Being with Kat wasn’t a case of never, just not yet. I could remind myself of that as we travelled north—just the two of us.
57
Kat
“People of Tenebris, night owls of Luminis, we have endured much this past week.” From the royal balcony, a lodestone, the Night Queen scanned the crowd, Prince Cyrus at her side.
A show of unity, Bastian had called it.
Numerous folk from Dusk and a handful from Dawn gathered in the square opposite the balcony, eyes on the Night Queen.
Bracketed by Rose and Faolán and wearing a voluminous hooded cloak, I stood amongst them. Though, between the cloak and my friends’ large forms, no one would’ve realised it was me. I was supposed to be tucked up in bed, “ill.”
“My heart aches for you and for our losses. But know this—we have not been idle in our sorrows. No.” Even from here, the ferocity of the queen’s frown was impressive. The Crown of Night caught the light, glinting like moonlight on a blade. “We have captured an enemy operative.”
The crowd stirred and murmured, and the queen paused.
Technically, she spoke the truth. An enemy operative had been captured. She was just leaving out the part where he was already dead.
I’d seen his bloody uniform in Bastian’s office yesterday when I’d stopped to drop off some notes and pick up a new stack of books. A grisly piece of evidence, but the way he’d glowered at it had told me he got no information. His frustration had pressed on me—I could feel the weight on him. An extra load for every soul who’d died in the attack. I’d peered at it over his shoulder.
Torn, muddy, and bloody, the thing was a mess. The only part that stood out was the embroidered insignia, still glinting gold despite its ill treatment. So I’d asked for the patch.
“For some gruesome collection I should know about?” Bastian had asked as he’d cut it from the uniform.
“No, but there’s an expert who might be able to tell us something about it.”
For the first time in days he’d smiled and I’d never been so glad to be in possession of a piece of bloody cloth. “Ariadne.”
I’d taken it to her late that afternoon. It hadn’t led to any great breakthroughs, but she’d been able to tell us a few things. Expensive materials. Expert stitching. Silk thread, except for the Hydra, which was picked out using a distinctive two-ply thread made up of red silk twisted with real gold.
That had been the last of the leads—or the last dead end as Bastian had grumbled—so here I was, ready for another journey out into Elfhame.
“As a sign of how seriously the throne—both thrones”—the Night Queen gestured to the prince at her side—“take this attack, I am sending my most trusted advisor on a vital mission.”
Bastian stepped forward, his black clothing and black hair absorbing the fae light. Shadows flowed from his shoulders, heightening the effect, and the crowd strained forward, many nodding at the show of power.
“Bastian Marwood, I charge you to uncover the foul villains acting against us.”
Also technically not a lie. But not the whole picture, either.
When Bastian had tabled the idea of venturing to the oldest and most powerful of the Ladies of the Lake, she’d only agreed to it if, instead of asking about Hydra Ascendant, he used his one question to ask about the Circle of Ash. She didn’t know that we planned for him to obey, while I would ask my own question about the Ascendants.
The way she described it to the approving crowd made it sound like she was working for them rather than for her own desires to lift the Sleep.
A masterclass in fae deception.
I took in every word, and once her speech was done, I travelled with Rose and Faolán down to the city gates and rode out to a copse of cedars. Five minutes later Bastian arrived on his stag.
All this so folk wouldn’t know I was travelling with him.
I rolled my eyes as I pulled off the oversized cloak and handed it to Rose. Beneath, I wore much more practical clothing—shirt, trousers and a close-fitting coat that Ariadne had made for me, sewing magical warmth into its fine wool so I’d be cosy in the cold north.
Bastian’s back stiffened, but he turned to Faolán, giving him some last instructions for while we were gone.
We said our goodbyes, and I patted my stag’s shoulder. Bastian had suggested I bring Vespera, promising that he would take care of tack and grooming. But she was too fond of butting her head into me, and I couldn’t risk it. The idea of poisoning her as I had Ella made me feel sick. The stags weren’t so affectionate.
Bastian barely looked at me as we turned and rode out.
He’d been wound tight since the attack with more and more weight upon his shoulders, not to mention busy.
And, frankly, I was a coward. I hadn’t raised the question of us, not after the way he’d rejected my advances. Either I’d misread the meaning behind his vow, or it was merely that he didn’t want to kiss me in front of everyone.
I kind of didn’t want to know which.
If I didn’t know, then there was always a possibility. As we left the others behind, it struck me that on the road, just the two of us, there would be no escaping the question.
Fear, anxiety, excitement, and other feelings I couldn’t name all blurred together, fluttering in my gut. Maybe I would bring it up. Not straight away, but at some point. Or maybe not.
Coward, a corner of me muttered.
Once we were on the road, trotting at a good pace, Bastian cleared his throat. “You’re wearing those boots again.”
I glanced down at the thigh-high leather boots—the ones he’d admired in Lunden. “I am. Is that a problem?”
He eyed me—or rather, them sidelong. “They’re very… distracting.”
The fluttering inside me warmed, and his attention flushed my cheeks. I lifted my chin like I wasn’t affected. “That sounds like a you problem rather than a me problem.”
But I swallowed and had to turn my head to hide my smile. Perhaps I was brave enough to ask. And perhaps it would go well—maybe very well indeed.
Ella must’ve had the same idea. Bastian and I reached our first stop at the edge of a small town that reminded me of Innesol, and when I rummaged in the bottom of my bag, I found one of the lacy nightgowns from Lunden. Ella had been fussing with my bag as we’d said goodbye and must’ve snuck it in. I laughed to myself and threw it back inside.
Over the following days, we rode west, then north into the foothills, and as the weather grew colder, things between us grew warmer. We talked about our work, the city, the circle of friends that had built around us. We talked a little about his childhood, and I burned for how he’d been bullied. I shared my own stories, and noted how he squeezed the reins when I told him about my father’s aggression, even though Avice had borne the brunt of it.
On the third night, as we sat in the private sitting room of our inn suite, sharing a bottle of wine, I even told him about Fant?me and what had happened after. The grave my uncle had dug. Dia’s body already in it. The way he’d made me lie there, burying me a little more each time I moved.
Things between us were whole now, and it felt like the right moment to share it, and he was the right person to share it with.