A chestnut tree. A wood that aged gracefully, ideal for making cabinets, paneling, and framing. An option with shock-absorption, less brittle than other hardwoods, not great for blades or armor but doable for spears and maces.
Also, the tannins would resist rot and insects. And—
“Does it help?” a mellow voice asked.
I swerved toward Aire. “Does what help?”
“Assessing the tree. Distracting yourself.”
“In a word. It’s better than being trapped in a cave, easier if you know something about your surroundings. But then, caves don’t scare me either.”
“What does?” He propped his scalp against the facade, both wrists resting on his upturned knees. “You behave as if nothing frightens you.”
Instead of sounding rhetorical, the observation smacked of curiosity. I matched his pose, steepling my legs and wrapping my arms around them. Having no phobia of isolation was one thing. But loneliness was another matter.
“I don’t fear captivity. I don’t even fear death.” My words thinned, echoing up the trunk. “But I do fear loss.”
Empathy swept across his features. “You are not alone there.”
A balmy draft passed through the space. The scent of old wood filled the hollow.
His gruff timbre pinched my chest. I thought of Aire’s brother and the knights who died under his leadership. He never talked about them, the same way I never talked about Mama because it hurt too much.
The chestnut’s rough bark scraped my joints. My tall limbs had no place to stretch from this corner, which aggravated the foliage markings.
Aire straightened and widened his legs. “Come here.”
Under normal circumstances, with a handsome member of the opposite sex, the request would have me pouncing. Yet as inviting as that hulking body looked, I waved him off. “I’m okay.”
“Aspen,” he reproached. “Come. Here. Dammit.”
I grunted. He was right. Pride was a good thing until hunger and pain got in the way. Then it just made people stupid.
The next few seconds should have been awkward. Instead, we moved with ease, me crawling between his thighs, and him supporting my spine against his torso. Despite the ridges of muscle, Aire’s wardrobe cushioned my weight, and those powerful limbs anchored me on either side. We fit to each other as if we’d been welded that way.
“Better?” he inquired.
An involuntary sigh filtered from my lungs. I nodded, my head lolling atop his steady heartbeat and my treacherous stomach flipping. So this was how it felt to be held by Aire of Autumn.
Soothing. Comforting.
Practical. Yes, practical.
In that vein, I’d forgive myself for the slip. And I might have treated myself to this moment, but that earlier statement about loss came rushing back. So did the memory of the last tree I interacted with, my axe hacking into its secret front door while Aire watched.
The Forbidden Burrow. The confidential seat of the Masters.
At the time, I hadn’t been able to talk about that place. Or ever, really.
“They made me kill a man.” Aire went still, listening as I spoke. “It’s ironic. The year before, a black widow got into our cottage, and I made a fuss to save the thing because I couldn’t bear to hurt it. The next year, my axe was cleaving off someone’s head.” An ache swelled in my throat. “I’m sorry about Merit.”
To my shame, I had never apologized about this. Although Merit had been Aire’s comrade, I hadn’t been capable of facing what I did. How I took a friend from him and robbed someone else of their spouse.
Aire’s breath stroked the ledge of my ear. “You were a child under duress. It was not your fault.”
Maybe not. My throat stung anyway.
“I didn’t want to know anything about him before it happened,” I confessed. “For some desperate reason, I thought it would make the task easier. But years afterward, I couldn’t help myself and researched as much as I could, asked Briar and Avalea about his life, talked to some of the troops.” Then I whispered, “He had a husband.”
