Chapter 22 #3
Bastion wound through the university’s halls and down wide stairwells, packed with students on their way to the noon meal. Boys, every one. A few Yvri and Acari stood out from the group, with their curved horns or red hair, respectively. Some of the older ones glanced his way.
His feet led him to the front entrance, where a sleepy guard nodded him onto the road that led to the city proper. It sloped downward, tall grass waving in the wind to either side. Every stem felt like a spectator in a gauntlet. They hissed in Lyanthis’s voice.
You’re not enough.
At the first bend, he paused. A current against his heart drew him off the path.
Beyond a few scrubby bushes, he found a forgotten trail.
It curved into the hillside, leaving the sight of watchful windows until it rose again.
As the vegetation thinned, the roar of the waterfall grew.
Beneath the Rainbow, at the cornerstone of the university, the path disappeared over porous rock. The acrid smell of sulfur hit Bastion.
Hot springs.
The winter air only made the steam rising from them more opaque, more tangible, as if it meant to hide Ulla from him. His heart thrummed, and Bastion stepped closer.
On the edge of the hot springs, her shape materialized.
She wasn’t alone.
Ulla gestured wildly, her movements large and jerky. In front of her, Taro spoke, his fangs bared. Bastion couldn’t hear what he said over the waterfall, but every bone in his body turned to steel as he watched them argue.
Taro jerked back when he saw Bastion, as if he’d been expecting someone else.
He scanned the rocky terrain, a sneer spreading across his face and into his posture.
Ulla turned, and her pupils narrowed. She wore a top of intricately knotted cord.
The shape had the feel of coral, and where it was bound together over her sternum, seaglass shone with condensation.
Regret coursed through Bastion. She could have been wearing a sack, and he’d have thought her beautiful.
“A word?” Bastion asked. The waterfall swept his words away. He tried again, projecting. “A word?”
“We’re in the middle of something,” Taro said.
“And I am here at the king’s command,” Bastion stated.
Taro’s lip curled. “It’ll have to wait.”
Ulla glared at Taro and shook her head. She raised both hands and aggressively flipped her palms back and forth. Then she turned and stomped away.
Taro’s face fell. “Ulla!” he called.
He began to follow her, but Bastion stepped into his path. “She’s finished with you.” The Yvri reached for the daggers strapped to his chest, but Bastion seized his wrist. “I’m not newly tortured this time. Fuck off.”
Taro looked ready to spit in Bastion’s face. Mentally, Bastion dared him to follow through. After standing before the council and playing the game according to their rules, he wanted to feel the burn of battle and the rush of victory.
Instead, Taro jerked out of Bastion’s grip. “She’s cracked in the head, you know. She’ll rip your throat out the moment you turn your back. Marrying her almost isn’t worth the status.”
Bastion drew the first six inches of his sword, his muscles coiled with murderous intent. A hiss pressed through Taro’s teeth. He backed away and stalked off.
Not giving the bastard a second thought, Bastion went after Ulla. He caught her wrist, and she spun, her other hand raised to strike him.
Then, her expression softened. Bastion felt her hope and relief seeping through his palm, and he released her, ashamed.
“...I need my Account,” he said. Her brow pinched. “The book. The king–and your father–have demanded it.”
Disappointment dragged her expression down. It made Bastion sick. She searched his eyes, and when he didn’t speak again, she withdrew the book from a pocket under her arm. She opened it to their last conversation, where a shard of charcoal lay pressed between the pages.
And what of us? she wrote.
She could have carved them into his skin and it would have hurt less. His heart burned, ready to dissolve into ash.
“Ulla.” Bastion swallowed hard. “This is neither the time nor the place.” He cast a sour look over his shoulder. Taro hadn’t departed as he expected, but instead watched them with unmasked disdain. When Bastion turned back, Ulla shoved the book at him.
If it’s important, convenience shouldn’t be a factor!
She was right. This was important.
Lyanthis’s words came to him again, as if he stood over Bastion’s shoulder whispering in his ear. Set her free.
“You need more than I can give,” he said. “Protection, a pod–a community of people like you!”
Ulla shook her head and returned to writing.
Bastion tried to stop her, but she pushed him away, a drawn expression on her face that shattered his resolve.
Agony and anger pulsed through the bond as she clutched the book.
Her hand oscillated across the page, her posture fracturing before his eyes. He’d never seen her so undone.
She thrust the book at him like a blade.
You’re stealing my voice–
Emotions slammed into him before Bastion could read the rest. They blazed across the bond, fueled by a lifetime of loneliness and amplified by betrayal.
He could feel how raw her wounds were. She’d given him a glimpse of their depth the night they danced in the tavern, and now they pounded against his skull like a drum.
He tried to push it back towards her. To express that he only wanted to protect her, but she resisted. She pushed the book back into his hands. He didn’t want to look at the rest of what she’d written, but his eyes found the words of their own volition.
–choosing for me because you’re afraid! You’re as bad as THEM!
The accusation was a battering ram to his heart.
Bastion staggered backwards, struggling to draw breath. He shook his head.
“No. No,” he wheezed. Tears rimmed her lashes. The sight would torment him until his dying day.
Suddenly, all he wanted was to touch her, to reassure her, but he didn’t know how when he was ripping out both their hearts. He couldn’t bear it. He shoved the book into his breast pocket and clasped her hands in his.
Bastion made himself look her in the eye.
If he could face death, then he could face her.
He could take anger and pain–expected it even–but the raw, blistering sadness that came unfiltered through the bond left his soul wilted, like a sail with no wind.
A hollow, sinking feeling started high in his chest and dragged him down.
The broken pieces of his heart caught in the undertow of her sorrow, and he drowned in self-contempt.
He thought, Why will you fight for everyone else but yourself?
Because she deserves better, he answered.
“It’s a mercy,” he tried to reason. “I’m a tidepool, and you deserve the ocean.”
Ulla shook her head, her hands clenched between his. Her eyes met his, red and tear-filled. Then, they shifted to something behind him.
Shock widened them. A blast of fear flooded the bond, like someone had stepped on his grave, and with it, a warning. Bastion released her and spun, drawing his sword in one smooth movement.
A sharp crack! echoed against the stone as steel met steel, and he stared into the face of a dead man.
“Hello, Bastion,” Buck grinned.