Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(55)
It was possible she was overly focused. With such a prize on the line, how could she not have been? Still, Blythe looked between Signa and the ball with such skepticism that Signa’s palms began to sweat through her gloves. She gave her hands a shake before fisting the mallet for her second turn. Once again she felt the familiar breeze of Death’s shadows as he jumped into action, gliding the ball along the path and straight through the next wicket.
“I daresay we’ve been played, Your Highness,” Everett mused, glancing back at Charlotte every so often to see whether she was enjoying herself. “Perhaps we should quit while we’re ahead.”
Fate scoffed as he stalked toward his team’s ball. “Nonsense. We have time to redeem ourselves.” The threads around him blazed an intense gold, winding around his mallet. But Death’s shadows must have intertwined with them, for the mallet was slower than it ought to have been on the swing. Even so, the ball slid through the wicket.
“I do enjoy a nice, fair game.” Fate repositioned himself for his second strike, bending at the hips. The second he did, he whispered at the ground, “I do not make a habit of cheating, brother. But if you continue to, then so will I.” Then he struck, and this time the ball was off, not quite reaching the wicket. He glared at it, lips curled as though the ball had personally offended him.
Blythe was already preparing herself as Fate made his way back to them. He stopped to watch her, while Death, it seemed, could not help himself from one last interference. As Blythe raised her mallet back, it swung from her grip and struck Fate between the legs.
Blythe careened backward, mirroring Signa as she covered her mouth with both hands. A gust of wind tore around them, hard enough to knock off the hats of a few affronted ladies in the distance. Signa glared hard at the spot where Death must have stood.
It was like watching a scene play out in slow motion as Fate stumbled, lips pressed so tight they were bone white as he dropped to his knees.
Behind them, Charlotte covered her squealing mouth.
Blythe rushed toward Fate, stopped, stepped back, then continued toward him again, as if unable to figure out whether he’d want her apology or her head on a platter. Eventually she settled on the apology. Her cheeks were red as a cherry tart.
“Your Highness! Are you all right? I’m so sorry, is there anything—”
Everett took her by the shoulder and drew her back, his expression grave. “Perhaps some space, Miss Hawthorne. You don’t need to be involved in such a delicate situation.”
Signa bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Was that really necessary?” she hissed at Death. “He already wants to kill you!”
It was an accident, Little Bird. They really ought to put a better grip on those mallets. I didn’t expect it to hit him.
Signa’s chest felt as though it swelled three sizes when she heard Death’s voice in her head. It seemed the pain of Fate’s accident must have temporarily caused his powers to slip, and though she knew that couldn’t have been a good thing, her stomach fluttered all the same. How nice it was to hear him again, if only for a few seconds.
“Are you all right?” Blythe demanded. “Shall I see if there’s a doctor to examine you?”
“There’s no need for a doctor, Miss Hawthorne,” Fate seethed. “And I certainly do not need an examination. Just… give me a moment.”
“Sit the rest of the game out,” Everett suggested through a wince. “I’ll represent our team. Miss Farrow and Miss Hawthorne can choose a player to represent theirs.”
“Let’s not make a fuss over nothing.” Even through a wince, Fate managed to sound convincing.
Nothing? Death echoed with mirth. I wouldn’t admit that so freely, brother.
Had Signa been able to see him, Death certainly would have gotten her most insidious glare. She never knew that brothers could be so infuriating. Was he trying to bring Fate’s wrath upon them?
Fate rolled his shoulders back, ignoring Death as he eased to a stand. “There’s little harm done. I’m fit enough to play.”
Though Blythe appeared skeptical, she didn’t dare wound his pride by arguing. Neither did Everett, and soon enough they fell back into the game, feigning that nothing had happened.
The game lasted around two hours, during which Death’s voice faded away. Turn after turn both Everett and Signa tried their best—without Death’s influence—though Everett bounced several balls from the wickets, and Signa kept missing the ball altogether. Only Blythe and Fate were scoring any points for their respective teams, and the tension between them grew so thick that the other two gave them a wide berth.
Blythe was spectacular, so focused on the game that she did not so much as smile each time the ball passed through a wicket. Her gaze was cool and level, mind unwavering from the task at hand.
Fate was just as well practiced. As he ought to have been, Signa supposed, considering how long he’d been alive. He didn’t need to rely on his magic to aid him, and remained true to his word about avoiding it even as he kept up with Blythe. Soon enough, just as Signa’s back had begun to ache and she had half a mind to lie on the fine grass, Blythe’s shot knocked Fate’s ball from its position near the last wicket, and she took the final point.
Only then did she throw her mallet down and spin toward Fate. Her eyes were gleaming with constrained satisfaction. Signa had no doubt that if they were alone, she’d be celebrating her victory with nothing short of a battle cry.