Nicu’s presence would not help. Jeryn needed to concentrate, work fast, and not be interrupted. If he required assistance beyond Flare, he would inform us.
As the pair left, quiet descended. In the wake of carnage, a suffering absence of noise blanketed the enclave like the inside of a tomb.
Corpses lay strewn across the fortress of trees. Blood thicker than paint coated the grass, trunks, and leaves. One bridge hung vertically from an upper level, the result of Lyrik’s explosive. Like a macabre rendering of a historic nightmare, the remains of my former brethren cluttered various stories, platforms, crossways, as well as the ground level, marking the end of battle.
Not long ago, the sight of my peers bleeding out would have shadowed me to the end of my days. Now I could only fixate on Aspen’s dirt-streaked countenance and her lungs drafting oxygen.
She and I exchanged looks. In hindsight, the deceased knight resting nearby had been the final culprit. But he hadn’t been targeting Lyrik.
From my vantage point, I saw the alchemist take a flying leap in the same direction from which Nicu had screamed. Which meant…
Aspen’s expression matched my thoughts. That man had thrown himself in front of Nicu. The rogue took a blade to the gut for him.
My liege swayed on his feet. At the same time, his parents spun his way. The family stared, moments passing in which pandemonium claimed their features.
Rage. Love. Yearning.
Nicu’s eyes pooled, his face crumbling. “Mama.”
A strangled noise leapt from Princess Briar’s throat. The pair vaulted toward one another, colliding in a tangle of cries.
My liege’s frail voice filled the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry...”
Meanwhile, Poet stood adrift. He watched through hazy pupils, as though viewing the dawn for the first time.
But when the jester and his son locked gazes, Poet’s hypnosis cleared. He walked slowly, meeting his son halfway.
In all my years of service, I rarely observed the jester at a traumatic loss for words.
Nicu’s mouth trembled. Guilt and love radiated like effervescence from him, reflecting the same combustion that torched across his father’s face.
Viewing the mayhem his absence had caused, my liege took ownership. “Papa,” he implored. “Papa, I—”
“You gave no warning,” Poet murmured with livid calm. “Nothing but a note. Then you disappeared with barely a trace.”
The princess braced herself for an argument. But then she noticed something in her husband’s inflection, an intimate sign of what lay ahead of this diatribe. Tenderness welled in her eyes, and she let the moment unravel.
“You destroyed us for weeks,” Poet rasped. “And both of your grandmothers, including Jinny when I sent her word.”
Nicu’s chin wobbled. Yet he held himself aloft. “I know.”
“You had better fucking know… As should I.”
My liege blinked. Then he saw what Briar had seen, and what became clear to Aspen and me.
Longing. Regret. Devotion.
Nicu’s face collapsed in relief. Next, an unfathomable noise tore from Poet’s throat.
In tandem, they lunged. The jester seized his son and hauled him forward, crushing the young man to his chest, while Nicu clasped his father in return.
“Forgive me,” Poet unleashed in a ragged voice. “For saying you weren’t ready. For not realizing it was time for you to find your stars. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Papa,” Nicu choked out. “You did nothing wrong—”
“Aye, I did.” Veering back, the jester clasped his son’s face, their red-rimmed eyes gleaming like wet gems. “You’re my beating heart. You’re the blood in my veins. Your fears are my fears. Your hopes are my own. So I should have known. I should have fucking sensed it.”
Resting their heads together, Poet promised, “We’re one and always will be.”
