Chapter 12
Bastion fell into a deep, deep sleep, willing himself to sink to a place he rarely let himself go. He was safe enough that he could allow it–and he was so exhausted that not even Minato’s parting words could keep him up.
Somehow, a sound broke through, bringing him to the surface abruptly.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Its terse quality drew him slowly out of bed.
Thump! Thump Thump!
Bastion padded through his darkened room. Who could be disturbing him at such a late hour?
Thump! Thump! Th–
He opened the door and nearly got a fist in the face, coming fully awake as he dodged it.
Ulla stood there in a puddle of sunlight, dressed in a gown of azure satin.
It looked like one Nesrin had picked all the trim off of, leaving only clean lines and fitted sleeves.
Her hair had been washed, and the glossy sheen reminded him of fresh spilled ink.
Offset by the ornamentation of shells and pearls dotting its length, she looked like a faerie tale illustration.
Her attention ran the length of his body, first with the objectiveness of a healer, then with shock.
Belatedly, he remembered that he’d thrown all of his dirty clothing on the floor and fallen into bed wearing only his linen breeches. Barefoot and bare-chested, with his hair tousled, he must have been a sight.
Bastion couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a tinge of pink color her cheeks–the cut now healed–as her gaze lingered over the plane of his torso.
Then, her eyes snapped to his. She thrust a pile of folded clothes into his arms, pushed past him, and began signing furiously.
Ulla gestured at his chest, followed by a series of motions that he couldn’t interpret.
She swept her arm around the room in a wide arc, her face dark and serious.
When her hands fell to her sides, leaving only a stillness underscored by his erratic heart, Bastion realized he was staring.
Ulla rolled her eyes, went to the window, and ripped the curtains open in a flood of late morning sunshine. Then, she went to the fireplace and seized the poker.
While she stoked the coals and added logs to the fire, Bastion threw the new clothes on the rumpled bed and cast around for his bag. He found it kicked under a chair and rummaged through it until he came up with the book and a shard of charcoal.
Flames blazed to life, filling the room with warmth and the sharp scent of smoke. As Ulla turned, he offered the book and charcoal to her.
She snatched them out of his hand and turned to the last pages, glaring at him. It only took her a moment to scribble something before she flipped it around with a look that brooked no arguments.
What aren’t you telling me?
Bastion paled. He began to stutter, his eyes scanning the floor.
Ulla stepped closer and stabbed the book with her finger, her expression even more severe.
Shame might have been his constant companion since leaving the island, but in that moment, he knew that if he wasn’t honest with her, the shame of deceiving her would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“I’m supposed to be a knight.” The words felt dry as bone in his mouth. Her brow furrowed, like she didn’t understand. “I’m an orphan, and I’ve been training most of my life for my Trial of Knighthood. Succeeding would’ve meant I had the favor of a god and earned an honored title. But… I failed.”
Ulla turned the book around. Bastion expected another question, but instead, he read an explanation, agitation punctuating the lines.
I don’t care about that! I expected to come up here and find you dead!
Embarrassed, goosebumps raced over his exposed body while heat reddened his face. He hadn’t expected her to react to his greatest shame with complete disregard, and it… hurt.
Ulla paced the length of the room, the hem of her dress flaring. The ornaments in her hair chimed when she reached the wall and spun around.
When she met his eyes, he asked, “Why would you think I was dead?”
She opened the book. Her hand trembled as she wrote. Her eyes glistened, and her mouth tightened.
The way I healed you on the ship–it was a terrible risk, but Taro was going to kill you! There wasn’t time. I came to correct the damage before it was too late, but you appear to be fine!
“I am fine,” he clipped.
Ulla’s expression hardened. She might not have been able to hear the tone of his voice, but she read all she needed to in his demeanor.
All her raw emotion disappeared, leaving only determination.
I need to examine you. Her fingers twitched at her side, like she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. At any other time, the prospect of her touching him would have thrilled him. His skin blazed at the prospect.
“What? No!” Bastion exclaimed, backing away. “I just told you the worst thing about myself, and you brushed it aside like it was nothing!”
Ulla pursed her lips, took a deep, frustrated breath, and wrote more. Then, she pressed the book into his hands and went to the desk beneath the window.
It is nothing! Failure is inevitable. Try again or move on!
She returned, slamming a cushioned stool down in front of the fireplace.
Aghast, Bastion stared at her. Knowing that her regard for him seemed unaffected by whether or not he was a knight was equally elating and wounding.
“Ulla, I’ve been working towards my Trial my whole life.” He failed to keep a dejected note out of his voice.
She took the book, writing in it with an impatient sigh, then thrust it at him. Automatically, he accepted it, astounded that what felt like the end of the world to him could mean so little to her.
Why is this so important? Your Trial doesn’t change who you are! That you are a skilled warrior and a good person!
Bastion swallowed. How did he make her understand that those weren’t the things in question? That succeeding meant that when his lineage was discovered–
Ulla tapped the book, and he read the rest.
The longer you make me wait, the longer it takes me to see to the evacuees.
That got him moving, if reluctantly. He sank onto the stool.
She set the book on the mantle and let her hands drop onto his shoulders. Bastion sat up straighter, acutely aware of her touch as she ran featherlight fingers over his laterals and down his back.
She paused here and there, and her magic sank under his skin. It lacked the confident direction he remembered from The Basilisk, instead moving slowly between organs and muscles like water flowing across a dry riverbed.
Every time she lifted her palms and moved them, his skin sang. He felt far too hot for how little he was wearing.
To distract himself, Bastion closed his eyes and began mentally going through the most strenuous drill sequence he could think of. He silently counted beats and their corresponding movements, imagining he was doing it in the snow. At night.
One hand glided over his skin to rest on his shoulder, and Bastion’s eyes popped open. Ulla tapped her temple and shook her head. He understood immediately and swallowed. In trying to control one physical reaction, he’d created a different one entirely.
She leaned in, and he leaned back, looking anywhere but at the dipping collar of her gown. She pressed her other hand to his chest, right over his heart.
It skipped a beat, making Bastion flush.
He stole a glance at her. But her eyes were closed–not looking, but feeling.
He realized he was holding his breath and let it out, unable to control his pulse ricocheting beneath her touch.
She took a deep breath, and he matched her, their chests rising and falling in unison.
Coolness spread through his ribcage, like drinking ice water on a hot day. Another inhale, and it faded. Wonder filled her eyes as they opened and gazed down at him. Slowly, she took his face in her hands, her thumbs softly stroking his cheeks.
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.
He wanted to stay there and drown in the starry white freckles that framed her eyes.
He bathed in that feeling, letting it wash away his fears, like sand beneath a wave.
More than anything, he wanted to pull her closer, take her in his arms, and sigh into her neck.
Instead, he exhaled long and slow, and took a handful of her skirts in each hand.
For just a moment, the vise around his heart eased up.
Ulla lifted a hand to his forehead.
He flinched.
She stilled, palm lightly pressed to his skin, his hair fallen over her fingers. Bastion opened his eyes and met her gaze, terrified she would ask, realize, see what he didn’t want her to see. Doubt flickered in her expression, but something overshadowed it, assuaging the lurking fear.
Respect.
Then, her hands were gone. The absence of her touch made him release her skirts. She retrieved the book from the mantle, spread the pages, and pointed to her original question.
What aren’t you telling me?
The chill along his spine turned to ice in his chest. He clenched his fists and pressed them into his thighs. Ulla took up the charcoal slowly, suspiciously.
Bastion looked at the book, dreading questions he wasn’t ready to answer about secrets he wasn’t ready to share. Instead, relief and confusion wound through his veins.
Does your remarkable health have something to do with what you said on the ship?
“What I said on the ship?”
You told Buck that your death awaits you in another time and place.
He stared at her. “How…? Weren’t you pretending to be drugged?”
I heard your voice in my head!
“What?” He expelled the word, more than said it, gaping at her like a fool. She held his gaze, her eyes searching. He shook his head. “It had to be the situation. The heightened emotions and the threat to you…”
Overwrought, Bastion rose, running his hands through his hair. He paced the same path Ulla had earlier as he sucked in shaky, anxious breaths.
They thought you might be god-touched. Are you? It would explain why you aren’t dying and how I heard you.
Bastion scowled at the page. He met her eyes, his mouth a firm line.