Page 71 of A Match Made in Error

I roll my eyes. “You say that like it means something.” I flick my wrist and finally land one on the crate. It’s not perfect, but it sticks. I look up and find that Riven looks genuinely impressed.

Riven studies me. Not romantically or lasciviously like most men do. But like he’s reassessing something. “You’re stubborn enough to be dangerous.”

I grin. “High praise.”

Eventually, we run out of knives and deem that there are enough holes in the walls. The fire burns low. The high moon visible from the window. His shadows nudge the poker to stir the fire, and I settle deeper into the high-back chair. The quiet feels strangely comfortable tonight, and neither of us seem eager to leave.

This is the first time I’ve noticed that Riven doesn’t actually always leave the tavern with someone. Sometimes, he stays. I wonder if he gets lonely like I do. Maybe, from here on out, I could stay to keep him company on nights such as this. For me, at least, there’s no one else’s company I’d rather have.

Chapter Twenty-Four

POPPY

Current Festival

The walk back to the bungalow is quiet. Lanterns burn low on the path, gold light trembling against the visage of Riven’s shadows that linger nearby. The brunch had lingered well into the late afternoon, and by the push of magic, darkness had fallen on the island, and lightning was fracturing the sky in the distance.

Due to the ever-open patio, there’s salt in our bungalow’s air, hovering around the rumpled bed and the glass surrounded by coins from our game last night.

The room feels smaller than it did this morning. Or maybe I am just more aware of the space between us. Brunch provided the perfect opportunity for Riven to win Angora back or at least make her want him again. I suppose it also provided me with the same opportunity, but all it did was highlight how much I don’t want Rodrick anymore. How much I don’t want anyone else, really.

Riven tosses his jacket over a chair, and I remove my shoes carefully. I’m bone-tired. Emotionally wrought after days and days of tumultuous trials. We’ve only been here a couple of weeks, and at this point, I don’t know how I’m going to take much more. I’m emotionally raw, feeling more like a wrung-out washcloth than a powerful witch.

A knock comes from the front door. Three sharp raps that are anything but polite or gentle.

“Who is that?” I ask, but Riven doesn’t even look surprised.

He drags a hand down his face and plasters on a tired, crooked grin. “Do you think they schedule these ambushes, or is shock and awe just Fate’s love language?” He pulls open the door to reveal an equally tired employee of Fate on the other side. He is gazing longingly over his shoulder, like he’s looking for someone. For the first time since being here, or being in the competition in general, I wonder what Fate’s minions do when the sun goes down and they’re no longer tasked with doing the Moirai’s bidding. Do they have lovers? Families? Or do they live only to serve Fate?

He has a basket tucked into the crook of his arm, and in it are two small glass vials and a stack of gilded cards.

My breath catches in my throat.

I’d know the viscosity of that potion anywhere.

Truth serum.

The air changes, maybe because I’m holding my breath, as Riven reaches out and takes the basket from him.

I can’t tell him the truth. Not about my growing feelings for him. Not about the way I ogled his tree trunk quads in his swim trunks. No. That’s going to my grave.

The man’s voice is smooth, rehearsed, as if he’s already given this speech a dozen times tonight. Maybe he has. “Tonight, you will be tasked with a private bonding trial. Here we have a short-acting truth serum.” Okay, maybe I can just tell the truth about my favorite foods or something equally inane for the short amount of time it’s in my system. “It was formulated by the Moirai to target matters of love and attachment.” There goes my avoidance strategy. “And it makes you reveal even more to yourself than to your partner.”

“And if we don’t do it?” Riven’s voice is challenging, and annoyingly, his defiance of a task I also don’t want to do is only making him more attractive to me.

“Mandatory participation.” The helper of Fate’s voice is laced with faux kindness, but his eyes bear the weight of deep annoyance. Maybe he has a little someone on the island he wants to get back to, and Riven’s questions are keeping him from them.

“I didn’t ask if it was mandatory.” Riven’s head cocks to the side. “I asked what happens if we don’t do it.” I know what he’s thinking. He’ll bear a minor penalty to avoid emotional intimacy. If it can’t be joking or flirty, Riven doesn’t like saying it. And for once, I agree. Riven leans in, propping his arm against the doorjamb and giving the man before him one of his most charming smiles. A smile that could get him out of almost anything.

“You know the cost, Casanova.” He eyes Riven up and down like he couldn’t see more through the act if Riven was made of gossamer. “Seven years of bad luck in love.”

I exhale sharply, and Riven mutters, “They’ll never let us rest.” He slams the door in his face. “Thanks, bye.” He exhales dramatically, the force of his breath moving the pieces of hair framing my face as if I were standing in a sharp wind.

The room is suddenly too quiet, and Riven cracks a rueful smile as he palms one of the faintly glowing vials. “If I have to spill my guts, thank Fate it’s to you.” His eyes meet mine, and I watch as he, without hesitation, downs the entirety of its contents in one swig. No jokes. No performance. And I know that even though he would rather walk through hot coals than be emotionally vulnerable, he wants me to be hurt even less. He would do anything to keep me from the curse. That’s how good a friend he is. That is what I can’t afford to lose.

I, on the other hand, do hesitate. Seven years will come and go, and a witch lives a very long life, but losing Riven because I spilled my guts while high on truth serum is something I can’t come back from. I don’t want my truths dragged out into the open.

“Come on, Pop.” His lips remain tugged up, though a dubious tilt changes his smile. “I thought we were in this together.” I hate it when he’s right. “Don’t make me look like an ass all alone, and it’ll happen soon. I can feel my demons rattling the doors of their enclosure, waiting to get out.” Is that how he sees his unfiltered truths? Demons? A hairlike fracture cracks my heart.