26
Aspen
Beams of starlight leaked into my cabin.
Vines snaked across the lintels, and the bed posts needed a polish, unlike the foundational upkeep some other lodgings required.
Otherwise, this cabin was pure heaven with its down pillows, gingham-patterned quilt, and glowing hearth.
After days of dust and grit, the rewards of a cooked meal, fresh clothes and a hot soak in the bathtub, and a private retreat with a comfortable bed were sublime.
I changed into a nightdress from the enclave’s wardrobe storage—preserved by the trunks’ ancient wood construction—and sank into the mattress.
Something with tiny claws scuttled across the roof.
A restless breeze stirred the curtains. Despite the exhaustion, my mind cranked like a wheel, churning from thoughts of Mama’s safety, to the clan’s safety, to Nicu’s safety, to the traitors hiding in this legendary forest, to fantasies of Rhys burning at the stake until he reached well-done temperature, to memories of a certain knight and the skilled pump of his fingers, to the uncharted world outside my door.
With a sigh, I crept out of bed and corralled my hair into an unruly bun. After expanding the ancient axe harness from a thigh garter to a waist belt, draping a blanket around my shoulders, and strapping on my boots, I left the cabin.
A bridge near my doorstep connected to another walkway, so that’s where I headed.
Throughout the enclave, flames swayed inside box lanterns.
Unless Lyrik bothered to light each one, which seemed unlikely, the blazes somehow discerned whenever night fell, brimming to life on their own.
Another example of the rogue’s expertise.
The canopy glistened with a thousand shades of Autumn, dark colors pouring across every rooftop. The lights illuminated a crescent-shaped bench at the midpoint of a bridge, the platform extending over an abyss, with a gable roof and tassels of foliage curtaining off the area.
My lips tilted. Briar hadn’t given us all the spicy details, but she had described the historic landmark where she and Poet reunited months into her banishment. Based on her rosy complexion when she talked about it, they’d had themselves one hell of a long celebration.
One of the tupelo branches curled inward as I passed, the sight wringing a fascinated gasp from my throat. This one seemed hesitant. Either that, or it prepared to lash out if I made an unwelcome move.
Lyrik had confirmed the lore about trees guarding this place, bidding welcome only to those who respected nature with a true heart. If someone trespassed without the enclave’s approval, fates help them.
But while Mama spent her life fearing that every Autumn tree nurtured a vendetta against me on behalf of the great oak, I believed differently.
“You’ve got nothing to fear. I only use this on villains.” I patted the axe, then rested one hand on my chest and whispered, “I’ll be your ally, if you let me.”
After a moment, the branch unfurled, the echo of stretching bark akin to worn leather. Like a hand, it reached for me. Wavering, I set my palm in its leaves, exposing the symbols branded across my skin.
Proof of an old punishment. Evidence of Mama’s offense.
Despite this, my lying tongue went silent. I owned these markings, bared my truth, and let the tree decide what to make of it.
In contemplation, one leaf brushed the symbols. Then it released my hand and unraveled toward the south like a pointing finger.
Slowly, I trailed in that direction. The intersection of two crossways formed another terrace, where a pair of swings dangled from the boughs, the chains adjustable for the rider’s height.
A long-forgotten excitement trickled through my chest. Although Mama showered me with love, I never had a childhood full of adventure, friends, or swings.
But I’d always yearned for one of these attractions when I was little.
Grinning, I stepped toward the swing. In tandem, a silhouette flew through the trunks like a bird-of-prey. I halted, reaching for my axe. Then as the outline sharpened into view, my arm lowered, and I crept nearer to the railing.
On the neighboring platform, a solitary knight trained.
The late hour poured moonlight across the planks, creating an optical illusion of him moving atop the celestials, while he spun his broadswords against an invisible opponent.
Above a pair of loose, low-slung hose, his unclad torso flexed, carrying the night on his shoulders, the muscles varnished in sweat.
An angelic but deadly bird-of-prey exercising weapons instead of wings.
Aire spun-paused-spun. He stabbed-cut-stabbed, the swords weightless in his grasp. Strings of perspiration cut down his throat and darkened the tips of his hair.
The smooth skin. The slender V of his waist. The grid of muscles.
Aire’s body slammed to a halt, his swords bracing, his abdomen rippling like a river bed. With his back facing me, he jerked the forelocks from his head and panted, “It’s rude to stare.”
I saw no point in denying it. “What can I say? You’re stareable.”
In a single, efficient motion, Aire turned and disarmed, setting his weapons against the rails. He diced a hand through his hair, his chest expanding with the movement, accentuating a series of battle scars. Pink lashes rode over one shoulder, slid around his waist, and nicked his biceps.
Still winded from the workout, he gusted out, “Forgive me if I was too loud. I did not wish to disturb you.”
Tell that to his missing shirt. The absence of clothing disturbed me all right.
Not about to broadcast this effect, I pulled the blanket tighter around my pebbled breasts. “It takes a lot to disturb me. Besides, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one with a weaponry obsession.”
Aire nodded, his features relaxed after burning all that energy. “You vowed to protect your mother through weapon smithing. Why did you choose designing them instead of joining the ranks?”
I tugged the makeshift shawl even firmer around me. “Maybe I’m not disciplined enough for drills.”
“That is so far from the truth, I won’t dignify it with a response.”
“And what’s so wrong about crafting weapons instead of the alternative?”
Aire broke into motion, sauntering forward with a rueful expression. “That came out wrong. I only meant you’ve never confided in depth about this passion, and I wish you would.”
My arms loosened. I thought of the whetstone ensconced in my cabin. His present, inscribed with the hope that I’d keep my edge. I hadn’t told him how often I pressed the cool stone to my markings whenever they hurt, or that I had brought the tool with me.
“As a soldier, you want to defend people. As a weapon smith, I want to empower them.” I thumbed the axe’s handle. “If it’s tailor-made for their needs, anyone can wield a blade.”
My eyes lifted to his, those irises alight with understanding. “It’s another way to protect others,” Aire murmured. “It’s diverse and includes everyone.”
Truth.
Ducking my head to conceal the smile, I whirled from him.
Returning to the swing set, I placed my hatchet on the floor and chose a seat.
Pressing my toes to the ground, I reeled into motion, increasing momentum.
While nightfall enveloped the woods, I threw back my head, leaning far enough for my bun to unspool and the tips of my hair to brush the planks, the blanket tumbling off my shoulders.
As I launched backward, the swing came to a stop. I yelped, hovering mid-air.
Masculine heat loomed behind me, his heartbeat tapping between my shoulder blades. The knight gripped the ropes, his calloused fingers resting atop my own, suspending me against his frame.
Aire’s breath teased my earlobe. “You are frightening the owl.”
Ahead, the creature gawked. Its platter eyes reflected agitation over the swing’s raucous creaking, which signified that I must have broken a treehouse ordinance.
I licked my lips and called out, “Sorry. I’ll tone it down.”
The swing was released. I bumped my toes into the boards, slowing as Aire rounded the seat. Lantern flames sketched his naked torso, highlighting the ridges.
He paused, casting the neighboring swing a dubious look. I bit my lower lip, mirthful at the vision of this surly knight inspecting the seat like a booby trap. Yet he adapted easily, balancing without needing the ropes.
We grew quiet, rocking gingerly while listening to the creek slosh from below. The companionable silence eased the restlessness I felt earlier in bed.
“Your turn,” I prompted. “Why did you choose to be a soldier?”
Aire halted his swing. “As you said, I endeavor to protect this world.”
“But which people?”
“All people?”
“But who most of all?”
“Why do you ask this of me?” he snapped, veering my way.
I frowned, ready to give tongue-lashing number one thousand and one. But Aire’s guarded expression cut off that instinct, bringing to mind a question I asked before our mouths crashed together in The Pumpkin Wood.
“Who are you really trying to save?”
Back then, it had been a mere hunch. Tonight, the words struck another chord.
As I kept silent, vulnerability twisted Aire’s features. He glanced toward the enclave, his voice thinning to a wisp. “My brother.”
Shit. I hadn’t expected that.
But I should have.
The death of his brother was no secret among the clan. Neither was the boy’s condition, which had been identical to Nicu’s. Yet Aire left gaps in the story, omitting the details of what happened or how his brother died.
An ache clutched my stomach. What would it be like to lose someone forever? To lose them to an unseen place, where you could no longer see or hear each other?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
But those feeble words fell short. Balancing them on my tongue felt brittle and frail, as if they might shrivel to ashes.
“I spent the first half of tonight standing guard outside Nicu’s cabin, although I sensed no threat,” Aire said, glancing about.
“However unpredictable its whims, this forest has chosen to protect him. Therefore, it challenges me to stop hovering, which is a difficulty. I tried conceding, distracting myself with training, though the lingering pull to Nicu’s chamber did not abate until you appeared.
Were it not for that, I believe I’d have returned to my liege’s threshold. ”
Bowing his head, the knight rubbed his palms together. “He just reminds me so much of…” His eyes closed, a distant memory sweeping through his mind. Then his throat constricted, a depleted whisper surfacing from a buried place in his chest. “How I long to feast my eyes upon my brother once more.”
My palm landed on his arm. “It’s okay to want that.”
“Yet it is painful to want that.”
“Sometimes the pain is worth it.”
Aire absorbed that statement. Although he said nothing more about his brother, this justified that explosive reaction to my questions. Whatever happened to that boy, the knight blamed himself.
His savior instincts were honorable. They also made greater sense now.
I leaned my temple against the swing rope. “I had a set of building blocks when I was a child. It was my favorite toy, among the ones I crafted myself out of twigs and pinecones. I would spend hours trying to construct the mightiest fortress in history.”
Aire bent his head, a disarming grinning slanting across his lips. “Did you?”
“I gave it my best effort,” I assured him. “But I was critical of the attempts. I kept demolishing the castles and starting over. You might say I was a perfectionist at my impressionable age.”
“As a fledgling, I tried to fly off the stable ledge at my family’s country estate,” Aire reminisced. “The wind felt like a promise, as if the elements would support me. I feared crashing but kept faith in my intuition.”
“What happened?”
“I broke my leg.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth.
“And I tore a hole in the roof of the gamekeeper’s chicken coop, at which point the hens clucking inside were not amused.”
Now I clamped both hands over my mouth, my shoulders shaking. I felt bad for laughing, but Aire chuckled with me.
“Shh,” I lectured, pressing a finger to my lips. “If we get too loud, the owl will disown us.”
“Oh, it has already forsaken you,” Aire implied while puffing himself up. “I, on the other hand, remain in its good graces.”
“I regret nothing.”
“You shouldn’t. If not to the owl, you make a lovely picture to the rest of your audience.”
My pulse skipped. As the swings knocked together, I wanted to ask what he meant, but that would be a gamble since... “You’re not subtle.”
“I’m forthright,” he corrected. “As are you. Do not deny that you possess an unseemly tongue.”
I slapped my seat and quipped, “You had to ruin it, didn’t you? We were having such a nice time.”
Aire chuckled again, the husky register going straight to my one-track-minded cunt. The knight’s mirth also did epic things to his physique, moonlight plating every contour in an eventide sheen. I wanted to thank those muscles for spending time with me. Matter of fact, I wanted to bake them a pie.
“On the contrary, your company is a pleasure,” Aire intoned. “It always has been.”
I gave him a sidelong glance. “We fight too much for that to be true.”
His features transformed, the humor fading. “That is because fighting is safer than pining. But try as I might, that consolation is fleeting. I cannot resist wanting more.” Liquid flames drenched him in burnished light. “I can’t resist you.”
Oh. Fuck.
“You provoke me,” he admitted. “Thus, you embolden me. With little effort, you’re disarming every defense I’ve ever had.
I find myself enthralled by the notion, seduced by your effect, and ensnared beyond reconciliation.
I never break rules. Yet I would break every one for another chance to feel you against me. ”
Oh. Fuck.
“And I would rather quarrel with you any day than live free of conflict.” His molten eyes plummeted to my lips, spontaneous ambition setting them aflame. “May I?”