Page 200 of Dare

“And don’t undermine my rank.”

“Just because you lead an army doesn’t mean you can order everyone else around.”

“Why do you constantly fight me about this?” he grated in exasperation. “I took a vow to serve this nation. It’s my duty to safeguard this clan. I’m protecting you!”

Aspen swerved and flung her axe toward a lowermost branch. Her weapon hacked through the ligament, which crashed to the floor. Focused. Capable. She’d barely had time to register her target before aiming.

Eliot whistled. Flare and the other women grinned in admiration. Lounging like a panther, Poet raised an eyebrow.

Validated, Aspen swerved toward the knight. “Can an advanced warrior do that?”

Everyone watched as Aire reclined on impact, as if the blow had struck him instead of the branch. The pair fell into a staring contest. Until suddenly, the knight’s mouth clicked upward in bemused resignation.

“Brazen creature,” he relented.

Aspen gave a start, taking that response as an acknowledgement. After another moment, her voice turned saucy. “Why, thank you.”

The group broke into chuckles, though Aire ruefully shook his head. “Nonetheless, I must take this path alone.”

“I agree,” Avalea said. “I’m sorry, Aspen.”

Each of us concurred. She was no longer a child, had gained experience by playing an involuntary assassin for the Masters, and brandished her axe like an extension of herself. Thus, Aspen’s ambition wasn’t unwarranted. But while the female had excellent skills in sleuthing and had begun training with the troops, she wasn’t a veteran soldier. This level of risk necessitated only the most qualified participants.

Aspen flinched, but lifted her chin with dignity. “Raincheck, then.”

The First Knight hesitated, yet a faint grin tilted his mouth. “Brazen and headstrong.”

Nonetheless, he didn’t succumb to her request. And I suspected she would have argued for a guarantee, had the man’s smile not disarmed her.

A sheet of paper materialized in my periphery. Although Flare could have spoken the words to me and not been overheard, her handwriting stretched across the surface, indicating she didn’t want to get everyone’s attention.

Aire has a premonition about Aspen.

My countenance tapered. After taking a second look at the individuals in question, I recalled the talk between me, the jester, and the knight in the rainforest four years ago. At one point, Aire had glanced at the door where Aspen had disappeared, then he’d made a comment.

My senses provide a service to others. Not to myself.

I glanced down at Flare, who had twisted to meet my gaze. She shared Aire’s intuitive nature, though on a different level, so something in his demeanor must have struck her.

Duty aside, this explained Aire’s vigilance toward the girl over the years. I didn’t exactly subscribe to omens, but I understood how others reacted to them. Possibly, the knight weathered some type of superstition regarding the female.

Whatever his precognition, it could be innocent. Or it could not be.

It could have something to do with the group. Or it could only be about her fate.

If the honest knight anticipated this would affect the clan negatively, he would speak up. Otherwise, it wasn’t our place to investigate this theory. Not unless we saw a clearer reason to probe.

Borrowing the quill, I wrote my reply. We’ll wait and see.

To which, Flare nodded after reading the words.

The clan scheduled another conference to address details of this new phase in our plan. Once that was settled, Cadence vacated her chair with Posy and Vale, the trio venturing to the banquet table. The meeting having adjourned, Eliot joined the women.

Avalea left to retrieve a young boy who bounded from the Royal wing’s exit. Dark, shaggy hair that swept his shoulders. Defined cheekbones. Wide-set, green eyes that leaped from his face. Vocal cords that chimed like a silver bell. The youth sprinted across the bricks and followed a garland installed from the door to our fire pit.

Nicu. Poet and Briar’s son.

At the age of ten, the boy required color-coded ribbons to aid his sense of direction. With practice, the need had lessened, though the jester and princess suspected this would never fully abate.

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