“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?”
