Page 81 of Burn

27

Poet

Ice. It was the first thing that came to mind when the queue of black carriages skated down the brick path toward the main courtyard. A dome of eventide stars chipped at the sky like shards of glass. Beneath that spectacle, a fleet of stags and moose pulled a line of vehicles, each fauna statuesque and frothing with fur around their cloven hooves. With those antlers curved inward like spoons and ending in spiked tips, the creatures alone could impale an army.

A procession of steel wheels ground into the earth, imprinting layers of sleet in the vehicles’ wake and freezing a path to Autumn’s castle like permafrost. The trail shaved across the bricks like a trap, so translucent it would be easy to miss up close. Anyone clumsy enough to disregard where they were going would trip and snap their neck.

Leaning forward, I bent my forearms and rested them on the balcony’s ledge. “Well, well,” I said with a raised eye, staring down at the scene. “With an entrance like that, one would think he’s trying to outdo me.”

At my side, Briar gripped the railing. “First, that is impossible. Second—” she wavered, as if more troubled by this next vital fact, “he does not care about impressing anyone.”

“You say that like it’s going to be a problem.”

“Most would agree.”

I straightened and turned to the princess. “We aren’t most.”

Briar’s frown caved into a small grin. She wore a walnut and black gown, with the tight, ribbed bodice and sheer sleeve cuffs accented in antique gold. The skirt split to reveal fitted leggings and supple boots beneath, the modestly high heels stabbing the floor.

The princess had pinned up her hair in a sequence of intricate but loose braids, though that single plaited lock with its diminutive oak leaves remained the focal point, braced by the rest of her tresses. Ebony earrings swung from her earlobes and matched a heavy pendant glinting between her collarbones.

“Prim and elegant, yet fierce,” I assessed, sliding my arm around her waist. “With plenty of space to hide sharp things.”

Her mouth compressed to withhold another smile. “You may search for them later.”

That, I would. Plucking every concealed thorn quill from her outfit would be as enticing as stripping the rest of that sumptuous fabric from her body.

Later. So long as hell didn’t freeze over in Winter’s proximity.

With a critical eye, Briar studied my obsidian coat etched in a fine trim of silver. “You’re aiming to antagonize him, I see.”

Silver was Winter’s color. It would have been more docile of me to choose a different shade, except for one thing. “I’m a jester,” I told her simply before crooking my arm. “Shall we?”

Minutes later, we strode down the corridor to the throne room with our entourage guarded by Aire. At the halfway point, Avalea and her own retinue joined us, both companies blending without halting. Our trio matched one another’s steps as we crossed halls and mezzanines, the echoes of chainmail and broadswords clanging behind us.

The second Briar’s recovery was reported, Avalea and Nicu had flown into the suite. Yet tonight, the cloud Her Majesty had been floating on deflated, trepidation eclipsing parental joy. ’Twas effortless to gauge why.

However, there was more. The queen seemed on edge in a way that suggested several past catastrophes. Namely, the courtyard battle and Briar’s banishment.

I chalked it up to uncertainty and did a head count of the daggers stashed in my coat and pants. It wasn’t that we were ungrateful for Winter’s help in saving Briar’s life. With my blood and breath, I would be eternally indebted to the prince for that.

’Twas more that we couldn’t say what his true price would be. And if Winter was the only Season capable of making Rhys shit himself, there was no telling how much worse that payment would be compared to Summer’s wrath.

This turn of events could lead to an alliance. Or it could drop another enemy in our laps.

“Measure your words and speak plainly,” Briar reminded me, summarizing the tactics we’d agreed on earlier. “He will not respond to veiled mockery or riddles.”

“If he responds at all,” Avalea added, a bronze crown glinting from her head. “The man is colder than the sleet his carriages poured across our newly renovated brick paths. Though I’ll thank Winter for thawing that mess before he leaves.”

“Doesn’t know how to interpret subtext, is that it?” I asked. “Hardly a challenge for us.”

“Oh, he can interpret it,” Briar confided. “He just won’t engage. It’s not artifice or disguised words that we should worry about from the prince. It’s his candor.”

“Even that’s a ploy, Sweet Thorn. Everyone hides something,” I replied blandly. “Some merely do it in plain sight.”

The carriages would take a while to cycle through the barbican and unload in the courtyard. Customarily, we should have been outside to welcome a visiting Season. Be that as it may, Winter’s culture rejected ceremonies, preferring throne room receptions instead.

This meant we should have had at least ten minutes to arrange ourselves before our guest stepped into the room—if not for a discovery. The sentinels idled at the entrance, with their complexions blanched and their movements stunted as if someone had recently run them through a meat grinder.

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