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My boot heel snapped a twig. I yelped, my nerves pried open.

Aire set his palm on my arm, steadying me. Then he leapt ahead, springing up small hill of rocks. Pausing with one foot propped on the highest boulder, he inspected the canopy.

“This forest speaks,” he whispered. “Not in tongues, but in spirit and soul. It feels a kinship nearby, which it finds troubling.”

My acorn heart expanded, straining toward the woods. I clutched my chest, not in pain so much as discomfort.

Aire hadn’t noticed. “It has yet to decide whether to express joy or...”

“Caution,” we both finished, him musing, me gasping.

We glanced at each other. He gave me a reassuring nod.

The wince in my breast eased up.

I’d had enough for today. Aire suggested webeat a respectful retreat, since neither of us wanted to overstay our welcome. If we could call it that.

Did the woods give off the same vibes to every traveler or just the girl their fairytale had spawned?

The morning film had evaporated by the time we returned to the colony, giving way to a parched afternoon with dry leaves and a bracing chill. Before going our separate ways, the knight gave me another nod of encouragement, then struck out to find Nicu. In my little treehouse, I plummeted face-first onto the mattress, my chest so raw from what happened that I blacked out.

When I woke up hours later, I breathed easier. I’d have to get better at pursuing the past.

Our ragtag group had been alternating between the outdoor fire pit and the indoor hearth. Tonight, we huddled outside with blankets draped over our laps and salted pheasant—from Lyrik’s precious stock—stuffed in our tummies. He’d once traded a potion brew for butcher’s meat and figured this was a prime occasion to feast on it.

“My Autumn hospitality is feeling generous,” he claimed.

I snorted. “Liar. You’ve got a craving, and we just happened to be here for it.”

But his finest offering were the marshmallows, another treat he’d been hoarding, purchased from a village. Punk pecked at a plate of seeds while we toasted the white puffs until their edges bubbled, burnt sugar melting on my tongue.

As Nicu lapped at his sticky fingers, Lyrik’s eyes flickered over to him and then tore away, clinging to the flames. I wanted to dissect that moment, but my afternoon slumber bolstered my appetite. I glanced at a bowl of pears, similar to the varieties from the pumpkin wood.

Aire plucked one, peeled the skin with a paring knife, and handed it to me.

I cupped the fruit in my palm. He’d peeled it. He’d remembered.

“Aww, how dashing,” Lyrik mocked, indulging in a cup of hard cider.

“It’s just a pear,” I muttered.

“It’s not,” Nicu blurted. “Aspen likes when Aire tends to her.”

“Nicu,” I seethed. “I...I never said...”

Don’t lie, Aspen. You know what grows when you lie.

My friend blinked. “But you did.” Then, because I couldn’t stop him, he imitated my voice, matching its husk as he quoted me.“I like when Aire notices me. It makes my girl parts clench.”

Lyrik spit out his cider, liquid spraying the ground. I felt my eyes bulge while that worm threw back his head and barked with laughter.

Really? No Mista mercy at all?

Nicu watched us, puzzled. In the shed at home, I’d told not him to repeat anything I said. Not one word.

And while spending time with the Royal, I might have confessed to a pathetic crush on the knight.

The monsoon of Aire’s gaze hit me.