23
Aspen
A scarf covered the lower half of the stranger’s face, hiding everything but the deep olive skin, nefarious dark eyes, and a vicious object clamped to the ledge of his right ear. Some piece of sterling jewelry with a row of spikes lined the outer shell. An earring that resembled a weapon.
Nicu’s throat bobbed against the knife’s tip. Cylindrical handle made of bone. Triangular blade with a needle point meant for puncturing like an ice pick and delivering clean, deep wounds.
A rondel dagger.
I lunged forward, only to be jostled backward by a firm hand. Goddammit, Aire!
Flipping out my axe, I snarled, “Let him go!”
“Who? This pretty little songbird?” The stranger’s blade nipped Nicu’s jaw. “Nah. I like my prey right where I got him.”
Aire stalked in front of me, his growl borderline savage. “Release the boy.”
“Fuck off, knight.”
All right. So this asswipe had somehow registered Aire’s rank quickly.
Either one of us could fling down our weapons, satisfying Nicu’s captor, then stun the cocksucker by whipping out alternatives, namely my right hook or whatever surprises Aire stashed beneath all those layers of clothing.
Keeping one hand free to take our host off guard was the only justification for why he wielded one sword instead of two.
I chucked my hatchet to the dirt. This gave the knight a maximum of sixty seconds before I took the initiative.
“Sword down,” the bastard ordered to Aire, then to me, “Hood off, bitch.”
A mercenary growl skidded from the knight’s throat. “Do not speak of her that way unless you’d like your head detached from your neck.”
I skirted around him. “Besides, what if I’m a killer bitch?”
The stranger cocked his head, getting a better look at the leaves and stems weaving across my wrists. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone escaped from a Spring carnival. How much for a peek at the rest—”
Steel flew across the divide. A knife whizzed past his ear as he yanked Nicu with him, the weapon’s bit slamming into a tupelo trunk.
Aire lowered his throwing hand. “Keep your eyes off her. And on me,” he cautioned.
Hissing, the stranger’s blade nicked Nicu’s throat, a ribbon of blood trickling down the edge. “How about you say that a little louder?”
“This is an act of treason.”
“In case you’re wondering, I don’t give a shit. Drop the sword, hero. Both of them!”
Festering, Aire flung his broadsword to the ground beside my axe, then relinquished the second from its scabbard.
The stranger’s foot punted everything behind him. “Got any more accessories?”
I interrupted before the knight did something foolish like tell the truth. “What do you want from us?”
“Did you hear about me and decide to come sniffing around? Digging into my business isn’t how I work. You wait for me to come to you .”
“Digging for what?”
“Tell me how you know me,” the stranger threatened.
“We do not,” Aire gritted.
“Though from your charming disposition, it looks like we’re missing out,” I remarked. “Are you a squatter?”
“What if I am?” the stranger volleyed. “Ain’t no laws against that.”
“But there are laws against abduction and murder,” the First Knight seethed. “You’re harboring a Royal of this nation. The son of Her Highness and the Court Jester of Autumn, and heir to Her Majesty the Queen.”
“Right. And I’m the long lost prince from the Kingdom of Fuck You.”
My fingers itched to decapitate this son of a bitch.
What’s more, I would have rammed my knuckles into Aire’s face for dishing out Nicu’s identity when we were supposed to be inconspicuous.
Except the knight had that intuitive glint in his pupils, which meant he’d gotten distinct vibes from this weasel, which also meant Aire’s strategy was intentional.
I had an inkling of why and played along.
“You’re not the reason we came here. I’m a world-weary pirate who’s decided to retire and live the rest of her days in the pursuit of discovery instead of stolen riches.
In other words, I’m on a pilgrimage to explore this legendary enclave, my Royal friend has reached a rebellious stage and wanted to tag along, and his grizzly bear bodyguard suffers from a hero complex, so he vowed to make sure neither of us got butchered along the way.
If I were you, I’d be careful; sudden movements upset this soldier, which tends to cost people their livers. I assume you don’t want to get mauled?”
The rogue growled like a mongrel detecting bullshit. “How many of your admirers actually get off on that cute bedtime story?”
“Fair. The retired pirate bit might have been improvisation.”
Not my best effort under pressure, but that hadn’t been the point.
I’d given him a tale that was ninety percent genuine, ten percent fiction.
That ratio masked lies with intrigue. Oftentimes, people hungry for diversions chose the elaborate falsehood over the basic truth, which meant this stranger ranked low on the gullibility scale, which also meant we needed to tread carefully.
Aire strode forward while spreading his arms to illustrate compliance. Yet another few steps, and the stranger would be in slaughtering range of the knight’s bare hands. “Once given the chance, I shall lead the Crown to you. But let us reside here without conflict, and I’ll revoke that promise.”
The pissant shrugged as if he’d invented that gesture. “Not a concern. My business is legit.”
“Then we’ll do this the preferable way. Comply, and I won’t drive a spare weapon through your skull. You have my word.”
“Guess that’s supposed to mean something. I’m thinking, this is the deal: You tell me who you really are, what you really want, and you leave me out of it. Fuck off on your merry way, and I won’t slit this pretty boy’s throat. He’s got a sweet pulse, see?”
Nicu’s eyes narrowed in thought, then slanted his head toward his captor. “You conjure smoke and mirrors, but those things don’t last. Draw my blood, and you’ll be the one to dry up and disappear.”
The squatter blinked. Unlike our clan, most people had difficulty comprehending Nicu’s artful rhetoric. As a result, any bloke within a fifty-mile radius wouldn’t grasp what he just said.
Yet the stranger chewed on those words, giving them ample thought as if he understood Nicu just fine. Intrigued, he slithered around my friend. The blade’s needle point followed, grazing the surface of Nicu’s throat.
Nicu stared back. Without flinching, he raised his chin like another Royal I knew and loved.
I clicked my gaze to Aire’s thunderous profile. While keeping his attention on the pair, the knight reached behind, extending his hand toward whatever final, undisclosed weapon he’d stashed.
My hatchet rested on the grass. I could reach it if I dove.
The stranger raked over my friend’s prominent features. “You’re a born soul.”
“Is that a problem?” Nicu demanded, his tenor lowering to a hiss.
That tone of voice, I’d never heard him use before. But the stranger appeared to like it, amusement creasing the upper half of his face. “Green eyes. Faeish face. Musical voice. I’ve heard about those details. Yeah, you’re the Royal Son all right. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I heard it,” he murmured.
Their eyes locked, the staring contest lasting a beat too long. They didn’t look much different in age, Lyrik being maybe a few years older. But there was definitely a difference in height, my friend’s forehead barely reaching the stranger’s collarbone.
After more unnerving seconds than I’d like to count, the squatter broke the trance. Sauntering backward, he flipped the dagger like a baton, his attitude shifting from thuggish to nonchalant. “He’s all yours.”
I wasn’t so sure. Nicu stayed put, fixating on the stranger who ignored him as if nothing just happened. While slapping his weapon into a baldric across his chest, the man regarded us with a sidelong glance. “Misunderstanding, then. No hard feelings.”
Aire moved to tackle the man but stalled when Nicu covertly shook his head. We might have been involved, but this standoff circulated around him, and our friend wanted to fight his own battles.
To compensate, Aire vented through his nostrils and glowered at the stranger. “You will keep your hands and weapons to yourself. Do so, and I won’t make a cadaver out of you.”
“Such manners,” the man drawled. “Isn’t often I have Royal guests. I’m guessing a search party will eventually come here looking for your runaway songbird. Otherwise, I’d entertain you for longer. Stay but don’t get comfortable.”
“No one is coming here,” the knight said. “Not yet.”
“What do we call you?” I asked.
The stranger pulled his scarf down, exposing a stubbled jaw and roguish lips. “Name’s Lyrik.”
“Not ‘Asshole’?”
He tossed me a shit-eating grin. “How about you?”
I glanced toward Aire and Nicu, silently conferring with them. One of us had already been revealed. Not ideal during a mission to spy on members of a traitorous army.
On the flip side, too many falsehoods could get dicey unless an expert like me knew how to keep a dozen stories straight. Even then, it wasn’t worth the extra risk.
Lyrik had said something about people coming to him rather than the other way around.
Apart from that, he didn’t strike me as the type who got out much.
This misanthrope kept to himself, lived in an enclave cloistered from the masses, and hardly acted like a gossip who spent his free time getting shitfaced at the local tavern.
In short, this paranoid bloke didn’t want his whereabouts known any more than we wanted ours publicized, which provided a solid opportunity to make a deal.
Trained in military tactics, Aire fathomed as much.
Tit for tat, this explained why he bartered Nicu’s identity for Lyrik’s cooperation.
Exposing the Crown’s pride and joy made us vulnerable, which would get this cagey man to trust us.
Moreover, Aire must have gotten a sign about Lyrik, something elemental that convinced him to go on the record.
As son of the two shrewdest power players on the continent, Nicu’s introspective frown conveyed the same perceptive instincts. And since this wasn’t only my decision, I waited until they nodded.
Then I pivoted my gaze to our host. “I’m Aspen, that’s Aire, and he’s Nicu.”
While Lyrik panned his attention over each of us, I took a closer look. Sooty brown irises. Defined jaw. Sinful mouth. Just-fucked hair. Basically everyone’s type if they had eyes.
While Aire possessed a gruff beauty that stole a person’s breath, this tousled specimen radiated the kind of dirty-talking, bad-boy energy most Autumn virgins would steer clear from.
Unless those thrill seekers wanted their hearts broken on purpose.
Lyrik was the opposite of a well-mannered chap, the sort of filthy secret good for a fling, but not the upstanding noble anyone brought home to meet the parents.
Intrigued by what he saw, Lyrik cast a baiting glance at Nicu. “Think you can keep up with me?”
Affronted, Nicu slit his eyes. “Think you’re hard to follow?”
A divot burrowed into the rogue’s cheek. Coming to a decision, he kicked his head toward the treehouse enclave. “Lemme show you around.”