Page 158 of Burn

Jeryn brushed off the comment with a shrug. “In case you haven’t noticed, your judgment of me is immaterial.”

He might as well have extended an invitation. Leveling a shrewd gaze on Winter, Poet inquired, “Is that right? Then you shouldn’t mind me asking this: What does Summer have on you?”

Of course! Summer’s informants in Spring and Winter. Poet had finally gotten their identities out of Rhys before the king departed with Giselle. However, we hadn’t been privy to the details, nor what information those spies has amassed.

Not that it was our business. The point was, it had been another motivation for Jeryn to go after Rhys.

The prince’s mouth thinned. For such a careful man, it appeared he did have secrets after all. Poet had predicted this in the beginning. And from the way His Highness gutted that knight on the parapet, the particulars were substantial. Perhaps even fragile.

Instead of engaging, Jeryn hissed, “If you wish to remain in Winter’s good graces, you will tell me where she went.”

“You have no right to request anything more from us,” I retorted. “We’re done. You helped mollify a percentage of the people—”

“Yet they still rioted.”

“The ones on Rhys’s side rioted. Not the ones we influenced.”

“I did shit to persuade them. It was all you.” At our confounded silence, Jeryn grunted. “The reading and the dance at the night market. Did you honestly not see how the people watched you? Or is Autumn that naive? Because I certainly can’t imagine Spring is oblivious to the reactions of its audience.”

Poet’s glower melted into understanding. “We seduced them,” he said to me while keeping his vigilant eyes on Winter.

I recalled us translating Eliot’s performance during the library reading, how lost we became in each other, then how the world disappeared while we danced. Thinking back, the people had stared in awe, mesmerized by some awareness that neither of us had recognized.

Winter may have influenced and pacified some citizens. But his false allegiance had not inspired the people.

Rather, the intensity between Poet and me had achieved that. Our raw and inhibited longing caused the shift. By not pretending, by letting our masks slip, they’d seen us as we truly were.

In general, what ultimately inspired people were the palpable fragments of life. Loss, pain, yearning, and passion. The open wounds, the scars, and the parts of us that healed. Nicu had said as much earlier today.

That was the reason half of the castle and town residents had defended me. That was also the reason others had not. The latter had grown angrier, increasingly frightened, and ultimately threatened by my bond with Poet.

And that explained Jeryn’s puzzled reaction on both accounts. He had deduced the effect we’d had, even if he hadn’t understood it. This desensitized prince wouldn’t know how to define love, much less to discern the emotion.

I would have savored this discovery, had I been alone with the jester. Instead, I moved closer to him and latched our fingers together.

Poet squeezed my hand but regarded Winter with a quizzical expression. “So eager to deny your contribution. No bragging or imagining you had more of an effect.”

Jeryn lifted a single brow. “I give credence to facts, not fairytales.”

“Not even the ones with smut? That’s when the story involves graphic fucking, which is when two people—”

“I know what fucking is,” the prince stated in exasperation.

“Splendid,” Poet replied. “Far be it from me to explain such mechanics to the heir of a know-it-all Season. Winter is a know-it-all Season, right?”

Jeryn refrained from stepping on that verbal trap. “Rather cunning for a baseborn, licensed fool,” he commented instead.

Poet just gave him a lethal grin. “Try me.”

Beyond the door, muffled groans of pain drifted from the wounded. Outside, carriage wheels creaked audibly over dry leaves, and stags clomped their cloven hooves. Winter’s entourage awaited him.

Nonetheless, His Highness showed no sign of being in a hurry. “I want no credit for endorsing your crusade,” he summarized with distaste. “My effect on Rhys is another matter.”

The implication became clear. Jeryn helped bring down the Summer King, assisting us in cornering Rhys until he got sloppy and condemned himself, both at the roundtable and in the town square. Against the king, Winter had stood with and vouched for Autumn, which would have a lasting effect. This, the prince would accept recognition for.

And no matter how much I’d scorned doing so, we had isolated Flare at Jeryn’s behest. Additionally, it appeared we’d unintentionally enabled Winter to bargain harder with Summer. A heinous prospect and the answer to the riddle of what else he gained from us.

“In any case, this makes us even,” I retorted.

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