Page 147 of Burn

Regardless of the chaos, and no matter what they believed of me, this eventide did not need authoritative words. It needed kinship and understanding. Poet and I would serve them honorably if they let us. And if they trusted us.

Our bowed heads said many other things. This was Autumn, land of benevolence, and humbleness, and serenity. We did not solve our conflicts with bloodshed, destruction, and fire. We did not dismantle our homes in a fit of hatred and xenophobia. Rather, we crafters and harvesters built this kingdom from the earth, and we built it to last.

Perhaps there was one thing to be said. The only thing that needed to be said.

Finally, I let my voice carry. “I kneel for Autumn.”

“Will you kneel with us?” Poet finished.

Their choice. Their kingdom.

And ours. Because we belonged to each other.

No murmurs or shouts. After a moment, shadows moved in concert, like its own brushfire. With our hands still clasped, Poet and I glanced up to witness nobles, courtiers, crafters, farmers, brewers, millers, servants, councilors, and soldiers lower themselves beside us.

Admiration. Penitence. Respect.

And yes, kinship. All of it reflected on us.

Basil and Fatima of Spring gawked. Jeryn of Winter stood among his soldiers, a dark frown cutting through his face.

Crimson stained Aire’s armor, but the knight emanated with reverence. Eliot, Cadence, Posy, and Vale each bore contusions, welts, and grins. Our clan watched, their features alighting with triumph.

One glance at my best friend rinsed the final drop of terror. From across the distance, Eliot nodded to me and the jester. Slowly, he mouthed,They’re safe.

Mother. Nicu.

My eyes stung. Unshed tears congested in my throat.

Two words chorused from the people, their tones hushed but honest. “Your Highness,” they murmured, their voices overlapping.

And for the first time in months, I took a deep Autumn breath. And then I released it.

Finally, our kingdom rose as one. For Autumn, we stood together.

Poet glanced at me, awe mingling with pride. That, and retribution. He might have commended us on that stroll through the fire, were we not preoccupied with a long overdue reckoning.

Slowly, we laced our fingers tighter. At the same time, the Summer King stumbled through the mass and then swayed on his feet. Astonishment whitened his features as our livid gazes aimed his way.

You’re ours, bitch.

45

Poet

No surprise. Summer didn’t waste time burning bridges. Rather than embark on a futile attempt to locate his lost soul, the man’s face contorted. With a battle cry worthy of melodramatic operas, Rhys erupted.

The crowd gasped, parting in reflex as the king charged at us. Thundering into the motion, he barreled past the citizens whilst ripping out a knife and cranking his arm backward, the unmistakable direction of his weapon aimed at Briar.

Unfortunately for him, I was faster. Before the king had even sprung off his haunches, I’d already launched the princess behind me. Rhys barely got several feet across the bricks when my body plowed into his.

Touch the princess, and I turned into a full-fledged beast. And because my son wasn’t here to see his father maim the enemy, I didn’t need to hold back. My fingers grew talons, and my teeth grew fangs, and my vision grew black around the edges. Like a typhoon, my fists and daggers were on the motherfucker in less time than it took for him to squawk.

In a flurry of movement, I twisted, lashed, and pounded. The bittersweet tang of the king’s blood spritzed my lips. The symphonic echo of his howls flooded my ears. At last, I finished what I’d started.

Summer squirmed on the ground, his body a pulp of arms and limbs. His left eye bloated to the size of a gourd and sealed shut. The burn scars on his chest oozed crimson, and scarlet red clotted the craters where I punctured him like a pincushion.

All the whilst, he shrieked in agony. He bellowed at his guards, not to protect him but to “Slay the princess!” and “Burn Autumn!”

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