Page 46 of Burn

Poet nibbled my earlobe. “You like me rakish.”

“I do,” I replied. “A lot.”

Satisfied, the jester kissed the top of my head and gathered me closer to his side. We migrated to one of the upper elevated decks, below the highest bridge where Poet and I had made love last night. At the landing, the jester strode ahead to where Eliot was banking a fire in one of the pits.

Cadence took a moment to admire my lover’s backside before whirling to meet my disapproving glower. “Oh, stop with that,” she huffed. “Everyone knows you own that man’s cock as much as his heart. And well done, Highness.” Her voice reached a level of coyness I hadn’t heard in three months. “Sex on legs, that jester is. Yet he looks thoroughly conquered, and you look as though you’ve had about fifteen orgasms.”

Diverted, I gave the lady a deliberate once-over. In addition to the sumptuous dress, Cadence had brushed her hair, allowing it to hang in loose Spring waves. I compressed my lips, withholding amusement. “And you look as if you wasted no time.”

I squared her with a knowing look, which she dismissed. “He’s Poet. You think I wasn’t going to redeem myself after what he saw twenty minutes ago? Anyway, who cares?” She motioned for me to hurry up and spoke in a confidential tone. “Details, now. I require all the spicy nitty-gritties.”

“You are not getting them,” I sang while strutting past the lady, restraining myself from laughing at her pout.

Well. Perhaps I would share a crumb or two when next we were alone.

Two crescent-shaped benches embedded into the deck and faced each other across the blazing pit. Around us, a vista of oaks and tupelos catapulted into the sky, their leaves dripping with orange and burgundy shades. In Autumn, the sun descended early, dusk pouring through the mesh of trees.

The world smelled of cedar, vanilla, and woodsmoke. After tucking into wedges of potato and mushroom pie, then washing it down with jugs of water, I curled into Poet’s side while Eliot played his lute. The flames sketched my friend’s profile, highlighting the ends of his gilded waves, the inked tattoo across his neck, and the tips of his fingers as they plucked the strings. Cadence reclined beside him and stared at the sky, its expanse void of clouds and fog for once.

Poet admired the scenery while intermittently studying me and our companions. I saw our group through his eyes, from the smattering of whiskers on Eliot’s own countenance, to several calluses on Cadence’s hands, and our collective scars from weapon training and life in the wilderness. Grooming aside, the lines of our faces had tapered into something tougher.

Eliot, in a frayed pullover that clung to his frame. Cadence, in a wrinkled textile and dirt smudging her exposed toes, despite her efforts to groom. Me and Poet, dressed as humbly as we had been at Jinny’s cottage.

Eliot had said that Poet and I hadn’t changed. It was mostly true and somewhat not. All of us were the same but different. Once, I would have found the notion disturbing, but now a thousand bricks fell from my shoulders. I treasured who we’d all become and trusted what the future would make of us.

After tonight, things would change again. Poet had been direct, keeping me abreast of Autumn, yet he hadn’t told me everything. I sensed him withholding something, pacing himself. So I seized the peaceful remnants of this moment, yet another calm before another storm.

As Eliot strummed the final chord, the notes bled into the trees and vanished. We had sat in comfortable silence, but now a heavier quiet lingered between us.

The devious jester. The pragmatic princess. The talkative minstrel. The cavalier lady.

There was no telling who would speak first. Until Cadence clapped her hands together and swooped her gaze to Poet. “Leave nothing out. I’m pining for gossip.”

Eliot propped his lute on the ground and remarked wryly, “Gossip before news.”

“News before plans,” I amended.

“Me before all else,” Poet countered.

Everyone broke into low chuckles, though the sounds bore no humor. I had told Poet my side of things, so Eliot and Cadence filled in the rest about our time here. After that, my jester hunched forward and tented his fingers. His open shirt and velvet trousers lacked adornments, which made the abundance of rings gracing his digits stand out.

He gave Eliot and Cadence an abbreviated synopsis of everything he’d told me and answered their questions before setting his gaze on mine. Embers burnished his irises, turning them into green fire. “Autumn needs you, Sweet Thorn.”

My heart clenched. I straightened and squeezed my hands in my lap. “What else has happened?”

“Rhys happened.” Poet’s jaw locked. “The motherfucker was looking for something the night I tried to cremate him. He was strolling through the maple pasture at midnight, running his paws over every tree.”

A hiss fled my lungs. “The passages.”

My jester inclined his head. “It appears he knows of their existence.”

“Passages?” Cadence prodded.

Fury and protectiveness prickled my skin. I struggled to recover while describing to my friends the castle’s hidden tunnels, how they’d been constructed centuries ago as escape routes in the event of a siege. There were only two ways to access them, either from panels concealed within the castle halls or doors camouflaged in the surrounding maple trunks. Entry required knowing where, and how firmly, to press one’s palm. It was not easy to achieve.

Not all the trees contained such outlets. For the safety of our fortress, few knew of their existence, lest enemies or spies should become privy to their whereabouts.

I held Poet’s gaze, the conclusion raising my hackles. “You suspect Rhys is searching for the passages because he means to invade.”

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