Page 59 of A Fragile Enchantment

“You followed me through a rainstorm.” Every word was an accusation, as sharp as a thrown dagger. “And then you collapsed. You’re clumsy, but I’ve never seen anything like that. Down like a felled tree, out of nowhere. What was that about?”

“I…” Her throat constricted. No, she couldn’t explain this to him. She couldn’t endure his pity. “I was tired. That’s all.”

“Then why would you be so careless?” When his hair fell into his face, he raked a hand through it. “You have a death wish, clearly. There’s no other sensible explanation for it.”

“You’ve made your point, sir!” Now she felt utterly embarrassed. What a joke she was, to harbor a single tender feeling for Kit Carmine. “If you must know, I was worried about you.”

“Worried aboutme? I’m fine.”

“No, you are certainly not fine. What I saw was notfine,Kit.”

The tension swelled between them like a storm cloud ready to burst. But then, she saw the exact moment his defenses collapsed. He spoke in a rush, as if he would lose his nerve if he stopped for even a breath. “What about you, then?You’rethe one who was going to die of exposure, or by tripping over a pebble. What’s more, you’re constantly sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong andoverextending yourself for no good reason.” A pause, then: “Not that it’s any of my concern.”

Oh, he was such a liar—and a poor one at that. She recognized all this bluster for what it was, and she certainly had not missed the way he’d looked at her in the garden. Fearful and full of something like… No, best not to dwell on things that would hurt her worse.

Accusatorily, she said, “Then why are you fussing over me?”

He reeled back, insulted. “I am notfussing. I just said I don’t care.”

“You can’t do that!” she cried. “You can’t carry me through a rainstorm and then say you don’t care. It doesn’t work like that!”

“Well, I did.”

At first, the only response she could muster was “Arghhh!” She threw her hands up. He didn’t even bat an eye. He was steely and—and…flushed? It had to be from cold or from anger. She did not know and did not care. She was sick of him. He brought out all her worst, most childish impulses. “Then I don’t care, either! And Idohave a reason, by the way.”

His pupils were bare pinpricks of black, even in the flickering candlelight. The room suddenly felt too small. Her heart beat far too quickly in her chest. “So explain it to me.”

“It’s because…” Niamh hesitated for only a moment before the last of her resistance gave way. It wasn’t as though it was a secret, and Kit was not one to default to pity. She twisted the lock of white hair around her finger. “It’s because I’m dying.”

His expression went slack with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sick, and there is no cure for it. One day, it will kill me.” She knotted her hands together in her lap. “I suppose you’re right. I pushed myself too far. I shouldn’t have been so careless. All the same, I cannot do less. Everything is riding on doing this job well.”

“Because of your family.”

“Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “My gran and I are the last of our bloodline who carry on the craft. If I cannot complete thisjob… I couldn’t bear it if thousands of years of Ó Conchobhairs ended with me, a silly girl who threw away the opportunity of a lifetime. Their sacrifices will have meant nothing.”

“Of course they mean something.” Anger crackled beneath his every word—not at her, she could see, but on her behalf. The protective look he fixed her with now skirted too close to the one he’d given her in the garden. “Despite everything we’ve put you through, you’re alive. They have no right to ask you for anything more.”

Don’t they?Her breaths came in fitful, shaking gasps. Tears spilled down her cheeks, too suddenly for her to stop them. Somehow, she hardly cared that she was weeping like a child in front of himagain.“Of course they do. It is not enough to exist. It is my duty to be perfect. I have not been perfect—not at all.”

Some of the intensity dropped clean off his face, and he looked despondent in his bewilderment. “What are you crying about now?”

“I have done my best, but I have to do more to finish this. Icando more.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense. You can’t give more than you have.”

“Yes, I can.” He had ripped open an old wound, and emotions she had long sealed away came rushing out of her. “I am so afraid, Kit. I am afraid that I will fail, despite all the pains I have taken. I am afraid I will let everyone down. And deep down, I am afraid that I am horribly, irredeemably selfish because I am so afraid that I will die without having let myself live at all.”

It was confession and a realization both. Here, in the close darkness of Woodville Hall, she wanted more than she’d ever allowed herself to want. The good, the bad, and everything in between: all of life and its ten thousand ways to cut you. All of the things she’d never envisioned for herself. To grow old. To be hurt. To fall in love.

“Maybe you are self-centered,” he said after a long moment. “Or just clueless.”

A mixture of hurt and indignation dropped heavily into her gut. Niamh wrapped her arms around her middle. “You do not always need to say exactly what you’re thinking, you know.”

“Sorry. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just…” He sighed, frustrated. “The only happiness you can imagine for the people you care about comes at your own expense. You’re making yourself miserable, and don’t try to deny it. You are the most obvious, transparent person I’ve met in my entire life.”

She choked out a laugh through her tears. “Am I?”