Delivered as the crowned lowlife in question would have done. In the backdrop, Aire’s expression shifted from dire to amused, his mouth curling.
“Creativity is for Spring,” Dame Muriel sneered. “Pragmatism is the Autumn way. The next best ambush will be possible when the fires are lit.”
When the fires are lit. Noted.
“Suit yourself,” I fibbed. “I’ve had a look around. Since I don’t see anything shady happening, is there any other message I should relay to His Royal Bane?”
In spite of themselves, the group chuckled, feasibly used to Rhys’s mood swings.
“It appears you don’t like him much,” Muriel observed.
I thought of Vex, who led the Masters and enjoyed calling me a mutant when I was a child. “Do we have to like the people we work for?”
The venom in my tone wasn’t a lie. Yet the soldiers dismissed it, some of them returning to their duties while Muriel stated, “No message that we can’t send through the flames directly.”
“Might want to plan for all likelihoods and assume he’ll inquire with me first before contacting you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
“If so, tell him we’ll stay the course.” Then her serpentine tongue recited, “For inheritance of the Seasons.”
Supremacist cunt. The continent’s intolerant motto crawled under my skin like a parasite. How Poet managed to fuck information out of partisans like this for years was beyond me. My respect for the jester, as well as my heartbreak for him, increased a hundredfold.
I forced myself not to spit in this bitch’s face. “I hope so.”
As I strutted past this riffraff, my fingers brushed the oak’s trunk. Warmth threaded across my markings, coupled with the strange urge to comfort this tree.
The troops’ eyes latched onto my back as I bled into the shrubs opposite from Aire. Thankfully, none of them offeredto guide me to the main road. Any knight worth his rank understood that spies didn’t need backup.
Circling the long way, I fell into step with Aire, who met me halfway. As we trekked into the thicket, my clammy hands dried, and my heart ceased pattering.
For the first five minutes, Aire said nothing. Then he murmured, “How did you know about Rhys’s paranoia?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” I inquired.
The First Knight made a noise of concession. “Well met, playing the spy angle. It had sounded like the truth.”
Yes. It did.
31
Aire
None pursued us as we departed. Several moments passed before we halted and locked gazes, coming to a silent agreement. Twisting in opposite directions, we stashed ourselves among the hedgerows and took up arms. As the moon waxed pearlescent light through the amber leaves, we paused until certain the traitors would not follow.
A tendril of air brushed my collar, meandering and cool. I tapped into that signal, my fingers tracing the breeze, then nodded to Aspen from across the thicket. We were safe to proceed.
While slipping around the brambles, we kept pace with one another. Lest my brethren should track the area later, Aspen and I chose a covered path to mask our footprints.
She murmured, “They don’t know about Rhys’s spy.”
“I caught that as well,” I concurred while shouldering past a scaly creeper. “Their ignorance is no great shock. The king once boasted to Briar and Poet about keeping secret informants in multitudes, back when he blackmailed Her Highness and the jester. Regardless, you steered them into enough corners that evidence to the contrary would have come out.”
“As for the tree being angry about their presence, I think there’s more to it than rage.”
“I agree.” My brows furrowed. “Something akin to–”
“Protectiveness,” she said.
Yes. That.
