White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)(83)
Berolt mutters a response, and after a low conversation at the door, Rian manages to eject him from the room. He spins back to me, wipes a slow hand down his face, and then gives a humorless smirk. “Now you understand how he built such an empire. He takes whatever he wants.”
His tone may be darkly joking, but he looks shaken by the incident, too. My lips are trembling now that the assault is over, the danger gone—at least for now. Rian takes one look at my face and shakes his head.
“No—no, don’t fear him, Sabine. I can handle my father. He won’t touch you.”
“He just did!”
Rian concedes the point with a head tilt. “Well, I promise you that he won’t make good on his threat, how about that? And neither will I, for that matter. You and I haven’t discussed it yet, but I have no intention of forcing you into my bed before we’re properly wed. I could frankly care less if you worship Immortal Iyre. But I know you’re a virgin, and I’ll honor that.”
A cruel laugh rests at the base of my throat. A virgin? Oh, how I could raze this castle to the ground with the truth. If he was only smart enough to believe me.
“You want me to trust you?” I ask bitterly. “To believe you’ll keep me safe? You forced me naked across half of Astagnon! You’re a villain! If Wolf hadn’t been there—”
I snap my jaw shut, biting off my words. It won’t do any good. Angrily, I glare at Rian until he finally gives a tight sigh and leaves me alone.
As if I needed one more reminder that creatures on two feet can never be trusted.
Chapter 28
Wolf
As soon as I’m back in my shithole of a house, I throw myself head first into investigating what’s happening at the border wall. Okay, so it’s not entirely a shithole. Until a few weeks ago, the game warden’s residence, just outside the city walls between the Golden Sentinel barracks and the start of the Blackened Forest, suited me fine. It’s as simple as cottages come; a single room with a large fireplace and a sleeping loft, and a porch where I store my bows and arrows. It’s quiet. Peaceful.
Now, the quiet is fucking killing me.
I always thought I wanted solitude. The few times I’ve had soldiers in my house to share a bottle of ale was tolerably pleasant, but I was always anxious for them to leave. Now, I can’t stop glancing at the empty second chair, at the bed that’s only ever used on the left hand side.
Hunting isn’t any better. I’d thought it would take my mind off a certain girl with flowing locks, but all I can see in the woods are animals that remind me of her: owls, geese, mice. I have to force myself to fire the killing arrow, reluctant now that I know they could be friends of hers.
So as the days pass, I fill every second I’m not hunting with my quiet investigations. Rian forbade me from formally examining the breached border wall, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He made it abundantly clear that he’s been withholding things from me, so I’m only returning the favor.
Pouring over maps, I mark the route I’ll take to hike up the Darmarnach Mountains to reach the wall’s westernmost checkpoint. None of the checkpoints are manned now; they only were for the first hundred years or so after the great war, when people began to forget that the terrible crimes Volkish godkissed soldiers committed didn’t just happen in ghost stories. But there are still ruins where guards once stood, and that’s a likely place for a breach. With the difficult terrain, it would take a month to traverse the entire border wall, so I plan on sticking to the section closest to Duren. From the first checkpoint, I’ll follow the wall east around the Tulle tributary, skirting through the Blackened Forest until I reach Havre Peak. Even that short section will require four or five days. It’ll be tricky to find an opportunity to be absent that long without raising suspicion.
In the meantime, I’ve been quietly asking around among old contacts. Deep in the Sin Streets, there are information brokers who can find out anything for the right price. I get a lot of raised eyebrows when I mention King Rachillon and Volkany, but eventually, a spy informs me that there’s a Volkish whore at the Velvet Vixen, a mid-level brothel, who came to Astagnon under mysterious circumstances as a child. It’s the best lead I have.
On the evening I head into town to speak to her, however, I find myself running smack-dab into the last thing I need: A giant fucking mural of Sabine painted on the side of a grain warehouse. It portrays her draped in birds and dragonflies and moths, her arms extended in defiance. The artwork is amateurish, so I can’t imagine Rian commissioned this. Which means the people of Duren have already taken to her enough to immortalize her. Well, of course they fucking have. Who wouldn’t? She’s a goddess.
Somehow, after seeing that mural, I find myself in the Cloudfox Tavern instead of the Velvet Vixen. After more drinks than I care to count, I stumble back outside, stare too long at the mural, and then head to the Valvere stables.
Other than a few grooms shoveling shit at the opposite end, it’s empty. I find Myst in the first stall, which is so luxurious that it’s nicer than my cottage. Her mane and tail are perfectly groomed. Her white hair gleams, freshly washed. She’s happily munching on honey-rolled oats.
“Hey. Crazy mare. I’ve fucking missed your long face.” I lean on her stall door, pressing my forehead to the iron bars that top the wooden lower portion.