Chapter 14 Basten #2
Folke lets out a long line of smoke before replying bitterly, “We scoured the city for him. Every pub and warehouse and ditch. Best we can tell, he’s gone.
Probably slunk through the sewers like the rat he is.
We have reason to believe he’s headed for Duren.
We’ve already sent spies there and posted more along the road, but they’ve reported no sightings as of yet.
The plan is to get the crown on your head soon.
With plenty of witnesses. We could do it as early as Friday. ”
The prison wagon rumbles across a bridge, the river below reeking of human waste, and through the barred window I can make out the spires of Hekkelveld Castle high over the city’s rooftops.
“This whole area used to be a forest,” Sabine says suddenly, staring out the window with slightly glazed eyes, as if she’s a million miles away. “Alders, ash, silver birches. Once, there were warring packs of cloudfoxes here.”
The wagon falls into a heavy silence as Folke eyes her oddly. His gaze flicks to me. An eyebrow rises.
I give a nervous laugh. “Sabine’s been studying ancient history…hey, darling, can you try asking the city’s animals if they know of Rian’s whereabouts?”
It takes a moment for her attention to shift back to the here and now—to me. She blinks, seemingly unaware of her odd statement.
“What? Oh—of course, let me ask.” She goes studiously quiet, and after a moment, shakes her head. “Not according to the birds. So, Rian probably escaped through the tunnels, as you said, Folke. Once we’re in the castle, I’ll try asking the worms.”
We continue traveling through the city, uphill toward Hekkelveld Castle. From the driver’s seat, Ferra lets out a muttered curse, “Oh, hell in a wash basin!”
She can mask her appearance, but not her voice. No wonder she was so quiet.
“Ah.” Folke clenches the cigar between his teeth as he draws a miniature crossbow from a hidden compartment in the bench seat. “Careful, now. Might want to put your head down, Lady Sabine. We’re approaching Hekkelveld Castle and it’s a bit of a battle zone.”
Most of my weapons are hidden away back in Ranger’s saddlebag, but I draw the small knife I keep holstered in my boot.
Tall iron spires rise surrounding the castle’s courtyard. Inside the fence, royal soldiers have their swords at the ready. Their heartbeats are fast, clothes pungent from days-old sweat. A bite of adrenaline hangs in the air.
Outside the gates, Golden Sentinels flank the fence to prevent anyone from entering. It’s a battle line drawn in cobblestone and iron. Even before we pull up, curses are volleyed back and forth between the two armies like cannon fodder.
“My jewel!” Folke calls to Ferra outside. “Keep that pretty head of yours down!”
She yells back, “I know how to keep my head on my shoulders, Folke—do you?”
He chuckles. “What a woman.”
Folke mutters to himself around the fat cigar in his mouth as he aims the crossbow through the bars. He closes one eye for aim, then lets an arrow fly.
It slams into a hay bale outside the gate.
“Damn, old man,” I snort. “Your aim isn’t as good as it was once—”
I have to swallow my words when a horse that had been foraging on the hay bale rears up, spooked, the whites of its eyes flashing. It tugs so hard on its lead rope that the threads snap. It skitters backward, dragging half a wooden rack with it.
Golden Sentinels rush over to capture the spooked horse.
“Gotta keep ‘em distracted,” Folke mutters. “And one more for good measure.” He lets an arrow fly in the other direction, this one glinting off a sentinel’s brass backplate. The soldier whirls, sword drawn, which causes chaos as no one knows where the attack came from.
“Captain Fernsby!” Ferra shouts toward the castle. “Open the damn gates, we’re coming in!”
The royal soldiers inside the courtyard call out to one another, rushing to roll back the gate just enough to let in our wagon. A dozen more soldiers draw swords, holding off the sentinels who try to push their way inside.
Exhaustion rolls off both warring armies, and I get the sense this is a daily occurrence.
“Basten,” Sabine whispers, fast and urgent. “I could help—”
I can already see the fey lines breaking out at her fingertips, and I quickly grab her cloak to hide her fingers. “Not yet. We’ve got this.”
“Easy as a whore with her legs up,” Folke chuckles as he reaches through the bars and smashes the crossbow hilt on a soldier’s helmet.
There’s a collision of swords, a smash of metal, but then we’re clear of the gates. Myst and Ranger crowd in behind us, and Captain Fernsby slams the gate shut. A few sentinels who are trapped inside are quickly dispatched, their blood rolling into the gaps between cobblestones.
A stableboy rushes up to take Myst and Ranger to the safety of the castle stables.
Sabine’s eyes are big, her hand tightly gripping her knees.
“We’re safe,” I reassure her. “The horses, too.”
“It isn’t that.” She flicks her fingers with the quiet confidence of someone fully aware that they could bring lightning down on any attacker’s head. But her voice is rattled. “It’s…so different here from Norhelm. Even from Duren.”
“Welcome to a city at war, sweetheart,” Folke says around his cigar. He swings open the rear door to usher her out.
She still looks shaky as she climbs out, but then Ferra is stomping toward us, tearing off her stiff armor with ample grumbles.
She sweeps her hands over her male-soldier’s face like washing away the dirt’s grime, using her godkiss to reveal her true high cheekbones and lavender eyes.
She combs her fingers through her disguise’s tawny, ear-length hair, and it stretches out beneath her palms into glistening black locks to her waist.
Once she’s herself again—save the armor that hangs clumsily on her—she throws her arms around Sabine.
“Sabby! Gods, woman, we missed you!”
Sabine grins, wide and sincere. “I missed you too, Ferra.”
“This isn’t teatime, ladies!” Folke gives Ferra’s ass a hard grab as he herds her toward the castle. An arrow launches over the iron fence, which he dodges seamlessly. “Save the chitchat for when we aren’t being actively shot at.”
I wrap my arm around Sabine’s back, sheltering her as we rush up the castle steps and through the grand entrance.
Shadows fall over us.
Gods, it feels like a lifetime since I was here last. Riding up at Rian’s side. Ready to swear my life to him all over again.
The castle’s entryway, Raven Hall, is blessedly cool, a still eddy carved from the chaos thrumming at the outer gates. Stone columns flank the foyer, their carved ravens staring down with stone eyes. Light spills in through high arched windows, glinting off the mosaic floors.
Sabine’s shoulders drop a notch as her gaze drifts across the room’s symmetry, the hush of it. No shouting. No stench of the streets. Here, at least, there is still law. Still control.
“You’re here, finally,” a voice says. “We were about to send an army to see if you’d been run through by a monoceros horn.”
Lord Kendan strides down the central staircase, his Lord of the Iron Banner’s cloak billowing behind him. A white-haired general, old but tough as bricks, flanks his left side, and Lady Suri Darrow skips down at his right, her eyes full of bubbly joy at our arrival.
Kendan stops, his cloak coming to rest around his polished boots.
He’s barely taken a breath before he kneels, bowing his head. “Rising King Basten. It is an honor.”
I scratch my jaw, groaning.
This whole “king” thing is going to take some getting used to.
Now this pretty bastard? Kendan is exactly what a king should look like—practically stepped out of a damn gilded frame hanging in the royal archives.
Not my potato-hauling ass.
“Get up, Kendan, for gods’ sakes,” I grumble.
Kendan bristles against my lack of decorum, blinking hard, but then bows to Sabine.
“Lady Sabine. I’m Lord Kendan Valvere, at your service. As Lord of the Iron Banner, it’s my duty to bridge the gap between the army and the king—or at least, it was, before the city fell apart.”
Sabine recoils slightly at the surname. “Rian’s brother.”
Kendan grimaces. “His eldest, yes. Our middle brother, Lore, took to the Panopis Sea years ago.”
“We can trust Lord Kendan,” I begrudgingly inform Sabine. “Despite his Valvere surname. Kendan hasn’t double-crossed us, and gods know, he’s had plenty of chances.”
“It’s true.” Lady Suri bounces on her toes, clasping her hands at her chest. “Kendan is a…well, a highly honorable man. Oh, it’s so good to see you, Sabine!”
She flounces herself into Sabine’s arms. Sabine stiffens only for a second, her pulse still on edge—she’s in more than one disguise, after all—before melting into a hug with Suri that ruffles my jealous edges.
I’m glad she has a friend, no question.
But my protective instincts are working overtime.
I glance between Suri and Kendan, quietly observing their stances.
Hard not to notice that strange, almost formal pause Suri used when talking about him.
When I left Old Coros, the two of them were practically engaged.
Hell, I figured it was only a matter of time before their wedding announcement.
The only thorn between them seemed to be Rian—who delighted so wickedly in teasing Suri.
What’s gone stale between them?
“You feel chilled to the bone.” Suri pulls back, frowning in concern at Sabine. “Are you well?”
“It’s…just the journey,” Sabine stutters. “I’m exhausted. And this old cloak doesn’t hold much warmth.”
Suri takes Sabine’s hands, rubbing them in her own to warm them, but then squeaks in surprise. “This ring! Does it mean you’re married?”
She looks between Sabine and me with wide eyes.
A genuine smile breaks out across Sabine’s face. I can’t help but puff up my chest a little, adjusting the potato sack on my shoulder.
“We are,” Sabine says, smiling.
Suri squeaks with delight.
“Forgive me, then, Rising Queen Sabine.” Kendan bows again. “And apologizes for the cumbersome titles. Now that you’re here, we’ll ready everything for the coronation. In mere days, you two shall be King and Queen of Astagnon.”
I shift from one foot to the other but can’t manage to feel at ease.
“First things first,” Ferra exclaims. “We have to change you out of this questionable attire! You need a bath, food, rest!” Ferra slips her arm in Sabine’s, and Suri takes her by the opposite arm.
“And you must tell us everything about the wedding!” Suri chirps, practically dragging Sabine up the stairs. “Goodness, and I must know everything about your time in Norhelm. Are there really cloudfoxes? And where is Tòrr? What about the rumors about...”
As Suri chitters on, Sabine tosses me a look over her shoulder. I have to stop myself from taking a step after her, the shadow always in her wake.
You can’t be at her side in every moment.
Once the women are gone, Folke abruptly drops his smile. He and Kendan exchange a loaded look.
“Come with us, you.” Folke drags me unceremoniously by the arm into a storage vestibule filled with old wooden flagpole handles and rolled banners.
Kendan sweeps in behind us, closing the door.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, flicking a banner’s golden tassel. “Last time you abducted me, I ended up with a bruised rib.”
“We have news,” Folke says, ignoring me, eyes lighting up. He wets his lips, excited. “Lord Kendan has been working his connections. It turns out Beneveto wasn’t the only person with sway inside the Red Church.”
“Good,” I mutter, suppressing a shiver, “because I watched his soul ooze out of his body.”
This earns me cocked heads from both Folke and Kendan.
“His…soul?” Folke echoes.
I think briefly of what they’d do if they knew the God of Death walked among mortals. Or that he gets more looks from women than the three of us combined.
“Never mind,” I grumble. “Something to tell you…later.”
“Well,” Kendan cuts in, “the Red Church’s loyalists are caught between supporting Rian and supporting us, the opposition.
We calculated that if we could win over their support, we’d have more than enough sway to defeat the Golden Sentinels.
Even if Rian makes it to Duren, he won’t have an army anymore. ”
I scrub a hand over the stubble on my jaw, nodding. “You can do it? Broker a deal with the Red Church?”
“It’s already done.” Kendan claps a triumphant hand on my shoulder. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been meeting secretly with the new head of the Red Church. She hasn’t been officially named the new grand cleric, but that’s only a technicality. Now, with Matron White on our side, we…”
His voice dies when he sees the blood drain from my face.
Folke grabs my shirt collar, pulling me close. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I think of the last time I saw Matron White, swallowed by a chasm.
“A…slight problem,” I start, but then the vestibule door swings open.
I draw my knife on instinct, ready for a fight if needed…
…but a woman, not an attacking enemy, sidles in and closes the door behind her.
Her cold, pinched eyes meet mine.
She doesn’t smell like brimfire smoke any more, but the backs of her hands and one side of her neck are bandaged.
It’s fucking Matron White.
Definitely not dead.