13. Basten
Chapter 13
Basten
F or three days, I track Kendan through the streets of Old Coros, from Hekkelveld Castle to the Temple of Immortal Meric. From a three-story manor house in Lommer District to an opium den known for its eye-watering Wicked Weed.
As I move throughout the city, the fear in the streets is palpable. Doors are locked and barred, and windows are boarded up against looters. Every alleyway shrine to the ten gods overflows with offerings of victuals, coins, and even silverware as desperate citizens try to buy the rising fae’s favor. Entire neighborhoods are vacant, left empty for the rats to move in by those seeking the safety of the countryside.
I can taste it like the energy before a battle: Tangy fear mixed with a sweet burst of excitement, about to bubble over into a boil.
As the Valor Bell tolls midnight, I shuffle back into my room, ready to fall into the sheets and sleep like the dead. I unfasten the First Sword brooch. I strip off my wrist guard and unwind the bandages, assessing whether I need to treat the cuts with vinegar to prevent infection, when distant footsteps give me pause.
They’re one story down, moving east through the castle hallway toward the royal library. The person moves carefully, not making much sound on the creaky floors. This is no guard switching shifts. And all the maids are in bed.
I crack my bedroom door just enough to scent the air. Since the person is an entire floor away, their smell is faint even for me, but if I concentrate, I pick up on a trace of orange tea spiced with clove oil.
So, it’s not a Valvere, either. They all drown themselves in sandalwood incense.
I grab my woolen cloak, shrouding myself as I make my way downstairs. As First Sword, I’m responsible for the king’s well-being. He has a fleet of bodyguards, sure, but those stiff-spined asses are all about ceremony. They’d barely know which end of the sword to use against an assassin—only how to polish it.
I keep to the edges of the hallways, where the floorboards don’t creak as loudly. I hunker in the shadows, moving silently down the stairs and onto the second-floor hallway in time to see a figure in a silk cloak unlock the library door with a large brass key.
Now that I’m closer, I can pick up on a whiff of lavender hair oil mixed with the orange tea scent.
That and the key tell me exactly who I’m following.
My shoulders ease—this is no assassin. Rian isn’t in danger. And my bed is calling for me.
Still, curiosity pushes me to slip into the library behind the woman. Her heart is beating so loudly that she doesn’t hear me until I press my palm against her mouth from behind to silence her.
“Lady Suri—do not scream,” I murmur. “It is only me.”
The whites of Suri’s eyes flash as she twists to see me in her peripheral vision. Our eyes meet, and I give a slow nod. Her pulse beneath my grasp slows back to normal, and she matches my nod.
I remove my hand, taking a step back.
“What are you doing here, Wolf?” she demands in a harsh whisper.
“What are you doing here?” I counter.
The library’s hush presses around us as we stare one another down, and then she finally raises her arms toward the shelves.
“What do you think? I’m looking for the book Sabine told me about.”
I glance at the shelves. There must be fifty thousand volumes. “You’ll be looking for years at this rate. Let me at least help you. I can read the titles on the highest shelves without a ladder.”
She nods.
We each take a different section of the library. Suri starts at the low shelves flanking the fireplace, and I scan the uppermost ones. The library’s calm, unnerving at first, becomes more comfortable by the time I finish the C’s and move onto the D’s.
She keeps turning toward me, on the verge of speaking, but then returns to the books.
Finally, she blurts out in a loud whisper, “Why is Rian such an utter ass ?”
As I continue down the D’s to the next shelf, I suppress an eye roll. I have to remind myself that Suri doesn’t know much about Rian’s past. “Look at his family. Considering who raised him, you have to give him some grace, right? He’s an ass, sure. But he tries not to be the typical Valvere viper.”
“Tries and fails,” she murmurs. I think she might let it drop as she moves to the next set of shelves, running her finger along the spines, but then she declares, “Lord Kendan seems perfectly agreeable.”
“Lord Kendan probably perfumes his balls.”
She gasps before her initial shock rolls over into a chuckle. “He does seem the type, doesn’t he?”
We return to our books, but barely a minute passes before she whirls back around, sputtering, “I mean, what does Rian possibly gain from toying with people?”
The D’s prove worthless, so I move onto the E’s. “Entertainment, Lady Suri. And you seem to provide the most.”
This silences her. She pulls a book out, moodily blows dust off it to read the spine.
I soften. “I’m not saying you should give Rian his damn parade of women. Only that there’s someone for everyone out there, isn’t that what the matchmakers say? Some heart-of-gold woman out there will want to find the good in him. A baroness who finds his antics as alluring as enraging. A countess who shares his love of himself. Don’t begrudge him happiness because of a few lies.”
She shoves the book forcefully back on the shelf. “If lies were gold, he’d be the richest man in the kingdom.”
“He is the richest man in the kingdom.”
She rests her hands on her hips. “My point exactly.”
A floorboard creaks outside, and my head whips toward the sound.
“Wait,” I hiss. “Quiet.”
“What do you hear?” she whispers.
I hold up a hand for her to remain silent as I track the sound of footsteps through the castle’s entryway, two floors down. These steps also try to be quiet, but the person has none of Suri’s lightness. I hear the faint jangle of a chainmail sash.
It’s Kendan.
“I have to go.”
“Wait, Wolf, about Rian?—”
But I’m already silently slipping out the library door, tiptoeing into the hall. Quietly, I jog down the central stairs and into the entryway. As I duck into the shadows, I see a small side door click closed.
Keeping a careful distance, I follow Kendan out of the castle, into the city streets. The wealthy neighborhood surrounding Hekkelveld Castle is tense but quiet, with royal soldiers stationed at every street corner to keep the peace from looters.
Once I cross into the city center, however, signs of unrest crop up like mushrooms. “MAY THE FAE NEVER AWAKEN” is painted across the side of a tavern. A straw effigy of Immortal Iyre with red hair made of dyed wool is propped against a street lamp with her straw wrists bound in chains. Angry protesters stand outside the Temple of Immortal Vale, chanting, “Fae built this city, but humans gave it life!” and “Death to Volkany and all fae supporters!”
Despite the unrest, my shoulders relax, and my stride falls into an easy gait. Here, among the riffraff, I blend in as well as a drunk in an alehouse. This isn’t Duren, but the chaotic streets are the same. They are my childhood home.
I track Kendan’s footsteps to a wealthy gentleman’s club, and spend an hour waiting outside, next to a nearby tannery, watching the club’s doorway. The tannery’s stench drives my senses mad, but it keeps everyone else from looking closely.
Finally, my patience is rewarded.
Kendan steps out of the club and, after a word to the doorman, crosses the street to enter the Temple of Immortal Meric.
I snuff out my pipe and cross the street, barely more visible than a shadow in my dark cloak and with my locks falling in my face.
Kendan moves with a brisk determination, and I keep a careful distance, slipping through the bustling night revelers like a wraith.
At this hour, the temple is empty. Wooden benches span the small nave, and a locked glass case contains a gilded copy of the Book of the Immortals. The scent of incense chokes the air, mixing with the damp chill of stone walls.
Kendan doesn't pause for prayers to the altar but heads straight for a side door.
I follow him down the temple’s twisting corridors with all the silent focus that I give to stalking a deer. He stops at a locked iron gate, and my heart thuds hard with the thrill of the hunt.
This is it.
I flick open the flap on my hunting knife’s sheath, ready to draw steel at a moment’s notice. If he’s meeting with the Grand Cleric—as Rian suspects—I’ll need to be on my toes. That pompous holy man, Beneveto, swings a sword better than he recites prayers, and I’m betting he’s more likely to stick a man with a blade than bless him with a sermon.
Kendan unlocks the gate and disappears into a dark passageway that descends beneath the temple. I slip in behind him, my footsteps silent on the worn stone steps, anticipation coursing through me as I realize he’s leading me to the city catacombs, a place where secrets are buried with the dead.
We emerge in a narrow underground chamber lined with ancient tombs. Kendan moves freely, but at my height, I have to duck to avoid the low stone joists. A spiral stairwell takes us back up to the surface, where, to my surprise, we emerge into the rear portion of a blacksmith shop.
The reek of iron and woodsmoke slap me in the face like a bucket of ice water. The blacksmith shop is vacant now, the chisels and hammers neatly hung on wall hooks, though the forge in the center of the warehouse creaks as its embers glow.
Kendan dabs a cloth to the sweat beading his forehead as he exits through a rear door.
Pausing, I get my bearings as I recall a map of these streets. There’s an alley out that door that leads to a high-end brothel. Chances are, that’s not his scene. He seems too self-righteous. However, at the end of the alley, there’s a leech house for the poor sponsored by the Red Church, open at all hours, which would be the perfect place for a rendezvous.
As soon as I hear his footsteps recede, I silently open the rear door and step out into the alley?—
And, fuck .
Someone immediately shoves a burlap sack over my head, while a second man presses a knife to my throat. The sack must be doused in lamp oil, because the smell is so overpowering I can’t smell or taste anything else .
I freeze, hands raised in surrender, though my mind churns with ways to beat my two captors bloody.
The first one clamps a padded strap around my ears, muffling my hearing.
That’s when I realize I’m really fucked.
These men know about my godkiss—which means I’ve just walked into a trap.