Chapter 21
“Bastion, are you listening?”
“Hmm?”
Bastion was, in fact, not listening. He hadn’t been listening to anyone or anything since seeing Taro among the nobility and being clothes-lined with the news that Lyanthis was Ulla’s father.
It was a miracle he remembered anything up until now, when he and Endre escaped to a secluded balcony.
Laughter echoed through the room below, barely dampened by the ancient tapestries and sheer drapes that hung between the arched supports.
Servants were busy clearing tables, dishes and cutlery rattling as they made room for dancing.
Others brought in rolling carts of desserts.
It had been a month or more since Bastion left for his Trial of Knighthood, and he’d forgotten just how noisy the palace could be.
Near the high table, Nesrin sat across from Ulla, who was doing nothing to disguise the disgust on her face as Taro and Lyanthis, positioned to either side of her, talked over her. The two males pointedly ignored Minato and Lawrence, who completed their table.
Bastion clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. He’d been fighting a sneer all night, but it felt permanently pressed into his face.
“Bastion,” Endre said again.
He finally dragged his attention back to the prince. “What?”
“My father has granted your request for a private audience. First thing tomorrow.”
It took a moment for the words to register because half of Bastion’s heart and mind were still a stone’s throw away, boiling with contempt.
Internally, he wept every time he felt a little flash of anger pulse through the bond. He and Ulla were still connected, but it was thinner, frayed, like weak winter sunlight through a heavy curtain.
“Thank you,” he said. It seemed to be the appropriate response because Endre beamed.
“He’s eager to hear what happened. We all are.”
From the way Endre tilted his head, Bastion knew he wanted to talk about it now.
“The full story will have to wait until tomorrow.” Bastion turned his gaze back to the room. “There are details I don’t want getting out.”
Endre leaned away from the pillar he’d anchored himself to and smacked Bastion playfully. “Will you at least tell me about the Thatian?”
Bastion shook his head and shrugged. “What’s to tell? We needed a horse, and he was the only one in the stable.”
“Yes, about that we,” Endre said with a barely suppressed smile. A flush crept up over Bastion’s collar. “She’s very beautiful.”
Bastion closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.
When he opened them, they landed on Ulla immediately.
That inner compass always pointed right at her.
How did he tell Endre that it wasn’t her appearance that drew him to her?
That it was her ferocity and tenderness, her determination and bravery–the fact that she didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought?
She was as lovely now, boiling like a tempest on the horizon, as she was the day she appeared in front of him, naked and wild. But it wasn’t what made her beautiful.
“You couldn’t have picked a worse adversary than Lyanthis, though,” Endre said. “You aren’t really considering courting her? Are you?”
Below, the musicians shifted into a more lively set, and a synchronized tide of dancers twirled across the floor.
Bastion shrugged, not really seeing them.
He wished he were back at The Serpent’s Rest, where the only people he knew were Ulla and Bart, and the worst he had to deal with was a rowdy pirate.
“I was, and then I wasn’t,” he said.
“What changed?”
“When we were at Moonwatch–”
His heart rabbited in his chest, and he knew where this conversation would lead–to a topic he’d hoped to avoid a little longer. But it might be some time before he and Endre had another chance to speak privately.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” He tightened his arms across his chest. “Before anyone else has the chance to bungle it worse than I’m about to.”
Endre straightened. Not in the way he did when he put on the mask and authority of the prince, but in the way that showed he knew they were done playing.
Before he lost his nerve, Bastion blurted, “I’m part Yvri.”
Endre blinked, raised an eyebrow, and said, “So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so?’”
“Shouldn’t that be an improvement on Lyanthis’s opinion if you want to court his daughter?”
Bastion was sure his jaw was on the floor.
“Endre, we’re not talking about Ulla right now.” A bitter smile pulled at his lips, the words hoarse. “I’ve been hiding my lineage since the day I set foot in the palace!”
“Oh,” the prince said. His expression turned quizzical. “So?”
Bastion slapped a hand over his face, massaging his temples as he shook his head. Then, he dragged his fingers through his hair, across the ridges there.
“This is going to impact the decision over my knighthood,” Bastion explained. “If not sink it completely!”
Endre stepped forwards, wearing the same genial smile he always had when they were getting up to no good, and threw an arm around Bastion’s neck.
“You, Sir, are worked up over nothing.” He steered Bastion away from the balcony.
“And you, Sire, are forgetting there is no precedent.” Bastion tried to disentangle himself, but Endre tightened his arm until Bastion was pinned in a headlock.
“Well, there should be!” Endre laughed. They grappled, falling into old wrestling moves that hadn’t been exercised in some time, each failing to get the upper hand when the other knew every move in their arsenal.
“There should be Yvri and Varo and Acari knights among our ranks! And women, if they so choose! If I have anything to do with it, there will be!”
Bastion freed himself, hair disheveled over his eyes. He swept it away as he sucked in a deep breath. The Acari pendant loomed in his mind. Suddenly, a part Yvri knight seemed like the least of his worries.
__________
Skylights let in bright morning light as a servant led him to a part of the southern wing he’d never visited before. Bastion didn’t notice when they stopped–he was too busy thinking about Ulla and his dwindling sense of her. The bond felt weaker, and that terrified him.
The servant put a hand on the handle of an ornate door. Bastion fidgeted with the small, wooden box in his hands, pulling himself back to the present. The door opened, and he stepped inside.
“Ah, Bastion!” King Torvald said. “Thank you for coming. Forgive the tight quarters, but Mama insisted she be present.”
“Don’t pretend it’s an inconvenience when you know I’m right,” the Queen Mother crowed, her voice sharp, like metal against metal.
Age hadn’t diminished her posture or the no-nonsense expression on her face, framed by a severe, silver updo. From the way she dominated the room, the armchair she occupied may as well have been a throne.
Beside her, Queen Thyra relaxed, her gown and hair arranged so artfully she might have been sitting for a portrait. She gave Bastion an encouraging smile, which normally would have put him at ease. Instead, he fought for breath and bowed in greeting.
When he straightened, the king motioned him towards a table set with tea.
A quick glance told him the ladies had already been served, so he took a seat across from the king. He set the box between them and shifted his sword so it folded neatly against his leg.
“Endre tells me you’re concerned about your Trial,” King Torvald said. He was a big man, dwarfing the porcelain cups as he poured tea and passed it to Bastion. When he sat back, his visage was more fatherly than kingly.
“Actually, Your Majesty, this is about Moonwatch.” The king's brow rose, and he glanced at the box. “But before we get to that, I was hoping we could discuss Rowan.”
Torvald’s eyes slid to the queen. He nodded and sipped his tea.
“Haddrick, Rowan’s father, was instrumental in making sure Ulla and I escaped The Basilisk, and he paid for it with his life,” Bastion said. He took a deep breath, quieting the grief and guilt that continued to lurk in the back of his mind. “I want to ensure Rowan has a future.”
The king’s beard twitched as a small smile curved his lips.
“Lady Nesrin and Lord Lawrence relayed similar requests. I will ensure he’s well cared for.”
Relief burned hot in Bastion’s eyes. He could do for Rowan what someone had once done for him. He blinked back the tears he was certain everyone saw and nodded. Somehow, he managed to convey his gratitude with a steady voice.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. He’s a bright boy who has already shown great courage in the face of terrible things.”
“I count us lucky to have him,” King Torvald rumbled. “Now, about Moonwatch.”
Bastion cleared his throat. His relief vanished, and he tugged his doublet, suddenly claustrophobic and sweaty. Before he could begin, the door opened, and Endre breezed in with a man whose elegance was only overshadowed by his severity.
“My apologies,” Endre breathed with a bow. “I thought it prudent to include Lord Valin.”
A slight wrinkle across the spymaster’s nose disappeared when he saw who was in the room, and he bowed. Bastion frowned. His audience with the king was getting less and less private.
“Your Majesties,” Lord Valin said. “Forgive the intrusion. I was unaware you were meeting this morning.”
“As it should be, Valin,” the queen mother groused. “Stand somewhere I can see you.”
“Grandmama,” Endre scolded.
“Oh, hush, you,” she said. “I’m allowed to dislike the man.”
Lord Valin smiled. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
He strode past the king to the window behind a handsome desk deeper in the room. Queen Mother Isla glared after him. Endre took up a post behind the queen's chair and gave Bastion a smile that mirrored the one his mother had given him earlier.
The king motioned for Bastion to begin.
“I have information that pertains to who attacked Moonwatch and what they were after,” Bastion said. “Please, keep silent.”