Page 5

Today, knights crowded the yard. Sure, the distant sight of hard bodies did me good, but the sight of weaponry did more. I wished that I could see those tools up close, their edges and hilts and inscriptions.

The tower bell rang, tolling overhead. I turned away from the training yard and returned to the gate, where the boy stood in a puddle of perspiration. He’d needed less time than I’d expected. Points for him.

He still loitered on the other side, though. For him to climb back over, I’d have to keep watch.

First things first. I held out my hand, into which he deposited a pouch containing six puffs of white. I loved marshmallows, but the ones within the citadel smelled richer than in the lower town. Another detail that I’d noted yesterday.

I sighed. “I said, a dozen.”

“You’ve got to be jesting,” the boy growled. “I’m not going back there.”

“Then have a nice life.”

“You said this wasn’t dangerous.”

“Unlawful, sure. But not dangerous. If you think there’s no difference, well, that’s not my fault.”

“You’re a liar, Aspen.”

I scoffed. “Trust me. If I were lying, you’d know it.”

Everyone would know it. My nose would make it obvious.

And I mean, really? He’d given up after onlythis? I’d forecasted as much, though I hadn’t wanted to be right. In any event, I had a contingency plan to further test him, to try him on for size.

The boy complained, “If I go back for more, I’ll get caught. I can’t be in your circle if I’m in the stocks.”

I gave him a once-over. “Look at you, with your doe eyes and virgin lips. One day of incarceration. Two, tops.”

“Why would you do this?”

“Because I’m a bitch.”

See, this was the reason I didn’t envy my neighbors or friends. The people of this kingdom, benevolent and courteous, with their flesh and bones. Their beating hearts. Their consciences. Always, their Autumn principles came out at the worst possible times, ruining my fun.

The nice thing about being merely half like them was that I possessed only half their weaknesses.

“I’m a bitch,” I repeated, “and when you have enemies, you’ll want a bitch on your side, not a fairy godmother. You knew what joining my circle required. You knew the risk of hopping this gate. You have ballocks. Now show me you have brains.

“If you don’t, then you’ll know your limits, and it’ll spare us both the wasted time.” I smirked. “You see? I’m doing you a favor.”

“Didn’t your foolish mother ever tell you? You’d have to be real to be a bitch. Not some puppet.”

My jaw stiffened. A crack sounded between us.

It could have beenrealorpuppetthat nailed it. Either way, initiation done.

I was no puppet, no marionette, no doll. I had joints and fingers of Mista lumber. Not bark skin, but woodskin as smooth as a tabletop. Hard, unyielding wood where I needed it, like my arms. Pliant, stretchable wood in other places, like my mouth and tits.

I had dark brows and a tangent of other brown shades in each fiber of my hair. The layers were hip-length and crimped, as soft as everyone else’s.

A teeny tree knot perched above my upper lip, like my very own beauty mark.

And an acorn nestled within my chest, right where a heart should have been.

Yeah, the name-calling hadn’t helped. But we had a bigger problem.

I traced the boy’s mouth with a short, solid fingernail. “My mother isn’t a fool.”