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“Your parents said that you spoke up for me,” I said.

“I told them what you told me.” He imitated my voice.“You can’t judge the outside unless you’ve seen the inside.”

Clever boy. I’d made that comment in the treehouse colony, when he’d been criticizing his reflection in a mirror. I took back my wish that he never repeat anything I said.

Nicu’s gaze strayed over my shoulder and sparkled. “Lyrik.”

“Songbird,” the rogue said mildly, slouching against the nearest wall.

I watched as Nicu rushed to him, an arched window blasting their profiles with sunlight and shadow. Like an interloper, I stashed myself beside a basket of cattails and pretended not to listen, whereas the discreet guards visibly tuned out the conversation, probably out of duty to the Royal Son.

Nicu spotted the bandage beneath Lyrik’s tunic and traced the blood specs with his fingers. Above his bent head, the potioneer closed his eyes at the touch.

“The stream dried,” Nicu said.

“Yeah, the gash stopped bleeding,” Lyrik translated.

My friend craned his head at the squatter. Green eyes fluttered, while darker eyes became hooded.

“Thank you,” Nicu breathed. “Thank you, I—”

“That’s all right,” Lyrik answered, more stoic than I’d ever heard him. “It’s what a person does for their friend.”

His reply broke the spell, fracturing Nicu’s voice. “Friend?”

“Friend.”

I gripped the basket, knowing this was Nicu’s business but remaining in the corner, in case he needed me.

Lyrik’s face smoothed out. Not a single spark of emotion as he unscrewed a spike from his earring. Taking Nicu’s hand and twisting his wrist, the squatter set the little stub in the cup of Nicu’s palm.

Nicu stared at the gem, and then back at Lyrik, the facets of his irises glinting, tossing a silent question into the alcove where they stood.

Lyrik responded. He cupped my friend’s jaw and leaned down, his lips grazing Nicu’s forehead.

When Lyrik inched away, my friend gawked with bulging sockets and a pink throat.

The rogue’s mouth quirked. “Bye, Nicu.”

And then he brushed past my friend, his pace slowing to the tune of Nicu’s hopeful call. “You’re going to the treehouses?”

A close place. A place where they might see each other again.

Because that’s what friends did.

Lyrik paused but didn’t look back. “Farther than that.”

Nicu frowned, silent thoughts scribbled across his face. Where would the potioneer go? What did farther mean? Farther than where?

“Why?” he asked, interrupting Lyrik’s departure yet again.

“Nicu!” An impatient sigh. A tired snap. Lyrik whipped around, cutting off Nicu’s approach. “Stop asking me questions. And don’t follow me. It’s annoying.” He shrugged back around while flinging one last comment at him. “Find your own way.”

He left, refusing an escort after all. And he left my friend hovering there, between sunrise and shadow, like a burden. Nicu’s features cracked like an egg. His palm trembled, still holding the earring spike.

I stomped after Lyrik, trailing his ass down the walkway to his room. This early, only a few muffled sounds could be heard as figures moved in the distance, close enough that I’d better not shout, but far enough for me to hiss without leaking the topic to every gossip in the castle.

“You bastard,” I spat. “You just can’t leave him like that.”