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We hadn’t seen each other since breakfast. I’d been recovering from last night’s combat fest and brooding over my fate, while he spent time with Nicu.

It wasn’t this knight’s fault that his actions and words meant no harm, that he wore his innocent affections on his sleeve. So maybe my response could have been nice instead of flippant. Maybe I could have reciprocated, because had I missed him? Absolutely.

But honestly? He needed to stop with me.

More importantly, I needed to stop with him. I couldn’t miss or want him. I had to buck up.

I wiggled my hand from his. Ignoring the lines of confusion on his face, I pranced ahead of him for the rest of the way.

We found Nicu cross-legged at the banquettes, his head cocked, his eyes glassy. Those irises shimmered a folktale green.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, flopping beside him, taking refuge from Aire’s side of the pit.

“I’m making songs,” Nicu said.

“In your head?” I detached my axe, set it aside, and covered our laps with a checkered wool blanket. “Sing one for me.”

“Not yet,” he answered.

“When?” I complained. “I wanna hear.”

“Meaning, she wishes to know if your ballad is about her,” Aire clarified, leaning back.

“Bossy girl,” Lyrik said, materializing like a sloppy wraith, the spiked shell of his earring jabbing the stars as he took his regular seat. “Conceited, too.”

“I’m not conceited,” I declared.

I realized my mistake in seconds. My nostrils tickled, shuddering and reaching out to snatch the protest.

From her birdhouse ledge, Punk tchurred in warning. Too late.

The tip of my nose extended. From the feel of it, no more than half an inch, but it was enough. I squeaked, my cupped palms shielding the damage.

Lyrik’s ankle fell from the opposite knee as he lurched forward. “What the—”

“Shut up,” my clogged voice said behind my hands.

“What was that? Did your nose just—”

“I said, shut up,” I snarled. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“It happens when she lies,” Aire explained.

“Why are you hiding your timber?” Nicu asked. “It’s pretty. You can smell Autumn better.”

His inquisitive face made me feel silly. It had been years since I’d let my nose be a weakness, and I wouldn’t let anyone think me ashamed or deformed. My hands fell to my thighs, and I slit my gaze at the squatter. “Say one word, and I’ll cleave off your head with my axe.”

“Huh.” Lyrik’s shock vanished. “How big does it get?”

“Depends on the lie.”

“Any other body tricks?”

“I’m not a marionette, you prick.”

“I’m not a prick, woodchuck. I’m a bastard.”

“You are?” Nicu asked. “But you said—”