Chapter 28 Basten
Basten
The sun rises and falls over the city skyline, and word arrives that Immortal Vale is marching across the Astagnonian border.
I search for Sabine to give her the news, and find her on the balcony overlooking the Queen’s Walk, gazing north toward the distant Darmarnach Mountains.
A dove coos beside her, as she pets its snow-white feathers softly.
I stop at the open balcony door. She hasn’t noticed me yet. I lean in the doorway, letting my eyes drift over her.
Gods…she’s beautiful. There’s a quiet radiance humming under her skin. Her power is back—calm, coiled, sure—and the air around her vibrates with it. For the first time in too long, I feel perfectly in sync with her.
Is it wrong that a threesome between me, her, and Rian brought the two of us together? Maybe. It probably should have pushed us apart, driven the wedge further.
But ours was never the kind of love written in clean lines.
My boot scrapes the floor, and she looks over her shoulder.
A smile breaks across her face, broad and full-lipped. “Basten.”
I catch her chin to steal a kiss before leaning against the stone railing.
I pull a messenger’s letter out of my jacket pocket.
“This arrived at dawn. Your father departed Norhelm with the fae court in tow three days ago. Apparently, it’s quite the procession.
They have Tòrr with them. Saddled goldenclaws.
An army of devotees and acolytes praying the whole damn way.
If they manage to keep to the schedule, they’ll be here tomorrow. ”
Sabine sinks back against the railing next to me, leaning into my side. Gods, we fit so well together.
“Will the city be ready?” she asks.
I comb back my hair. “Kendan and Rian assure me they have it under control.”
She snorts. “I can’t believe they haven’t killed one another yet. Brothers raised in the Valvere household, under Lord Berolt’s tyrannical parentage.”
I wrap an arm around her back to pull her close.
“Rian knows full well his actions must be pristine as a fucking saint if he wants to keep the shackles off. For his part, Kendan will do what is best for the kingdom, regardless of what irritating bastards he has to tolerate. Even his brother. Especially his brother.”
She smiles as she picks up the dove in her cradling palm, stroking its back.
“I have to admit that Rian’s stunt has been more effective than I could have ever imagined,” I say.
“Everyone is talking about Vale’s miraculous message—that he’ll slaughter any of the public’s enemies.
And of course, they credit you with making it all possible, as savior of Old Coros.
For the Fae Games, we’ve brought in extra troops from the southern villages to aid in crowd control.
Additional food and supplies for the pilgrims we anticipate, too.
As far as the festival grounds, they’ve overseen the construction of several stages throughout the city.
Ferra’s helped design the decorations at the royal arena.
I hear it’s over the top. Gold and silver, to honor both you and Vale.
Hundred-foot-tall banners, living willows, painted dancers. ”
Sabine holds out the dove, which takes flight into the blue sky. “The fae will love that.”
Despite her words, there’s a hitch of worry in her tone, and my protective instincts crop up. I run my hands down her arms. “You fear the Games will not go as planned?”
She looks down, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Actually, it’s the opposite. I’m…gods, well, I’m hopeful. That’s a strange feeling, of late.” Her gaze shifts downward. “A dangerous one.”
She gives a self-conscious laugh.
Gods, when she looks at me with those round, soulful eyes, I feel like I could die right here in her arms. Of all the things I love about her, this is the truest. Her complexity. How she can be my hopeful little violet at the same time as a blistering force of nature who sends gods to their knees.
I interlace my fingers with hers, silently drawing her closer. It’s times like these I wish we were still just two nobodies in a clearing in the woods, a campfire between us, nothing to answer to except our own dreams.
“I’m nervous, Basten,” she confesses. I wrap an arm around her back, fighting the urge to hold her so tight no one can ever pry us apart.
She continues, “I’ve bet everything on this gamble.
That I can keep my father and the other fae in check.
That we can maintain harmony with humans in this Return. Am I a fool?”
I place a kiss on the crown of her head, wishing I could show her that hope is never foolish, never when it’s hers. “You’re fae. You care. You prove it’s possible every damn day.”
She lets out a held breath, but her fingers pluck anxiously at the satin ribbon around her waist.
I take her hands, stilling her nervous fidgeting, and guide her eyes to meet mine.
“You and me, Sabine. We’ll face the whole damn world and make them bow, men and gods alike.”
Something jolts me out of slumber.
I’m tangled up with Sabine in silk sheets, sprawled in the enormous royal bed, wishing I had Captain Tatarin’s godkiss to stop time and stay like this forever. Sabine’s soft breasts form tempting hills beneath the sheet. Her hair streaked across her pillow. Her legs intertwined with mine.
DA-DUUMM!
A trumpet blares again from the city gates, and this time, I can’t pretend I didn’t hear it.
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face, rubbing away the last of my dreams, and then sit up. I pause, turning to gaze at Sabine.
She’s sound asleep—the trumpet was a mile away, too far for her ears to catch. Her lips are parted, full. Her face wrinkled from the pillow.
She suddenly rakes in an ear-splitting snore.
A smile cracks my face.
Gods, I love this woman.
But as I get dressed, my good humor sinks into something harder. That trumpet means that Vale’s cavalcade must have been spotted on the road into Old Coros.
The fae are coming. Gods help me—am I ready?
I wait as long as I dare before waking Sabine with a gentle kiss on those perfect, pouty lips of hers. She jolts mid-snore, blinking awake in adorable confusion.
“B—Basten?” She heaves a few breaths, looking around the bedroom, then sinks back to the pillow. “Gods, I was dreaming of the Games. I was back in The Night Hunt, only this time, all nine gods had bows, not just Artain.”
I sink onto the mattress beside her and nuzzle my lips over her temple. “I’d bury them all under rock. All nine.”
Her moan tilts toward pleasure as she leans up to meet my lips. Then, she blinks up at me with a frown.
Her voice flattens. “My father’s here, isn’t he?”
“The trumpets sounded,” I admit.
She sighs, rubbing her face, then swings her legs out of bed and begins to dress for the day. “You have your speech?”
I nod.
She shucks off her loose chemise, giving me a glorious, greedily long look at her naked body, while she deliberates in front of her wardrobe.
“I thought Lord Kendan picked the golden dress for you,” I observe, leaning back on the bed to admire the view.
“He did.” Sabine holds up the gold filigree dress, running her fingers down the metallic laces that span the sides. “Gold is my father’s color. Kendan and I agreed it would be an indication of welcome. Of solidarity. Of—peace.”
My heartbeat kicks up, and I fidget with the caribou pelt blanket. “But now?”
She hangs the golden dress up, then reaches for another, hesitating a beat before selecting it. She takes it out, holding it over her frame, and turns to me for my opinion.
Tawny brown with a white sash—the color of fawns. Rising over each shoulder, intricately embroidered pine-green antlers mirror one another, meeting around behind her back. On the hem, embroidery of the Innis River.
It’s simple yet complex. It’s pure nature in thread and cotton.
It’s…her.
“Ferra brought me this last night,” Sabine admits. “She and the seamstresses have been stitching it secretly for weeks. She called it a luck charm…for when I need good fortune.”
I stand up, walking behind her, looking at her with the dress held up in the mirror. I brush aside her hair and kiss her neck. “And that’s today?”
“No.” Sabine’s answer is swift, certain. She runs her hands over the river embroidery. “Immortal Popelin deals in luck. I trade in harder currency. Water. Wings. Brimfire.”
My lips curve in a smile. “Wear it.”
We dress—both in our antlered attire, the symbol of our reign—and are ready when the guards alert us that Vale’s parade has reached the gate.
Already, I can hear the city’s excitement. The festivities don’t officially begin until midday, and yet, footsteps fill every street. Children’s joyous calls echo in the arena’s waiting line. The smell of sugared, roasted almonds hangs in every breeze.
We find Kendan and Rian impatiently waiting for us in Raven Hall. Kendan is the spitting image of decorum, in his freshly polished Lord of the Iron Banner chainmail sash, his neck shaved within an inch of its life.
Rian, on the other hand, sips from his whisky flask while he sings an old fae ballad under his breath, his bone dice clattering sinfully in his pocket as he paces, his eyes freshly lined in blue kohl.
I roll my eyes. I can’t believe I let such a fool put his hands all over Sabine. It won’t happen again—but the one time?
It was a wrong that somehow righted us.
“Majesties.” Kendan bows his head. “The fae court has reached Old Coros, and with your blessing, our guards gave passage through the gate. They’ll now make their way to the royal arena.”
I grumble under my breath.
Sabine squeezes my arms, a scold with no real teeth. “We’ll be ready to receive them there.”