12
Aspen
Caught like a burglar, I froze as if someone had tightened my joints with a wrench. The figure blocked the vault, their frame built like a fortress. Large, tall, and solid.
It could only be one person. Someone who hadn’t been truthful when they said they couldn’t read me.
Dread iced my blood. I opened my mouth, a dozen entreaties squatting on the ledge of my tongue. “I can explain,” I blurted out, my plea ricocheting across the cavernous space.
Beneath a helmet, the figure kept quiet. So much that it seemed unnatural.
Fully outfitted from the breastplate to the vambraces and greaves, this soldier appeared overdressed to apprehend a lone intruder. In a more convenient world, I’d be flattered.
Instead, I narrowed my gaze. This figure’s armor glinted, their posture stock still.
A gust of air whooshed from my lungs. I stepped into the vault and tapped the placard lining one shoulder. A fucking suit of armor. In this light, the display stood farther away than I’d guessed, the optical illusion making it appear closer to the door.
Feathered shingles ornamented the body, the bronze plates in pristine condition, developing a rich patina with age. I marveled at the fine attention to detail, down to the polished helmet visor. Impressive, to be sure.
With reluctance, I turned away. Cobwebs laced the rafters, and pearlescent light radiated from a glass globe encasing Winter stardust, which lent visibility to the archives.
Years ago, Briar and Poet gave our clan a tour of this place. Although I missed the armor that first time, I never forgot the experience, which felt like exploring a treasure trove. It reminded me of the ruins in The Phantom Wild, where Flare and Jeryn lived during their shipwreck era.
Back then, I stowed away on Poet and Briar’s ship while they made an expedition to locate Flare.
At the time, I wondered if the mythical forest contained an ingredient to aid Mama’s condition or ease the pain in my markings.
Except I hadn’t known what to look for, much less how to ask the clan without inciting an interrogation.
I only came close once in that rainforest, when I asked Flare how to find things that might not want to be found.
To this day, Jeryn and Flare preserved The Phantom Wild’s ruins without revealing its existence. Until the right time came, Winter’s king developed treatments sourced from the rainforest, though not one for his ailing parents or my mother. He tried repeatedly, to no avail so far.
I weaved through cubicles housing Autumn’s first illuminated manuscript, tiaras and coronation robes, and mythical mirrors. Also, a ring of tapestries depicting the four Seasons, which surrounded a chaise lounge.
The site of Poet and Briar’s historic sex fest. Legend had it, the jester had bent the princess into a position that required inhuman flexibility while fucking. I believed it. Each night, Briar shared a bed with that kinetic man, the afterglow sitting plain on her face over communal breakfasts.
I sped to the back recess where weapons rested in open cases.
There, my footfalls stalled before a long compartment lined in green velvet.
Cradled inside, an axe harness rested, its diagonal shoulder sling intricately accessorized with filigrees and silk binding that adjusted to any part of the body, enabling the wielder to affix their axe wherever they wished.
I coasted one finger down the harness. The day Briar brought us all here, I committed this ancient specimen to memory, unaware how vital it would become. Although I’d fashioned my own walnut leather strap, I needed something older for where I was headed.
Fishing a replica of the harness from my cloak pocket, I compared the two. Not bad since I’d made this counterfeit in a hurry. Anyone auditing the vault would have to look through a microscope to notice the difference.
After replacing the real thing with a phony, I modified the harness, strapping it around one thigh beneath my skirt.
Then I transferred the axe from my hip to its new location like a garter.
Next, I encased the blade in a protective leather flap, which would split open the instant I yanked on the handle.
Testing the arrangement, I twisted, ducked, and pivoted. The straps held, barely noticeable. Damn, but the ancient ones knew their shit.
Retracing my steps, I slipped out of the vault and hopped in the same pattern back to the staircase.
At the ground level, a pair of boots thudded against the floor.
I hotfooted into another alley where a second impediment awaited, a sentinel patrolling in my direction.
Biting back a curse, I plummeted to the ground, rolling out of sight as the man scanned the area and bled into the shadows.
Popping upright, I deserted the hall and turned a corner. On silent feet, a third sentinel pounded toward me with a corseque locked in his hand. Unlike the last two, this bloke hadn’t been duped.
Courtiers moseyed around this castle all the time. But in Autumn, they rarely did so past midnight, much less while cloaked like a vigilante.
I skidded in place, my eyes soaring heavenward. “Shit.”
“You, there,” he squawked. “State your busin—”
Spinning around him, I rammed my elbow into his side. On a grunt, the male keeled over but recuperated fast, the corseque swinging in his tattooed hand.
I’d already forsaken Briar, Poet, and Avalea’s trust more than they knew. And after Merit, I drew the line at beheading another loyal Autumn soldier. A defender trained to protect the Royal family, including Nicu.
With every thrust of his weapon, visions of my guts splattering the rug flashed before my eyes. I parried, but the restless guard kept coming. Another minute of this, and he’d holler for backup. The axe jiggled against my thigh, and well, desperate times called for desperate measures.
With my back turned, I ripped out the hatchet, extended the blade, and vaulted it behind me.
The stunt caught his weapon before it impaled my throat, the collision hooking us together, pangs shooting through my limbs.
I spun while retracting the blade to a shorter depth, then flipped the axe to confuse my opponent, and slammed the knob into his skull.
The sentinel hit the floor like a rag doll. Blessedly, this occurred in a recess, and blood hadn’t sprayed the wainscoting. Although waves of guilt snuck through my ribcage, he’d have speared me like a hog for tonight’s supper if I hadn’t acted.
My voluptuous shape was one discerning factor.
But with darkness pouring through the halls, the chances were low that he’d seen my face or the hatchet.
No spectators roamed to watch the action.
Plus, crooks usually concealed themselves in hoods, so this wouldn’t directly point to me.
Last, I had no motive or residency in this castle, and the harness replica would do for now, in case security checked the vault.
Our shrewd clan might make the connection. But it would take time. Hopefully.
When looting a castle, a smuggler never fled through the same route from whence they came. I darted to the servant’s wing, stole through a nondescript exit, and spilled into the eventide. Atop the towers, belts of wind shoved Autumn’s flags back and forth, and hay bales abutted a vegetable plot.
Horse hooves slammed across the yard. A dark silhouette powered their stallion in my direction, the tail of his long coat flying behind him.
My heart galloped faster than the equine’s limbs.
I knew the style of that rider, how those strong thighs gripped his mount, how his gloved hands steered the reins.
Seething, I clambered behind the nearest hay bale and flung myself to the ground. Not a good idea. I landed in a bed of errant straws, the tips poking through the cloak and turning my ass into a pincushion. Slapping a palm over my mouth, I muffled the yelp.
Scooting off the stalks, I peeked around the corner. Moonlight leaked onto a crown of ashy hair as Aire dismounted. The breeze rustled beneath his coat as he patted down the horse’s neck and murmured something.
His presence here didn’t track. At this hour, Aire was supposed to be keeping vigil in the south wing.
Backdropped by the castle’s firelit windows, he tensed. And really, I should have known better. This knight might not sense me, but the man had the eyes and ears of a hawk.
Aire turned, twin broadswords rotating in his hands. Those blue irises prowled the vicinity, the lines of his face rapt in concentration.
“Where are you?” he muttered.
Fuck. I shrank back, stapling my spine to the hay bale, the axe trembling against my thigh.
Aire’s boots stalked forward. I braced myself, reaching beneath my skirt for the hatchet, then stalling as he paused just shy of my hiding spot.
Glimpsing his profile, I frowned. The knight scanned the clouds, locating one of the watch hawks.
He sheathed both swords, signaled the bird-of-prey with two fingers, then clicked his head toward the fortress.
In response, the avian broke into song, its call pealing across the land as it sailed toward the highest tower.
Foreboding gripped my lungs. Then a great horn bellowed from where the hawk had flown. The deep, hollow sound traveled across the grounds, soaring to the lower town and over The Wandering Fields. The instrument resonated, the rhythmic sound cuing an alarm.
However, the coded tempo didn’t signify a thief on the loose. No, this blare indicated a possible abduction.
Aire scrutinized the yard once more. Then he whipped around and strode into the fortress, the coat striking his calves.
Flummoxed, I watched the knight leave. Pivoting from the door through which he vanished, I swiveled back around. Then I stifled a scream.
Through the murk, a face hovered inches from mine. Wide-set eyes stared back, the green irises glowing like clovers.
A gasp leaped from my mouth. “Nicu.”