Page 106

Nicu’s grin spanned his face as he turned to Lyrik, who did not notice, who instead scoured the masses until his gaze located a ruddy buck, a young man whose lucid eyes found him as well. Without looking back, and without a by-your-leave, Lyrik threaded through the crowd. He cut a path for the lad, then stole the young man’s pint and tossed the contents down his own throat, his eyes never leaving his nameless conquest.

What to make of Nicu’s crestfallen reaction as he watched the scene, I knew not.

Aspen glowered at Lyrik. Her interest in suitors vanished as she whirled on our friend. “I need a partner. Dance with me.”

She dragged Nicu toward the bonfire and proceeded to lift his spirits. They chuckled and bounced, defying the dance’s structure and steps.

I propped myself against an oak, ignoring the come-hither glances of maidens, held hostage by the jut of Aspen’s abundant hips.

My eyes flitted to a random tray of alcohol, and not three minutes hence, my fingers strangled the handle of a tankard. Would the rise of froth and the bitterness of hops alleviate this folly desire? The more Aspen flaunted her curves, the more I doubted it. With each effort to seek visual refuge, my attention crawled back to her forsaken body, awash in decadent flames and a blazing, drunken moon.

The music hummed and throbbed, a dissonance of instruments.

The jester and princess had planned to host a Hallo Fest celebration on this night—and to unveil the acorn. It pained me to think of how they might be spending it now, because of Nicu, because of this young woman, and because of me.

I reminded myself that Aspen’s woodpecker had dispatched my message, hopefully providing a modicum of comfort to my superiors—my friends.

A legion of emotions battled within me, frigid and scalding, sharp and tender, guilty and selfish, sorrowful and joyous. I could not reconcile them, wishing only to be free.

When had I last danced?

Nicu’s zest for the music floundered. He staggered in place, locating Lyrik and the other boy beneath a tree, their mouths locked in a riot.

Those tremulous eyes beheld the sight. Not once had I sensed amorous intentions on Lyrik’s part toward Nicu. As far as I knew, not once had he made an advance. Long had it unsettled me, these conflicting interactions between them, like witnessing the cohabitation of a wren and a wasp.

Yet their relationship held untold meaning for Nicu, and so I straightened, prepared to go to my charge, a better service than cleaving Lyrik in half.

A miracle occurred, staying my approach. Nicu’s gaze transformed from apocalyptic, to wilted around the edges, to a stronger shade of green. It matured into the gaze of young man disillusioned. The metamorphosis was stunning, causing Nicu to stand taller. His irises gleamed with unflappable resilience as he turned away, shedding himself of the moment and joining a rambunctious corner of the meadow.

He moved on, earning admiration for his costume and perplexed amusement over his ardent friendliness. It still bordered on fanatical, but not as rabid as it used to be. In social circumstances, sometimes his features bore no consequence. Other times, people sidled away, discomforted but discreet, not wishing to offend his family.

On this eve, Nicu’s face paint protected him from potential exclusion. In this moment, he resembled his father, the family charm undeniable.

I would have grinned if another sight had not throttled it. Aspen, who must have been privy to the scene, relaxed after Nicu had found a new diversion, a new source of gaiety. She skipped over to me and peeked over the rim of my ale. Wordlessly, I handed it to her, watching as she sucked down the drink, watching as she wiped her mouth with her arm.

The ale ended up in my possession once more. “Thanks,” she said. “Are you going to stand guard there all night? Come and dance with the ladies.”

“I cannot take my eyes off you.”

She flinched, as though my compliment had stung her. “Let me help you with that,” she said, making haste to abandon me once more.

I stepped into her line of sight. “Why do you cast me aside? Why do you refuse to speak with me?”

“Wasn’t I talking to you a second ago? Good grief.”

“You’re being frivolous. I demand to know why.”

Demand all I wished, but her attention had meandered to one of the village bucks from earlier, a lad with the face of a goat. He paused beside the dancers, a twinkle in his eye.

My growl thinned to a string, a cord that seized Aspen by the wrists. “Do not go to him.”

“Excuse me?” She turned, the malice in my tone foreign to both our ears. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“I despise the thought of seeing you with him.”

Whatever showed on my face vanquished her glare, making her sigh. “Stop looking at me like that, Aire.”

“How am I looking at you?”