29
Aire
Belts of mist wove through the eaves. As a new dawn approached, the enclave’s vast network of suspensions intersected through the heights.
At the ground level, black spores germinated from the creepers, berries laced in poison hung like gems from the shrubs, and drafts of air hissed in passing. Magic and mayhem indeed.
The rustic scents of mulch and roasted acorns wafted through the northern border. There, I waited. Pacing like an agitated lion, I squashed dead leaves under my boots, the exercise achieving nothing.
I did not doubt Aspen’s prowess. Yet I could not say the same for mine.
What if the premonition came to pass? What if I neglected to keep her out of harm’s way?
Undergrowth crunched beneath my weight. By comparison, soil muffled the neat footfalls of an approaching figure.
My worries defused. I stalled, my lips twitching of their own volition. Though by the time I whipped around, my broadsword clanging with her axe, any trace of a grin flattened across my face.
Steel rang through the woods. Over our braced weapons, we regarded one another, combative amusement gleaming in her eyes.
Always be on guard. A valid rule for any warrior.
Reflexes adequately tested, we broke apart and sheathed our blades. Aspen had opted for the ancient harness, having rearranged the straps to her back. Impressive invention, that apparatus. Although from a previous generation, the ingenuity suited her.
As did the velvet corset hugging Aspen’s ribs. Like the rest of us, she had raided the enclave’s wardrobe archives. The garment boosted her breasts, and a linen undershirt fluttered over her skin.
I wrested my gaze from the sight. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she murmured, hooking a tartan mantle over one arm instead of her customary cloak.
A wise choice, given Aspen favored the mantle at court. Because the woman had spent considerable time amid Autumn’s forces, any of these knights might recognize her signature vestment.
As she moved to unfold the textile, an unbound set of laces drew my attention. With the grommets situated at her back, she must have had difficulty cinching the corset.
Don’t do it.
Do. Not.
Shit. Motioning for her to turn, I grunted, “Here. Let me.”
Realization dawned on Aspen. “Oh. Right.”
We fell silent as I swept aside the cloak, then threaded the cords through the holes, tightening them in place. In the quiet, her respirations matched my own, thick and labored.
At the neckline, my fingers skimmed her nape. The contact scorched my flesh, and goosebumps flared across Aspen’s skin, where a leaf symbol flourished.
Like an addict, I took liberties. Against my better judgment, I thumbed one brown curl of hair springing down her shoulder blades, the texture akin to fine silk.
With my hand roasting, I stepped away. “Done.”
Aspen wheeled to face me. “Thanks.”
More confounding silence. Her naked ass on that swing, that slick cunt awaiting my tongue, and her lips parting on a cry flashed before my eyes, followed by a montage of erotic imagery.
Aspen glimpsed the dull brown tunic and jacket clasping my frame, the same dangerous vignette occupying her thoughts.
She recovered quickly, girdling herself in the mantle. “Did you check on Nicu?”
I inclined my head. “Same as you.”
Purely assumption, but Aspen’s expression confirmed as much. She would never leave without looking in on the Royal Son, despite knowing I would do so as well.
I had visited with Nicu prior to our departure, checking that he remembered the plan verbatim, a method to ensure his safety. In case he forgot where we’d gone, my liege would repeat my last words to himself. This would prevent Nicu from trying to locate us, only to grow perplexed by the distance.
I did not care to leave him with Lyrik. Be that as it may, Nicu had demonstrated his ability to put that menace to society in his place.
In the interim, my liege would tend to the horses and exercise the animals in a roundabout until our return, the tasks sparing him from interacting with the explosives delinquent in our midst.
For my part, lack of battle gear did not concern me. Nevertheless, I reconsidered Aspen’s ensemble and her cleavage on display.
Heat scorched my glowering face. “You need thicker layers.”
She hitched one shoulder. “I’m living on the edge.”
“Not my favorite answer.”
“Not a surprise.”
“Threadbare fabric will not block an arrow.”
“Honey, threadbare fabric has kept me in one piece since puberty.”
“The axe and your skills have kept you in one piece,” I countered. “The rest was up to chance.”
“Then give me knighthood,” she baited. “And I’ll wear chainmail next time.”
Saucy minx. I had the authority to bestow her with that rank, yet I knew this woman’s true passions better. She wouldn’t care to be dubbed on a whim instead of at a pivotal turning point when the circumstances held meaning.
Aspen’s profile shadowed as she contemplated the path ahead, pockmarked by cloven hoof prints. Regardless of her veneer, concern knotted in my stomach. Aware of the reason, I gave her my full attention and waited.
Aspen steeled her posture. Her eyes clicked to mine. “I’ve never seen it,” she admitted.
The oak. The tree that branded Aspen and plagued her mother.
I stepped forward to brace her shoulder. “You’re not alone.” When she didn’t tug herself away, my fingers dove and shielded her hand in my own. “I’m with you.”
Because I have always been with you.
Aspen’s posture eased. Regardless, shame tainted her voice. “I never tried to find the oak on my own. I could have searched for the tree and… I don’t know. Asked it to spare my mother, traded something if it meant freeing her mind from torture. I thought of it and wanted to, but I was a coward.”
“Do not say that,” I grated. “The Masters were exploiting you. You spent your life looking after your mother, even when you were too young. You have nothing to atone for. Nor does your mother.”
“The oak penalized her through me. She took from its trunk.”
“We all take from the trees. We build shelter and fires. And we extend our gratitude for the privilege.”
“Mama didn’t express gratitude or ask in the first place. Not that it makes her a bad or unworthy person. She was pregnant and just so excited. She wanted to craft me a weapon from the finest hardwood. If I hadn’t been growing inside her, this wouldn’t have…”
I grabbed both of her shoulders. “She made an honest mistake, and nature is not always charitable or objective. But this is not your doing.”
Her irises searched my own. Then she gulped down the melancholy.
I would not fail another person I cared about. I would not let this female down.
Dawn poured rays into the forest like sap. As I released her, my eyes surveyed the axe. The rounded edge gleamed, newly honed as if she had found a suitable tool.
“You sharpened it,” I observed.
An unmistakable light brightened Aspen’s countenance. “I did.”
The whetstone. She brought it with her.
This discovery unspooled through a crawlspace in my sternum. I swallowed my joy, then veered toward the unpaved route. “These woods have older secrets than the rest of Autumn, and they mean to keep them. Be wary of where you tread.”
Aspen tucked the mantle’s tartan hood around her face. “Same.”
Two hours maximum. That was our time limit before trekking back here.
We strode from the border and entered the forest side by side. This arrangement did not last. Unable to help myself, I fell one step ahead like a barrier, my eyes panning across the wild for signs of peril.
The wind stilled, as if it could not fit through this dense expanse. But no foul disturbance approached. After a mile without incident, we conversed in moderate tones while scouring the environment.
Objective: Find and verify the camp’s outpost near the oak tree. From there, ascertain the conspirators’ identities, their daily patterns, their methods of communication, and their impending plot to ambush Autumn.
It would take more than one expedition, but once we gathered the necessary intel, only then would we act, either messaging the clan via hawk to dispatch reinforcements or spiriting to the castle as fast as possible.
The options depended on what we found out and how soon the traitors would mobilize again.
If these knights wished to advance Summer’s plan, remaining idle would not suffice. At some point, they must resume their task. So the questions remained, when would this come to pass, and to what end?
The answers were contingent on one person who possessed the authority to issue commands.
“Rhys,” I spat.
The king’s name brought a grimace to Aspen’s face. “What about him?”
“That dictator wouldn’t have merely dispatched his cult and let them fly solo. At convenient intervals, Rhys will seek in-person contact.”
“Intimidation,” she agreed. “That’s his style.”
I maneuvered around an abandoned wagon wheel choked by weeds. For some reason, her confidence unnerved me. “You sound certain.”
Aspen ducked beneath an offshoot. “Even without confirmations from Queen Giselle, that cocksucker’s never been tough to read. He makes it clear he’s got a hard-on for control, gets off on throwing his weight around, and flaunts his crown like it’s a fourteen-carat dick.”
Accurate. “If we find an opening, best to search their coffers.”
“And their campfires.”
I shot her another look, my skin prickling. Yes, our clan had theorized this long ago. If Rhys didn’t want a missive detected, intercepted, or tracked, he would use the ashes of Summer tinder and deliver tidings through flames, which would cremate the parchment once it had been read.
Therefore, it wasn’t Aspen’s suggestion that struck a nerve. Again, it was her certainty.