. The temperature crept lower, and Niamh clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. If she interrupted Sofia now, she feared she’d never open up to her again.

“I do not know what to do to fix it,” Sofia continued. “He will not let me run our household, and he will not tell me what troubles him. I am useless to him. The other women in court know it, too. They have no interest in a friendship with a woman who has no influence over her husband. For a time, I had my lady’s maids, but Jack dismissed all of them. Now, I have no one to confide in, and I can do nothing but smile and pretend that nothing is wrong.”

The silence settled heavily over them, and a fine dusting of frost glittered on the floor. Sofia leaned her head against the iron baluster and fluttered her eyes shut. The light of her magic glinted off the facets of her diamond necklace.

Niamh’s throat tightened. It struck her, then, just how young Sofia was—no more than a year or two older than her. Niamh couldn’t imagine how awful it would be, to be stranded in a place where she knew no one, save a man who did not value her. A man who was supposed to love her, not isolate her in the process of isolating himself.

She perched gingerly on the step beside Sofia and rested her hand on her knee. “You can talk to me if you’d like.”

Sofia flinched, either from surprise or the chill of Niamh’s skin. Horror lit her pale eyes from within. “Please forgive me. I have frozen you half to death, and I… This is not your burden to bear.”

“There is no need to apologize.” She was shivering quite violently, but some of the bite had dissipated from the air. “It is not good for you to hold all of that in. It comes out, one way or another.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” She sighed, and her breath fogged in the cold. Bit by bit, she regained her composure. “You treat everyone with such guileless familiarity, regardless of their station, it makes it easy to forget oneself. It is as unusual as it is captivating.”

“I don’t know how to do otherwise. It really is nothing to admire, Your Highness. I think it has caused me more trouble than not since I arrived.”

“It is not a bad thing. You have a way of drawing things out ofpeople, of bringing what they wish to keep hidden into the light.” Sofia pinned her in place with her cool, assessing gray eyes and rested her hand over Niamh’s. “I believe that is your true gift, not your sewing.”

It was a sweet sentiment—perhaps the most generous thing someone had said about her. “Thank you.”

“In fact, it is we who are causing you trouble,” Sofia continued. “Although it is kind of you to watch out for Christopher. He does not have many friends in court.”

“I am not—”

She smiled knowingly. “Do not worry about us. The prince regent only wants to prove himself as capable as his father, so he tries to handle things on his own. And I am needed here, even ifhedoes not need me. My presence ensures that he supports my father’s reign. For that, I am happy, knowing that my sacrifices matter. I would do anything to ensure they continue to matter. You understand, yes?”

Of course she did. She understood that more than anything. And yet, the intensity in Sofia’s voice and the steadiness of her gaze… It all felt somehow familiar, and it filled Niamh with an uneasiness she could not shake.

15

The air smelled like rain—damp stone and rich soil. In the distance, gray clouds drifted over the hills like the dirtied train of a gown. Niamh made it no more than five paces onto the lawn of Woodville Hall before she noticed something amiss. Agloom.It was not only the weather, although it really was a terrible day for a lawn party. Everyone idled out on the grass with an air of boredom and confusion.

Niamh had never been to a lawn party herself, but Sinclair had painted the picture for her vividly enough. Guests should be playing battledore out in the fields, or clustered around tables, dealing cards and laughing behind their fans and gloved hands, or drinking themselves silly on punch. But the lawn lay empty. No tables, no games, no punch, no servants. Only a gaggle of aristocrats, waiting for something to happen.

How strange,she thought.

When she swept her gaze back over the house, she spotted Jack standing on the veranda with a grim expression, and Rosa’s father clearly scolding him. He jabbed his finger accusingly at the prince regent, then out at the not-party, which Niamh took as a sign to move on. She drifted through the crowds, hoping to spot a familiar face. People murmured as she passed. Her gown seemed to be drawing attention again.

The skirts billowed slowly around her even when she stood still, as if caught in the sluggish current of a river. She’d made it years ago in a fit of frustration. It had taken her days to create the lace overlay—and days more to embroider all of Gran’s exhortations toslow downinto it. In theory, its enchantment and design were meant to embody patience itself. In practice, it only made her feel as though she were walking through a dream. She supposed her focus onslow downmight have caused some unintentional effects. Today, it suited her fine. Last night, she hadn’t slept at all. She’d finished Kit’s new jacket for this event just as dawn had peered in through her bedroom window. The ache in her body and the bleariness of her eyes made her feel half-dreaming already.

At last she stumbled upon her friends beneath the shade of an oak.Friends.When had that happened? The word warmed her up from the inside.

Rosa sat primly on a swing rigged from a thick branch, her feet kicking in the open air. Miriam pushed her, occasionally glancing up at the ropes as they groaned beneath Rosa’s weight. Kit and Sinclair leaned against its trunk, deep in conversation. Kit looked more at ease than she’d seen him in days. The enchantment she’d woven into his jacket created the most entrancing effect on the fabric. It shone all over like plated armor. Just looking at him made her feel a little braver. Last night, she’d gathered her memories of courage around her like a shield: leaping off the cliffs into oceanbelow, taking those first steps onto Avlish soil, telling Kit exactly how he had hurt her all those weeks ago.