56
Aire
Our knees struck the wood planks. The ropes chafed my wrists, the scent of nutmeg hit my lungs, and leaves skittered across the ground.
My eyes veered to Aspen. The bindings hung loose around her hands, sparing her from developing scabs. Even so, I longed to shred them with my bare hands.
Instead, we reached for one another. Our fingers locked, weaving tightly.
They had come for us at sunset, the evening after I dubbed my lady and made love to her. Starlight trickled through the eaves. We knelt upon a round platform where six bridges united like the spokes of a wheel, the level hovering dozens of feet above the earth.
The center of The Lost Treehouses. The enclave’s beating heart.
“Rise,” commanded a voice that threw shivers across my skin.
A stately inflection I had served for the majority of my life. An eloquent intonation belonging to a great monument of a woman.
Aspen and I obeyed. Gaining our feet, we maintained an unbreakable grip on one another.
Layers of titian-dyed fabric swished inches from my boots. The hem of a priceless garment pooled over the floor in a regal puddle. I followed the cascade of a gown, voluptuous curves similar to Aspen’s, and craned my head toward the figure who had spoken.
Freckles dotted the female’s nose. Her hair was twisted up into russet plaits, which blended with an off-the-shoulder gown, creating one high tower of color.
A crown encircled her head. An ancient, glossed wood, long extinct in Autumn, crafted with delicacy, the spears coiling into branches.
Queen Avalea of Autumn.
Her hands were folded in front of her, in the same manner as her daughter.
Princess Briar stood a few feet behind, draped in an onyx gown overlaid in hazelnut lace. The upper portion appeared backless, and the floor-length skirt ended in a train. The tail of her side-braid hung loosely over one shoulder, and her pupils flashed in sorrow.
Poet shadowed his wife. A black velvet coat and fitted pants clutched his muscled frame, with a ruffle of brown silk frothing from the plunging neckline.
During our captivity, the jester had reclaimed his fashioned preferences, ornamental webs dripping from his lower eyelashes.
Watching us through a grim expression, his conflicted irises glittered like sharply cut emeralds.
Beside his father, Nicu shuffled. Cleaned and freshly dressed in brocade, he blanched to see us like this.
Jeryn towered on the queen’s opposite side, the collar of his fur coat bristling around his jaw. With the meticulously detached precision of an anatomist, those acute features prepared to dissect every word we said.
Flare stood beside him. Paired with a loose dress and waist tie, bangles trailed up the woman’s arms, and a band encircled her forehead. Having vaster and more horrific experience with confinement, not to mention false incrimination, her empathetic countenance glanced between me and Aspen.
Lyrik must be resting after his injury. For he was nowhere in sight.
However, additional figures materialized. Eliot, his stubbled jaw tight with uncertainty. Cadence, her customary sass absent, replaced by wary consternation. Posy and Vale, one half of the loving pair wincing, the other staring in apprehension.
My senses ran amok. From one witness to the next, a host of reactions clashed.
Shock. Fury. Doubt.
Hurt. Pain. Confusion.
These feelings stirred as erratically as the wind, each one lacking direction. Most of these afflictions, they cast in Aspen’s direction. With the exception of Poet and Briar, who spoke with her prior to my self-assigned detainment.
The rest of the clan must have arrived with Her Majesty in secret, guarded by a second unit of hawks who roosted in the branches and kept watch. Every participant appeared worn out, as if they’d been debating and agonizing for days.
The fellowship we cared for, fought beside, and would stake our lives to protect. The people we built a life alongside. The family we made.
My chest clenched. For once, I could not perceive the outcome. Only that I would not leave Aspen’s side.
“Two of our own,” Queen Avalea began, her attention steering to Aspen.
“One who has earned a place in our circle, only to deceive that trust.” As my lady flinched, Her Majesty transferred her gaze to me.
“And one who swore a vow of fealty, who has guarded this nation and commanded its army faithfully, yet has elected to take a rather unexpected turn.”
At once, the pretense dissolved. A crack appeared in the woman’s facade, dismay pulling it taut.
“Sir Aire,” she demanded. “Most honorable of knights. I confess, I’m speechless.” Yet with the grace of a monarch, she squared her shoulders and huffed. “Very well. What on earth is the meaning of this? Explain your shocking change of heart before Poet interrupts.”
The jester arched an eyebrow. “I said nothing, Your Majesty.”
“No, but you were thinking a dozen things.”
“And deciding which scandalous angle to take,” Eliot commented.
“He’s got a point,” Cadence remarked.
Despite themselves, Briar and Nicu traded mild looks of amusement before trailing off into bleakness. Meanwhile, Jeryn’s ruthless expression remained consistent.
I broadened my stance. “My loyalty has not strayed from the Crown. But my soul is committed to Aspen. Her fate is my fate.”
“As my fate is his,” Aspen said, her voice quavering nonetheless.
She betrayed them. Even so, she loved each of them with a ferocity that rivaled any blood-related kin.
Avalea drew in a judicious breath. “Then let us decide where that shall lead you.” Directing her gaze to the woman beside me, the queen’s voice carried through the trees.
“Aspen of Autumn. You have deceived the monarchy and conspired with King Rhys of Summer for a period of seven years. Do you deny these offenses?”
I clamped her hand, and Aspen steadied her chin. “No, Your Majesty.”
“Then tell us your story.”
And so, she did. Over the next hour, Aspen recounted the trials of her life.
From the oak tree, to our fellowship, to Rhys’s blackmail.
From manipulating the king to hunting down the knights’ camp.
And when it came time for the inquisition, our clan descended like an army, from Poet’s whiplash tongue to Jeryn’s cutthroat inquiries.
Briar understood loopholes. Flare recalled the searing grip Rhys could have on a person. Coming from Spring, Eliot and the ladies had been trained in the art of performance and would see through a trick.
Avalea knew the honesty of her nation. Nicu had witnessed our tale firsthand and remembered every word we’d said.
If anyone could break down Aspen’s defense, it was them. Yet she answered their astute, rapid-fire questions with confidence. Including the part where we fell in love. And perhaps including a few choice intimacies that flushed my throat hot.
Poet’s cunning eyes danced between us. “Forbidden love that leads to treason.” His knowing countenance ticked over to Jeryn and Flare, then burned a fiendish path to Briar. “This looks familiar.”
Flare’s golden eyes softened. At last, Jeryn’s visage smoothed out, unfiltered devotion loosening the contours. Unable to deny that statement, their hands threaded together.
Briar’s index finger brushed her husband’s. “But will it end the same?”
“Alas, I could pretend to know what might happen next,” Poet inferred. “But I’m not that good of a liar.”
Queen Avalea’s expression tapered. “My grandson has informed us The Wandering Fields allowed you to pass through on the night you fled the castle. Moreover, this enclave has welcomed you. Additionally, I’ve been made aware of the ultimatum under which you were placed, as well as the testimonial and evidence provided in your favor.
” The queen pursed her lips in deliberation.
“With these facts in mind, and given the proof that you acted as a double agent not only to keep the clan safe, but to further our campaign, everyone in attendance has petitioned for clemency.”
Our surprised gazes swung between the clan, who stared back with the stirrings of hope. Faith in their wisdom trailed through me. Over the years, every person here had made mistakes. They paid the price and hadn’t taken their redemption for granted.
Indeed, our fellowship sought to change the world. Thus far, we succeeded.
We had knowledge and sageness on our side. Most of all, we had empathy. Even morally black Jeryn, regardless of his aloof exterior.
Her Majesty exchanged a look with Briar, Poet, and Nicu.
“Very well,” she determined. “Our trust will not be regained easily, but you’ve earned the love and support of our kingdom’s most devoted First Knight, as well as the allegiance of my grandson, this wilderness, and this clan.
I speak for all of us when I say we believe you. ”
Aspen’s mouth trembled. “Truly? I don’t—”
“I’m not finished. We believe you, but we cannot exonerate you,” Avalea conditioned.
“You will be placed on disciplinary probation, with troops stationed at your residence to make sure you abide by the laws and restrictions set forth. Your correspondence will be reviewed. Upon returning to the castle, your participation in the roundtables shall be limited until we deem it safe. And every weapon produced in your forge will be inspected.”
A faint light crept across the queen’s face. “But yes, truly.” Then she grunted in exasperation. “And for Seasons’ sake, Aire. Do release Aspen’s hand before your death grip obstructs her circulation.”
Oxygen vacated my lungs. My limbs threatened to give way.
Despite my alternate plan to carry Aspen out of here if the judgement had been damning, I squeezed her fingers before letting go. Without preamble, Flare bounded forward, untethered our wrists, and hugged us.
Nicu looked ready to do the same. However, Briar stalled her son with regret.
Later, we would embrace. For now, there was more to say.