But even while Flare tied a strong knot around my wrists, and Poet led me away, the jester’s profile grimaced in pain. Other than Briar and Nicu, rarely did anyone rob him of words. That happened only if they had the unique power to wound him.
The sight pulverized me. After years with this man, I knew him well enough. He hated what I’d done. But he hated the aftermath even more.
That made two of us.
53
Aspen
Jail would have been a logical option if the enclave housed one. More importantly, if the clan didn’t care about my wellbeing.
Instead, I found myself in a high circular room on the top level. Floor to ceiling window slits traveled along the chamber’s diameter, offering a three hundred and sixty degree panorama of The Lost Treehouses. When closed, heavy sliding shutters offered insulation from the cold.
Overhead, leaf garlands covered the ceiling. I’d never seen this place and wondered who in the clan had discovered it.
Leaning against a wall between twin candle sconces, I slid to the floor. Tipping my knees to my chest, I hunched over, dropped my head onto my thighs, and dry-heaved.
Hours passed. Flare’s knots chaffed my wrists, tight enough to render manacles inferior. Yet not so constrictive that I suffered.
My eyes watered at the kindness. Arrest a turncoat who conspired with their worst enemy, and this clan would mutilate the perpetrator. But arrest a member of their found family, and retribution became unfathomable to the point of gut-wrenching.
Jeryn had filleted and tortured prisoners for minor infractions. Let alone treason. Though if I had wanted to hurt anyone, I would have taken advantage during the battle. The clan was astute enough to realize this. And compassionateenough to place me somewhere that provided a measure of comfort.
A tray of untouched beef stew, rye bread, and water stood beside the locked door. I hadn’t felt like eating since the clan brought me here.
I also couldn’t sleep. Even so, some type of round cushion piece centered the room, akin to an oversized divan. More than one person could stretch out there or meditate on their shortcomings.
Doubtless, the clan would call in reinforcements. Making a public example of my crimes would be fair, but it would also incite social unrest. A spy, a team of insurgent knights, and Summer’s involvement would alert the nation to impending Seasonal war.
No. The fellowship would deal with me privately for now. And if Eliot, Briar’s ladies, and Queen Avalea had been waiting for a message, they’d be on their way soon.
An owl hooted. The noise stirred up memories of swinging beside Aire, the knight kneeling at my feet, his mouth sinking between my thighs, his whispered confessions, and his grumpy attempts to smother every grin. These visions tore a hole in my ribs.
Beyond the enclosure, branches shook. One of them uncoiled through the lookout grille and brushed my toe like a finger.
A consoling gesture. Reciprocating, I reached out to caress the bough. “Thank you for helping us,” I murmured.
We stayed like that until my muscles relaxed, then the branch retracted from the chamber.
Because the sun set early in Autumn, constellations spangled the sky, pupils of silver light peeping through the canopy. In Winter, lore existed about the celestials. I didn’tknow much about it, but I pondered if the tales had anything to do with fate.
A sad smile quirked my mouth. I hoped Nicu found all the stars he’d been searching for here. If not, he would someday.
Nicu. Was my friend all right?
And Aire…
Was he…
I caved forward and shuddered into my knees—then snapped upright. The door latch twisted, the grind of rusted iron wheezing through the cabin. As the partition veered open, I surged to my feet.
With the rope tethering my hands in front of me, I straightened my shoulders. However, my features were another matter. They threatened to collapse as Poet appeared, his irises glittering like poison ivy, streaks of kohl lining his eyes.
His expression pinned me to the floor. Without looking away, he held the door ajar for Briar, then shut the fixture behind them with a decisive click.
For a while, they stood at the opposite end and stared. Bruised, clad in blood-soaked clothing, still recovering from a month of sleepless nights over their son, and worn down from what must have been hours of debating with the clan, they had to be exhausted.
Briar’s red hair burned through the darkness. As if presiding from a dais, she held herself upright, her features detached.
