40. Sabine
Chapter 40
Sabine
F reedom is a strange thing.
When I was in the convent, I used to climb the tallest yew tree to look over the stone walls at the distant mountains. The wind would blow through my hair, whooshing against my cheeks, calling to me with the promise of freedom. From those branches, I would watch the townspeople go about their day. The old shepherd herding his flock to the stream. Boys and girls dragging their feet to church. The butcher making his deliveries.
At any moment, any of them could have left.
They could have dropped their shepherd’s crooks and never come back.
Even gone to Salensa to see the ocean.
But no one ever did, even though I know the wind whispered to them, too. Their bodies weren’t locked behind stone walls, but their minds were. It’s simply human nature. We stay where we were born. We follow our parents’ footsteps. We do as the gods tell us .
But now, as I stand in my bedroom high in the Stormwatch Tower with the wind blowing through the open window, I whisper back to it:
I’ll go where I want this time.
“Are you ready?”
I turn toward Basten in the doorway. He has a knapsack slung over one shoulder, his bow and quivers around the other. He wears black travel clothes, but they’re much finer than the cotton ones he used to wear. These have black embroidery at the cuffs and collars and are tailored to fit his broad shoulders to perfection.
His hair is loose. Freshly washed. He’s actually shaved . To see him like this, I can’t help but think I’m looking at a true king.
I rest my arm on the windowsill so the forest mouse can scamper up my sleeve and settle under my collar. I’ve sewn loops for it to hold onto—it will be a long journey, after all.
Then, I take one last look at my bedroom.
The twisting, living vines no longer look strange to me. To be honest, I can’t imagine ever living in a place without nature bursting through the walls. Drahallen Hall is a place of contradictions: broken but beautiful, ancient but novel, haunting yet serene.
I place my hand in Basten’s. “Ready.”
We take our time descending the central stairs as I wonder when—if—I’ll ever see the intricate carvings again. My maids wait in a line at the bottom of the stairs to bow to me in turn. The last one drapes a fur stole over my shoulders.
“Autumn can bring a brutal frost to these woods, Majesty. Best you stay warm. ”
Plume floats up to nip at the stole, tail wagging. I pat the soft tufts of hair on her head with a smile. Don’t worry, little troublemaker. I’m taking you with me. A cloudfox sidekick can be immensely helpful in Old Coros.
She yips, floating in a pinwheel.
We head to the stable, where Myst is already saddled along with a chestnut horse named Ranger for Basten, their saddlebags stuffed to the brim with hard cheeses and rolls that the kitchen insisted on packing for our journey.
“Soon, pretty girl.” I rest my head on Myst’s forehead as she stamps her restless hooves. “Just a few more goodbyes.”
It takes ten soldiers to slide open the bolt on Tòrr’s palatial stall door. Guards armed with broadswords flank me on each side, but I roll my eyes and wave them away as I step into the cool darkness.
A single, round glass lantern hangs from a high hook like the moon—just as Tòrr likes it.
He snorts a burst of steam. You’re late. Thought you were not coming.
And miss your complaining? Never. I smile a little sadly as I tweak his bottom lip.
I’m going to miss the big lug, but at least I know he’s well cared for here. Since he arrived, he’s filled out to the size of a tank, his glossy black fur taking on a new, healthy sheen. Rian never understood how to properly take care of a monoceros, but here, at the seat of the fae court, he’s treated as a prince.
This isn’t goodbye forever. I press my forehead against his. We have an alliance with my father. Once Basten is on the Astagnonian throne, I’ll convince my father that we need you with us .
A nervous flutter kicks up in my stomach. For all my promises to Tòrr, if I’ve learned one thing here, it’s how fickle the fae are. Yes, we have an alliance…but for how long?
Tòrr blows a gentler snort that ruffles my hair. The least you could do is leave Myst with me.
I run my fingers through his long mane. You’ll have to woo a new girlfriend.
After a kiss on his nose, then a tour through the goldenclaw stable to play one final round of riddles—and a catch in my throat at Two’s empty stall—Basten and I head back inside Drahallen Hall to speak to my father.
The Hall of Vale looks strange in the light of day, with all the curtains wide open, the tables pushed back. I’ve never seen it so bright. Empty like this, it feels almost reverent.
Our footsteps echo as we approach the head table where my father sits with Iyre, Samaur, Woudix, and a wan-looking Artain.
My feet drift to a stop.
For the first time, I realize that there are ten seats along the length of the head table. With a jolt, I think : It was never meant as a dining table. It’s an altar for the full court.
Now, with only five of the ten places filled, it looks like a harmless enough scene, but it makes my stomach turn to think of how powerful the court will be if—when—all ten seats are taken.
I bow to my father, then squeeze Basten’s hand for him to do the same. Which he does—lukewarmly.
“We’re packed,” I say as I rise, my voice echoing tinnily in the large space. “If we leave now, Basten says we’ll reach the border by Wednesday at nightfall.”
All five fae wear their human glamour, yet there’s something so otherworldly about my father, even in that form, that my stomach tightens.
Painfully slowly, he pushes back his chair. The legs groan against the stone floor. In slow, measured steps, he walks around the table to stand before us.
Time ticks impossibly slowly as he stares.
I squeeze Basten’s hand so hard that I’m sure both our knuckles blanch.
“I wish you’d reconsider taking Captain Tatarin and her soldiers,” my father finally rasps. “For safety.”
My shoulders ease, and only then do I realize how tightly I was bracing them. I glance at Basten with a quick smile. “We can travel faster and more unnoticed if it’s just us.”
Basten nods but doesn’t match my smile. I can feel his pulse thrumming in his fingers with such impatience that I know he won’t smile again until we’re miles from these walls.
“I suppose the time has come, then.” To my surprise, my father extends his arms.
For a…hug?
I hate that my first instinct is doubt, but could anyone blame me?
I start to step forward, and Basten bristles, clenching his hand to hold me back.
“It’s okay, Basten,” I whisper.
His lips purse like he’s chewing something distasteful. He makes a show of resting his hand on the quiver strap across his chest. This time, when I tug my hand out of his, he reluctantly lets me go.
My footsteps echo hollowly as I cross the stone floor to my father, where after a pause, I wrap my arms around his broad chest. Truth be told, I meant for the hug to be perfunctory. When it comes to paternal hugs, I’m woefully lacking. Charlin Darrow used to pull my small limbs off his neck and curse me whenever I tried.
So, when Vale sincerely surrounds me with his thick arms, his beard tickling my cheek, I swallow down a lump of emotion. I didn’t know it could feel like this. Paternal. Protective. Vale isn’t human, so rationally, I know better than to believe that we’ll ever have a functional father-daughter relationship.
But this?
This makes me want to cry for all the years I went without it. For what could be .
“This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” He speaks softly. “You forced my hand.”
Peeking around Vale’s shoulder, my gaze lands heavily on Artain. He looks like he’s lost a good twenty pounds in the last week. His skin has a sickly pallor from the dungeon’s low light. Perhaps a few new wrinkles around his sneer. I don’t feel anything for him but resentment— he was the one who forced the Night Hunt, not me.
“I wish things had happened differently, too,” I confess, chewing on my bottom lip. “But I’m grateful to have you as my father. The next time we meet, I’d like to start afresh. No lies this time. As soon as we arrive safely in Old Coros, I’ll send a messenger crow to let you know. Basten and I will win over the Astagnonian people for you—and then, when you come, we’ll be a family.”
“Yes.” My father’s hands fall away, though the ghost of them holds on a little longer.
I take a step back, adjusting my cloak around my shoulders. I add, “In the meantime, take care of that grumpy fae horse. I wish there was someone who could play riddles with the goldenclaws?—”
When I look up from smoothing my cloak’s folds, there’s a knife in Vale’s hand.
And my heart stops.
I know that knife. It’s the Serpent Knife from the fae artifact room. The one used in the Sacrifice of the Golden Child. To turn the fae into gods.
Time suddenly seems to move strangely. Too fast. Too slow. I feel like I’m hovering above myself, watching the blood drain out of my face.
“Sabine!” Basten screams my name as his footsteps sprint across the floor.
Time slows.
Vale grabs my wrist with godly speed. I should tug away. I should at least try . But I can’t break free of the crushing realization of what’s about to happen.
I was right , I think dimly. When my father first showed me this knife, I felt a jolt of unease, of foreboding.
“The Tale of the Golden Child,” I murmur quietly, almost in a trance. “You brought me here to…to sacrifice me. Didn’t you? This whole time, this was the plan. To bleed me out on your altar.”
“Human sacrifice is required.” Vale’s rasping voice is sickeningly matter-of-fact. Remorseless. Utterly cold as ice.
My blood roars between my ears with enough force that it feels like my skull is on the verge of splitting open. I try to jerk my arm away, but he holds on tight.
He tilts his head. “A deathless death.”
“Sabine!” Basten yells again, sprinting, this time so close that his fingers almost brush my sleeve.
But he isn’t fast enough.
Not this time.
A second before he can pull me away, my father stabs the Serpent Knife into my heart.
It’s a violent, brutal move. My ribs crunch as the blade stabs all the way to the hilt, pain bursting across my chest in searing waves.
Vale lets go of the knife and takes a step back.
I stare at him in disbelief.
My hands paw uselessly at the knife hilt at my chest. I stagger backward a step. My knees buckle from the pain, and I fall?—
—fall—
—into Basten’s arms as he drops to one knee to sweep me up in his arms. Catching me, as he always catches me.
“Sabine!” He slowly lowers me to the floor and shakes me. “Sabine! No—for all that is holy, no !”
His eyes are so wide with horror that I can see the whites all around. A drip of sweat lands on my face—or maybe it’s his tears. His lips tremble as his head rocks back and forth, back and forth.
“B—Basten…” I stammer.
“No!” He hugs me, his lips caressing my temple, his fingers knitting in my hair. “Sabine, don’t leave me. Not again. It nearly killed me the first time. I won’t survive it again. You hear me?” He pulls back, his eyes dark with fear. “I love you. I loved you when I didn’t even know you. And now that you’re here, real and warm in my arms, I can’t let you go. Not now, not ever. Please, Sabine. I don’t know how to be without you, and I don’t want to learn. Don’t leave me.”
My vision goes hazy as darkness creeps over me.
“ Basten ,” I whisper .
I feel it again—my soul slipping free. Hovering above my physical body while it watches Basten sob against my cheek. He holds me so tightly his knuckles blanch. He begs in a shallow breath for me not to go.
The same moon, I try to tell him. We’ll always see the same moon.
But the darkness swallows me whole before I can.