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“When Aire searches, he doesn’t stop. If he’s leading the hunt, he won’t stay out of the way.”

Why did this prompt a delicious shiver?

Whatever. One-sided attraction be damned. That knight’s pursuit could botch this scheme, so fuck him.

Speaking of scheming, time for strategy and lies. Meaning, lies laced with facts. Starting with Mother.

Punk retired to her birdhouse while I urged Nicu to rest. Before I left the shed, I glanced over my shoulder. “By the way, I’m Aspen.”

Nestled in blankets, Nicu whispered, “Hug the stars, Aspen.”

“Good night to you, too.”

***

At dawn, Mother fretted. “You’ll take an axe?”

I paused in the act of stuffing underclothes into a satchel. “Motherrr.”

“Just oblige me.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Good, so oblige me.”

For Autumn’s sake, yes. I’d take a weapon to protect myself from the big bad flesh-eating trees, if it stopped her from asking. I’d take both of my throwing axes if it made her feel even better.

I’d planned to do so regardless. I wasn’t a moron.

When I’d made them, I had just wanted Mother to stop nagging me about trying my hand at a trade—any trade. I liked wood, and I liked objects that chopped, so why not a pair of hatchets?

I relented just that once, so she could drop the subject afterward. I’d made a design, carved part of it, then collaborated with a blacksmith for the axe heads.

It wasn’t like I’d expected the craft of designing weaponry to catch my eye. But I enjoyed drafting ideas, creative ones that merged lumber with steel or iron. At which point, I had found myself taking detours to the smithies and fletchers whenever I got the chance. I’d pretend to ogle the tradesmen, while really ogling their processes.

Anyhow, end of story. Back to the subject at hand.

For anatomical reasons having to do with my nose, I couldn’t lie outright. I’d told Mother that a friend in need of companionship had invited me on a journey to an outlying province. In my quarter, popularity had won me plenty of invitations. My minions liked to indulge and entertain me, wanting to promote themselves in my eyes.

The explanation was frivolous enough to convince her, without being wholly dishonest. Nicu was a friend in need, and we did have a journey ahead of us. Anything else would have been the kind of flat lie that I couldn’t primp and dress. The kind of lie that would have spread across my face, stretching my nose from here to infinity.

Speaking of body parts, neither of us had bothered to deal with my crispy finger stub. My rush to leave eclipsed symmetry. At any rate, it would take too long to fix the damage with a spare, and Mother fretted too much about my trip to remember it at all.

Whatever garments I snatched from my drawers, Mother folded. Meanwhile, Punk flapped inside the room, alternating between tidying up, tweeting at me for my sloppiness, and adding things she thought I’d need.

Clothes. Rations. Extra carpentry tools. Wood grooming essentials.

What if we happened upon a village? What if we came across some spicy lads? There’d be time for a quick roll, wouldn’t there?

As I reached for a pot of stain for my cheeks, Punk’s wing smacked my fingers away.

“Ouch—,” I groused.

She tweeted, implying that I didn’t need rouge.

Fine. I yanked on the strap of my satchel, sealing the last of my supplies inside.

This is insane. A surefire way to end up in manacles. Worse than manacles.