Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
WINDSONG
T he castle crowned the city sprawling below Bastian’s bedroom balcony. Its streets and shops rose and twisted over stone bridges and canals, toward farms and fields, then into the dense forest beyond. Into the shadows. Into what had become a place of nightmares and superstitions.
He had joined Chogan and Borgen in the library after seeing Teakin off. His presence had been tolerated , at best. Whatever kinship his brother shared with these males, it was not extended to him.
Which was totally fine by Bastian. He preferred the bar set low. The more wary others were of him, the less he needed to worry about crushing their expectations.
Nevertheless, the king had requested his help, so they scanned the worn pages in silence, only talking when they had to.
After fruitless hours, Borgen called them over. He had come across a symbol closely matching the one they’d seen scratched on buildings and trees in the Arrows. Almost identical to the marks at the crime scene. It appeared to be a type of ambigram, a calligraphic glyph that could yield different meanings depending on the orientation of observation. Only, unlike other ambigrams, the ones they had discovered had been done using shapes not letters.
What the shape represented was still unknown, but the origins seemed to point clearly to one source: the rebels.
This revelation hadn’t sat well with Bastian. His fellow investigators had remained closed lipped through it all, but he got the sense they felt the same. It was too obvious, too damning. The correlation between the missing High-fae and the rebels was too apparent. Which led them to their next question. Who would benefit from pointing them in that direction?
They adjourned their search on that lingering concern. With the ball set to start in an hour, they would resume their hunt for information tomorrow, after the first games.
Bastian turned from the balcony and looked at the grandfather clock. He had thirty minutes still before he was to meet lady Kerrington in the ballroom. Per her instruction, delivered by note to his room.
Plenty of time.
He walked over to the letter on his nightstand and thumbed it open, smiling again at the elegantly scribed words. Don’t be late. I intend to win. That was all. No name addressing the letter to him. Nothing denoting the sender.
Bastian lifted the note, and before he could rationalize the action, brought it to his nose. Her light scent wrapped around his senses, calling to his baser instincts–enticing. And strangely familiar.
He placed the letter back on the stand and glanced again at the clock. Twenty-five minutes. Cutting it close, but still time to do what he needed.
He had agreed to abstain from using his magic outside of the games. Problem was, he’d never been great at abstinence. Or playing by the rules.
He had been testing his gifts since his arrival. In small ways. To see how they identified here. To discern what areas might be strengthened or diminished by this region of Ventus .
As expected, water was strong due to the ocean’s proximity, same as at the Temple. Bastian had toyed with the waves folding near the horizon line. Air, likewise, was easy to summon. He’d brushed it through the branches of the olive tree potted on his balcony. The flames in the fire, too, danced at his will.
But earth… earth was tricky. It was hard to test the element without detection. As solid and steady as it was, one wrong shift and a whole city could crumble.
So far, Bastian had only dared to move it by tiny degrees, as Dax had taught him years ago. An ant hill built taller. A root twisted from the right to the left.
But after his visit with the ‘eyewitness’ this morning–housed in a private room, one level below the castle, three levels up from the dungeon–and the discovery that Stefen’s correspondence to Teakin had been compromised… It was time to familiarize himself better with this castle. He was now certain whoever was responsible for the symbols, and the missing fae, had eyes in this court.
Bastian reached out with his magic, caressing the stone and mortar and wood, feeling for any abnormalities. Testing the structure ever so gently.
His connection to the earthen element pulsed. He followed its tactile directive thumping in his bones, pulling his body to the source of curiosity.
By his bed. The wall to the left of it.
Not the wall… The floor .
Bastian took each step with caution, steady, feeling the shape of the wood beneath his feet.
He felt it then. One section of planks were cut differently.
He paused and knelt. Sure enough, under the area rug, something was different here. Bastian stood and moved aside a dresser. Then he pulled back the woven carpet.
A trap door . Barely distinguishable from the other boards. A work of art really. So expertly crafted only someone with magic such as his would be able to detect it .
Bastian ran his fingers along the edges, pressing gently, until it gave slightly. A section of boards rose up from the rest. He lifted them and looked inside.
His vampire hearing detected footsteps down the hall.
He quietly replaced the wood, covered it, and tucked the carpet back under the dresser. Whoever approached would be none the wiser. A benefit of being what he was in a strange land. Even in a realm full of magic, his vampire senses were more heightened than the fae.
Bastian turned his attention to the hall, to the hushed, but clipped, conversation heading his way.
“I don’t care what he wants,” one voice said. The grating, exasperated tone was a clear mark of its owner, Venderson. “This tourney will proceed as planned.”
They drew nearer but conversation ceased, as if whoever was with Venderson suddenly recalled which guest was housed on this floor. “Should he not be made aware…” Venderson’s companion’s whisper was so low even Bastian couldn’t make out the rest.
Bastian listened until their steps rounded the corner. Interesting. He grabbed his jacket off the bed and headed for the door. Very interesting.
S age smiled as she was expected to do. As she was trained to do.
After the letter from Lark… Too much hung in the balance.
She inclined her head as the princess, draped in a crystal-encrusted robe, and Eirik LaGoryen walked up.
“I would wish you good luck, but you won’t need it,” the princess said. “You have the more refined partner.”
Sage grinned.
To his credit, LaGoryen pretended to take offense, which earned him a smile from his antagonist. The two were stupidly cute together. Sage wondered if either of them knew it. Wondered if the princess noticed how his gaze always found her when she entered a room–how those same eyes checked in on her regularly.
Likewise, she was curious if the brawny, redhead was aware the princess’s teasing was only ever bestowed on him. That her smiles shone the brightest when he was in her company.
“Where is my more refined brother?” Eirik asked, glancing around.
“I haven’t seen him this evening,” Sage said, smiling her thanks and taking a glass of champagne from Borgen when he walked up. “I do hope I won’t have to replace him last second.”
Fenrir sighed as he joined their small group, “I suppose I could take his place.”
“I believe the goal is to win.” Borgen smirked.
Fenrir narrowed his eyes, though the twitch of his lips belied the glare. Eirik slapped him on the back. “You’ll have to save those dance shoes for later, Fenrir. My brother just arrived.”
Sage looked up in time to see Bastian walk through the arching double doors. She wasn’t the only one. Half the ballroom swiveled their heads in his direction. As if the male had some magnet, in his very existence, that made others turn his way.
Eirik had the same ability, but his magnetism was born of light. He was a comforting presence of assured safety and glory–a savior to unite behind. The proverbial white knight.
His brother had the opposite effect. The room surveyed him as they would a panther just released from a cage. Elegant, beautiful, but so devastatingly dangerous–a cataclysm to survive.
He was walking toward them now, and it was like watching the wind cut through a mountain. The ballroom followed him, unable to look away.
Did it bother him? There was no doubt he felt each and every visual touch.
Sage suddenly was uneasy. She looked away, looping her arm over Fenrir’s. “Let’s test those dancing shoes, shall we?” She smiled up at him. “Before this tedious competition begins.”
Fenrir’s eyes lit up as he led her onto the dancefloor. The band struck up a foxtrot. Within seconds, Sage lost herself in the merriment of the song and her partner’s joyful interpretation of it.
Others joined them on the floor. Many crowded the edges to watch, their faces a blur as Fenrir swept her past them. She focused on his bright smile.
By the second spin around the grand ballroom, she had all but forgotten the panther prowling somewhere in the room.
B astian wasn’t sure why the sight of Lady Kerrington in Fenrir’s arms bothered him so much. But it did. More than he was comfortable admitting.
Her face lit up at something the Warborn warrior said, and laughter spilled from her throat as her head tilted back. The sparkle in her eyes. The way that honest joy made her partner beam. The way Fenrir seemed to hold her tighter, as if he held the universe in his arms.
Bastian’s mental assessment of the pair didn’t improve when a female to his left commented, “What a stunning couple.”
It took every bit of concentrated effort to maintain a pleasant expression as the princess said, “I didn’t realize Fenrir was such a good dancer.”
The attempted indifference was all for naught. Bastian’s expression curdled on his face when his brother nudged Borgen and murmured, “You may have some competition.”
Like hell he did!
The foxtrot drew to an end and Bastian stomped toward the dancefloor, right to where Fenrir and Lady Kerrington were making their way off. Right up to…
Some random court lady .
Bastian put out a hand, turning all his attention to the female before him. “Might I have the next dance?”
The High-fae blinked, her friends around her went utterly still. She smiled and replied, “Of course.”
Everyone’s eyes were on them as they took to the dancefloor. Everyone but Lady Kerrington. Bastian heard her distinct laugh again as she engaged another would-be dance partner. He didn’t dare look at who it might be. Instead, he tried to smile as the orchestra started a quickstep.
Three minutes later, he bowed to his partner and turned to escort her off the floor. He passed Lady Kerrington being led back onto it. She didn’t bother to look at him.
Bastian grabbed a new dance partner. Then another. Then another.
Again, and again, he passed Lady Kerrington coming and going from the dancefloor. Where the hell was the blasted queen?
He was just targeting a new lady, when the prince walked by with Lady Kerrington on his arm. Bastian remembered to incline his head, even as his teeth ground together so hard he feared a tooth might chip. The prince inclined his head–the customary exchange of royalty–in return.
Lady Kerrington smiled wryly over her shoulder at Bastian. “Do save some stamina for me, Your Highness.”
Bastian nearly tripped.
He started to remark, something–anything. But they were already setting up dance frame. Stamina? He’d show her stamina. Bastian whirled to find his next victim, only to come face to face with Eirik.
His brother stared at him for a long moment before a lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. “Holy shit.”
“Don’t even consider expanding on whatever ludicrous notion just formed in your head.” Bastian brushed past him, his brother’s laughter chasing him, as he bee-lined for a female in a green dress .
The orchestra quieted, the room with it, and the queen’s voice rang out. “Welcome!”
Bastian turned with the crowd to see Her Majesty standing on the raised dais, the king already looking bored to her right. Venderson stood a level down and off to the side, beside the same two royals Bastian had seen him with the night he arrived. A third male…
Someone with a massive, feathered headdress cut off his view. Bastian stepped to the side just as the stranger beside Venderson turned his head and looked straight at him. The eyewitness.
The male had been little more than a nervous wreck when they had interrogated him earlier. Barely able to offer them more than his own name. So unsettled by his experience the king had thought it best to keep him housed on the infirmary level of the castle.
What the hell was he doing here?
The male refocused his attention on the queen as she spoke. “Who is ready for a friendly dance competition?”
S age wasn’t sure she wanted to let go of the prince when he handed her off to the other male.
Not with the way LaGoryen continued surveying the dispersing crowd around them. Looking more interested in ripping out throats than dancing.
“Lady Kerrington,” Bastian said tightly. “I trust you’re warmed up.” His stormy expression didn’t improve as he looked over her head. “Practiced enough with others that you should be good to do this.”
Sage couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. The implication she might have been using her time unwisely. He was the one who had asked everyone in attendance to dance. Everyone but her, his partner for this blasted competition.
All eyes were on them. They stood in the middle of the room, Eirik and the princess just a few feet away, awaiting the queen’s discretion on which couple would dance first. Sage smiled pleasantly and spoke under her breath. “I could do this all night, Your Highness. You need not worry about my performance.”
He turned them to face the dais and spoke out the side of his mouth. “As long as you’re dancing is more disciplined than your punctuality.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Her smile was starting to hurt. “I was here before you.”
“You sent that note to me–only so that I might arrive early to watch you dance with every other male in attendance?”
The queen addressed the crowd, which pulled some of the spectators’ gazes blessedly off of them. “I have decided to let my daughter, and her dashing partner go first.” Applause went up. “A cha-cha-cha!”
Bastian, quick as an asp, pulled them off the floor. In almost perfect timing, the princess unveiled the dress she wore beneath the crystalline robe. The crowd gasped, the king paled, and the princess’s dance partner’s mouth fell open.
Sage had never liked the princess more. Not as she twirled in the barely-there, sparkly tangerine-colored dress, arms spread wide for the applause she deserved.
Whatever Sage had been about to say to the hot-headed male at her side fell away. The music started. Fast. Energetic. Highlighted by a flirtatious, staccato rhythm. The princess stalked to her partner. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Get him!”
She did.
Eirik LaGoryen barely had time to compose himself before they were engrossed in a sexy game of cat and mouse on the floor. The crowd hooted and hollered, loving every flick of a foot and swish of a hip. Their timing together was impeccable, the dance an extension of their personalities, and something else…something everyone should be envious of. A true connection.
Sage dared a glance at her upcoming dance partner. He was grinning, just a little pull on one side of his lips, hardly enough to be considered a grin at all. His own body betraying his best efforts to remain an ogre.
She found herself leaning in. “I think they are going to beat us.”
Those brilliant blue eyes slid to her, glimmering with amusement. “I think you’re right.”
B astian had been training, in strict accordance with his royal station, since he was old enough to walk and address his tutors by name. Everything from lacrosse to swordplay, politics to ballroom dancing. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t been instructed on.
Over the decades, he had put each of those lessons to use. Some more than others.
But this, gliding across the floor with Sage Kerrington in his arms, felt utterly foreign. Uncharted territory. He knew all the steps, could manipulate and execute them with ease, as naturally as calling on the elements.
That wasn’t the problem. The issue he was having was not with the dance itself. He could execute the waltz in his sleep, navigating even the most novice partner through it.
No, this strange feeling of being out of his depth was inflicted upon him entirely by the female in his arms.
No excited cheering had arisen for them as there had been for Eirik and the princess. Instead, the ballroom had gone as quiet as a tomb when they took their first steps.
That was the last mental note Bastian had made. On anything. Other than the dance.
As the strings of the waltz faded, a feeling of longing encroached. Similar to the sensation Bastian felt when reaching the end of a good book; like the world might not be the same when he turned the last page, read the last word .
Holding onto the dwindling melody, he utilized every second, capitalizing on what was left of the music. Slowing them in aching time to the final chords of the waltz, he shaped his partner to the visions in his head, painting the floor with the gentle lines of her body.
The sound of their footwork replaced the violins, and the gentle rustle of her skirts became the woodwinds, the beating of their hearts the subtle downbeat. Until there was nothing but she and he, extending the inevitable ending with their souls. Baring everything.
Bastian spun Sage then caught her around the waist, lowering her to the rhythm of silence.
Suspended in the dip, hair kissing the floor, she lifted one hand to his chest, to where his heart beat solidly beneath his tailored jacket. But she didn’t smile. She just stared deeply into his eyes, as if they held the answer to a question she hadn’t asked.
Those eyes…
Something exploded.
Bastian threw his body over Sage’s, drawing her head in tightly to his chest, cocooning her as best he could. Shards of metal rained down, biting into his muscle and flesh like daggers shot from above. The ballroom erupted in shouts and shrieks around them.
Not metal. Crystals. They covered the floor like fallen stars.
The chandelier.
Something must have…
A second cracking sound splintered through the ballroom. It was coming down. Directly on top of them. Bastian didn’t have time to summon his magic. Not without moving off Sage and exposing her.
Whatever thread held that chandelier gave a final snap. Bastian braced himself for the impact.
It never came.
Bastian dared to lift his head. Debris floated midair, hovering above the crowd, the faces of the spectator’s frozen in awe. They lined the ballroom, all staring with disbelief at its center. At where Bastian lay protectively over Sage .
Not at them. But…
Bastian twisted to see what the rest of the room was looking at. Above him, a foot off his back and held by invisible hands, was the chandelier.
His gaze traveled straight to the source of that hold. The magic wielder, who had broken the king’s orders not to use their power outside of the games, and thrown up that protective barrier of air. The person who had shielded Bastian.
His brother.
S age’s magic was a literal war drum inside her veins, pounding against the boundaries she had set, desperately seeking a way out. She could barely think over it, barely remember her purpose, her composure, as the giant chandelier lowered slowly to the ground on a magicked wind.
The room was speechless for only a second in the aftermath. Just one. Then the calm broke apart all over again.
Four of the king’s guards rushed Eirik. The princess jumped in front of him, teeth bared. The king was on his feet, at the edge of the dais, his main advisor already by his side. The Warborn exchanged glances.
Sage noted each and every detail. Including the vacant eyes and thin smile that slithered over the face of the fae who had been standing beside Venderson just seconds ago. She allowed a tendril of magic to creep out.
Not fae… Not any longer.
Bastian let go of her hand. The absence felt like a physical loss, as if he took with him her own hand. Then he was moving, faster than should be possible toward his brother.
Chogan stepped in front of him. To placate, or apprehend, Sage couldn’t tell. The Warborn warrior’s intentions were unreadable, his masking remarkable .
“It’s okay.” Eirik gently placed a hand upon the princess’s shoulder. She didn’t back down. “Everything will be fine,” he assured with a tenderness for the fierce little lioness in front of him that tore at Sage’s heart.
The princess wasn’t having it. Her blistering gaze shot to her father. “You will not dare punish him for saving his brother’s life.” The king only stared wordlessly at her. “That could have been me!” she yelled.
Zaire, Fenrir, and Borgen were somehow even closer to Eirik and the princess now. Eirik’s amber eyes found Bastian’s, something exchanging between them that had his twin standing down.
“I broke the rules,” Eirik said to the room. “I will take the lashes for it.”
Tears welled up in the princess’s eyes, but Eirik leaned down, whispered something in her ear. She wiped angrily at her cheek, but her chin lifted higher.
No one dared speak as Eirik made to step around the princess. As he did, Zaire was there, in Eirik’s place, ready to take on whatever role the princess needed of him; be it a sounding board or a punching bag. Sage felt certain he would do it. For his friend.
The prince stepped up beside her, but Sage didn’t take her eyes off Bastian as his brother was led from the room. Didn’t stop watching as his fingers flexed at his side when he said something to Chogan. Didn’t miss the almost undetectable nod the warrior returned.
“Are you hurt?” the prince asked.
Sage looked up at his handsome, concerned face. “Just a little shaken up.” She tried to make herself smile. “I should retire for the evening.”
“Of course!” He frowned, likely admonishing himself for not considering it. “Might I escort you back to your room?”
She wanted to scream no . She could damn well see herself to her own room. There was more at stake than her female sensibilities. She had nearly been smashed by a light fixture. She was also a hundred percent positive it hadn’t fallen on its own.
Someone had wanted it to come crashing down. During their dance. Or, gods forbid, the princess’s.
And a loyal male was about to be punished for saving their life. That was fucking unjust and malevolently cruel. All of which was overshadowed by the fact that a demon clearly was masquerading around court as a High-fae!
But she only sighed in agreement. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
S age only allowed herself a moment to sag against her bedroom door after she closed it to the prince. Long enough to replay the events that had just transpired in the ballroom. Most importantly, the discovery of the demon.
How had anyone not known? Did the creature have anything to do with the missing High-fae?
She shoved off the door and padded to the full-length mirror hung beside her armoire. The beautiful piece stretched from the floor to nearly the ceiling, hand-carved and gilded in gold. The perfect looking glass for admiring oneself.
But it wasn’t just a mirror.
Lifting her hand, she felt down one side until her fingers smoothed over the hidden button. With a press, the large mirror opened into the room, exposing the dark and chilly passageway behind it.
She plucked a candle off the bedside table, lit the stub, and ducked into the cobwebbed filled corridor, taking note that no spider’s handiwork had been disturbed. The dusty floor also remained track free. Other than her own set, which she had carefully marked.
Amazing. These interlocking passageways had gone undetected for so long. Had they been forgotten over the decades? Was Windsong just this conditioned to its life of security? So comfortably at peace its people forgot why these hallways were originally built.
Sage hurried down the secret corridor, toward the fork that would lead to a set of steps, then another hall, then another set of steps. She had explored them all her first week here. There were dozens of escape routes, but they all eventually led to one of three exits.
One led deep into the city’s underground sewage system. From there, you could truly get lost. The best place to emerge was directly behind the village tavern. If planned right, the cover of night would serve an advantage. Someone wishing to go unnoticed could blend seamlessly in with the other patrons.
Sage had stashed a pair of pants and a man’s shirt close to that exit behind a large rock. Just in case.
The tangy salt air filled her nostrils as she took the last set of stairs toward the second exit, careful now that moss had started to overtake the steps. A thrill went through her the closer she got to the sea.
She savored the feeling as the first wisp of wind toyed with her hair. Her magic sat up at the invitation and cocked its head. She’d kept it bottled up in that stuffy castle for too long. It was growing restless.
She let a kernel of it escape, reach out, play with the ocean spray, as the mouth of the cave opened to the beach. A gull called to her and she let her magic expand, fluttering out over the waves, the only current of air traveling away from shore.
The gull called no more, but a familiar form slipped over the rocks to the left. Swift and low, keeping to the shadows, blending with them, it leapt effortlessly down to the craggy facing and cut across the sand.
Sage fought against the urge to grin as the moonlight revealed the angelic face beneath the hood, the ruby-red ringlets curling the edges. “You drew the short straw, then?” she said.
Lark rolled her large brown eyes. “Wilkes cheated. ”
“He’s always cheats. That you keep falling for it is the real marvel.”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a pretty face.” Her friend smirked. “Now, what new juicy details do you have for me?”
It had been everyone’s hope Sage would learn something new inside the walls of Windsong castle. She had achieved her cousin’s goal of placing herself favorably before the royal family. Something she would relay to him whenever he bothered to check up on her next. If he stayed true to his nature, that would come when she was least expecting it.
However, she had discovered little to fulfill her own agenda. Specifically, who, or what, was behind the disappearing fae. Lark’s earlier letter had confirmed Hornhall was aware their own High-fae were vanishing.
Unlike Windsong, Hornhall’s methods of intelligence gathering were more straightforward. Shoot first, ask questions later. Those markings were too damning. No other reason was needed for the Queen Regent to order soldiers into the woods and villages, seeking out, imprisoning, and outright butchering anyone remotely considered a rebel or rebel ally.
“The Warborn have a new crime scene. As I am sure you’re already aware,” Sage said. Lark nodded. “Apparently, they have a witness. Though, I wasn’t able to find out who, or where they are keeping him.”
“The infirmary,” Lark confirmed.
Sage didn’t bother asking how Lark had obtained what she could not. Her longtime friend’s gift was shadows. She could fold into them, sculpt them to do her bidding.
“I don’t suppose you also got word that someone was going to try and kill either the princess, one of the twins, or me tonight. Via a crashing chandelier,” Sage said. Lark’s eyes widened. “A plan that could have only come together in the last twenty-four hours. After the queen announced her little dance competition and chose the participants. ”
Her friend waited. Sage continued. “Right afterward, I picked up on some otherworldly strangeness. A High-fae has been possessed. And no one seems the wiser.”
“What an interesting evening you’ve had,” Lark replied. “No one was hurt?”
“Bastian took hits to the back, but I’m sure his vampire blood healed those quickly.”
“ Bastian. ” Lark let the name roll off her tongue–like she could taste it. Sage wondered if she were, indeed, tasting it, as her eyes gleamed animal-bright in the moonlight. “You like this one.”
Sage arched a brow. “Really?”
“I did ask for juicy details.”
“You’re impossible.” But Sage knew even as she said it, she wouldn’t leave here without giving the redhead something. “He’s quite striking.” Lark tilted her head, unimpressed with her juicy gossiping skills. “Powerful.” Sage nodded.
“More powerful than his brother?”
“Different,” Sage answered honestly.
“How does your magic–”
A flicker from a torch on the castle walls caught their attention at the same time. They both fell back into the concealment of the cliff.
“I need to meet with Roland.” Sage fanned her fingers, stirring up waves with a whipping wind. “Tell Wilkes to arrange it at the tavern. Tomorrow at midnight.”
Lark opened her mouth, a protest ready on her lips. Sage cut her off with a hissed whisper. “Go!”
The fair-skinned beauty acquiesced, despite the narrowing of her eyes, and faded into the dark. Sage pinched her fingers, and a waterspout formed further out at sea. She heard the muted awe from the guards high above on patrol.
No shadows would be seen creeping over the rocky shoreline tonight.