Chapter 10
The sea spat them out like wine soured to vinegar.
Bastion and Ulla staggered away from the reach of the waves and collapsed, catching their breath while Rowan emptied his stomach of saltwater.
Bastion lay there and allowed himself a moment to just be. He stared at the sky, exhaustion leaving him easy prey to thoughts of regret over leaving Haddrick, followed by relief that he’d shepherded Ulla and Rowan out of danger.
But at what cost?
On the heels of that were the strange words he’d spoken while being tortured. They felt like they’d been pulled from a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and the thought disturbed him.
He let his head fall to one side to face Ulla.
She watched him through eyes drawn with fatigue.
His stomach bucked at the sight of the cut on her cheek, now dark and scabbed over.
Then it swooped as a flicker of suspicion flashed across her face.
He sucked in a slow, deep breath, willing his hands to stay where they were instead of running them through his wet hair.
They stayed like that, eyes locked, until Rowan’s teeth began to chatter.
At the sound, Bastion shot to his feet. They needed to get moving before Buck sent men after them. He wouldn’t waste their hard-won escape or Haddrick’s sacrifice.
Bastion turned his attention inland, to the camp Buck had left, abundant with food, supplies, and horses.
He didn’t relish the idea of another fight, especially since he’d had to drop the cutlass once they were in the water.
All they had were Taro’s and Haddrick’s daggers. It would have to be enough.
He helped Ulla to her feet, and her exhaustion seeped through his palm. Between healing him and the swim, he was surprised she could stand on her own. Bastion’s gut clenched with guilt. She’d exhausted herself to save him.
Stubbornly, Ulla drew Rowan to her side and walked without aid.
The camp nestled in the embrace of an old landslide. Huge chunks of rock had settled at the base of a sheer cliff, forever gazing up at where they’d come from.
Bastion led Ulla and Rowan away from the exposed sand and into the boulder field, where they could disappear if things went sideways. She continued to study Bastion as she held Rowan, a faint glow emanating from her palms. His teeth no longer chattered, but silent tears streamed down his face.
Avoiding Ulla’s eyes, Bastion took Taro’s long knife and made his way towards the camp. He moved slowly while the wind harried him, strategizing. They needed to get away from the coast before the squall hit, or the pirates would be the least of his problems.
He scrambled over the rough rock, getting only glimpses of the camp as he crested crags and dipped into crevices. Soon, soft whinnies reached him, but he didn’t hear anything else: no laughter, swearing, clanking pots, or music.
Hackles up, Bastion crept closer, wild possibilities spinning through his mind. Had Buck warned them? Did he keep messenger birds? Or were they communicating some other way?
Everything looked grey and featureless, cast in the shadow of the oncoming weather. Bastion adjusted his grip on the hilt of Taro’s blade. He wrinkled his nose, wishing for the comforting weight of his sword, but he’d succeeded with less.
Keeping his body low and flat, he wriggled his way to the top of the boulder nearest to the camp. A surge of wind plucked at him, but he hung on like a tick.
A whinny rang out. One he recognized.
Bastion lifted his head and scanned the scene. This didn’t make any sense.
Tents lay in shambles alongside a few bodies, still and bruised. Banners with the silver crescent of Moonwatch flopped in the wind, like snakes caught by the tail. Splintered boxes littered the sand, and the remains of a fire struggled in the growing gusts.
In the center of it all stood Finn.
Half a dozen other horses milled about, their ties broken. Finn’s ears pricked as Bastion slid off the boulder. The Thatian trotted forwards and pressed his face against Bastion’s chest. Bastion exhaled and felt his body sag in relief.
“What on earth have you been up to?” he asked, righting Finn’s reins.
Bastion checked the horse for injuries and found none. Finn bobbed his head indignantly, as if to say, you were a fool to think I’d left you.
“Perhaps you’re worth the trouble after all.” Bastion grinned. Finn lifted his upper lip and nosed him.
Once he made sure the camp was truly deserted, Bastion retrieved Ulla and Rowan. They walked in wide-eyed.
From beneath the debris, he found cloaks for all of them and cocooned Rowan in the driest one. Then, he left the boy in Ulla’s care while he caught and saddled a stray patrol horse.
Finn waited patiently with ears pricked for Bastion to check his gear. With some relief, Bastion noted that their bags were still secured behind the saddle.
There were things inside he didn’t want to lose.
He turned to Ulla. The wind tangled her black hair around her face and over the curve of her horns. She clutched Rowan, her shoulders and jaw tense. Slitted eyes raked over the horses. She looked so tired.
“Ulla,” Bastion said softly. Her sharp gaze caught on the movement of his mouth. “Finn can’t carry three. I’ll take Rowan.”
She clutched the boy tighter, lips curling to reveal fangs.
Then she dropped one hand, opening her palm for Bastion to see the healing light playing across the surface.
For a moment, he lost himself in the blue-white glow, remembering the euphoria that had followed the excruciating pain when she healed him.
His eyes drifted to Rowan. Even wrapped in the cloak, he trembled. His toes curled and uncurled in the dirt.
Bastion sighed. “Fine, but don’t exhaust yourself.”
He cupped his palms beside the patrol horse. Ulla patted Rowan’s chest, released him, and stepped into Bastion’s hands. He boosted her up. She closed her eyes and swallowed as she settled into the saddle.
Bastion fit her foot into the stirrups and looked up at her. “Ball of your foot on the stirrup, heels down, knees slightly straightened. That’s how you stay in the saddle.”
She nodded. Then he gathered up Rowan and lifted him in front of her.
“Hang onto his mane.” Bastion grabbed a fistful of hair just in front of the saddle. “I’ll have the reins. We’re going to ride hard and fast. Just focus on staying astride.” He patted Ulla’s thigh. “You can do this.”
She held his gaze a little too long, a myriad of thoughts dancing behind her eyes.
She could have gone with the other Yvri.
He wouldn’t blame her if she had considering all the trouble Bastion had brought on her.
The words of the Yvri male wormed their way to the forefront of his mind: You need us. You need me.
He took the patrol horse's reins and vaulted onto Finn’s back.
Bastion turned his head and asked, “Ready?” Ulla white-knuckled her mount’s mane, Rowan fitted securely between her arms, and nodded.
Finn only needed a kiss of Bastion’s heels, and they were off.
__________
It was almost midnight when they clattered up to the closed drawbridge with the storm at their backs and the taste of lightning in the air. Finn huffed and danced sideways before a gaping chasm that echoed with the hungry roar of the sea. Bastion straightened, his muscles aching and cold.
“Who goes there?” a voice called from above the struggling torchlight.
“Bastion of the Royal Guard,” he called back.
He would be known here, but he’d spent the ride thinking over his mistake with the guard at the garrison.
More than ever, seeing Lord Kyrith was critical, even if it meant he had to lie.
“Prince Endre sent me with an urgent and confidential message for Lord Kyrith!”
Lightning cut across the sky in a jagged arc. Silence followed.
Finn continued to huff, and the patrol horse shuddered as thunder boomed. Bastion tightened his hold on the reins, anxiety thrumming through his veins as they waited, and waited.
Then, a voice he recognized yelled down. “Bastion?”
“Nesrin!” Relief swelled within him. “Thank the goddesses!”
“Bellona’s tits!” she swore. “What are you doing here? Never mind–”
Nesrin barked a series of commands, and the drawbridge yawned open. The moment it touched the ground, Finn leapt forwards. His hooves beat an urgent staccato across the thick planks. The patrol horse lagged, pulling at Bastion’s still sore shoulders.
More lightning ignited the courtyard, white-hot and raw over the warm glow of torches. Ulla slid off her mount as soon as he stopped. She wobbled away to lean against a beam, her spine stiff and chest heaving. Bastion followed, handing the reins of both horses to a wide-eyed stable boy.
“Take extra care of them,” Bastion instructed.
Rowan slid into his embrace easily. Bastion set him on the ground. He expected the boy to collapse beneath the weight of his own cloak, but he stood steady, eyes larger than saucers as he looked around.
Satisfied, Bastion unhooked the saddlebags and threw them over his shoulder.
He took one look at Ulla struggling to stay vertical and decided to risk her claws.
Hiding his own stiffness, he strode over to her and scooped her into his arms. Another boom of thunder shook the sky, and rain began to fall.
At first, she went rigid as a board. Then, she threw her arms around his neck and melted into him. Bastion swallowed, hoping she couldn’t feel the way his heart was thumping or the desperate relief that they were here and she was safe.
He glanced at Rowan and said, “Stay close.” The boy nodded.
The guard who led them inside kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes hungry with questions. His mustache wiggled, and once or twice, he seemed about to give in to his curiosity. Bastion didn’t doubt that they were three of the most interesting people to walk through Moonwatch’s doors in a long time.