20. Sabine
Chapter 20
Sabine
“ D on’t jump, Lady Sabine!”
Grand Cleric Beneveto shoves his way through the pale-faced courtiers, swatting away the resplendent fae gods with as little care as if they’re buzzing gnats. His eyes shine in his skull like glass marbles, a sign he’s hit the opium pipe too hard. Still, he remains remarkably sturdy on his feet.
“Sabine—Highness—don’t jump,” he repeats. “It would please these pointed-eared bastards far too much to know they’d gotten under your skin.”
The crowd falls into a bated hush as they wait to see if Immortal Vale will crush Beneveto like coal for the insult, but my father remains stony-faced. Iyre cackles to herself as she licks sauce off her fingers, and the Blades—no, Artain, Samaur, and Woudix —paint smirks on their handsome faces.
My fingertips dig into the bricks on either side of the windowsill as my heart gives a seismic shift. Wind rushes up from below to whip my thin cotton shift around my knees. My toes curl around the ledge’s rim as I glance over my shoulder at the river below.
A soft sputter escapes my lips as I lean an inch further out.
One step, and I’m free…
Beneveto steps forward cautiously, trying to catch my gaze like a lifeline.
"Let’s talk, Highness. Human to human. I know more about the gods than you’d ever learn from fae tales. There’s a reason I turned my back on Astagnon and am ready to put the Red Church’s full weight behind their rule when the time comes." He pushes back his white streak of hair. “We went to so much trouble to bring you here. Don’t make us hold your funeral tomorrow.”
I curl my toes around the ledge.
The last person I should trust is a traitor with the reek of opium on his breath, but Beneveto’s words make me pause. Beneveto is the second most powerful man in Astagnon, after Rian. He wouldn’t gamble away that position if he weren’t certain.
A squeak overhead catches my ear. I jerk my head up to see the forest mouse poking her head down from the hole in the ceiling.
Mouse-talker? she frets. Don’t leave me! If you jump, I cannot follow this time!
As the wind blusters at my back, I realize I can’t risk jumping. The birds might catch me—or I might crash onto the rocks. Either way, I can’t abandon the mouse. She’s been with me since Mag Na Tir Forest, stowing away in Basten’s knapsack, to his supreme irritation. And what about Myst? My brave girl is a kingdom away, a prisoner of Rian’s stable, when she deserves to stretch her legs, free and wild. I can’t just leave her there. And the goldenclaws? The cloudfox? Even though it tricked me, I promised it a name. I can’t name it if I’m dashed against river rocks.
Let’s not forget about Tòrr.
That prissy monoceros has the power to destroy kingdoms. Of all the powerful men whose hands he could fall into, did it have to be Rian Valvere’s? Once upon a time, I trusted Rian, at least enough to believe he’d honor a bargain. I even thought he might love me in his twisted way. But he sold me out with the same careless indifference as a coin flip.
So, what horrors would he inflict upon a fae horse?
As I perch on the windowsill’s precipice, dozens of eyes burn through me until sweat drips down my brow.
Stay?
Or jump?
With the wind whipping my nightdress, I slowly hold out a shaky hand to Beneveto.
Relief washes over his face as he steps forward to help me down, but then, Immortal Vale shoulders him out of the way to seal his own large hand around mine.
“Human to human?” Vale rasps. “No. Fae to human. If anyone owes her an explanation, it should be her father.”
My stomach draws tight as a button as I stare at my hand in his.
I…don’t know what to do.
“My father?” I finally murmur. “Is that what you are to me?”
“I am many things to you. But I am your father above all other titles.” He steps back, sweeping out his hands, and like a gradual dusk, his true fae appearance melts away. His dark gold eyes fade to the dull shade of rust, and the silver in his beard settles into a salt-and-pepper gray. His shoulders, wide as an ox beneath his fur-line cloak, recede into a normal human male’s width.
Nerves as soft as butterfly wings flutter over me, lifting goose bumps all along the length of my arms. The darkness still roars at the edge of my vision.
I feel faint…
A distant thought stirs in my head: If he is fae and my mother was human, what does that make me?
Before I can follow that line of thought, he continues, “Before you judge us—” he nods toward Artain, Woudix, Samaur, and Iyre, “—Let us talk. That’s all I ask. A chance to explain. All of you, raise your glamour. Can’t you see you’re frightening her?”
He snaps his fingers, and one by one, the rest of the fae shift back into their human glamour as effortlessly as changing into a new set of clothes.
Now, they’re simply flesh and blood.
Human, by all appearances.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I spare one final glance at the birds circling the Ramvik River below.
On shaky legs, I step down from the window ledge, toward my father.
And, swaying, immediately tip forward into his arms as darkness finally claims me.
When I wake in my bedroom, groggy and disoriented, I blink at the sunlight streaming through the window. It catches on my desk’s silver candlesticks, flashing bright lights against my retinas that are hauntingly similar to fey lines.
I groan and shade my eyes as everything rushes back.
Someone knocks on the door. Before I can croak for them to go away, a round-cheeked maid enters with a fresh pitcher of water. When she sees me sitting up in bed, her eyebrows shoot upward.
“Highness! You’re awake. I’ll alert King Rachillon?—”
“ Wait .” I practically claw my way out from under the fur coverings to slam the door before she can leave. Her eyes widen as I press my back against the door, trapping her. “Wait. Tell me what day it is.”
“It’s—it’s Wednesday, Highness.”
Wednesday. So, I’ve been out for a day. Not good, but it’s better than knowing I’ve been lying there as soft and helpless as a baby doe for a week.
“Who dressed me?” I tug on the neckline of the fresh nightdress I’m wearing.
“I did, Highness.” She sees how I’m desperately pressed against the door and sets the water pitcher on my washbasin. She tuts gently, “There’s nothing to fear, Lady Sabine.”
“Half the fae court are traipsing around this castle’s halls!”
She refolds the towel draped over the washbasin stand as though biding time for my outburst to pass, then says softly, “Everyone knows what happened at the feast in Immortal Thracia’s honor—there’s still a hole in the Hall of Vale’s ceiling. And we all thank the gods that you didn’t jump out of that window. Do not be frightened. The fae are a blessing, Highness. We’ve been praying for their return for one thousand years, and we are among the fortunate few who get to witness the Third Return.”
As I listen, I can’t help but sniff the air—something smells wonderful . And my stomach is growling.
I spy a plate of cranberry scones someone must have left earlier on my desk. I surreptitiously thieve a step toward it. “So, everyone in the castle knew their true identity? My father’s? And the Blade Boys’?”
“Yes, Highness.” She hesitates. “We were told to shelter you from information you might not be ready for. Letting you know only about Lady Iyre was meant to ease you into the full truth.”
I don’t like the pitying tone in her voice, like I’m a child who needs to be told the monsters under her bed aren’t real. Still, she knits her hands in what looks like genuine concern for me. And, frankly, I trust what a maid has to say more than my father.
She has much less reason to lie.
She notes where I’m headed and picks up the scone plate to offer me one.
Slowly, I take the closest, trying to resist devouring it whole. “In Astagnon, people are as likely to curse the fae as worship them.”
She chuckles. “Power can frighten the unenlightened. Not to say you aren’t enlightened, Highness! Only that here in Volkany, we’ve never wavered in our devotion. Consider all the good Immortal Vale and the others have already bestowed upon us.”
“Good? What good?” I nibble at the scone. Gods, it’s divine .
“Why, just last week, Lord Artain cleared the forest of a wolf pack that’s been picking off farmers’ sheep. Lady Iyre visited elderly soldiers still traumatized by the Twenty-One Day Battle—she eased their minds by taking away the worst memories. And Lord Woudix helped a priest crushed under a cart to have a peaceful death.”
I knit my mouth to the side as I chew, but can’t manage to hold in my real thoughts. “You know they drink human blood, right? Artain probably ate the wolves. Iyre certainly bottled up those soldiers’ memories to use later. And Woudix? Who knows if the priest would have even died without the Ender’s “peaceful” assistance.”
I expect a gasp, but the maid only looks at me with that same piteous gaze. Gently, she sets down the plate of scones before heading to the door. “I feel sorry for you, Highness. That you were taught to see the cruelty in the world before the kindness. I’ll tell your father that you’re awake.”
She gives me a sad smile before leaving.
As soon as the door latches, I stomp over to the plate and stuff another scone in my mouth, but now, it tastes as dry and flavorless as sand.
I spit the mouthful out the window, staring southward over the mountains—the direction of Astagnon.
Who am I supposed to believe, a maid with stars in her eyes, or my own heart? Maybe if Matron White and the Sisters hadn’t kept me locked away half my life, I would know what to make of the world. As it is, my experience with the wider world is limited to a handful of months spent in Sorsha Hall with Rian. And look at how well I read that situation.
In my heart, I know that the only person I’ve ever trusted to set my course straight is Basten. He’s my North Star. My wayfinder.
And now, he’s all alone in Rian’s court of lies.
I’m not sure how long I stand at the window, but when the door swings open, I spin around with my heart in my throat.
King Rachillon—Vale—fills the doorway, glamoured, looking deceptively human in a simple dark gray cloak.
“Father.” I grab a robe from the wardrobe, shrugging it on quickly over my nightdress. Clearing my throat, I cinch the belt tightly. “You don’t need to hide yourself with this human glamour anymore.”
I motion to his drab appearance.
He plucks at his round ear shell as he rasps, “I thought it would be easier for you.”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf.”
To my surprise, he chuckles as he crosses his thick arms over his leather doublet. “You have fire in you, Daughter. I like to see it. But before you go crashing through any more ceilings, I have something to show you.”
I brace myself, taking a step backward, and trip over a copy of the Book of the Immortals on the floor. I’ve been reading the stories that I didn’t have access to in the convent. Trying to learn everything I can about my new family .
“What exactly do you wish to show me?” I ask tightly. “The Serpent Knife? To my jugular? Did you bring me to Volkany to slit my throat on one of your altars like that poor farm boy in The Sacrifice of the Golden Child?”
He huffs a breath, amused. “Get dressed. And come to the Garden of Ten Gods.”
When he leaves, I remain standing stock-still, unsure of what my options are at the moment. Finally, I decide they’re extremely limited when one’s father is King of Fae.
Once I’m dressed, guards escort me down the central stairs and into the walled garden that sits between the star-like points of the Cloudveil Tower and the Aurora Tower.
Stone paths wind around topiaries shaped into fae beasts. A large privet tree is trimmed into a goldenclaw. A half dozen small holly shrubs are shaped like a family of playful cloudfoxes. When we emerge from the awe-inspiring topiaries, it’s into an open, circular amphitheater with gleaming white marble steps.
Around the perimeter are ten statues twice a person’s height—one for each of the gods. Offerings rest upon altars at the base of each statue: coins, wildflower bouquets, raisin loaves.
As much as I want to march in with cold-blooded confidence, I can’t help but gaze in soft-jawed wonder at the statues’ masterful craftsmanship.
Still, when I see the individuals seated haphazardly on the marble steps, my jaw closes up tight again.
Great .
Iyre, Artain, Samaur, and Woudix—with Hawk—sprawl on the various levels of the amphitheater steps while my father holds court in the center stage. They’re wearing their human glamours, but with their ethereal beauty only rivaled by their stunning arrogance, I can’t believe I didn’t see the truth earlier.
“Do they all need to be here?” I fold my arms as I saunter down the first step.
“Nice to see you again, too, princess.” Artain kicks out his feet, resting his head back on his clasped hands. He nods to Vale and says, “You know, if you had given me one night with her, as I’d asked, she’d never have tried to jump out a window—she’d never leave my bed. ”
“Try to put your libido out of your mind for a minute,” Vale growls. “I told you, we’re doing it differently this time.”
My head jerks toward him.
This time?
Artain shrugs and leans back against the base of a statue. With a lurch in the pit of my stomach, I realize he’s positioned directly below his own statue—a figure of Immortal Artain in nearly the same arrogant pose.
I roll my eyes.
Vale points a warning finger at the rest of the fae. “Lady Sabine is my daughter, not a prisoner. She’s the future of this kingdom as much as the rest of you are. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to pivot in our plans. Remember the First Return? The queen of Spezia’s pirate fleet?” He looks pointedly at Samaur, who sheepishly adjusts his silk shirt collar. “Now, unless you wish me to hurtle each one of you over that wall into the Ramvik River, you’ll fall in line.”
I’m still curious about what he meant by “this time,” though I suppose they have kidnapped a small army of godkissed people, which would lend itself to wanting to do things differently.
I’m distracted from those thoughts when I realize each fae, not just Artain, is seated below their own towering effigies.
Iyre admires her long red nails beneath a statue of the Goddess of Virtue. Samaur picks at his teeth with a knife next to the God of Day’s statue. Woudix crouches beneath the God of Death’s statue, stroking Hawk along the sharp ridge of her spine.
By all appearances, she’s a living dog now. No exposed ribs. No rotted jaw. As glamoured as the rest of them.
My father turns to me. “Let us start by?— ”
I cut him off by holding up my wrists, which still bear red marks from when Tati escorted me to Norhelm in chains. “Forgive me for doubting that I’m not a prisoner, given that your soldiers shackled me to a goldenclaw.”
Iyre smiles lazily as she plucks a fallen leaf from her statue’s toes. “That was a good time.”
I stomp toward her with balled fists. “You’re fondly remembering my abduction? The worst day of my life? When you ripped me away from the one man I’ve ever loved?”
Woudix’s head tilts upward. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She loved a human man?”
“She thinks she did.” Iyre flicks the leaf with her long nail.
“Oh, you fae bitch—” I hurtle toward her, but Vale snaps his fingers, and the stones under my feet begin to tremble. It’s a tiny earthquake, limited to only a three-foot span. I tip forward, barely catching myself before falling. As I scramble for balance, the ground calms, and the stones return to their positions.
I straighten my gown. “Message received—you can crush your daughter with a finger snap.”
“You need to listen to what we have to say.” Vale’s voice is hard-edged now. Impatient. “To understand our world—a world you’re now a part of.”
“Did my mother know?” I blurt out. “That you’re fae?”
He runs a hand down his long beard before rasping, “She suspected. It was part of why she ran away.”
I sink next to one of the unoccupied statue’s bases, pinching the bridge of my nose. Measuredly, I say, “If that is so, then clearly, she did not believe this castle to be safe. Why should I trust you when my mother did not? ”
“Isabeau didn’t flee because she feared me .” His boots plod on the marble stones at the base of the Immortal Vale statue. “What I told you before was the truth. She fled because she feared the war she suspected was coming. She wanted to hide you—shelter you—from that war. I wanted the opposite. To bring you into it like the powerful force of nature I knew you would become.”
Something preening flutters under my skin, responding to his praise like a flower to sunlight. They’re all so damn beautiful . And this place? The fanciful topiaries. The midnight balls. The gatherings beneath the hemlock tree. It would be so tempting to fall into their mythical world, where time loses all meaning.
I shift my stance, and a twig cracks under my shoe, returning me to the present.
I point to the other five statues and say gravely, “Thracia. Popelin. Alessantha. Meric. Solene. Half the court is still asleep. What do you intend to do about them?”
“We will find their resting places,” Vale rasps confidently. “We always do, in each Return. Sometimes, it takes days. Sometimes, decades.”
Samaur examines a glittering agate crystal on his statue’s altar. “Thracia’s location is already secured. It’s just a matter of bringing her here and waking her.”
“Waking her how ?” I press.
Samaur nods toward Vale. “As King of Fae, your father has that power.”
“But how does it happen? What does it take to wake a fae?”
“Why do you ask?” Vale says.
I pick up a small bronze antler from the base of Immortal Solene’s statue, turning it over in my fingers. " I know how fae twist their words. I’ve read the stories. So, I want you to speak plainly. Truthfully. You owe me that.” I press my thumb against the antler’s sharp tip as my heart speeds. I’m not an idiot. I realize that a sharp bronze antler will not protect me from five fae gods. Still, I like the way it feels squeezed in my palm. Dangerous. Like claws . "Fae didn’t become gods until Vale drank the blood of a farmer’s sacrificed child. You could call that an awakening. Did you bring me to Volkany because waking a god requires a bloodline sacrifice?”
All five fae stare at me as though I’ve said the sea is made of the moon’s tears.
Artain is the first to laugh, doubling over against his statue’s knee to brace himself. “Now I understand why she was going to throw herself out the window! Vale, she thought you were going to gut her like a pig! Bleed her dry on Thracia’s altar like in that old damn tale! What’s it called?—”
“The Golden Child!” Samaur slaps Artain on the shoulder as he, too, doubles over in laughter.
Iyre gives an ugly snort before covering her mouth with an embarrassed hand.
Woudix alone remains unfazed, his pale features still as a death mask.
I slam the bronze antler down on the altar. “You mock me? After I’ve seen you drink the blood of humans? Seen the Serpent Knife in the artifact room?” I snatch up a brace of skinned, field-dressed rabbits on the altar beneath Immortal Solene’s statue. “Do not tell me you don’t need sacrifice.”
Artain and Samaur keep snickering until Woudix nudges Hawk. The dog drops its glamour. In a second, it’s a half- rotted cadaver with teeth exposed from its torn jaw, growling low at the other two Blade Boys.
Their laughter vanishes.
Vale raises a hand toward the castle. “You’ve seen many of our acolytes. We take their blood, yes. Their breath. Their sex. Their prayers. They are all more than willing. They suffer no harm for this vow of sacrifice—in return, we shower them with mortal delights. Food. Wine. Pleasure. Whatever they desire. Our head acolytes are even rewarded with a special connection. A shared mind. Shared thoughts.”
Jaw clenched, my mind lurches to find an argument. It’s true that I haven’t seen any dead bodies drained of blood. Paz and the twins Samaur was dancing with in the hemlock grove certainly seemed pleased to serve.
I shift my stance. “Is that why you’ve brought me here, then? To be an—an acolyte?”
I brace myself for more laughter. I almost crave it, because that would mean it was an absurd idea—but only distant birdsong answers me.
Artain gives a salacious grin. “Well, if you want to take me up on that one night together…”
I hurl the bronze antler at his head, but he manages to duck.
“Sabine,” Vale says gently. “There is no trick. No deception. I brought you here because my daughter should be at my side. War is coming. There are five of us. Soon to be ten. We are strong, yes, but against how many millions of humans across the seven kingdoms who will resist us? We will need humans on our side. Like Beneveto. Captain Tatarin. And you.”
As I wrestle with this, I tip my chin up to gaze at the marble statue eclipsing me. Immortal Solene is carved with vines winding up her legs, flowers growing from her hair. She looks like the very picture of peace. One with nature. Serenity itself. Hardly a monster.
“That’s really all?”
“For fuck’s sake, stop being so suspicious.” Artain loops his arm around my shoulder with that dazzling grin. “We’re missing out on valuable partying time.”
I scowl at him, but it lacks its usual bite. Shrugging out from under his arm, I twist the twine ring around my finger, my stomach turning in knots, too. “If I am to stay here, then I need to send a message to Basten Bowborn.”
My father tents his fingers. “A letter could be arranged, though it may take some time. My spies are deeply undercover in Old Coros. And all our messenger crows are currently completing other voyages.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, his eyes soft. “Are you sure this man hasn’t forgotten you entirely?”
I flinch, instinctively shooting a look toward Iyre. “It doesn’t matter if he does; I haven’t forgotten him. I have to warn him of danger.”
“From what you’ve told me, this human male is more than capable of guarding his own back.” Vale presses my hand between his, stilling my anxious twirling of the ring. “He hasn’t reached out to you. We’ve received no crows. No letters. Perhaps he has moved on with his life. Perhaps you should, too.”
I bristle, tugging my hand free. Heat bleeds into my cheeks as I tip my chin high. “I need to write that letter.”
He nods, but his eyes tell me my hope is lost.
A familiar tension pulls in my side, but I can’t tell if it’s real or old instincts kicking in. I try to poke holes in my father’s story, but nothing sticks. Yes, Iyre’s a nightmare. I wouldn’t trust Artain or Samaur after dark with a bottle in their hands, either. Woudix? Still a mystery I can’t unravel.
But this place, these people—they’re not exactly the monsters I thought. There’s a pull here, a potential, like a half-remembered dream that calls me back each time I wake.
What if this is where I belong?
“If you’re ready, Sabine,” Vale says. “I’ll reveal the truth—all of it. Who we are, the power we wield, what’s been hidden from you.”
Am I? Will I ever be ready?
I briefly touch the twine ring on my finger before hesitantly taking his hand. “Show me.”
As the words leave my lips, a surge of something dangerous and thrilling courses through me. Family. Power. The possibility that this could be my world. A door swings open in my mind, and for the first time, I step forward into the unknown with something other than fear.