29. Basten
Chapter 29
Basten
F inally, I can breathe.
Ever since that black void opened in my head and swallowed my little violet, it’s felt like a cannonball has rested on my chest. It’s been a struggle to put one foot in front of the other, weighted down by the knowledge that somewhere out there, a woman waits for me, and I can’t even remember her face.
But tonight?
Here in the confectionery, it’s a gods-damn sugar-spun dream to hold Sabine against my chest, her feather-light weight lifting weeks of punishing pressure off my bones, the lingering taste of her on my tongue every bit as sweet as the honey she sucked off my finger.
Finally—fucking finally —she’s mine.
Her silken hair drapes over my shoulder as she traces the map of old fighting scars on my torso. Her stomach audibly grumbles like a grumpy old man, and a delicious shade of pink floods into her cheeks.
I swipe one of the honey cakes off a shelf and nudge it against her lips.
In the darkness, she squeaks before realizing what it is.
“Eat,” I tease. “Or your complaining stomach will draw the kitchen maids straight to us.”
She hesitantly takes a bite, her eyes rolling back as she moans at the flaky pastry. A drop of honey rests on her bottom lip, and her tongue darts out to lick it off. Fuck . That moan from her pretty throat has my balls tightening again already.
“So, what happens now?” Resting her head in the crook of my arm, she absently traces the cuts that spell her name on my forearm.
I blink, trying to mentally shift from honey to politics.
“Once the deal with Kendan is set, I’ll have to return to Astagnon.” I lock my arm around her, bending down to place a kiss on her crown. “We need to figure out how you can come with me.”
I can hear her hold her breath, not saying what’s on her mind.
Finally, she haltingly asks, “What if we’re wrong?”
I shift, adjusting my arm around her. “Wrong about what?”
“There’s so much here that we don’t understand. My father, this place—there’s a power here I can’t ignore. I’m not sure I’m ready to turn my back on it. It might be crazy, but what if I can make a difference? Convince my father to listen to me? There’s a chance I could stop a war before it even starts.”
I shift again, suddenly unable to get comfortable. “We can’t wait forever, Sabine. If we don’t leave when we have a chance, we might be trapped here. And Rian will drive Astagnon into ruin in the meantime.”
Her body tenses under my arm. “I want to see Rian punished as much as you do. But leaving Volkany instead of working directly with the fae? I don’t know if that’s the answer.”
I rub the bridge of my nose with my free hand, trying not to let my panic show. “Every day we stay here, Rian tightens his grip on the throne. He’s already scheming, and Vale—your father—will only match his warmongering tenfold. If we don’t act soon, it might be too late.” I pause. “I never wanted the throne. I still don’t. But it’s the only way to keep you safe.”
Sabine slowly extricates herself from me, sitting up, hair veiling her expression. “Even though you still barely know me?”
My throat tightens with panic that she might slip away. “We have a lot to learn about each other. Or…relearn. I get it. It will be a long road ahead to get back to where we were. Hell, maybe it won’t ever be the same. But I came here blindly, on a belief I couldn’t shake. I trusted in you. In my dreams. In my heart. Now that I’ve met you, I’m more certain than ever. You and me—we just are .”
She pulls in a gentle sigh.
I curl my fingers around hers. She softly strokes the back of my hand, then links our fingers and squeezes. “I want that, Basten. I feel that, too.”
“You’ll leave with me, then?” My heart wallops, waiting.
She tips up her head to look at the dark ceiling, at her father’s castle looming overhead. She squeezes my hand again. “Yes.”
It’s all I can do not to grin like a damn schoolboy. I rattle out, “It won’t be easy. I’ve been watching the guards. Two armed soldiers are posted in every hall. A godkissed locksmith at the main gate. If we try to run, or sneak you out, your father will know.”
“What if we just walk out?” A curious hitch lifts her voice as an idea seems to strike her.
“I don’t follow.”
“Plume,” she whispers excitedly.
I wet my lips, intrigued. “Look, if you want some feather play?—”
“No, Plume is a cloudfox friend.” Her eyes alight, she pulls her legs under her as she sits upright. “She told me about fae bargains. It’s the only way I know to bind the fae to their word. Seal a fae deal with soil, and it’s unbreakable. Do you see? We can enter into a fae bargain with my freedom as the prize.”
I still lament the feather—a little. “Your father wouldn’t sense a trap?”
She pauses, thinking. “So, we don’t bet against my father. We’ll do it all behind his back.” She bites down on her thumb, excited. “We’ll bet against Artain —he’s so prideful that he can’t resist a wager. He’s stupid, too.”
A sour taste fills my mouth at the thought of the preening idiot who had Sabine’s lips all over him.
Putting him in his place? Yeah, I’m in.
“Hunting,” I grunt. “Artain is God of the Hunt—if I can threaten his ego when it comes to his affinity, he’ll accept the challenge.”
She squeezes our hands together tightly. “You’re the best huntsman I know, but can you best a god?”
I pause. “If I have your help, maybe.”
Her eyebrows lift, surprised. “My animals, you mean. Like how in the Everlast tournament, I called an arrowwood spider to bite your opponent.” She pauses, a reluctance there. “Okay, yes. There’s no other way. Tomorrow, we’ll propose the wager. There’s an offerings ceremony each Friday morning in the Garden of Ten Gods. It’s a public event. Artain will be there. It won’t seem strange for both of us to be there, too. And my father will be distracted.”
I stroke the back of her hand. “Something’s still holding you back.”
She takes a long breath. “I don’t want to see any more animals hurt. People, either. But I know that war is ugly.”
“Come here, you.” I pull her into my lap and stroke the hair at her temple. “If our prize is your freedom, then what will Artain wager? What does he want more than anything else?”
She buries her forehead into my chest. “I’m afraid to know.”
On Friday, the Garden of Ten Gods, normally quiet, is as busy as a county fair. The walled gates are open to allow in a steady stream of Volkish commoners, whose arms are laden with offerings for the gods’ altars. Woven baskets. Bolts of silk. A brace of skinned hares. At the base of each statue, the gods’ altars overflow onto the ground with more bottles of wine and bread loaves than an army could eat in a month.
And this happens every week ?
“Ah. Lord Basten. Share this drink with me?” Samaur sidles up to me with a busty redhead on one arm. His golden eyes are dulled. Pupils black like he’s drunk. He smirks. “We are allies, now, are we not? ”
I give a slight nod. “Lord Samaur. I’ll happily share a drink, but your hands are noticeably empty.”
He gives a knowing wink. “Silver chalices are one thing, but sometimes it’s better to take straight from the source.”
As he squeezes his acolyte’s ass with one hand, he latches his lips onto her neck. A tang of blood splashes in the air, and I realize with a sickening jolt that he’s biting her. I watch his throat constrict as he drinks from her vein, then pulls back with a satisfied sigh.
The wound closes up almost immediately. She looks dazed. Stunned but happy. He smacks his acolyte on her ass, dismissing her, and wipes away a drip of blood on his chin as he cackles.
As I watch her stagger back toward his altar, I think about Paz’s dead body still rotting in the tower room. How long before Samaur, too, “slips” and drinks too much? Before that redhead girl is dead in another closet? And her twin?
“I’ll stick to wine.” My voice is hard.
Samaur cackles.
I spot Sabine near Artain’s altar, her face carefully blank as she pretends to peruse a brass birdcage holding a snowy white bird. “Excuse me.”
I take my time circling the other altars, pausing to help a peasant tie a donkey’s lead rope to Vale’s altar, then sidle up to the opposite side of Artain’s altar.
The God of the Hunt himself is across the garden, flirting with a farm girl. He idly strokes an arrow, running his fingers along its sharp edge as he smiles at her.
Fixating on his altar, I feign interest in a necklace made of bobcat claws. Quietly, I murmur to Sabine, “Is it time?”
She shakes her head faintly without looking my way. “ Not yet—my father is too close.” She returns to admiring the bird—a rare albino crow.
I spot Vale in the amphitheater’s center, looking over the offerings as they come in. He lifts a length of fabric from a merchant, rubbing it between his fingers. I wait a few minutes for him to get pulled into a conversation by a crowd of wealthy landowners plying him with Spezian sugared figs.
“He’s distracted,” I whisper.
From the other end of Artain’s altar, Sabine quietly unlatches the birdcage door. Her lips move silently, and the bird takes wing, hopping onto a wooden deer carving in the center of the altar.
Not a second later, Artain is beside her, having crossed the amphitheater with inhuman speed.
Though he smiles, his eyes remain cold. The arrow in his hand tap-tap-taps against the cage, a warning. He wags a scolding finger. “Lady Sabine, these are my offerings. Should you see something you desire, I’d happily gift it to you, but no freeing your little friends.”
He begins to reach for his bow, eyes already targeting in on the albino crow, when I interject myself.
“Let me,” I say casually.
I dive forward to catch the creature. It flaps its wings to evade me, but this isn’t my first crow. I feign grabbing it with my left hand, knowing that means it will take off to the right. As soon as its feet lift off the carving, I snap out my hand to grab one talon.
It flaps its wings only once before I pin it to my chest. As I return it to its cage, I feel the weight of Artain’s gaze on me. The arrow in his grip is stilled now.
“Piece of cake.” I dust off my hands, grinning .
“Basten was known throughout Duren as the best huntsman in the seven kingdoms,” Sabine chirps sweetly.
Artain’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the claim. Incredulous, he laughs as he calls to the other fae. “Samaur! Woudix! Come here, brothers. Listen to this.” The two other Blades pick their way through the crowd to join us. Woudix pauses his sharpening of a dagger, sliding it back into his belt before approaching. “Lord Basten claims to be the best huntsman in the seven kingdoms.”
I crook my lips in a rogue’s smile. “Why, you think you’re better?”
Another incredulous laugh bursts out of him, but he’s leaning forward now, his eyes sparking at my gall. “I’m a god. I’ve been hunting for three thousand years.”
“Then it would be easy for you.” Sabine strokes the albino crow through the bars, gently trailing her fingers along its feathers.
“What would be easy, Highness?” he asks her.
“A test.” She shrugs. “A competition.”
Artain’s eyes gleam with the thrill of a challenge. He flicks the arrow in his hand, spinning it in a showy arc as he turns to me. “What do you say, mortal? Shall we put it to the test?”
I lift my eyebrows, feigning surprise, and laugh good-naturedly. “Only a fool would accept a challenge from a god.” I shift again, acting uncertain. “But, let’s say I’m a fool…what manner of test?”
“Do you know the tale of the Night Hunt?” Artain asks, voice rising.
“You’ll have to refresh my memory,” I say. “I’m not much of a reader.”
Artain fans out his hands theatrically, still holding the arrow as he gestures. “Picture this. In a time before time, Immortal Solene, Goddess of Nature, wished for a rare black pearl apple. I climbed the fabled Tree of Quick to pick one for her pretty lips, with the promise of a tryst beneath the branches. As soon as she’d eaten her fill, the fickle thing transformed into a fawn and bounded away. I pursued until sunset—until night—when I set my arrow’s aim upon her and made her surrender herself to our deal.” His green eyes light up in wicked delight at the memory. “Trust me, the little siren wanted the chase as much as I did.”
The story settles heavily in my gut.
I give a cheeky smirk. “And what, you want me to play Solene?”
Artain’s face sinks into a scowl. “No, you buffoon. Lady Sabine will play the part of Immortal Solene in our little game. You and I? We will compete to capture her. Just outside the castle walls in the Vollen Forest. At sunset, the huntsman who has her captured wins. A perfect recreation of the Night Hunt.”
Sabine stiffens.
A protective instinct roars up my throat. “Sabine? No—she plays no part in this. If it’s a competition, then it’s between you and me.”
I move a step closer to her, unable to stop myself. Her eyes flicker to me, rimmed with anxiety.
“Oh, relax, human.” Artain scoffs, absently tossing back his hair. He slides the arrow back into his quiver. “It’s a game, not an execution. We catch Lady Sabine with our bare hands. The little mortal princess won’t be so much as bruised, you have my word. In fact, we’ll say that the competitors can’t seriously harm each other, either, during the game. ”
My heart takes on an unsteady rhythm as I glance at Sabine.
“It’ll be okay, Basten,” she murmurs reassuringly.
“No.” My voice is hard. “We hunt a deer, not Sabine.”
“I’ve already set the rules of the game.” Artain swoops down to scoop up a handful of soil, weighing it in his hand. He says slyly, “No changing it now. It’s up to you to accept or decline.”
My mind churns as I try to poke holes in his proposal. According to Sabine, fae bargains can’t be broken. If he gives his word that she won’t be harmed, then he’ll be bound to that, right?
Also…it hurts like hell to admit, but I’m not sure I stand a sinner’s chance of winning against the God of the Hunt without cheating. I haven’t lived at Rian Valvere’s side for twenty years to not learn a thing or two about cheating. If I’m to win a competition against ancient immortals, it’s going to have to involve some sleight of hand. If Sabine is involved, she can help me win as she did in the Everlast.
I cross my arms over my chest. “If I win, then Sabine is free to return to Astagnon with me.”
Woudix leans in and murmurs a gruff warning to Artain, “Vale won’t stand for that.” His hand lingers on the dagger at his belt, fingers tapping the hilt.
“Vale isn’t our keeper, brother.” The veins on Artain’s arms bulge. There’s a strange ripple under his skin where his fey lines rest as if they’re about to burst through his human glamour. "Vale may be king, but the rules of the fae bargain are older than his reign. If I lose, he will have no choice but to grant Sabine her freedom." He picks a fleck of dust off his vest. “Anyway, I won’t lose. ”
Sabine crosses her arms. “Don’t I get any say in the matter of my fate?”
Artain slings his arm around her shoulder. “Come, now, princess. You don’t mind playing the fawn, do you?”
“Get your hands off her.” My skin bristles with a predator’s ferocity as I shove his hand off her.
The fae fall silent.
Immediately, I realize my mistake and dart a look over my shoulder at Vale—who, fortunately, is still dealing with the landowners and didn’t see my hands on his daughter. He’s now examining a sack of gold coins, weighing it in his hand.
Sabine takes an exaggerated step away from Artain, throwing him daggers with her eyes. “I’ll play as long as it’s just a game. No one hurt.”
“You will be perfectly safe, my lady,” Artain assures me.
Woudix points out gruffly, “She’s only going to use her godkiss to help him.”
Artain flicks the fleck of dust off his fingers with an irritating shrug. “Two against one? So be it. It won’t make a difference—in fact, it will make it all the more enjoyable. Otherwise, I’d win too easily.”
“What is your wager, then?” I ask, throwing a fleeting look in Vale’s direction, wanting this bargain done.
Artain continues to brush the wrinkles out of his doublet. “Oh, nothing so significant. If I win, I’ll take what I always ask for and never get. Sabine, all night. When the sun sets, I’ll have her until the dawn.”
In one stride, I have his neck in my hand with a grip that I hope bruises his damn fae bones. “No fucking deal.”
“Basten!” Sabine tries to pry my arm off him. I can smell her nervous sweat. Hear her quick heartbeat. Keeping her voice low, she hisses, “It doesn’t matter. He won’t win. He won’t get a minute with me, let alone an entire night.”
I bare my teeth. “I’m not risking it.”
“Well, I will,” she says softly. Urgently. “I believe in you. Us. Together, we can outsmart him.”
I stare into Artain's eyes, his smirk unwavering despite my grip around his throat. My fingers itch to squeeze harder, to snap his neck for daring to suggest such a wager.
Sabine squeezes my arm, a grounding touch pulling me back from the edge.
Slowly, I let out a breath, forcing the tension from my body. I unclench my hand, releasing him.
“Fine,” I bite out. “But you lay one finger on her outside of this game, and I'll gut you where you stand.”
He laughs, a low, mocking sound that grates against my skin. “As you say, Lord Basten.”
Sabine crouches down to scoop up some fresh dirt with her nails. When she straightens, she pours it into my open palm.
Artain holds out his fistful of soil—he lets the grains fall through his fingers.
I do the same.
Woudix turns away sharply, striding off back to his altar with his hound trotting along to guide him, the dagger in his hand again, pointing down as he walks.
Then—locking the angry heat of my gaze to Artain’s—I say, “The Night Hunt is on.”
“The Night Hunt is on,” he echoes vaguely, as I’m already half-forgotten in favor of the farmgirl, who is batting her long lashes at him from across the amphitheater. Distracted, he murmurs, “Await further word from me. We’ll have to bide our time until Vale is occupied. Best he doesn’t hear of this wager until its conclusion.”
There’s a marked shift in his tone—all business, completely focused, as though he’s been steering me all the while that I thought I was the one pulling strings. A chill sends the hair on the back of my neck on end.
I swap a look with Sabine, who looks equally unnerved.
Did we just get played by a fae?
As soon as I can escape the gathering, I go straight to my stateroom and throw up in the pisspot—because, now, the deal is sealed, and there is no going back.