31
Aire
None pursued us as we departed. Several moments passed before we halted and locked gazes, coming to a silent agreement.
Twisting in opposite directions, we stashed ourselves among the hedgerows and took up arms. As the moon waxed pearlescent light through the amber leaves, we paused until certain the traitors would not follow.
A tendril of air brushed my collar, meandering and cool. I tapped into that signal, my fingers tracing the breeze, then nodded to Aspen from across the thicket. We were safe to proceed.
While slipping around the brambles, we kept pace with one another. Lest my brethren should track the area later, Aspen and I chose a covered path to mask our footprints.
She murmured, “They don’t know about Rhys’s spy.”
“I caught that as well,” I concurred while shouldering past a scaly creeper.
“Their ignorance is no great shock. The king once boasted to Briar and Poet about keeping secret informants in multitudes, back when he blackmailed Her Highness and the jester. Regardless, you steered them into enough corners that evidence to the contrary would have come out.”
“As for the tree being angry about their presence, I think there’s more to it than rage.”
“I agree.” My brows furrowed. “Something akin to–”
“Protectiveness,” she said.
Yes. That.
“Also that comment about waiting until the fires are lit,” Aspen pondered. “Sounds like they’ve already got a deadline in mind for the next ambush.”
“Given their quantity of Summer tinder, it’s enough to constrain the oak for a lengthy duration,” I calculated.
“Their forthcoming attack won’t be immediate.
Yet Summer is hardly the type who can wait two days, let alone much longer.
In which case, this mysterious attack can’t be so far off that preparing in advance isn’t warranted. ”
“About that.” Aspen jerked the hood off her face. “Something’s off with the armory’s cache of weapons. I found cleavers, harvest scythes, trunks of roughspun. They’re practical only if you’re a farmer or a trades worker.”
“The knights were keeping their personal weapons harnessed, if not propped at their bedsides.”
“Sure, but they’re not growing crops for a living. If you need a tent of extra supplies, why not pack shields and swords instead of rustic equipment?”
“Disguises.” I slowed my pace. “I sensed an undercurrent of subterfuge among them. Commoner tools intended as weapons would support that.”
“I suppose that makes sense if they don’t want to be identified in a massacre.”
“You noticed something about Muriel’s sickle. What was it?”
“Same thing you’ll find on every tool and weapon in The Dark Seasons.
A blacksmith’s signature engraving. This one was a fox.
” Aspen sighed. “But… I don’t know. Makeshift weapons to ambush other military camps loaded with superior defenses?
Disguises notwithstanding, that’s a losing battle.
Rhys’s cult isn’t suffering for high-quality arms, so why not use the finest weapons at your disposal instead? There’s a detail missing.”
“It is only our first attempt. We’ll find out the rest.” One side of my lips curled. “With your skills, you’re sure to extract more information in seven days than I have in seven years.”
She tossed me an aghast look. “Don’t undermine yourself. You uncovered plenty during your mission.”
As much as I appreciated the endorsement, I dwelled more on her ingenuity. Yesterday, I hadn’t thought my blood could boil any hotter. Kneeling before Aspen’s spread thighs, tasting her intimate flesh, and making her come so loud I still heard the lovely sound playing in my ears.
But witnessing the female throw herself into the line of danger, I had been mistaken.
The sight of Aspen surrounded by over a hundred pairs of venomous eyes had turned me into an extremist. Despite the instinct to leap in front of her, such an action would have accomplished nothing but a brawl and our capture.
That, coupled with the knowledge that she hadn’t needed rescuing yet, stayed my movements in the brush. For I trusted her resourcefulness.
Moreover, we would have forsaken the chance to gain vital information. To that end, Aspen’s tongue possessed more whiplash power than any weapon in the camp. As the industrious woman played them for fools, admiration replaced my terror.
Also, she’d been uncannily astute about Rhys’s character. I hadn’t been exaggerating about that. Her testimonial to the knights had sounded like the truth, to the point where the hairs along my arms rose.
Certainly, an overreaction. I brushed off the notion.
Now that we had gained sufficient leagues, I paused beside a creek where sparkling water flowed over bronze stones, the rush of noise concealing our voices. My arm lifted, my fingers hooking onto a branch, and I braced my right boot heel on a boulder.
I conveyed through a netting of shadows, “You inspire me.”
Pink flooded Aspen’s cheeks, the vision so endearing my palm itched to cup that balmy skin. “Same,” she answered.
“Not the same,” I disputed, releasing the branch and approaching, my coat brushing her mantle. “You were brilliant tonight. I merely supplied backup.” Dipping my head, I whispered, “But it’s okay to let go now.”
A veil fell from those eyes. Resilience had empowered her with those knights. Yet now that she’d gotten us out of there, the trauma surfaced.
A shaky gust of air expelled from her lungs. “The last time I entered a camp…”
“I know.” My forehead sank to her own. “I know.”
Her fractured expression assaulted my heart. Stalking into that camp reminded Aspen of the Masters, when they forced her to behead Merit. Not only that, but encountering the source of her mother’s ailment and Aspen’s pain, added salt to the wound.
She shuffled nearer. Taking that as a request, I rubbed the sides of her arms, soothing the pangs that speaking of the oak caused this woman.
“But you persevered,” I reminded her. “You triumphed.”
As she absorbed those words, I caressed her skin. Even when the effects subsided, she remained motionless. “The raptor sounds you made tonight. It’s from the same birds tattooed across your arm.”
“It is,” I husked. “I’ve had practice mimicking their calls. Night falcons were my brother’s favorite avian.”
“Will you tell me about him?”
“What would you care to know?”
“Anything you’re comfortable sharing. What was he like?”
Her change in topic blindsided me, the way grief always did—gone for a while, only to resurface, breaking me open like a fresh wound. To this day, it remained the one cyclical upheaval I rarely saw coming.
Visions of my brother manifested, accompanied by unconditional affection. With it, a new type of longing swarmed my being, stoked by Aspen’s breath against my lips. After broaching the subject last night, I wanted to share more about this with her.
Because I waited too long, Aspen flinched. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk—”
“He was spirited,” I remembered. “He feared warhorses but admired them from afar. He loved straw flowers, the color blue, and all manner of birds. He was eternal.”
Aspen’s mouth tipped into a fond grin. “What was his name?”
“Raven,” I whispered.
I had not voiced his name since I lost him, the letters delicate on my tongue. Then the rest came out, washing from me like water from the creek.
“The day my brother died, he was birdwatching in the woods,” I recounted.
“As a squire bent on proving myself, I’d been training in a neighboring copse a handful of yards away.
Because Raven lived with the same condition as Nicu, I had made a pebble trail for him to follow, so he wouldn’t lose his way—”
I cut myself off, anguish lacerating my throat. “Renegade thieves identified Raven as a born soul and surrounded him.”
Pictures flashed through my head. Raven’s scream tearing me from my stance.
My legs pounding through the underbrush.
Not fast enough, not strong enough, not close enough.
Like Nicu at that age, my brother failed to recognize friend from adversary, and so they besieged him before he knew what was happening.
More than greed over his fine clothing, hateful prejudice spurred their actions.
I tore into the clearing with a roar. Blood splattered the grass. Red soaked my tunic and spritzed my face. Eventually, the thieves stopped howling for mercy.
And so had Raven.
My sweet brother. My whole world. My first love.
The struggle had ended with a knife in his stomach. Among the carnage, I sank to my knees and cradled his bleeding body, my bellows flying into the sky.
“I screamed so loud, I could not speak for days afterward,” I finished.
“Aire.” Aspen’s reply wobbled from her lips. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Wasn’t it?
For all I could sense and predict, I hadn’t foreseen Raven’s death. I had been training myself to defend the citizens of my kingdom, yet I’d been helpless to save the one person who mattered most. I could play the savior for this nation, rescue millions, win a war.
But I would never win back my brother.
Oftentimes, the memories tore at my flesh. In the past, I welcomed the feeling, relied on it as a morbid sort of reckoning.
What did I have, if not my bereavement?
What did I deserve, if not my guilt?
At the same time, I had detested myself for succumbing to these impulses. Basking in loss made me lethargic. Only the sword, my service, and my kinship with the Royals kept me sane back then.
In private, I sobbed.
In public, I drilled myself.
Never again would I fail to protect another person.
Aspen braced my jaw, kept my head aloft instead of letting it hang in shame.
A sniffling noise caught my attention, ripping me from the story.
At some point, my eyes had drifted to the ground, but now they returned to Aspen’s face, where a single tear trickled across the leaf vines imprinting her flesh.
In the years I’d known her, this woman had never once cried. Not during her stint with the Masters. Not after Merit’s death. Not over her mother. Not from the pain in her flesh. For she believed crying made her vulnerable.
Yet she wept now. For Raven.
She held me fast and repeated, “It wasn’t your fault.”
A bereft sound vacated my chest. While I might convince myself otherwise later, her conviction was enough for me to believe the declaration might be true.
We split apart and continued to The Lost Treehouses. A cathartic silence trailed in our wake. Occasionally, we traded small smiles that lasted until we crossed into the enclave.
Then Aspen stopped. Following her gaze, I halted beside her.
To the outside observer, we had returned from an exploratory hike.
Nevertheless, Lyrik slouched against one of the trunks, his tall frame blocking the entrance.
With that shrewd gaze leveled on us, he tossed a pouch to the dirt.
The landing wrenched open the drawstring, black powder spilling across the ground.
The rogue clucked his tongue. “Can’t say I blame you for checking that elderberry nectar before taking a swig last night. But lacing drinks is for amateurs. Reactive powder, on the other hand, is the work of an elegant alchemist.”
Stiffening, I recalled that incident when Lyrik fished this identical bag from his pocket during dinner, shortly after I deemed the elderberry nectar safe. Except this double-crosser made it clear. I shouldn’t have been worried about the fucking drink.
“Did you know inhalation provides immediate access to the bloodstream?” the knave inquired.
“The powder reacts to heat, which becomes a breathable vapor, which binds itself to the blood. Prep the same powder in advance, dust it onto a map of the forest for instance, and it’ll tell you the location of its host at all times. ”
Aspen sucked in a breath. A curse rolled off my tongue.
“Sooo,” Lyrik drawled, angling his head to the side. “Had fun with the troops?”