Chapter 5
“Did they see you?” Bastion asked, touching the back of Ulla’s hand. A smooth, beaded texture met his fingertips, still damp with saltwater. “When you were at sea?”
The worry on her face tugged at his heart, and an irrational desire to sweep her into his arms briefly engulfed him. A fine wrinkle formed between her brows, and she shook her head. He sighed, his tired muscles relaxing.
“Then we have nothing to worry about.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Just act like you’re supposed to be here. You’re not the only Yvri.”
Ulla stiffened. A stubbornness crept into the set of her jaw, as if she were readying herself for battle, but she nodded.
Bart signed to her, keeping his gestures tight and small, so the wall of patrons along the bar screened them from the rest of the room. Then, probably for Bastion’s benefit, he said, “Let’s get you into some dry clothes.”
Bart opened one arm in welcome as he came around the bar. The fatherly expression on his face wasn’t lost on Bastion. The innkeeper cast a dark look over his shoulder at the pirates filtering through the room before he guided Ulla through a doorway.
Bastion reclaimed his seat and flagged down Triss. He ordered another apple tart, keeping watch peripherally.
Each of the six pirates had tan, weathered skin.
Over sun-bleached clothes, they wore jackets dusted with salt spray, along with knitted gloves and hats.
Two shouldered their way to the counter to order drinks.
Two others shed their outer layers and commandeered a table with a view of the dance floor.
The last two struck up conversation with nearby patrons.
The locals regarded them with casual suspicion.
In a coastal town like this, Bastion suspected they had their fair share of travelers, seafarers, and more buttoned-up types like Lord Kyrith’s naval officers and crew.
The size of this group made them more innocuous, but Bastion was willing to bet the townsfolk recognized them for what they were, if only subconsciously.
He took one bite of his tart, chewing it slowly. The sugar dissolved on his tongue, but he was too busy scanning the room to really notice the rich combination of caramel and apples. When Triss returned with a pitcher, he covered his pint, shaking his head.
The man to his right got up, heading for the dance floor. A moment later, Ulla dropped into the vacant seat, and Bastion nearly choked. She wore a skirt and blouse with floral embroidery at the hem and neckline. The clothes didn’t suit her.
She met his eye, a hint of embarrassment flickering there, as if she felt as out of her element as she appeared.
Before he thought better of it, he leaned in and said, “You look lovely.”
An unconvincing smile jerked across her lips. Bart arrived with a bowl of stew. The guise of kindly innkeeper had faded, replaced with a sharp watchfulness that made even Bastion wonder if he was misbehaving.
The other Yvri kept glancing curiously in Ulla’s direction, but she ignored them, staunchly keeping her back to the rest of the room. The music changed, and almost immediately, a man sidled up to Ulla. She stiffened and leaned away.
One of the pirates.
“How ‘bout a dance, darlin’?” he asked.
His shoulders shook with a salacious chuckle, clearly misinterpreting why her eyes had fallen on his mouth. Disgust rippled through Bastion. Before he could intervene, Ulla draped her wrist over Bastion’s shoulder.
For a heartbeat, all the air sucked from his lungs.
Then, automatically, as if it had always belonged there, his arm snaked around her waist. He pulled her flush, stool and all.
Ulla’s rigidity melted as she folded against him.
The inside of her elbow brushed against the back of his hand, her skin smooth and cool.
All Bastion’s mental focus dropped to that single point of contact, threatening to frazzle his thoughts.
Somehow, he managed to growl three words.
“She’s with me.”
The man’s lip curled.
Silently, Bastion dared him to challenge the proclamation.
He knew getting into a fight with one of the pirates would draw unwanted attention, but he craved an outlet.
He could do it without even unsheathing his sword.
Perhaps, if he bloodied his fists on this man’s face, he would find some relief from the coiled frustration threatening to burst from within.
Here, at least, his bruised knuckles would be physical proof that he had done something right.
The pirate's eyes dropped to Bastion’s sword, lingering on the pommel. Whether it was the heat in Bastion’s words or the blade at his side, the pirate yielded.
“My mistake, mate,” he said.
He slunk away, joining his fellows down the bar as they passed out a round of drinks. Bastion glared daggers at his back. Only when he was sure they’d be left in peace did he relax his arm and reluctantly let Ulla slide out of his space.
“Ye’d cement the ruse if ye actually danced with her,” Bart rumbled across the counter, his attention fixed on the pint he was polishing.
Bastion’s heart leapt, burning at the idea. He glanced at Ulla to gauge her reaction. But then, all his bravado evaporated as a new thought swamped his mind.
How would they dance if she couldn’t hear the music?
Ulla met his eyes, the earlier unease long gone.
Her expression turned stony, as if sensing his train of thought.
The hint of an old wound burned behind her eyes, scarred but still tender.
One that he understood instantly, because it mirrored his own.
And yet, he’d never dared give it words, let alone lay it before someone to perceive.
Slowly, as if she were challenging him, Ulla reached over and picked up his half-eaten tart.
She took her time, holding his gaze as she ate it.
Bastion couldn’t help but look at her lips, coated in sugar, then at her throat moving as she swallowed.
She ate it in a calculated, measured way, staring him down.
In a room full of people, he had nowhere to hide.
A question hung heavy in the air between them.
Would he reduce her to her deafness or let her define herself?
More profoundly, what kind of man was he? The kind who rescued anyone and everyone, regardless of whether they needed or wanted it? Or the kind who met others equally and found solutions together?
Behind him, the music slowed. Bastion held out his hand.
He caught a flash of fang as she smiled and placed a cool palm in his.
The touch sent a tingle down his arm, soothing some turbulent thing deep inside him.
He should have feared that touch, open gateway that it was.
If she chose to cross that threshold, she would have easy access to all his thoughts, gallant and unchivalrous alike.
Instead, it felt like he was taking his first breath after a lifetime of drowning.
Bastion swallowed a sharp inhale and led her out onto the dance floor.
Other dancers made space for them, like foam swirling on the waves.
Bastion lifted her hand, their palms no longer kissing, but fully embracing.
He took her shoulder blade with his other hand and pulled her closer.
Not once in the many years he’d been dancing and flirting with the fairer sex had he ever felt so nervous to accept a woman’s invitation into their space.
Ulla watched him, her vertical pupils sharp and attentive as he listened to the music, trying not to get lost in the starry white freckles scattered over her cheeks.
A brief moment of trepidation stalled him, but then he moved, and she came with him.
She pressed her back into his palm, establishing a firm connection as he led her through a series of steps, testing the scope of her knowledge.
Several tentative steps later, any lingering concern disappeared.
Ulla was an enthusiastic and accomplished dancer, but she relied on him entirely for when and where to move.
Leading her felt easier and more natural than with other ladies.
There was no anticipation, no agenda–only this heartbeat and the next, both of them completely present as they synchronized.
Comfortable now, Bastion looked around. Bart watched from behind the bar with stoic approval, arms folded across his broad chest. Amid a tangle of pirates surrounded by tipsy merrymakers, Triss leaned in to replace empty tankards with full ones, flirting shamelessly.
Other dancers paid them hardly any mind as they swirled by in fits of laughter and the flash of bloomers.
But the Yvri watched with narrow gazes. The male, in particular, looked displeased. His lip curled. Beside him, contempt bled onto the faces of the others.
Long-buried rejection resurfaced, and Bastion folded inward. Cowardice wasn’t in his nature, but old hurts seared with their judgment.
A cool palm gently turned his face, disrupting the spiral of his thoughts.
He found himself lost in the depths of Ulla’s sea-green eyes, and she shook her head ever so slightly.
Whether she meant to share it or not, her palm against his cheek passed a sense of mutual loneliness, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Bastion felt understood.
No one–not his peers, not his mentors, not Endre–knew how adrift he always felt.
Somehow, Ulla did.
He nodded, stood a little taller, and pulled her a little closer. They finished their dance, eyes locked. Then Bastion looped her arm in his and led her off the dance floor.
At the bar, the pirates passed out another round. Two of them whispered, eyeing Ulla with interest. Their attention alarmed Bastion.
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” he whispered. Ulla shook her head. “You can stay with me. If you want.”
She considered him, raising one eyebrow.
“We’re probably safer together,” he said quickly, glancing back at the pirates. “That’s the only reason for this invitation–knight’s honor.”
She threw a haughty glance over her shoulder at the Yvri, still staring. Then, she gave him a sly smile and nodded.
__________
Intermittent drunken laughter persisted in the halls for hours after they left the common room, embroiling Bastion’s hyper-vigilance.
He’d insisted Ulla take the bed, finding an extra quilt folded in the trunk in the corner and positioning himself between her and the door. Somehow, despite the hard floor and unfamiliar space, he’d fallen into a restless sleep.
But just now, a giggle woke him.
He stared at the ceiling as he grasped his sword, straining his ears. Too many nights on the island, he’d woken to that sound. Bastion listened, unsettled by this second indicator that the wretch had followed him from that damned place.
When he finally glanced up at the bed, Ulla watched him with luminous eyes. Her hand rested on a bone knife beside the pillow, relaxed but ready. How long had she been awake?
A faint knock sent Bastion to his feet, white-knuckling his sword.
Ulla rose, too, but he stopped her with a gentle downward motion of his hand.
Then, he lifted a finger to his lips before creeping towards the door.
She shoved the blankets away, swung her feet to the floor, and shifted her grip on her knife.
His hand paused over the bolt at the rap of another soft, intentional knock.
Bastion pressed the ball of one foot against the door as he slid the bolt open as quietly as possible. He peered through the crack, then withdrew to open it fully and usher Bart inside.
Ulla left the bed, her eyes wide in the light of a fire that was little more than dying embers.
“Those pirates are up to somethin’!” Bart whispered, voice laced with urgency. “They’ve gone to the garrison.”
“How do you know?” Bastion asked.
“Triss,” Bart said. “She took up with one of ‘em. Heard ‘em talking about their plan ‘afore they snuck out.”
A cold realization raced down Bastion’s arms and legs. “They’re a scouting party.”
“What fer?” Bart asked.
Bastion bit his lip. He didn’t know Bart well enough to be certain he wouldn’t dissolve into hysterics and raise the alarm, endangering the entire town by sending them into a panic. But Bastion had a new mission now, and someone here should know what he knew.
“The garrison is empty,” he said.
Bart’s jaw dropped.
“That can’t be,” he whispered. “There’s always soldiers in an’ out o’ the tavern.”
“In the last few days, how many have you seen?”
The innkeeper thought back, answering slowly. “Hardly any. Just a few ol’ timers.”
Bastion nodded, then gestured at Ulla.
“The soldiers are handling the surrounding disturbances. What better way to draw Lord Kyrith’s attention away from his keep than to attack a major coastal hub under his protection–one they know is vulnerable?”
Bart’s face turned ghostly white in the dim light.
“I need to leave,” Bastion began to gather his things. “Someone needs to warn Lord Kyrith.”
“What about the pirates–”
“If they’re already on their way to the garrison, they’ll have control of it by the time we get there. I might be able to take them in the open, but once they're ensconced…”
Ulla signed, her face reflecting the urgency of her motions.
Bart watched her, his face still pale and drawn, but he nodded. Then he turned to Bastion.
“I’ll get as many people out as I can. At least two merchant captains took rooms tonight. Their crews can help.”
“Don’t bother,” Bastion said as he swung his cloak onto his shoulders. “Their crews are drugged and their ships sabotaged.”
“How do ye know!?” Bart croaked.
“Because that’s what I’d do,” Bastion answered grimly.
He shouldered his pack, thinking back to all the military and naval councils he’d sat in on with Endre.
He’d been acting as the prince’s bodyguard for almost two years now, and that came with certain privileges he’d always considered more as annoying obligations.
Now, he was grateful for the knowledge and strategy he’d gleaned.
Ulla stopped him before he reached the door, scowling. She curled the fingers of both hands, then pressed them together, moving them in a circle.
“She’s going with ye,” Bart translated. Relief and concern warred in Bastion’s mind.
He doubted he’d be so lucky as to cross paths with Ulla a fourth time, but taking her into certain danger seemed profoundly selfish–and stupid.
Ulla continued to sign, and Bart relayed what Bastion already knew.
“And if ye’ try to leave her ‘ahind, she says she’ll follow ye’ anyway. ”
Bastion met Ulla’s eyes, and a ripple of goosebumps raced down his back. So much determination, so much fire, looked back at him that his heart swelled.
Part of him wanted to say no, insist she stay somewhere safe, but he knew too well how important it had been to make his own choices, carve his own way. She would resent him if he took that away from her.
He nodded to her and looked at Bart. “I’ll be needing that horse now.”