10 #2
On that score, the clan’s verdict about Rhys targeting Autumn troops in small batches made sense. He wouldn’t attempt something vaster. Not while trying to recoup his losses in Spring and Winter; the fellowship had kept that chess move under wraps successfully for a while.
Behind the scenes, my lies to the king helped there. But eventually, Rhys figured out why half of his secret army really toppled. Maybe he’d gotten wind from his secondary informant, because it sure as hell hadn’t been me.
I circled back to my latest dilemma. Now with the clan on the lookout for a spy, this would be an ideal time switch course. I’d been contemplating that when Briar reminisced about her encounter with the oak tree and then revealed its location.
This newfound twist changed everything. It handed me an opportunity I didn’t want to take.
Spinning, I rammed my back against the jousting barrier and sucked in great gulps of oxygen.
My stomach gurgled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the meeting, regardless of all the savory goodies floating around on those engraved platters.
A daft mistake on my part. Hunger was nothing to trifle with, and food wasn’t to be taken for granted.
What’s more, I could have brought one of those cranberry tarts to Mama. Whenever I did, they made her smile.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I always said someone should cut out your tongue,” a masculine voice observed.
I whipped toward the source. A knight’s silhouette reclined sideways against the tilt’s head, a rare grin nudging one corner of his lips.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thrown me off my guard today.
Minutes after our combative reunion, I walked away unscathed and with my head elevated.
Only when I stepped into the castle did I sprint to the nearest stairwell and collapse in a bout of nausea, my fingers shaking for a solid ten minutes.
Hence, my late arrival to the roundtable. A first in my pristine record.
Drawing a surprised intake of breath, I crossed my arms. “Well, you’re consistent, following me from another revel. Did you forget something out here?”
Catching himself in the act, Aire smothered his grin. “Not me,” he replied, sauntering nearer. “You did.”
I frowned in puzzlement. Hesitating, he extended one hand, where a package wafted of sweet and sour aromas.
Cranberry tarts. Three of them.
Aire had noticed me leave without sampling the fare. He also remembered I liked bringing Mama treats from the revels.
My insides softened. I curled my fingers around the tarts. “Thank you.”
“Never thank me,” he murmured.
“Meh. I’m too starved to hold back gratitude. I could eat one of these in a single gulp.”
“Please don’t,” he begged. “Jeryn is too many leagues away, and I have no practice in resuscitation.”
“Not a problem. Nature blessed me at birth with an immunity against choking. It may not look like it, but I have an elastic throat and a special ability to swallow lots of things that normally shouldn’t be swallowed whole.”
The knight went still. His features leveled on me in the darkness, caught between too many reactions to choose from. Scandalized, flustered, and something with a boiling point.
To atone for the blunder, I feigned conviction. “If I don’t thank you, I’ll owe you.”
“I see,” he conceded, playing along. “Then by all means, my lady. I know how you loathe being indebted to people.”
Despite myself, I let out a small chuckle, then sobered at his ensemble. After our training match, I must have been too focused on the roundtable and my predicament to register his change of clothes. Or maybe I had avoided taking a closer look.
A slate jacket and a matching vest edged in dark trim. The slumped neckline, which flashed his collarbone. Leather pants like Poet’s, except dyed in a charcoal shade.
Muscled silhouette. Tousled ashy hair.
Fuck me hard. This mouthwatering soldier cleaned up nicely.
“I’m sorry,” Aire intoned.
My attention jumped from the impeccable clothes to his features. “For what?”
The knight held my gaze, regret flooding his words. “For my brutish behavior in the training yard. For my rudeness during the meeting.” His irises dimmed, tearing a hole in my resolve. “For the way I left you.”
That night so long ago, when he turned away. That moment when he didn’t look back.
Except that had been my fault. I’d been the hurtful one that evening, not him. It didn’t matter that I had no choice.
Even so, his apology crushed my chest. This man trusted me. Everyone in the clan did.
As for the training yard and the roundtable, Aire was no more infallible than any human being. But when he made mistakes, he took responsibility and owned up to them.
Compared to my betrayal, I had no right to say it. But this warrior looked out for people, and he deserved for someone to look out for him in whatever way they could.
I swallowed. “I’m the one who should be sorry. For what I said that night.” Aire shook his head, about to object when I unstrapped the axe and presented the blade’s rim. “I’ve kept my edge.”
His features brightened. “The whetstone.”
“It’s my favorite gift. I never thanked you like I should have.”
“As I said, gratitude is unnecessary. All I’ve ever wanted was to keep you—and the clan—from harm. You’re powerful on your own, yet it’s not in my nature to stand idle.”
“It’s also out of character for you to dishonor someone’s request.”
“So instead, I found another way to intervene.” With a rueful grin, Aire scrubbed the back of his neck. “And now I’ve experienced the result. You bested me good on that field.”
I joined in his mirth, laughter welling from my throat. “We’ve botched this reunion.”
“Terribly.”
“Nothing like Poet and Briar’s… or Jeryn and Flare’s…”
The words trailed off. Expecting us to have the same experience as those couples implied something intimate. And far more graphic, considering how both pairs celebrated their historic returns to one another.
But their stories weren’t our story. This soldier and I didn’t share a tale. Hell, we weren’t even on the same page.
Aire sobered. “Yes. Well.” He tried again, quipping, “Clearly, I’ve grown too slow and old to take you down.”
My eyes had a will of their own, sketching his robust frame. My uncensored tongue didn’t behave much better. “I doubt it.”
For the barest moment, his pupils darkened. The statement dangled between us like a trap. Him charging, taking me down. Us sprawled across the ground, with our weapons abandoned on the grass and our bodies waging a new type of war.
“I watched you in the armory. You were a vision to behold. An inspiring warrior.” Nevertheless, regret diluted his voice.
“I kept thinking how anyone wishing you an ill fate won’t temper themself, and how your proficiency warrants the utmost quality of training.
Though, it doesn’t forgive my intrusion on the field. ”
The question toppled from my lips. “Is that the only reason you lashed out?”
Fire sketched his features in hot amber light. “It is the only acceptable one.”
“He’s jealous.”
No, that couldn’t be true. Years ago, I might have drawn this false conclusion, getting ahead of myself like a smitten, tenderfoot girl. But time had a way of ironing out those feelings, and only fools tripped over the same rock twice.
“Actually, I owe you a second apology,” I confessed. “Seeing as I’m skipping out on another event hosted in your honor.”
Aire contemplated the empty tiltyard. “Yet you’ve headed in the wrong direction.”
“I was feeling ambitious, fantasizing about trumping you in a joust one day, then winning the whole tournament. I’ve been practicing with the army for a couple of years now, and I’m decent at it too.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re being modest?”
“No idea. Care to find out soon? You might be the champion, but I’m the rising talent and a long shot, which is more appealing.”
For this year’s Reaper’s Fest, Autumn had added a series of jousting tournaments to its pre-bonfire festivities. Competitions would occur in every corner of this kingdom, from the castle to its remote hamlets.
Aire bowed his head. “If I should ever face you across a field, it shall be an honor.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I promised. “Anyway, using this route has become a default habit. Shorter exits are for the lazy, and occasionally I meet someone here on the way out.”
To be clear, I hadn’t intended to test Poet’s theory. But tell that to Aire, who sure as shit reacted.
The knight’s eyes slit. “Raccoon.”
I blinked. “Wha—”
“That pompous, greenhorn, imitation of a soldier.”
“His name is Rhun. The First Knight should know that.”
“New recruit introductions convene tomorrow. Forgive me if my initial priorities included the clan and my highest trusted officers instead of a spoiled, entitled rookie who can barely hold his weapon straight.”
My hackles rose. “Interesting. If you insist on browbeating the issue instead of letting it go, then I’ll get to the point: I’ve never had a problem with the bloke holding any weapon straight.”
Aire’s pupils blew the fuck up. With predatory calm, he lifted off the joust railing, the gradual motion sending my palpitations into wild disarray. Stalking toward me, his body loomed over mine, the proximity so potent I might get stoned off his scent.
He bore down on me like an active volcano. “And the rest of them?”
I gaped, recalling how he watched the men approach me earlier. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
For the second time in six hours, his eyes dropped to my lips, the irises sizzling like a pair of explosives. “No,” he rasped. “It most certainly is not.”
So he had been jealous.
My mouth tingled, and dammit, my pussy clenched, the tight cleft throbbing between my thighs. I chuffed so much oxygen, the vent in my cloak split, offering a glimpse of cleavage. But thank Seasons this diviner couldn’t read me beyond the surface.