“And it probably helps to point out you don’t need to be,” Aspen countered. “So long as you have a soft spot for science.”
“Meh. Guess that’ll do. Hand it over.”
Sunrays streamed into the room, colorful glass from dozens of beakers tossing a kaleidoscope of hues through the space. While rotating the object, Lyrik asked, “So how’d the light show work out?”
I grunted. “It was hardly a light show.”
Aspen pursed her lips in amusement. “I wager you know how it went.”
“Blew shit up, did it?” he inquired while dispensing a pearl of oily liquid into the bottle. “Good to know I’m a genius.”
“Or a psychopath.”
“Now you’re really just flattering me.”
His smug lips flattened as the combination activated the vessel’s contents, the blend frothing to the rim. Frowning, Lyrik pressed a stopper onto the glass. “Yeah, it’s got reproductive properties. The quality kind too. Only nobles and Royalty would be able to afford this kind of booty, but I’d verify this with your Winter King.”
No sarcasm. No deceit.
I stood corrected. Lyrik might be a swaggering motherfucker, but he treated these substances with respect, competence, and a professionalism I’d been ignorant to expect. On that front, I was grateful to be wrong.
***
Another trip to monitor the troop followed without incident. Because Aspen succeeded in destroying the knights’ makeshift weapons, as well as their cache of Summer tinder, the unit was forced to relocate out of the oak’s range. This liberated the tree from its captivity.
A few miles north of their original hub, the soldiers hunkered down to nurse their injuries. After predicting and then confirming this move, we made haste to scribe a letter with Nicu, then dispatched it to the clan with a messenger hawk. It would take time for the avian to reach the castle, then additional time for Poet and Briar to enact a plan and set out for the enclave.
In the interim, I ran laps across the crossways and maintained fighting drills. Often, I encouraged Nicu to participate, to further his training. Aspen elected to practice on her own or separately with my liege, and the enclave’s architecture inspired her to sketch new weapon designs.
As a unit, we earned our keep in The Lost Treehouses. If this complex welcomed us, we would repay its hospitality by restoring the architecture.
For Nicu’s part, he strove to acclimate himself to the layout, from the multi-level platforms to the minute details. I warned Lyrik about keeping each item in the same location, then forsook my own advice. In the communal kitchen, I left a pair of shears where a mound of cleaning cloths had originally been stacked. Not registering the distinction, Nicu grabbed the sharp tool, misidentifying it and intending to wipe his mouth with the blade’s edge.
Lyrik’s expression tightened. His hand shot out before mine or Aspen’s could, plucking the offensive item from Nicu, trading the shears with a textile so quickly my liege didn’t notice.
From across the island, our gazes halted on the man. Aspen nodded to him, and I inclined my head in gratitude.
At once, the alarm branding his features vanished. Feigning nonchalance, the alchemist lifted one shoulder, as if to say, “It’s no big deal.”
I disagreed. He paid attention to Nicu and acted swiftly. That was no small deed.
The next afternoon, our opinion of the cocksucker unfortunately changed once again during a communal walk. At one point, Nicu stalled, unable to decipher between a picturesque lodge and an overpass. Bafflement twisted his features when Lyrik sighed and walked on as if he couldn’t be bothered, thus cutting short our excursion.
Aspen seethed. “I’ve got an axe with his name on it.”
However, Nicu’s astonishment faded. Offense and something omnipotent rippled across his visage, polishing it with a determination luster. Refusing to be so easily disregarded, his tenor hardened into an unbreakable substance.
“No,” Nicu grated. “He’s mine.”
And because his temper could rise as quickly as his enthusiasm, my liege stormed after the ruffian. “Turn and face me!”
Partway down the mossy boardwalk, Lyrik spun with a grimace. “Did you just give me a fucking order?”
Nose-to-nose, they spewed muffled words. From beside Aspen, I balled my fists and prowled forward.
“Don’t.” Aspen grabbed my shoulder. “You heard Nicu.”
Damnation, but she was right. On countless occasions, we had been compelled to teach that hooligan a painful lesson on our friend’s behalf, refraining only because it would insult Nicu and make him feel like a child.
