Charlotte sighed, then let out a short, biting laugh that startled a bird from its perch. She never liked that Amara woman, not from the moment she’d opened her perfectly painted mouth and started speaking as though they were equals. A thorn, and an eager one at that.
The sun dappled across the broken stone of the old Ironshade waystation, its shadow stretching long and cracked beneath the moss and ivy. The curled remnants of a once-proud sigil lay carved in a collapsed archway nearby, worn by centuries of weather and forgetfulness. Charlotte clicked her tongue thoughtfully.
"Well then," she said, strolling with her usual long, theatrical gait toward Amara, who stood examining a rusted old basin. "You have brought up the wrong game to the wrong woman."
Amara turned, one brow lifting with delight at the challenge. Charlotte gave her a sunny smile, but her eyes remained like flint. She flicked her wrist as though readying a fan, despite holding none.
Serena, meanwhile, tugged at her horse’s reins and gave Charlotte a look, one that practically begged her to behave, to avoid whatever impromptu duel of wit or ego was brewing. But Charlotte barely spared her a glance. When she got , there was little room for reason.
"Oh?" Amara tilted her head. "And what would the right game be, my lady?"
"That depends," Charlotte said breezily, twirling an imaginary parasol. "But I suppose it is only fair to hear yours first. What are the rules?"
Amara brightened, as if she had been waiting for someone to ask.
"It’s a memory game," she said. "Simple, really. One person names an item or object found in their homeland or estate. The next person must describe something similar but with a twist, perhaps a change in function, or something lost to time. It continues until someone repeats an idea or hesitates too long."
Charlotte’s grin widened. "Ah. A parlour game, I would not expert that from the likes of you. Delightful. And what, pray, do we gain from winning such a game?"
Amara’s smile turned a touch sly. "Bragging rights, of course. And the pleasure of knowing whose tongue is the sharpest."
"Oh, darling, you should know by now," Charlotte said, sauntering toward a sun-warmed stretch of stone, "the tongue is not always the sharpest blade in the room." She gave a wink to Serena, who was visibly cringing behind the reins of her now-much-calmer horse.
"Must we?" Serena asked under her breath.
Amara laughed. "Only if you wish. But it would be poor form for a commander to let her second take the field alone."
Serena lifted a brow. "I was under the impression this was a diplomatic ride, not a tournament."
"And what better way to learn about each other’s lands," Amara replied, "than by letting memory be the battlefield?"
Elen, who had dismounted near a crumbling stairwell, looked like she was trying to make herself invisible. Charlotte clapped her hands, already invested.
"Well, come now! We must have at least four to make it interesting." She turned to Elen, who stiffened under the attention. "You, darling. Surely Dawnbreak hasn’t dulled your wits."
Elen hesitated. "I... I don’t think I would be very good at this."
"Nonsense," Amara said, looping her arm through Elen’s with ease that bordered on possessive. "You have a better memory than all of us combined. Don’t let modesty rob us of your brilliance."
"I’d rather not," Elen murmured.
Charlotte didn’t miss the way Amara’s grip subtly tightened. Nor did Serena.
"And you," Amara turned her gaze on Serena with an infuriating warmth. "Commander of Crimsonclaw’s delegation. Will you let your second defend your honour alone?"
Charlotte laughed sharply, "She’d hardly have to. I’ve enough wit to defend us both." Google seaʀᴄh NoveIꜰire.net
"True," Amara said with a gracious nod. "But still. Games are more enjoyable with allies."
Serena sighed, casting a side glance at Charlotte, who was now removing her riding gloves with a flourish and arranging her skirts as though readying for court. She clearly wasn’t going to back down.
"Very well," Serena said, dismounting. "But only a few rounds. The sun is high, and I have no wish to burn."
"Excellent," Amara purred.
They chose a spot in the broken courtyard near a half-fallen wall, where the stones had flattened into something resembling seats. Ivy curled around the broken edges, dappling the space with shade. The horses were tethered loosely under a cluster of trees where they could graze undisturbed.
Charlotte stretched like a cat and leaned back, peering around theatrically. "Shall we let the instigator begin?"
"I am flattered," Amara said, placing a hand to her chest. "Very well. I begin with... moon-blessed salt, harvested from the caves beneath Dawnbreak’s cliffs."
Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. "Charmed chalk," she countered without hesitation. "Mined from beneath the Crimson Hollow, used to trace protective wards in children’s rooms."
Amara arched a brow. "Charming."
Serena, now seated with her hands clasped in her lap, offered mildly, "Blackthorn syrup. Ironshade brewers steep it to preserve meat, but healers use it as well, though sparingly."
Elen shifted in place. Everyone turned to her.
"I-" she began, then faltered.
Amara laid a hand on her knee. "You can do this."
Elen’s eyes darted once to Serena, then to Charlotte. "Um... riverstones. Painted with the faces of loved ones. We place them by the hearth in the spring."
There was a pause. Charlotte softened for just a moment. "That is rather sweet."
Amara leaned back, her voice almost too smooth. "You see? Elen remembers the details others forget."
And the game continued. It was light on the surface, descriptions of regional plants, crafting materials, childhood relics but the undercurrent was unmistakable. Amara and Charlotte traded barbs dressed as compliments, each trying to draw out the other. Serena stayed mostly quiet, keeping one eye on Elen, whose hands trembled every time it was her turn.
After the fifth round, Charlotte reclined back and grinned. "Well, this has been more fun than I expected. You are rather good at this, Lady Amara."
"I have excellent sparring partners," Amara replied.
The sun cast long shadows now, and birds flitted between broken beams of the watchtower above. For a moment, it might have seemed like any other summer’s outing. But Serena’s gaze lingered on the spot where Amara’s hand still rested on Elen’s knee.