Chapter 11
Things moved quickly after that.
Minato escorted Ulla and Rowan to vacant rooms, while Bastion remained, fighting his own fatigue.
Nesrin took command like she’d been raised at the knee of a great strategist–which she had.
Lord Kyrith might have thrown himself into his work after his wife’s death, but he’d underestimated his daughters' desire for connection. Talia became a sort of stand-in princess, an easy task for a first cousin, while Endre’s sister was raised elsewhere.
She held court with the young nobility, always the center of attention and as sugary-sweet as her sister was sharp.
Nesrin, on the other hand, viewed her engagement to a soft, squishy young lord as a death sentence, and her knighthood as the key to escaping that fate.
Long before the marriage had been arranged, she’d been sneaking down to the stables to ride astride or pestering the guards to teach her swordplay.
And she was a great listener. Lord Kyrith might not have actively engaged with his daughters, but as long as Nesrin didn’t distract him or any of his commanders, he permitted her to sit in meetings. That alone was a valuable education.
It benefited her now as she summoned her commanding officers and gave them instructions.
“Send a raven to my father,” she said. “Inform him that we will soon be under siege.”
The officer’s eyes widened. He began to sputter, but she cut him off.
“Send another bird every four hours with the same message.” She turned to another officer. “Evacuate the village. Send men door-to-door, and wake everyone up. They must be brought into Moonwatch. When these pirates fall on us, they will find nothing and no one for the taking.”
Lawrence circled the room, eyes lit by firelight, with a tiny glass in his oversized hand. Fatherly pride sparkled behind the gaze he cast on Nesrin as she called for men to wake the staff and prepare the dining hall with blankets, food, and water for the evacuees.
When the last of the officers left, Nesrin sat. Only the fire crackling and the rain splattering the windows filled the heavy silence.
At last, Lawrence said, “You’ve done everything in your power. There will be time for strategy in the morning.”
“Is it enough?” she asked. The question came out without emotion, but Bastion knew she was worried. He was worried.
“It is enough until your father gets word,” Lawrence assured her.
“Moonwatch is strong and well-stocked. The only unknown is the weapon.” He turned to Bastion.
“It’s impressive that you escaped Cutthroat Buck.
At sea… in a squall…” Lawrence let the sentence hang with unspoken questions.
“Nesrin will want to know the details. The men, the ship, the weapon, the gold…”
He toggled his tiny, empty glass in his hand as he leaned against the mantle. Nesrin’s attention shifted to Bastion. “Tell me everything.”
A long moment passed as Bastion thought about where to begin, weighing what he was willing to say in front of this man he hardly knew. He swallowed and leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them.
“I failed my Trial.”
Nesrin’s expression cracked like ice on a window.
He nodded, as if the words weren’t enough. Shame welled up within him. Somehow, he’d managed to avoid looking it in the eye, but saying it aloud, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it.
“There must be a mistake,” Nesrin said. A tremor of fear found its way into her voice.
“It is not,” Bastion said. “I am the first prospective knight not to pass, die, or go mad, but to fail. I saw no god on the island and bear no Godmark.”
The blood drained from Nesrin’s face. Goosebumps raced up Bastion’s arms, and a cold, nauseous feeling that wasn’t his filled him.
It hit him suddenly that it belonged to Nesrin.
Until that moment, Bastion hadn’t considered what this would mean for her.
If he could fail, so could she, and she had so much more at stake.
If they had been alone, he might have told her about the imp and his constant heckling on the island.
He might have confided in her about how he first met Ulla in the cove.
He might have even fallen apart a little.
She understood what Endre couldn’t–that failure was unacceptable because it would cost everything.
But this was not the time nor the place. For all intents and purposes, this was a war meeting.
So, instead, he said, “I took a leave of absence to sort through everything. I didn’t have a particular destination in mind, so I ended up in a village that had been attacked by pirates. Ulla was there, healing the wounded. And I found something unusual.”
He rose and went to his saddle bags, lying in a heap behind one of the settees. He pawed through it and found his balled-up shirt.
“This was on a dead pirate,” he said. He took his seat and let the damp fabric drape over his hand. The pendant gleamed in the torchlight, the rubies sparkling like fresh blood against the worn and weathered fabric.
Nesrin leaned forwards to inspect it. “Is that Acari?”
Bastion nodded, gazing at the pendant. Something about it unnerved him, as if the center cutout were a watchful eye. Nesrin tracked his movement as he set it on the table between them and leaned back.
“Ulla read the dead man’s last thoughts, which convinced me I needed to come here.”
Lawrence’s gaze sharpened. “What did she learn?”
“Mostly regret,” Bastion said. “But also that the attack was a distraction. We parted ways then, but met again in Cypress Shoals. She’d run across the pirates at sea, and brought me valuable information that she’d overheard–” he paused, correcting himself “–she’d gathered.
It further confirmed that I needed to come here, but we were captured on our way.
When we escaped, we took Rowan with us.”
Nesrin nodded slowly, assessing the bones he’d given her. “She’s deaf?”
Bastion scoffed. “You picked up on that far more quickly than I did. She was signing right in front of me, and I still didn’t catch it.”
A flash of white teeth split her face in a knowing smile. “You were always an idiot when it came to pretty girls.”
Bastion sat back, a bit of humor softening his expression. He’d missed her directness. He could always count on her to be honest with him, even if it stung.
Nesrin’s smile faded, and she pointed at the pendant still in his hand.
“So, why is this significant?”
“I don’t know,” Bastion said. “But my horse killed a pirate wearing a similar one. I later saw Buck wearing it.”
“We’re going to circle back to the horse,” Nesrin groused. “But first, tell me about the weapon.”
Bastion’s eyes fell to a tray of food on the table between the settees. He vaguely recalled Nesrin ordering it, but he was so tired he didn’t remember seeing it come in. His stomach growled, and he realized how famished he was.
“It’s strange.” He reached for a hand pie with flaky golden crust.
“Strange how?” she pressed.
Bastion described the weapon, giving a rough estimate of its length and material and detailing the open-mouthed wolf head. Then, he shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”
Nesrin sat back and turned to her cousin. Still at the mantle, Lawrence stroked his chin with his knuckle, staring into the fire. He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.
“It reminds me of something, but I can’t quite catch the thought.” His voice hummed just above a whisper.
“Haddrick thought it was important,” Bastion said. Regret lanced through him like ice water to his lungs.
“Haddrick?” Nesrin asked.
“Rowan’s father,” Bastion clarified. “I believe Buck took him and Rowan captive and used the boy as leverage to force Haddrick to act as a healer. He’s the reason we escaped, the reason I’m even alive after what Buck did to me.”
A heavy silence settled over the room, like a new snow. It rattled his nerves and Bastion’s eyes darted between Nesrin and Lawrence.
“What did he do to you?” Lawrence asked.
Bastion’s eyes shuttered. He should have expected this question.
“He tortured me,” he rasped. Nesrin’s shoulders rose as she tensed. Her eyes ran over his limbs, assessing his well-being with new alarm, no doubt checking for missing appendages. “Haddrick and Rowan freed us and Ulla healed me.”
An expectant silence stretched between them, but he didn’t say more.
The details could wait until he’d put more time and distance between himself and The Basilisk.
Thinking of the ship sent a terrifying finger of ‘what if’ scraping down his back like a naked blade, but he’d take what they did to him a thousand times over if it kept Ulla safe.
“We need to question the boy.” Nesrin looked towards the door as if she meant to summon him now.
“Not tonight,” Lawrence said. “There’s time yet. If I’m not mistaken, your friend hasn’t slept in… how long?”
Bastion stared at him, the question taking time to register. Then he looked at the hand pie he still held, completely uneaten.
“I don’t know how long it’s been since I last slept. Or ate.”
He shoved the whole pastry into his mouth.
Even cold, it was wonderful. Tender, savory chicken with herbed butter and leeks sent a wave of comfort through him.
He reached for a silver pitcher and drank straight from it, relishing the taste of clean water washing away the salt in his mouth.
Neither Nesrin nor Lawrence stopped him.
When he’d drunk his fill, he stood, reaching for another hand pie.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Lawrence said. He set the tiny glass on the mantle and moved towards the door.
Bastion nodded and wrapped the pendant back up before stowing it in his saddlebags. Then, he rose and followed Lawrence into the dimly lit hall.
Neither of them spoke as they walked. Bastion finished his second pastry and turned all his remaining energy to staying upright until he could reach a relatively soft surface to collapse onto.
Minato met them as they turned a corner.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, affection lacing his words. Lawrence’s eyes lit up.
“Are the lady and the youngling settled?”
“Yes,” Minato said. “I suspect they will both sleep half the day away. Ulla performed some extreme healing magic. No wonder you carried her in.”
Despite his fatigue, Bastion caught the barb. They stared at each other for a moment before Minato broke the silence.
“Lawrence, you have that look in your eye like you want to go to the library. I can show Bastion to his room.”
A dimpled smile flashed across Lawrence’s face. “Thank you, darling.”
He strolled away, and Bastion had the sense of a trap closing. Minato gestured down the opposite hall with the practiced calm of a butcher.
They passed window after window, each one splattering with softening rain. Minato led him up a wide staircase lined with torches to a floor that felt more lived in–warmer, closer. They came to a stop beside a heavy walnut door.
Minato swung it open to a guest suite warmed by firelight. Bastion scanned the interior, vaguely registering the desk under the window, the heavy drapes and oversized rug, and the four-poster bed laden with plush blankets and furs.
He turned back to the Yvri. Minato stared at Bastion’s chest, his brow pinched in an almost imperceptible wrinkle, as if Bastion were an exotic specimen he’d never seen before.
He lifted his gaze and met Bastion’s with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, similar to a cat who’s been disturbed from sleep.
“What–” Bastion began.
Minato cut him off. “Ulla has a high regard for you.”
Bastion swallowed his question, taken aback. It surprised him that Minato would pass on a compliment when his entire demeanor suggested he would rather give Bastion a lashing.
“I feel the same about her,” he replied.
The Yvri nodded, as if he expected nothing less.
“You’ve been through quite a lot together,” Minato said. “I would hope… your regard extends to what’s best for her–not just yourself.”
Then, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Bastion mystified.