Chapter 28 Basten #3
Once Artain has shot the last of his prize arrows, Captain Tatarin rides in with the goldenclaw procession, and then, a drum roll begins. The crowd gradually dies down, sensing a shift in the air, though excitement still snaps like a lit sparkler.
The silver-and-gold drapes draw back over the archway, and two riders emerge.
Sabine and Vale.
They’re together, riding tandem, on Tòrr’s back.
The monoceros is so massive that he can easily carry the weight of the God of Fae in his heavy golden regalia armor, as well as Sabine, who’s light as a feather on her own, but at the present moment, is laden down by more creatures than any one person could count.
A tabby cat clutched in one arm.
A bare-headed vulture perched on her other one.
A badger with its paws on her shoulders.
A turtle balanced on one thigh.
A newt in the crook of her elbow.
A cloud of luna moths flutter around her head like a living crown.
Plume, the cloudfox, bounds through the air at Tòrr’s massive rump.
Oh, and the forest mouse is clutching Sabine’s hair with one paw, holding a clover blossom in the other, though I might be the only one who can see the little furball.
You’d have thought the stars had broken through the sunlit sky by the way the crowd cheers. The deafening roar rolls through the stadium like thunder, rivaling even Vale’s earth-shaking fey power.
Sabine pulls Tòrr to a halt where the rest of the fae have gathered in their chariots. She kisses each one of her animal friends on the head, then passes them off to waiting servants, and gracefully dismounts the hulking fae horse.
Vale descends next, taking her hand and bowing deeply to her.
“We fae are honored to enter my daughter’s kingdom,” he announces in a voice that needs no amplification.
“She is known by many names. Queen Sabine. Solene the Immortal. The Winged Lady. This much is true: she has always represented the balance between humanity and fae. She unites us not just today, but across the ages!”
He lifts her arm high in triumph, and she presses a hand to her face to quell her happy tears. Just then, a perfectly-timed goldfinch lands on their clasped hands. All smiles for the crowd, she makes a show of being overcome by emotion.
The audience oohs as Vale gently pets the bird.
I’m not sure if anyone else catches how he gives Sabine’s homespun gown the briefest disapproving look—but I sure as hell clock it.
The bird flies off, and Sabine takes up the loudspeaker.
“My beloved people,” she calls in a honeyed voice, “To put it simply, we’ve…been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
The crowd laughs good-naturedly, and people throw handfuls of fresh flowers on the bloody sand at her feet.
She wipes away happy tears and continues, “There was a time when you doubted me. No, no—do not deny it. I do not intend to start my reign as your queen on a bed of lies. It’s true: I was born in Volkany, the kingdom that has historically been our enemy.
Does that make me a traitor?” She falls silent, letting the silence stretch, before sighing theatrically and raising the loudspeaker.
“Or does it make me,” she continues, “a bridge? A means to bypass war, to find harmony? I am a daughter of Astagnon just as much as I am of Volkany. A child of humanity as well as fae. I bring together the woken fae today because I believe, just as much as I believe in miracles, that we can be stronger together.”
Her heartfelt speech is met with tears from the adoring audience. More bouquets of flowers fall upon the sand. The badger lopes back across the arena and wraps his thick little arms around her leg, and she kneels down and cuddles him.
Something thick lodges in my throat.
Sabine and I went over this plan a thousand times. Every step has been orchestrated to elicit maximum sympathy from the audience, from the goldfinch down to that irritable damn badger.
Fucking hell, though—she makes me believe it isn’t an act. She makes me want to believe in something more.
She whispers something in the badger’s ear, then picks him up and drapes him like a stole over her shoulders.
She goes to stand beside her father, looking around at the other fae, and shouts, “My husband, King Basten, has given you his welcome. As queen of Astagnon, let me formally declare the Fae Games open for celebration!”
A servant runs out, struggling under the weight of a hefty metal bell. There is no clapper or hammer, but Sabine raises her hands to the sky again.
Her human glamour falls like silk to the ground.
In its place, silver light erupts across her skin—her fey lines igniting with a brilliance so pure it hurts to look at.
The glow surges outward, refracting across the arena’s crimson sand, scattering shards of silver light like blessings tossed from the hands of gods.
Behind her, Vale raises his arms as his own glamour melts away.
One by one, the others follow, shining in their full glory.
“Immortal Woudix, God of Death!” Sabine announces, presenting him.
“Immortal Iyre, Goddess of Chastity!”
“Immortal Artain, God of the Hunt!”
“Immortal Samaur, God of Day, and the newly awakened Immortal Thracia, Goddess of Night!”
Each one releases a dazzling bolt of their multi-colored fey into the air.
While the crowd is marveling over the theatrics, Sabine raises her hands again.
A bolt of lightning tears down from the impossibly blue sky, striking the arena bell with a chime that rings not like war, but like a celebration.
“Let the games begin!” she shouts.
The crowd rises to their feet, stomping and clapping, bouncing on their toes.
For a heartbeat, both fae and human stand united.
Awed.
Hopeful.
It’s almost enough to make even a sinner like me want to fall to my knees—except for the fact that I distrust every one of those preening gods next to my wife with a strength that could burn kingdoms.