Page 41 of A Match Made in Error

“It was never one worth keeping in the first place.” I shrug and use magic to call all the ingredients for a healing elixir to the bar. “You should have kicked him while he was down. He deserves it for making fun of the stag painting alone.”

“And the Moirai?” They’ll be annoyed, but they can’t make me love someone.

“I think I’ve finally stopped caring whether Fate approves of my choices.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Riven flicks my cup back to me, sliding it across the bar with ease. “I’ll choke down that elixir if you’ll play coin toss with me.”

A smile pulls the corner of my lip up. “Deal.”

We spend the night like we so often do, clinking coins into a shot glass and trash-talking one another. Bumping shoulders and laughing like no one is watching. Sometime during the night, I decided this would be my last Festival. Fate has screwed me over one too many times and, honestly, if all I ever have is a collection of nights at the Foxhole with Riven and our friends in this small corner of the universe, it won’t be a bad life. Hells, it can’t be worse than another Festival match.

Chapter Fifteen

RIVEN

Current Festival

The beach is lit by torches and a roaring bonfire. I watch it, legs stretched out in the sand and my elbow supporting me as I lie on my side and watch the embers lift into the night sky. Poppy is getting a drink at the bar, or that’s what she said when she wandered off almost half an hour ago.

After the trial yesterday, and my long ass walk back to the bungalow, I got back to our bungalow to find the bathtub filled to the fucking brim, melted ice cream on the floor, and Poppy passed out under the covers cradling a half-eaten bag of cream and onion crisps. The room looked like a drunken bard had rolled through it. Honestly, respect.

Anyway, she had woken up before me, probably because she fell asleep at dusk, and I still haven’t seen her despite the bonding activity we’ve been summoned to the beach for tonight.

Music hums, low and rhythmic, like it’s riding on the waves. I can’t help but notice that the island feels more cozy at night. The heavy salt air, the warmth of the sand, the purples bleeding into blues in the night sky make everything feel intimate by default. Couples lounge on blankets in various states around the fire. Some sit on opposite sides as if touching would mean sudden death, while others are a mess of tangled limbs. No one else is alone, except me.

Where is Poppy?

I breathe deeply and, as if called forward by my thoughts, I see the crowd part around her. She pushes toward me, two half-drunk drinks in hand and a tentative smile on her lips. Poppy plops down beside me. Shoulder brushing mine. Knee nudging my thigh. She’s bright tonight—laughing easily, eyes shining, playing along like she’s finally decided to enjoy the madness instead of bracing for it.

Good. She’s still committing to the bit. Selling it. Like I am. I was worried after yesterday that she was getting sick of me, of faking it, but here she is, playing the part like a pro. Plus, Fate knows she deserves a little fun. She’s always been a little reserved—introverted—but that’s gotten increasingly truer with each encounter she's had with the Festival of Fates. I’ve watched my vibrant best friend, who loves to laugh and try new things, turn inward. She stopped humming as she tended the bar. She no longer danced around the tavern as I put the chairs up on the tables and she swept. I haven’t seen her so much as smile at a potential suitor in a long time. Almost like, she’s given up. As jaded as I am to love, even I can see she deserves it. Which is maybe part of the problem. No one deserves the love she has to give.

I bump her lightly with my shoulder when she leans in again, flashing her a grin meant for the crowd as much as for her. “Careful, sweetheart,” I murmur. “If you keep this up, people are going to think we like each other.”

I feel her laugh rumble low in my chest, but I can’t dwell on it long. Soon, the fire crackles lower and the wind shifts. Conversations thin around us, drifting into a hush that feels staged like the pause before a punchline. Then, the Crone’s voice curls through the smoke. I startle. Where the hell did she come from?

“No pair may retire from the bonding night without proof of intimacy.”

Murmurs ripple through the beach like a wave. I lift a brow, amused more than alarmed. Of course. The Moirai never let an opportunity like this go quietly.

I glance at Poppy as we all stand, a grin already forming, eyes twinkling. “Well,” I say lightly, as if this is nothing more than another performance cue, “guess they want an encore.”

Poppy blinks at me. “What do we do?”

I step up to her, just enough that it feels private, while absolutely not being private at all. My voice drops, lightly teasing. “Relax. I shaved for just this occasion.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

I straighten, projecting just enough for nearby ears to catch. “Darling, if they’re demanding intimacy, the least we can do is match our performance from yesterday.”

Her mouth twitches despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“Untrue,” I say easily. “I’m very possible. You would know.” I offer her my hand, already smiling like I’ve planned this all along. “Come on. Let’s make Fate uncomfortable.”

She sighs, but she takes my hand, and when she rolls her eyes, it’s exactly the reaction I wanted.

We step into a small open space near the fire, clearly visible to everyone around us. Some couples are already snogging, while others sit, shoulder to shoulder, whispering to one another.

I turn her so her back is to the flames, the light gilding her hair and catching on the curve of her face. I don’t rush. A real lover wouldn’t. I let the pause stretch, let the crowd wonder.