Chapter 14 #2
“And the pod that freed us on The Basilisk?” he asked. “They seemed to think they had some claim to her.”
When there was no response, Bastion glanced over his shoulder. Lawrence squinted at him, as if he couldn’t quite make out his shape.
“Would you let others make decisions for her?”
Bastion scoffed and returned to brushing Finn. “I’d like to see them try.”
“And you?”
“And me, what?” Bastion asked.
“Will you let others make decisions for you?”
Bastion stilled again. His hand tightened around the brush. The circumstances of his recent knighting notwithstanding, Bastion could answer honestly.
“No.”
He turned, more thoughts ready to spill from his lips, but stopped at the look on Lawrence’s face. He couldn’t quite interpret it, but the man was nodding. One corner of his mouth pulled into a smile.
“She’s chosen well,” Lawrence said. He pushed off the door, leaving Bastion to stare after him.
__________
As he finished grooming Finn and mucking out his stall, Bastion’s eyes kept wandering to the battlements, now cast in gold, looking for any sign of alarm from the guards. When he closed the stall door and turned, he found Rowan crouched behind a hay bale.
“The pigs are done,” the boy murmured. Bastion waited to see if he had more to say. Rowan didn’t continue, so Bastion nodded and glanced back to Finn.
“Behave,” he said. The Thatian looked at him with liquid eyes that were far from innocent. “Don’t play dumb with me. I have no qualms about selling you for acorns.”
Finn reached across the door and lifted his lip, his meaning crystal clear.
You can’t get rid of me.
Bastion ruffled his forelock. Then, he gestured to Rowan, and together, they strode into the courtyard. He glanced again at the battlements. Vigilance demanded he climb back up there and soothe the anxiety blistering beneath his skin, but his stomach was louder.
Rowan scampered ahead as they entered the keep.
He’d stop, glance over his shoulder, and wait for Bastion.
The boy darted between shadows with the silence and caution of a mouse.
The sight sent a pang through Bastion’s heart.
He wondered how long it would be before Rowan moved freely through the world.
The mouthwatering scent of roasted pork preceded them into the Great Hall.
Bastion scanned the room, hoping to find Ulla, but some inner compass told him she wasn’t there.
His eyes landed on Minato instead. The Yvri sat between two fiddlers, strumming a long, narrow harp in his lap.
The music rose above the murmur of voices filling the hall, the sound clear and pleasant. The relative calm surprised him.
Bastion inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He relaxed as he followed Rowan, who scurried through the townsfolk.
When Bastion broke through the crowd, he spotted Nesrin setting plates on the same small table from that morning. She bent towards Rowan for him to speak in her ear, but the boy only pointed. She turned and met Bastion’s eyes.
“You took your time,” Nesrin said. “Any slower and there might not have been any pig left for you.”
She sank into a vacant chair, motioning for them to join her. When they did, she pushed two plates towards them.
“How’s your Thatian?” she asked, picking up a slice of meat.
“Placated,” Bastion answered. He stuffed a pickle in his mouth and began to peel an egg. “What have you been up to this afternoon, Rowan?”
The boy looked up from his food, grease trickling down his chin. His eyes bounced between Nesrin and Bastion before he returned to eating.
A somber smile crossed Nesrin’s face. “We shelled walnuts for a while, and then, he helped Mistress Rose peel potatoes.”
“Ah, the days of a squire.” Bastion grinned. “It gets better, I promise.”
They ate for a moment, listening to the music. Then, Rowan said, “This music makes my head feel funny.”
Bastion blinked. Now that Rowan had pointed it out, he felt it, too, like a low hum tingling over his mind.
He looked towards the musicians. The fiddlers played on, their faces reflecting a euphoric devotion to their craft.
With his head bent and eyes closed, Minato plucked his harp with sharp claws.
A sheepish expression flashed across Nesrin’s face as Bastion turned to her.
“It’s my doing,” she admitted. “I asked Minato to soothe the townsfolk.”
Incredulous, Bastion asked, “Yvri can do that?”
“He can.”
Almost unconsciously, Bastion took a deep breath.
Now that it had been pointed out, he could feel the subtle Yvri magic enveloping him.
It held the nostalgia of late nights playing cards with Endre, and the relief of falling into bed after a hard day’s work.
He couldn’t decide if this was genius or irresponsible.
Then, something drew Bastion’s attention, making him completely forget Minato. Something he couldn’t describe–a featherlight caress on his mind–and he knew, without seeing her, that Ulla had entered the room.
Bastion turned, chest tight.
When she materialized from the throng, his breath caught. Without sunlight to illuminate her, she looked like a shard of night sky come to life.
Her eyes caught on him.
A wide, white grin full of fang split Ulla’s face. He hadn’t thought she could be any more beautiful, but with a smile, she was absolutely devastating. A wild, ridiculous desire flared to life inside him. He wanted nothing more than to make her smile like that again and again and again.
He rose and pulled out a chair. Maybe it was the music relaxing him, lowering his inhibitions, but he didn’t try to hide his awe, or the hunger he felt.
Mild embarrassment had accompanied him away from their conversation that morning, and he’d done everything to keep from dwelling on her.
Besides, daydreaming was a distraction that got soldiers killed.
The sight of her made him think she was worth the risk.
She held his gaze, a sparkle in her eyes as she sat in a hiss of satin. Captivated, Bastion sank down beside her.
He would have gawked at her all night if a heavy hand hadn’t landed on his shoulder. Trepidation flooded him, like a sudden downpour, breaking his enchantment. Bastion looked up at Nesrin. Outwardly, she was as calm and collected as ever. His eyes shifted to the jittery guard behind her.
“Come with me,” she said, her voice deadly quiet. With her eyes on Rowan, she turned to the guard. “Stay with him, please.”
Bastion’s stomach plummeted.
He knew that tone. That posture.
Ulla stood first, a sudden grimness to her countenance. Bastion followed, his mouth sour and his stomach knotted.
They followed Nesrin out of the Great Hall, away from its warmth and community, ascending stone steps that grew colder and colder. The slap of her heels had the same doomed echo as a cell door creaking closed. They emerged onto the battlements gilded in the last light of the day.
In the bay below, three ships were silhouetted against the amber sea.
Halfway down the ramparts, Captain Hywell peered through a spyglass, his mouth flattened in a severe line. Without saying a word, he handed Nesrin the spyglass. Whatever she saw made her jaw clench and her throat bob. She gave Bastion a searching look and offered him the spyglass, too.
He lifted it to his eye. It only took a moment for him to find the source of their disquiet.
A body. Hanging from the yard.
Ulla put a hand on his arm and stifled a gasp, as if she had looked through the spyglass herself.
“Who is it?” Nesrin asked, her voice tight.
Bastion choked out one word.
“Haddrick.”