One spins toward us and gasps. “Visitors.”
“Fire sprites,” Nash murmurs. “Don’t look them in the eye.”
Too late.
The others stop dancing, and dozens of tiny faces turn in unison.
“Well,” I declare, “this is promising.”
A sprite floats closer, her hair crackling like embers. “You have entered our rehearsal.”
“For what?” Malachi asks.
She smiles, sharp and sweet. “The wedding, of course.”
Hart stiffens. “Whose wedding?”
She points at me. “Yours.”
I blink. “I beg your sparkly pardon?”
The sprites erupt into cheers, and music swells around us. Two of them toss a garland of flowers over my head.
Nash reaches for his sword. “Take it off.”
“Don’t!” the sprite shrieks. “It is bad luck to remove the bride’s crown until she has been deflowered.”
“I am not a bride,” I protest. “Plus, the deflowering has already occurred.”
The sprite tilts her head. “But you are traveling with three handsome knights. And a mop.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot shivers in outrage at being reduced to an inferior cleaning tool.
“Three is most unusual,” the sprite continues as she peeks at each of the Stirlings. “Very scandalous. We adore scandal.”
“Actually, there’s another one,” I add.
Malachi pinches the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have time for this.”
The sprites gather around us, chattering louder and louder. “Four, you say?”
“That is what she said,” another answers.
“Then it is she.”
“It must be.”
“And now we see.”
“All this excitement is making me pee,” I add.
The sprites freeze.
“I thought we were rhyming,” I point out. “But also, now that I’ve said it, I need to pee.”
“Can’t you hold it?” Hart asks.
“No, because it’s all I can think about now.”
