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“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the question at all.”

“Quit the noble act. It’s not cute or convincing.”

“I walked the songbird home and made sure he found his way around the house without getting lost or wrecked or whatever. He’s got that directional, spacial thing.” His shoulder hitched. “Didn’t want ’im confusing the hearth for a bed, that’s all. If he gets injured here, I’d be liable or some shit. I’ve got no game with ’im.”

“Why not? Because he’s a member of the Royal family, or because he’s not enough of a challenge?” The prick snorted as if I needed to relax, so I yanked on his elbow. “Let me spell it out. I don’t like your friendship with him.”

“Oh, yeah?” He shrugged off my grip. “Well, I thinkhelikes it. I think he likes ita lot.”

“You’re nice to him one second, then you ignore him the next. You’re stringing him along.”

“I’d wager you know a thing or two about that, don’t you?” Rolling his eyes, he turned away, done with me.

I scowled at that arrogant swagger. “Tell me what you want from him.”

Lyrik sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “Not a damn thing.”

24

Fantasy

The next morning, I stabbed myself in the chest.

I’d been jimmying with my awl too roughly, the acorn heart still not budging. I’d brought a few tools from Mother’s workshop, just in case I needed them, though for completely different reasons.

I hadn’t actually intended to test the fairytale’s revelation about the acorn. But the possibility of swapping my heart with the final nugget had been prodding my mind. Not because I wanted to be real, but because I wanted to prove the revelation wrong. I wanted to put the dilemma to rest and move on to helping Mother.

I set down the awl. What was I doing? Dislodging my heart on account of a mystical hunch wasn’t worth the risk. What if I froze or became a puppet without the acorn? In the moments between transplanting them, what if it rendered me lifeless?

Anyway, I’d only been curious. It’s the wood in me.

Besides, I had an appointment to keep. I might as well get the anguish over with. He’d turn me down gently, because that’s who Aire was.

Would this mark the end of our meetings? No more swings or training?

I wouldn’t let it be. We’d get past the awkwardness, Aire being a disciplined soldier, and me being me.

Punk had chipped my nose back to its size, and I’d polished it smooth, so I looked presentable for a rejection. As I exited the bungalow, I mused how the carpet of leaves brightened the land, yet the atmosphere remained brisk. The earth and sky clashed that way. They always had in Autumn.

Burrowing into my cape, I headed to the glade, pausing on a ground bridge arching over the creek, miffed to find our training spot empty.

A gust from above. I glanced up and across the divide. Aire stood near the terrace swings, two platforms up, giving me a wary smile, his blond forelocks mussed. A garnet shirt hung untucked from his black leather pants.

“I thought we were meeting down here,” I called.

“I thought we were meeting up here,” he answered.

At this level, I thought of him again as a bird of prey...no, a bird of heroism. A man determined to serve and protect others. He always seemed to fly, although he believed only in reality, distrusting fiction and fables, folklore and folktales. While I, a girl conceived from a fairytale, practically had roots growing out of my feet.

We had our contradictions. Maybe everyone did.

I lowered myself onto the bridge planks, slipping my legs through the rungs. It was better than meeting him up close, I decided. Neutral territories. Offensive tactics.

Aire took the hint and leaned against the terrace railing.

Swinging my limbs over the water, I made an announcement. “We kissed.”

“We did,” he said. “I can think of nothing else.”