Chapter Twenty-Nine
ChApter
Twenty-Nine
After Dante left the tent, Nadya and I excused ourselves and headed to our rooms, though Nadya didn’t quite make it halfway down our hall before being approached by someone who wanted her full attention.
I couldn’t be bothered to keep an eye on her, though.
I didn’t have as much wine as Dante did, but the alcohol did make me drowsy.
On the bright side, it helped me get a restful sleep, which I otherwise might not have gotten, since I was encumbered with worry.
A soft breeze stirs the silk canopy above my bed, carrying the faint scent of spices and lavender.
Morning light filters through the open window, golden and warm against my bare shoulders.
The luxurious bed in Bastos is far softer than the one at Ivystone—too soft, maybe.
I could stay here all day, wrapped in silk sheets and the caress of the breeze, if the world would allow it.
Well, perhaps not all day. The Bastosi heat is bound to come in not far behind the rising sun.
The door bursts open without a knock, causing me to spring into a sitting position, clutching the sheets to my chest.
“You’re still abed?” Nadya’s voice rings through the chamber, bright and full of energy.
I groan softly, sinking deeper beneath the covers again. “What time is it?”
“Late enough. And you’ll want to hear this,” she says, practically skipping across the room to throw the curtains aside.
I rub at my eyes and find her already rifling through my vanity for some rouge, her dark curls bouncing with every movement.
She’s dressed in a pale-turquoise gown—far more modest than what the Bastosi women wear, but the gauzy fabric still hugs her frame.
Her face is flushed, and her deep-brown eyes sparkle with excitement.
“What did you do?” I stretch, feeling the pull in my limbs. The aftereffects of using my magic have left me sore.
“I asked around,” she says, running a finger over one of her eyebrows. “And I found someone who knows where my great-aunt lives.”
That gets my attention. I sit up fully, pushing the sheets aside. “Here? In the capital?”
“Just outside it. A little village to the south.” She spins to face me, hands clasped in front of her. “And I want to go see her.”
I arch a brow, still too hazy with sleep to match her enthusiasm. “Doesn’t that sound… impulsive? What if she doesn’t want visitors?”
“Oh, come now, what elderly recluse wouldn’t want to see a charming, long-lost relative?” She plops onto the edge of my bed with a grin. “Besides, aren’t you desperate to escape all of this for a little while? I know I am.”
She’s not wrong. While I would like to seek out Dante and find out what kind of trial the queens put him through, I’m aware that it’s also likely he’s already locked in endless meetings with the Bastosi lords and ladies or discussing alliance terms with the queens.
All the while, I’m expected to sit in mourning, looking demure and tragic.
“I suppose I could use a change of scenery,” I admit, though my mind already ticks over the details.
“We’ll likely have to bring Sir Holden. I doubt the king would approve of us wandering off on our own. ”
Nadya waves a dismissive hand. “I can tolerate the walking slab of muscle if it means sating my curiosity.”
“And what, exactly, are you hoping to find?” I ask, watching her closely. There’s an edge of something deeper beneath her playfulness—curiosity, yes, but something else too.
“I don’t know,” she admits, her smile faltering for the briefest moment. “But I remember my mother’s stories. There was always something… odd about my great-aunt. And if there’s even the smallest thread to follow, I want to pull it.”
“‘Thread’? You mean about possibly being in the same bloodline as the Bastosi sorceresses?”
She lifts one shoulder, shooting me a shy smile. “Maybe.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the cool marble floor sending a shiver up my calves. “Fine. But you’re waking Sir Holden and taking the blame if he growls about it.”
“Deal.” Nadya bounces to her feet and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the wardrobe. “Now, come on. Let’s find Indira before you change your mind.”
I let her pull me to my feet, laughter bubbling in my chest despite myself. “I can dress myself. And you’re far too eager for a woman who snuck off with one of those Bastosi dancers last night.”
“You saw that?”
“You give me too little credit, my friend.”
“Much like the company I kept last night, I’m a woman of many talents,” she says breezily, throwing the door open. “And today, those talents involve dragging you on an adventure.”
Twenty minutes later, Indira’s sharp tugs at the laces of my gown speak louder than any complaint she might voice aloud. This mourning gown is thankfully thinner than the thick gown I wore in Podrosa, but I’m already starting to feel the sweating begin.
“I’m not sure what the sudden urgency is about,” she mutters, securing the last loop with a little more force than necessary. “Where, exactly, are you two off to in such a rush?”
Nadya leans against the vanity, plumping her curls with a palm. “Just a quick outing. A little air, a little exploration. Nothing too scandalous.”
Indira sniffs, smoothing down a crease on her apron.
“Well, I’ll alert the coach master, but I’m not responsible for chasing after your guard dog.
If you’re looking for Sir Holden, he isn’t at his post.” Without waiting for a reply, she spins on her heel and strides toward the door.
“And if you get yourselves into trouble, I won’t be the one dragging you out of it. ”
“I think that’s the closest thing to concern we’ll ever get from her,” Nadya says dryly as the door clicks shut behind her.
“She has a point,” I reply, already moving toward the corridor. “Where is Sir Holden?”
“He’s probably brooding in some shadowy corner, polishing his sword,” Nadya quips, falling in step beside me. “Or sharpening his scowl. That man needs to learn how to let loose once in a while.”
I think about the times Sir Holden has given me space or looked the other way when I needed him to, and I feel the need to defend him. “He’s not always so serious.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
We weave through the quiet palace halls, passing open archways that let in the warming Bastosi breeze. Most of the court is still abed, nursing their indulgences from the night before. When we reach the west wing, I pause outside the door we’re told is his and give a sharp knock.
Nothing.
I exchange a glance with Nadya, then knock again, louder this time.
The door creaks open, and Sir Holden fills the frame, his bare chest catching the early sunlight. His hair, usually perfectly combed, is rumpled, and a faint flush warms his chiseled features. For once, the man looks less like a sentinel forged from stone and more like, well, a man.
I can’t help but smirk. Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of tousled sheets and the very same Bastosi lord who had been speaking far too closely to him at last night’s feast is now stretched languidly across the bed.
“I—” Nadya’s jaw hangs open, but I cut her a knowing glance, willing her to hold back the quip already forming on her tongue.
Sir Holden, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. Instead, he squares his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest. His expression is as impassive as ever, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—an unspoken request for discretion.
Tit for tat, I guess.
“Sir Holden, we would like to go out,” Nadya announces, her voice dripping with false innocence. “And we need you to join us. After all, we wouldn’t want to be unprotected while we explore this strange and mysterious realm.”
His lips press into a thin line. “Is this an official errand?”
“Of course,” I say. “Call it a… familial obligation.”
He exhales quietly, the faintest hint of a sigh. Then, casting a glance over his shoulder at the half-draped man still lounging in his bed, he mutters, “Give me half an hour.”
The door clicks shut.
I blink, struggling to contain the grin tugging at my mouth. Beside me, Nadya raises her brows and lets out a low whistle.
“Well,” she says, laughter bright in her voice. “I take it back, Celeste. Guess he knows how to let loose, after all.”
I shake my head, letting out a laugh as we head back down the corridor. “There’s hope for him yet.”
“And a very satisfied Bastosi in his bed,” Nadya murmurs, sending us both into a fit of laughter as we traipse toward the main wing of the palace.
The morning air is thick with the familiar scent of jasmine and warm, spiced incense curling through the archways.
Shimmering sunlight filters through the sheer, silken drapes, casting golden patterns on the polished marble floors.
The palace hums with a lazy, decadent energy—servants in gossamer fabrics drift by, carrying trays of citrus fruits and honeyed pastries.
Everything here is designed for pleasure, from the velvet-cushioned benches to the sweeping murals depicting Bastosi gods tangled in their endless indulgences.
Near the entrance, the coach master, a wiry man with sun-bronzed skin, bows low when he sees us. “Your carriage will be ready shortly, Your Highness,” he says, his voice as smooth as the wine they serve here.
I nod in acknowledgment, and I allow my mind to wander to where Dante might be.
Is he still sleeping? Is he even still alive?
Yes, of course, he must be. I would have heard something if whatever challenge they’d put him through had proven fatal.
Did the queens make him do something sordid as his part of his test?
Gods, I hope not.
A throat clears behind me, and I whirl around just in time to see Sir Holden descending the grand staircase.