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“The acorn’s burial might change his mind,” the jester inserted, recounting Aspen’s actions, along with her theory about planting the acorn and what it might do for the treehouse colony, and what that could mean for Lyrik’s future.

If she were right, the colony would no longer be his to preside over. Aside from a minor flinch, the rogue didn’t seem bothered by the revelation.

He hadn’t moved from the hobby horse.

Poet’s astute eyes swallowed Lyrik’s physical traits, his olive complexion. “You have Summer’s blood.”

“Half of me does.”

“And the other half?”

Lyrik turned to him. “Winter.”

As a kingdom of the sciences, this made sense. As if knowing better, Nicu had once contradicted Lyrik when he proclaimed himself a bastard. Had Lyrik confided in Nicu about his mixed heritage?

“Unlikely combination,” Poet said. “Yet a blending of those Seasons has happened before.”

“How extraordinary,” Briar said. “Then let us sponsor you for saving our son. We might know a certain king who would have a vested interest in your talent.”

“Do we have your attention?” the jester asked.

Unaware of the relationship between the rogue and their son, the offer had been kindly meant. I sensed as much, albeit with a foreboding heart as I thought of how Nicu would take this news.

“Your Highness. Master Jester,” I began, but what right did I have to intrude?

“Lyrik,” Aspen said, her face twisting.

The risen sun bled through the window and soaked the carpet. Lyrik stared at the princess and jester, then stepped away from the hobby horse. “I’m listening.”

When Aspen glanced at me, I opened myself to that gaze, both of us knowing that we lacked the power to stop this, nor did we know if we should.

Nicu and Lyrik had their story, as we had ours.

Yet I knew what Aspen pondered, for the same thought pressed against my soul as well. Which one of these stories had reached its beginning, and which one had reached its end?

34

Fantasy

Would I be pardoned? Would Lyrik really leave?

Would I lose Aire? Was he ever really mine?

Thoughts paced like an animal inside my skull, but I ground my teeth, containing any protests. Nicu would hate for me to stick my nose into this. But if we were alone, and if he weren’t injured, I would have knocked Lyrik upside the head. He couldn’t be thinking this, but he was. He couldn’t do this, but he was.

He could change his mind later. But he wouldn’t.

Inevitably, his wound acted up. He paled, a sweat breaking out across his forehead, bringing the meeting to a close.

Briar and Poet required time to deliberate my case, and then extra time to approach the queen. They dismissed me and insisted a guard escort Lyrik to his chamber, but they requested Aire stay behind for a private conference. I peeked at the knight, then exited the sitting room in a daze.

The doors shut behind us. Lyrik swayed, a chaos of black hair, shaggy clothes, and bandages, but he grunted in protest when I offered my arm. He moved forward, about to follow the guard when a pixie surged into the corridor.

Lyrik’s footsteps faltered as Nicu bounded toward us. Because the squatter didn’t move, I rushed to greet and hug my friend, who chuckled and squeezed me just as tightly. A strip of cloth covered his cheek.

I pulled back to examine him further. “You’re okay.”

“I’m always okay. Everybody else is foolish,” he said, making me laugh.