Chapter 25 Sabine
Sabine
Iyawn, rub my bleary eyes, and turn another page.
I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been hunched over a table in the castle’s library, sun-up to sun-down, trying to make sense of the Last Return of the Fae: Volume II’s esoteric writings.
The language isn’t entirely foreign. It’s written in a blend of the Immortal Tongue, which was drilled into me at the convent, and an even more ancient fae language whose oddly sloped letters tickle the back of my head.
It’s a bit like staring at a landscape for hours, only to suddenly notice a deer that’s been standing ten feet away the entire time.
If I run my eyes over the lines enough times, I don’t know how to describe it, but the nonsense begins to make sense.
It’s slow, yes.
Painstakingly so.
But not without a touch of thrill.
Every word I translate sings to the silver deep in my blood.
The more I remember of the ancient fae tongue, the greater a connection I feel to my past selves.
While reading, I’ve gotten flashes of dream-like memories: Of speaking these ancient prophecies in the Garden of Ten Gods.
Of raising a silver chalice at Drahallen Hall’s Head Table.
Of chasing cloudfoxes through iridescent ferns to a stream, where I called for water to rise into the air and form loops for the creatures to bound through.
I suddenly jolt, my head bobbing sharply.
I nodded off again.
I yawn and shift on the hard wooden chair, pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders. I reach for a sip of water from a glass and pause, remembering my memory-dream.
Hesitantly, I dip my middle finger in the glass, then let a single drip fall back in. I swirl my finger in the air, concentrating on the water…
…and as though following the path I’ve carved for it, the water flows upward into the air, playfully spiraling around my finger.
I grin, laughing from the simple joy of it. Soon, I’ll be strong enough to help feed the people in Old Coros still hungry from the siege. Maybe even restore the Lunden river valley.
But the laugh turns into a cough, and I hunch forward. The water splashes back into the glass.
“You’re depleted.” Basten’s voice comes from the library door.
I turn, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes, and glance at the clock. It’s after midnight.
I ask, “How long have you been there?”
He drops his arms and saunters in, dragging out the chair next to me. “Long enough to see you command water to do the impossible.” He nods toward the water glass. “You’re doing well.”
His words are kind, but his tone is off—still distant. Like we just can’t seem to hit the right note together.
My stomach suddenly groans painfully. I can’t hide the ache, and I clutch my belly.
Basten’s face falls serious. “You need to feed, Sabine. You’ve been here for days with that book, barely eating, not consuming so much as a prayer.”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back with a tense exhale, the chair groaning under his weight.
“The Church of Immortal Solene in Old Coros is just a few blocks away, in the Quiet Ward. Since people learned of your Rise, its congregation has swelled from a dozen to over three thousand. They’ve petitioned to build an altar to you here in the castle’s Queen’s Walk, where your devotees can present offerings. ”
My mouth salivates at the mention of an altar, instinct and thirst mixing in a dangerous clash, but I squeeze my hands tight and shake my head.
I say, “The city’s still recovering. The Cold Coins starved the people for weeks. They need every scrap of food and cloth and coin for themselves. I won’t take that from them.”
I drag my fingers through my hair—it feels dry, stiff, in dire need of washing—and slump forward over the book. “Anyway, this work is too important. The things I’m remembering…” I trail off, looking away.
A part of me is eager to tell him about my dream-memory. He’s my person—I want to share everything with him. Yet at the same time, I’m keenly aware that it only pushes me further away from humanity.
From him.
I clear my throat. “The language is starting to make more sense. I can’t stop now; my father will be here on the Blood Moon, and I have to translate how to put the fae to sleep before then.”
He rests his hand on my chair back, his thumb rubbing circles on my upper back. Gently, he tilts his head back to expose his neck. “Drink from me.”
The flash of tanned skin above his collar makes saliva pool in my mouth. Gods, have I ever been this ravenous?
Drink drink drink.
I can practically taste his blood on my tongue, but I drop my hands in my lap, under the table, and squeeze hard to resist the urge. “I’ll drink wine.”
“Wine isn’t enough.” His voice is stern, concerned. He rolls back his shirt sleeve and offers me his arm. “You need human sacrifice.”
I turn away, my stomach twisting. “My father was right. The longer my fae self has been awake, the harder it is to stop once I start. I don’t want to drain you anymore. What happened to Pax…”
His heel taps hard on the library’s wooden floor. “You aren’t Iyre. You’ll stop in time—we’ve discussed this. We’ll defy the odds.”
Drink drink drink.
I look at my hands clasped in my lap. My voice comes out as barely a whisper, “You don’t know that. I don’t know that.”
Basten leans forward, his brown eyes as soft and strong as a goldenclaw’s. “If you won’t drink from me, and you won’t accept offerings, how will you maintain your strength?”
I rest my hand on his knee, quieting his anxious jitters.
“All those new devotees you mentioned? They’re praying to me—I can feel it.
Prayers cost them no food from their table, and it gives me strength.
Besides, according to this book, fae can get by for a long time on prayers alone.
Once, Immortal Meric survived a decade from a single woman’s daily morning worship. ”
Basten doesn’t look convinced, but before he can press the issue again, something scratches at the library window.
We’re on the second floor, high above the garden, so it’s little surprise when I see Plume’s lolling tongue fogging up the glass.
I unlatch the window for her, stepping back as she zips in and bounds from one table to the next, an endless ball of energy.
“Plume!” I call, waving for her to calm down. In my head, I say, What happened?
She bounds off a spinning globe and onto a bust of Old King Joruun perched on the fireplace.
She says, She sent Plume to tell girlie! Said to hurry!
I have to duck as Plume pirouettes off the bust and lopes across the tables, only to jump on Basten’s shoulder and use it as a springboard to reach a high shelf.
He ducks and mutters a mild curse.
I ask quickly, Who said that?
Girlie’s sunshine friend! she answers.
“What’s gotten into her?” Basten asks, bracing one arm overhead to fend off Plume’s next leap.
“She says Suri sent her to me,” I say, worry drumming against my ribs as I whip back toward Plume. Where is Suri?
Plume jumps again and lands on a shelf high above my head, her tongue lolling, breath thick with the scent of pine needles. Coffin!
I pull in a sharp breath, confused. Why would Suri be in the Coffin?
Basten is at my side in a second. “What?”
“The Coffin. The jail cell in the attic.” The realization hits me as I meet his eyes. “Rian!”
He slams my book closed.
We bolt across the library, weaving past startled maids burdened with stacks of bed linens, and race up the tight, spiral stairs to the top of Mercy Tower. I seize the attic doorknob and twist—only to feel it stick.
A groan tears out of me. “It’s locked!” I cup my hands around the keyhole and shout, “Suri? Are you in there?”
“Sabby?” a muffled voice replies.
“Stand back,” Basten says. He grabs an iron candlestick from a wall sconce and uses the blunt end to slam against the lock. After a few strikes, the wood splinters, and Basten shoves his weight against it to break the final hold.
I spill into the narrow attic hallway, blinking to adjust to the low lighting of a single lantern on the far wall.
Basten draws his hunting knife, ready for anything.
“Sabby!” Suri reaches through the Coffin’s bars.
I stop short, shocked to see her locked inside the cell, but rush forward to clasp her hand.
Her eyes are red from crying, but otherwise, she looks unharmed.
“Suri—what happened?” I breathe.
Basten patrols the corners of the attic, muscles set tense. “Suri, where is Rian?”
“Gods, I was such a fool!” Suri rasps, a hand on her throat. “I mean, he’s the Lord of Liars—and I fell for one of his tricks, even though I knew better!”
“Slow down,” I say, squeezing her hand for support. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
Suri plucks at her lace collar, lips pursed together.
“He’s been hounding me for days to bring him something to read to pass the time.
Well, yesterday he mentioned Dancy’s Forest Tales.
He could even quote whole sections. It was my favorite book as a girl.
I had a copy with a broken spine and falling out pages from how much I pored through it.
I don’t know, something about him liking that book, too, was…
charming? Unexpected? That’s the thing about Rian, he’s driving me mad one minute, making me laugh the next. ”
She sighs before continuing. “So, I gave in. I brought him the library’s copy.
We read the story of Hildy and Lord Vallen aloud, passing the book back and forth through the bars.
It was just…innocent fun. Then we got to the part where Lord Vallen asks Hildy for a kiss as payment for her debts, and Rian said…he said… Gods, I can’t! It’s humiliating!”
Basten rests a hand on the bars. “Continue, Suri.”