30. Sabine
Chapter 30
Sabine
“ H is name is Rian Valvere,” Matron White says dismissively as the Sisters unload me from the convent’s wagon no more gently than if I were a barrel of cider. My father’s courtyard gates rise in front of me, cold and unwelcoming. “The High Lord of Duren. Tomorrow, one of his men will come to collect you. Be obedient. Be virtuous. If you want my advice? Say nothing of your time in the Convent of Immortal Iyre. Neither Lord Rian nor his representative will care, and you’ll only seem ungrateful to our blessed maiden, Immortal Iyre.”
The wagon rolls away, the wheels grinding against the dirt, and for a moment, I swear I feel the tremor of an earthquake beneath my feet. I hope it might split the earth open and swallow them, but it doesn’t.
They leave me here, in a place that should feel like home, but I’m a stranger.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong anywhere .
Every night, I watch from my tower window as the sun sets over the Vollen Mountains. In no world, in no age, could anything compare to a Volkish sunset. As dusk unfurls, phosphorescent flying insects paint the gloaming in impossible shades of greens and blues. Cloudfoxes are at their most active, scampering along the treetops. The mountains take on a purple cast, the closest ones dark indigo, and then each one beyond it a shade fainter until the last ridge is a light periwinkle so faint it melds with the sky.
I’m going to miss this.
I know I have to leave. I lost Basten once, and I won’t again. Yes, things are different between us. Still an inch out of lockstep. His missing memories hang like a silk screen between us, a perpetual barrier. One that hurts every time I look at him and see him looking past me as if trying to remember something just out of reach.
One day, I have to believe we’ll see each other clearly again.
The dinner bell chimes. But tonight, on my way to the Hall of Vale, something feels different. The musicians aren’t playing as they usually do. Servants look pale-faced. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and the feeling of unease only grows as I approach the open doors and am hit with a strange smell.
I barely glance at the agitated crowd filling the Hall of Vale when a voice calls, “Highness?”
Captain Tatarin strides out of the hall, herding me back into the hallway. She clasps my hand briefly. Her eyes dart, distracted. Her star-shaped pin is askew.
“Tati?” Craning my neck, I try to peer over her shoulder into the hall. “What are you doing here? I thought you led a squadron to Immortal Thracia’s resting place. ”
“That was the plan. We made it as far as the Lunden Valley before—” Her lips stitch together to hold back her words before she admits, “Things are bad there. At first, we thought it was a plague.”
My gaze swings sharply back to the Hall of Vale. Someone lets out a sharp cry.
As my nerves jangle, I head for the crowd inside.
“Highness, wait,” Tati says but doesn’t stop me.
The smell of singed metal grows stronger. Worried murmurs fill the air. I scan every face, looking for Basten’s.
But he isn’t here.
He isn’t here anywhere.
My pulse kicks up as I push through the crowd until I reach what they’re all looking at.
A goldenclaw lies on the smooth stones, attached to a harness pulled by two horses. She’s dead. One look makes it clear. Her fur is brassy, dull. Her eyes are clouded over. The fur around her mouth is matted with dried blood.
It’s Two.
A gasp slips out of me as I drop to my knees to gently touch her scarred ear. Cold . She’s so cold. Where is my funny, warm-blooded, riddle-telling friend?
Near the head table, my father argues with his army generals. The rest of the fae sit moodily in their gilded seats, their meals untouched, as they murmur to one another in an ancient language.
Artain locks his gaze on me, his eyes flashing with unreadable intent.
Tati catches up to me, dropping to her knees as well. She touches my shoulder. “Highness, I am so sorry. I know you had a special bond with Two, and all the goldenclaws.”
“What happened?” I breathe .
Tati’s face pales. “The fields in Lunden Valley were dead. In every farm we came to, all the animals and villagers—it was always the same. Dead, seemingly without warning. They’d cough up blood. We didn’t know what to think. There were no plaguewings. None of us took ill. It was only after we stopped to let the goldenclaws drink from the river that I put it together. Two drank first, even before our soldiers filled their flasks. She started coughing up blood immediately.” Tati’s eyes travel somewhere else, to some dark memory. “Poison. The entire river. It had spread into the water table. Everything west of the Lunden Valley is contaminated. Hundreds of people and livestock dead.”
My spine goes ramrod straight. Any hunger I felt vanishes, replaced by a tidal wave of shock that leaves my hands trembling.
Quietly, I ask, “How?”
Before Tati answers, my father overhears and thunders, “We don’t know yet how it happened, whether by intention or accident. We’ve taken a sample from this beast but cannot identify the poison.”
“It’s Thorn Apple.”
I spin at Basten’s voice sudden behind me, my eyes immediately scouring him for any sign of harm. He looks tired. Dark circles hang under his eyes like shadows against his pale skin. Briefly, his eyes dart between me and Artain, like his worry over our deal has left him sleepless.
That makes two of us.
“What’s that, Lord Basten?” Vale rasps, drawing out his words.
“Thorn Apple.” The crowd parts, and Basten moves into view. “It’s similar to burdock root, but I can smell the difference. If Thorn Apple flowers are crushed and soaked in oil, then the poison won’t dilute in water, and remain highly potent. It’s a little-known poison. Only a few experts would know how to use it in that manner.”
My father’s eyes narrow. “Yet you know how.”
Basten rolls back his shoulders. “I know how, yes. I had an incident with Thorn Apple when I was younger.” His throat constricts as he swallows. “And someone else knows how, too—I told King Rian the story years ago.”
I push to my feet, shoving my hair out of my face. “Rian? This was—Rian? He did this?”
Basten’s eyes meet mine over the goldenclaw’s body. There’s so much anger there. Enough to fill the hall twice over. But his pain? A hundred times as much. A pain that makes me want to reach out to him. To close the gap.
But I can’t—not here. In front of my father.
“Considering the border wall, that would mean King Rian must have poisoned the river on the Astagnonian side before it enters Volkany,” Tati explains.
“He wouldn’t.” My voice falters. “To do so, he’d have to poison a portion of Astagnon, too. Kill his own people.”
The crowd erupts with speculative murmurs.
“Are his forces on the move?” one of the generals asks Tati.
“Not as of yet. Not from what we’ve seen.” She clears her throat. “King Rian has to know his forces are not strong enough to face our army. If I had to guess, I’d say this was a stunt to prove his power to the kingdoms of Kravada and Clarana in hopes of garnering their support.”
“Generals,” my father says sharply. “Meet me in the council chamber. We need to retaliate, and it needs to be swift. Dramatic. Send a message right back. The rulers of Kravada and Clarana will think twice about siding with King Rian when they hear how many bodies fall in our wake.” He lowers his heavy gaze to Basten. “Lord Basten, ready yourself to depart when I give the word. The faster the Astagnonian people bow to us, the fewer lives we’ll lose. Where’s Beneveto? Someone drag him out of the opium den and tell him to get on a horse to Old Coros now .”
Bile rises up my throat, and I press a hand against the base of my ribs, my other hand squeezing into such a tight fist that my fingernails cut into my palm.
I will kill Rian myself…
I force my hands slack before my skin breaks from the pressure of my anger.
My father and the generals spare no time, only consulting for a few minutes with Tati before striding out of the hall.
“Oh, where’s the damn fiddler?” Iyre asks, frowning out at the crowd. “Can’t we get some music? More wine? And you—you, guards. Drag that dead beast out of here before it stinks up the whole castle.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but before I can say anything, I feel a hand on the small of my back.
“Come, Highness.” Artain deftly guides me through the crowd to where Basten stands. Then, he leans in between Basten and me, a wicked curl to his lips. “Looks like we have our chance to play, mortals. Vale will be in meetings all night and tomorrow with his generals. Tomorrow, meet at dawn, before the Seventh Hour bell. At the southern gate—it leads to the Vallen Forest. I’ll give the rest of the game guidelines then.”
I glance at Basten, my heart thundering, but his eyes are fixed on Artain while his jaw clamps tightly.
“We’ll be there,” Basten says hollowly, the words falling like stones.
Artain’s smile never fades. “Excellent. I do so look forward to a good hunt. In any case, there’s no turning back now. The deal has been struck. It must be seen through. In a way, I suppose you could say that the game has already begun.”
A chill creeps up my spine. I can feel the threat laced in his words, the edge of danger.
Basten and I share one more look—and in the reflection of my sunken eyes in his, I know that neither of us will sleep a moment tonight, too.