A Fragile Enchantment

by Allison Saft

Because sewing was the only thing she was good at. Because she was the only one in two generations who had even a glimmer of her family’s dying craft, and it fell on her to preserve it. Because despite all the pressure, all the long hours, all the tears, little in the world made her happier than making other people happy.

Here, as a commoner, as a Machlishwoman, she would have to work twice as hard to earn her keep. Determination burned up all of her fear, and all that remained, smoldering within her, was the need not only to prove herself—but to prove Kit wrong.

No, she reminded herself. He will never have seen anything like you.

But Niamh had never wanted to change the world. Her clients sought her out for her designs but also for her craft. Whatever she sewed possessed a subtle compulsion. No one could quite describe it, other than this: when you saw someone in a Niamh Ó Conchobhair piece, you felt something.

Of course her family’s well-being was her responsibility. Especially now that she was in Avaland, in the home of the very family who’d left them all to die. A fresh wave of guilt knocked her nearly breathless.

All her life, she’d wanted to lighten her family’s burdens, to drive away the past that haunted them still. She chose to be happy each day precisely because she knew how much worse things could be. She smiled because she couldn’t bear to let them believe they’d failed her for even a moment. Of course it was her responsibility to care for them after everything they’d been through. It was such a small thing to try to give them the comfort they’d never had as children. It was such a small thing to be good.

No good ever came from loving fragile things.

If she could shoulder their burdens for them, that would make her life—however many paltry years she was granted—mean something. Her life did not matter. Not yet, anyway.

As much as she yearned to be cared for, she was not that selfish. No good came from loving fragile things.

As she made a beeline for the exit, it occurred to her, quite belatedly, that Kit Carmine had made a spectacle of himself to protect her reputation.

How exhausting, she thought, to insist on solving everyone else’s problems alone. To bear the weight of duty and the pressure to protect the ones you loved. She knew something of what that was like.

Niamh had spent all of her life sorry for taking up space, guilty for inconveniencing anyone with her emotions or needs. She supposed she had often felt tempted to apologize for breathing, but no one had ever made her feel so absurd for it.

There was always more of herself to give.

Sometimes, it felt as though she’d threaded all her family’s wounds onto a string and hung them around her own neck.

She infinitely preferred the satisfaction of listening to others, of doing what she could to lighten others’ burdens.

It is not enough to exist. It is my duty to be perfect. I have not been perfect—not at all.”

“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.”

“Is this a dream?” “I don’t know,” he said huskily, his eyes aglow. “Let me kiss you until dawn, and I suppose we’ll find out.”

But she supposed she was forever cursed to long for things she could not have.

“You’ve made me see what I hadn’t before. How can I claim to care for you if I don’t care about what you’ve suffered?” he said quietly.

Even if she could not truly be with him, Kit Carmine was still hers, and he deserved protection, too.

I like seeing you in my clothes.”

You were right to suggest we stay away from each other. I am inelegant and silly and—and I will make a mess of everything. I already have! I am bad for you in every possible way.” “You may be the only good thing I’ve ever wanted.”

As long as she’d been old enough to understand the cards she’d been dealt, she had worked her life away: always preparing for the inevitable, searching for the next thing to do, another tear to mend, another hurt to soothe. She had always believed life was what slipped through her fingers while she was idle. That life was something she wasted, not something she had. But now, she understood how wrong she’d been. Her heart beat. Her lungs swelled with air. Life was here, right in front of her. She would not move for anything.

Everything was falling to pieces around them, but here, with him, she stood within the eye of a hurricane.

“I may not be suited for him, but I love him! Is that truly nothing?”

Her mind spun with a thousand possibilities, all of the things she would never get to do with him, all of her fantasies crowding in at once. It was overwhelming, the longing he instilled in her. She hardly knew how to put a name to what she wanted.

“Stay.” She shivered. “You know I can’t.” His jaw set, and his eyes blazed with defiance. “He can’t send you away so easily. Not if you’re mine.”

“You have never done a selfish thing in your life. Why can’t you see what I see? I have never met someone half as accomplished or virtuous as you are.” He took her face in his hands, and his tone softened. “Stop criticizing yourself and undercutting your own achievements. Stop cutting off pieces of yourself, when you’re already more than good enough.”

“If there is any other option, if love already exists, who are we to stand in the way of it? You have given much to those around you. I wonder what you may discover if you showed yourself the same gentleness. Will you find out for us both?”

But perhaps kindness was not nothing.

“Because it’s not meaningful to kill yourself little by little to make people happy!”

“Nothing is guaranteed, Niamh. We all die. You and I are dying right now, but we’re also alive. Love is what makes life worth living. Love is what makes us act when we most need to. That’s what your legacy is. It’s how you love the people around you, not how much you’ve sacrificed for them.”

But last night, she’d spun and spun her magic into thread. Into every delicate petal, every leaf and thistle, she’d woven a small piece of her heart. Regret at having broken his trust. Anger at his sharp withdrawal. The pain of losing him. The fear upon seeing him within his cage of thorns. The warm, languid peace of watching him tend his plants. The lightness of teasing him. The contentment of sewing as he breathed steadily beside her. The quiet intimacy of a rainstorm, lying side by side as the breeze sighed through the open window. The comforting sadness as they gave their burdens to each other. The giddy joy of kissing him. All of life, in its thousand ways to cut. Everything she had ever dreamed of and denied herself. Every shade of loving Kit Carmine.

Falling in love with Kit Carmine had been the most painful, most worthwhile thing she had ever done. She would do it a hundred times over.

But she couldn’t understand how he could forgive her so easily when she hardly knew how to forgive herself.

“I’m all thorns.” “I don’t know about that. I think you’re more like a weed.” He made a sound she wasn’t sure was a laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” “Yes! Weeds are … tenacious. They survive against the odds, wherever they land, no matter how many times you cut them down. And sometimes they can be quite beautiful.” Kit watched her with ever-growing amusement. Gods, she was humiliating herself. She needed to stop babbling immediately. “That is how I think of you.”

“When it comes to you, my thoughts go in circles. None of my words come out right. I can’t explain it. I feel … insane. It’s like you’ve cast a spell on me. Some kind of psychic hold, or—” “That’s horrible!” “No … Argh!” He glowered at her. “Don’t you get it by now, you fool? Are you really going to make me say it?” “Say what?” Her face felt hot, her chest oddly tight. “I can’t read your mind.” “Fine. Fine. Now listen carefully, because I’m not going to repeat myself.” He took a deep breath. And when he held her gaze, she saw the truth of what he felt laid bare. What he’d felt, perhaps, from the moment he first saw her. Suddenly, she felt very dense indeed. “I love you.” “What?” “I said I wasn’t going to repeat myself.”

“You are so full of life, Niamh. The wide-open way you smile. The way you dance through empty rooms. How you put all of yourself into everything you do. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years in the time I’ve known you. I feel like I’m awake for the very first time. Even if you were gone tomorrow, even if you took my heart with you when you went, I wouldn’t regret a single moment I’ve spent with you. How could I? You’ve changed me. I will carry you with me forever.”

These days, she was in no hurry.