Page 104

That’s why he clung to his duty. That’s why he pushed himself.

He feared another failure. He feared loss.

“I screamed so loud, I could not speak for days afterward,” he finished.

I swallowed. “Aire, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Hearing you say that, I’m tempted to believe it.” He glanced at me. “I am fond of you, Aspen. I shall not deny this, nor that exquisite kiss. Only I cannot...”

I’d forgotten why we’d come here, forgotten what I’d expected from him. For once, I guess I’d stopped thinking about myself. I’d only thought of him, this good and noble and honest knight. This unattainable friend.

Of course, hecould notwith me. Not when his heart belonged to someone else. Someone who’d earned it.

25

Honesty

Our company stood in a line at the fringes of the forest, each of us staring at the boundary of glazed foliage and twisted branches. An Autumn mist licked the ground, a phantom rising from the leaves and beckoning us.

My gaze could not help itself, straying to the young woman to my right. She stood at the end of our row, putting Nicu and Lyrik between us. Yet I no longer required her nearness to sense her movements. To know that she’d buried her left fingers deep into the pocket of her skirt. To know that she’d tipped her feather hat at a precarious angle, with the intent of shielding her profile from me.

By contrast, she behaved as if nothing distressed her, as if the dawn we’d shared had been an illusion, a nonoccurence. She had accepted my refusal of her without quandary, without argument or protest.

I should feel gratitude.

My free hand locked into a fist. This was the confounding sum of it all: I did not like to be cast aside, although that was what I had originally beseeched from her.

Nicu grinned at the route, and Lyrik puffed the last of a reed before flicking it into the darkness. Each of us held a short staff ready to be torched, seeking levity tonight. The eve of Hallo Fest had come, Autumn’s annual night of revelry, a night that reigned throughout the kingdom with dance, drink, and costumes.

Unlike Harvest Fest, which eulogized the birth of Autumn itself, characterized by extensive feasting, when every edible was consumed—from the best of breweries and bread bakers, to the ripest orchard fruit and the finest field crops—Hallo Fest lauded a separate indulgence. It encouraged a rebellion against Autumn’s practical and prudent ways.

The costumes, I found unfortunate and disingenuous. However, dressing in such attire was not the worst activity for merrymaking. This marked a time to release inhibitions, not a far cry from Lark’s Day in Spring, albeit less barbaric. In comparison to Whimtany’s carnival, we did not exhibit born fools as entertainment.

Here, everyone was invited and equal, many thanks to the princess and jester for endeavoring to unite our people.

Tonight’s invitation rendered idleness impossible for any of us, the prospect of respite a necessity, a balm to recent events. Aspen’s woodpecker had opted out, preferring to celebrate with her winged peers. The rest of us would travel into the woods, but away from the places that Aspen had hunted.

Lyrik had assured us of a less enchanting, therefore less questionable, experience than in the locust clearing. Cottagers from outlying villages would frolic within their borders, while the adventurous would slip into the fabled forest for the revels. Everyone believed that curses and wishes fell silent on this night, an allowance by nature and the Season, relieving people of their fears and yearnings, freeing them from pressure or dissent.

I shook my head at this nonsense and peered at the lane, sensing no threat or foreboding, placing my faith in the tranquil absence of wind.

Nicu would not be recognized this far afield, although most citizens would have heard of his disappearance by now. His attire helped conceal him, since he’d dressed as a wren, outfitting himself in scavenged feathers dyed with some of Lyrik’s ingredients.

The squatter stalked between Aspen and Nicu, slinging his arms over their shoulders and pulling them close. “Ready?”

“Get your arm off me,” Aspen said, surveying his costume. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“A toad,” he answered, the mottled, green swatches of face paint more comical than gruesome. “Smooch me, and I’ll turn into a prince. Make sure it’s with tongue.”

“I thought your cock didn’t point toward girls.”

“It doesn’t, but for well-endowed wood, I’d make an exception. Speaking of which, lemme guess: a puppet.”

Other than a shirt with long, split sleeves showing off her arms, she hadn’t worn a costume, as she hadn’t needed to. “Call me a marionette. It’s more elegant.”

“I’ll call that genius. Hiding in plain sight.”

“Thank you. I said, get off me. I don’t want warts.”