Page 154 of Burn

“Unless you’d rather I add up the number of climaxes,” she goaded innocently. “I mean, that is a most impressive calculation.”

Shameless princess. Her playful insinuations prompted my mischievous side. “Eighteen. Twenty-two. Thirteen. And ninety-nine.” At the princess’s stunned reaction, I flattened the blade on the table like a fallen chess piece. “Give or take.”

Briar’s eyebrows crinkled. After a staggered moment, she accused, “You made those numbers up.”

Nowthatwas a challenge. My trickster lips slanted, and my timbre deepened. “Did I?”

Never tempt a jester. Not an hour later, and on that same table, the number of fucks, positions, and orgasms went up by more than one.

48

Briar

Excited knocks resounded through my suite. Having just pulled a certain book from the shelf, I dashed from the athenaeum, with my dressing robe flouncing around my limbs. A smile split my face as I whipped open the antechamber door, sank to my knees, and flapped my free hand. “Come here,” I gushed.

Nicu made a jubilant noise and hopped into my arms. Tumble had been slung over the boy’s shoulders, but the ferret scurried to the ground and shot across the chambers to explore. As I held Nicu close, the scents of milk and sunshine wafted from his hair, along with something new and unique to him, a male essence I couldn’t place other than to think of cedarwood.

As we pulled from the hug, Mother sidled into the room and beamed fondly at us. “He’s been keeping me abreast of your reading progress.”

Like everyone in our clan, Mother had learned how to interpret Nicu’s expressive wordplay and lyrical vocabulary.

These days, she required less assistance from me or Poet to clarify meanings, and she’d become proficient in Nicu’s needs, from leaving objects in the same spot to explaining distances and directions to him. In fact, the pair had become quite the duo. Sometimes Mother even accompanied us on our midnight excursions through the castle or to the harvest fields, where I liked to show Nicu the methods of reaping from our land.

I transferred my grin between them, then indicated the book I’d been clasping. “Are you ready to finish the story?”

The little fae bucked his head up and down. “Will Papa listen too?”

“He’ll be here shortly,” I assured him.

Poet would join us soon, once he finished meeting with Eliot and the court’s resident musicians. We did not have an ensemble the likes of Spring, but the jester and my best friend sought to change that.

“I think the story’ll teach me how to be a protector,” Nicu mused, his wide-set eyes as brilliant as emeralds. “The one who saves us all, like you said.”

“You can teach yourself that.” I smoothed out the flaps of his toffee-dyed waistcoat. “Though yes, the book might contribute. It depends on which parts inspire you.”

Nicu nodded. “Which parts make me feel honest,” he interpreted.

After a moment, my throat contorted. “Precisely.”

Mother and I stared at him in wonder. The painful parts. The blissful parts. The truest parts. Those would guide Nicu more than anything that merely thrilled him.

Raising Nicu could be strenuous at times. I would succumb to moments when I had to leave the room to contain myself, to keep from snapping when he refused to listen, or to scold myself when I’d fail to explain things the right way. Or I would be too tired to speak, to do more than hug him.

Poet had his moments of weakness too. When one of us needed a pause, the other took over. But always, the happy moments surpassed the obstacles. Nicu was spirited and creative and affectionate, his creativity and various ways of seeing the world often exceeding ours. Routinely, this child taught us more than we could hope to teach him.

And Seasons. He was growing up every day, in small but definitive ways. I could not wait to see more of it happen, to watch him forge his path, with the same liberties as anyone in this world deserved. The campaign to achieve that wouldn’t be easy, but now we had a bridge, a foundation to make it a reality.

I handed the book to Nicu. Clutching it in one hand, he hastened to his ferret familiar, reaching Tumble just as the animal rolled like a hollow log across the rug. While the pair play-wrestled, Mother took my fingers in hers. “Your father would be so proud,” she uttered. “I’mso proud.”

I ducked my head and spoke to our linked hands. “I’m relieved you weren’t there to see me tied to that pyre.” Then I lifted my gaze to hers. “But I also wish you’d been there when the people knelt with us. I missed having you beside me.”

Something haunted, wrathful, and protective lanced across her features. “I would have torn through that fire to reach you. I don’t think I’d have been able to see this court the same way again.” She sighed. “To be frank, I doubt I can now.”

“Good. We shouldn’t see Autumn the same way,” I urged. “That is how things will get better.”

Her features mellowed. She detached our fingers, framed my face, and whispered, “When they knelt, that was your moment.” Glimpsing Nicu, Mother smiled with adoration. “And he was mine.”

I swallowed, unable to have asked for a more heartening answer. Mother hadn’t been there, but only because she’d been doing something more vital, protecting the person who mattered most.

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