Chapter 10 #2
He’d never visited Lord Kyrith’s home, but it surprised him that it contained little ornamentation, as if it had been carved from the rock just yesterday.
The condensation clinging to the walls proved otherwise, giving life to a layer of slick moss.
The air smelled damp and green as they traversed the darkness between one pool of torchlight and the next, climbing a wide, stone staircase to the second floor.
Even protected by the thick stone, Bastion could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs, as insistent as his pulse in his ears.
Finally, the guard opened an ornate wood door and ushered them into a sitting room, warm with firelight.
Three distinctly different faces turned as the door closed.
None of them was Lord Kyrith.
The nearest surprised Bastion–an Yvri man, seated on an antique settee, with skin the color of deep water.
His dark eyes alluded to a mind equally deep and thoughtful.
He took in Rowan peering around Bastion, then Ulla, his eyes lingering on her face and the cut that marred it.
Behind the settee, a tall, pale man turned from a table of spirits, his pudgy fingers gently pinching a comically small glass filled with an amber liquid.
He and the Yvri wore matching dressing gowns, the dark velvet drinking up the firelight.
The third person stood near the fireplace, her surcoat glittering with rain. She threw a multitude of black braids over her shoulder as she stepped around the seating area to face Bastion.
Even backlit by the fire, Nesrin’s warm, honey irises glittered in a mahogany face. But that was the only warm thing about her. She’d always been reserved, since the day they met, just before she joined the ranks of prospective knights. The first woman ever to do so in the kingdom of Etruria.
She looked at Bastion with such a critical eye that he had to remind himself they were friends–dare he even say, close friends.
Like Ulla, Nesrin had questions in her eyes. He knew she would ask them later, when they were alone. He set Ulla down and bowed, an automatic response to one of the royal family that he couldn’t smother if he tried.
“Where is your father?” Bastion asked her as he straightened. “I must speak with him immediately.”
“He’s not here,” the man behind the dragon-kin said. His voice carried the steady, melodic timbre of an educated noble with a penchant for poetry. He lifted his glass and took a dainty sip. “Lady Nesrin commands Moonwatch.”
“Bastion, this is my cousin, Lord Lawrence,” Nesrin said. “And…” She seemed to grope for the next words. “Minato.”
Bastion blinked, uncertain which piece of information he should address first. The absence of Lord Kyrith, the lack of resemblance, or the anomaly of an Yvri sitting with the family.
Lawrence picked for him.
“Third cousin, really,” he said, jiggling the now mostly empty glass between his fingers. “Twice removed, if you want to be specific. We have an uncanny likeness, don’t you think?”
The joke brought a smile to Minato’s lips, but Bastion only stared. With their stark difference in age and skin color, at best, he thought Lawrence could be an adopted uncle. Bastion didn’t have time for genealogy. He turned to Nesrin.
“Pirates are sweeping the coast,” he began.
“We’re aware. Father is dealing with them–”
“They’re coming here,” Bastion cut her off. “And they have a weapon.”
“Are you certain?” Lawrence asked, all trace of humor gone.
“Yes,” Bastion answered. “We saw it, and the boy’s father made sure we escaped to deliver this information.” Bastion looked at Ulla and Rowan. Nesrin’s face went ashen. She swallowed.
“Introductions are in order,” Minato said, standing.
The abruptness in subject change startled Bastion. The Yvri had a bearing and grace that reminded Bastion of Lyanthis, the head of the university. However, Minato appeared to lack the arrogance–and perhaps the temper–of the headmaster.
“This is Rowan,” Bastion began. “And U-”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Bastion blinked. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Only years amongst the court kept him from letting his mouth fall open. He stepped forwards to retort, but Ulla put a trembling hand on his forearm. The look on her face stopped him in his tracks.
She was livid.
Despite her fatigue, fury rolled off her, and Bastion winced. The intensity capsized him.
Minato swept his dressing gown aside and stepped past Bastion and Rowan. The boy scampered behind Bastion, using him as a shield.
Ulla mirrored Minato, as if they were about to duel. The dizzying flood of emotion made Bastion reach reflexively for a sword that wasn’t there. A large hand on his bicep pulled him back.
“Don’t interfere!” Lawrence hissed. He overshadowed Bastion, in height and mass, his grip deceptively strong. Nesrin stood just inside the circle of firelight, her visage bronzed by the flame as she watched with flinty disinterest.
For a long, long moment, Ulla and Minato didn’t move.
The fire crackled. Bastion’s clothes suddenly suffocated him as they clung to his skin, damp and heavy with sweat. His chest tightened. The open hostility on Ulla’s face reminded him that she didn’t need a weapon in a fight.
Then, as if some music only they heard flared to life, they both stepped forwards, perfectly synchronized until they were close enough to reach up with their right hands and clasp the other's neck. Their eyes closed and Ulla’s face softened as their foreheads touched.
Bastion’s heart twinged, like he’d been shot through the chest and the pain hadn’t made it to his brain yet. Every muscle in his body tensed at this blatant display of intimacy, while something inside him that had been hopeful cried out in anguish.
Minato turned his head, still pressed to Ulla’s, and opened his eyes a sliver to look at Bastion.
“Mmmmm,” he intoned. Then his gaze flicked to Lawrence and softened. Bastion recognized that look. He’d seen it pass between King Torvald and Queen Thyra, between tavern girls and farm boys–even noble ladies doting on their lap dogs. He’d seen it a thousand times and envied it.
But he’d never seen it between an Yvri and a human.
Ulla staggered back, and her shoulders sagged with the full weight of her exhaustion. Minato held out a hand to Lawrence, who flowed to him like the sea to the shore. They touched foreheads, hands clasped around the other’s neck.
Belatedly, Bastion realized that Ulla had probably just shared everything they’d seen with Minato, who now passed it on to Lawrence.
After a moment, they broke apart slowly, sighing deeply. Lawrence and Minato looked at Bastion, newfound interest sparkling in their countenances, before they turned to Nesrin. She stood with all the regality of her station, awaiting a verdict.
“Cousin,” Lawrence began, a faint tremor in his voice. “I do believe we will shortly be under siege.”