Folke scratches his thumbnail along his bottom lip. “Well, they aren’t the only ones with an eye toward the throne, if rumors are to be believed.”
“Who else?”
“Your employer.”
I shake my head to clear out my ears, certain I didn’t hear him right, even with my heightened senses. “Rian?” I scrape my nails back through my hair. “No. You’re mistaken. He would have told me if he had any aspirations for the throne.”
Folke’s steady stare makes me second guess myself, but what he says is impossible. Rian trusts me more than anyone, which is why he sent me to guard Sabine. The Valveres already have the lion’s share of wealth and power in Astagnon; do they need the crown, too?
“The Valveres have a legitimate claim,” Folke says. “Lord Berolt is a distant cousin of the late king’s.”
Yeah, very distant. I’m aware of Lord Berolt’s supposed claim to royal blood, but I’m also keenly aware that the royal genealogist is known to accept bribes over five thousand coins.
The stairs creak. Two young men carrying boiling pots ascend toward the third floor. I root in my pocket for the key to Sabine’s room.
“I have to go. This news . . . You’re wrong. Lord Rian wouldn’t lie to me.”
“He’s called the Lord of Liars, you idiot.” Folke’s words have sternness but also fondness, like an older brother chiding his younger sibling.
My nails bite into my palms. A vein twitches in my arm. I’ve punched men for milder insinuations about Lord Rian. Somehow, Folke is mistaken. A plot to steal the Astagnonian throne is extreme, even by Valvere standards. If Rian was even slightly entertaining the idea, I would have been the first one he’d confide in. Hell, he’d conscript me to storm Hekkelveld Castle, the home of the king, and throw open the gates for him.
Then again, I’ve been in the woods more often than not the past few years. Could I have missed something? Am I out of Rian’s circle of trust?
“Stay alert out there, Wolf,” Folke says, not joking this time.
I knock my fist on the table, both an acknowledgment of his warning and to emphasize again that I trust my master and won’t bend on that.
“You as well, old friend.”
Chapter 15
Sabine
Someone knocks on the door.
I jerk back from the open window with a gasp. The little nut-brown swift flits from the windowsill to a nearby branch, my message fastened around its leg with a thread pulled from the curtains. To write the note, I had to make do with a scrap of torn wallpaper, and a stick from the cold fireplace with a burned charcoal end. The kindly swift agreed to deliver my message to Adan and focused intently on my directions. I think it understood. I hope it did.
Go, little friend. Hurry! I urge it with a wave of my fingers. I swing the window shut as the person in the hall knocks harder.
“Sabine, it’s me,” Basten barks. “The water for your bath is here.” He pauses. “Are you decent?”
Decent? Have I ever been decent on this ride? Um, no, Basten, I’m naked. Like always.
I tug the bedsheet off and wrap it around me like a shroud. “Yes.”
He unlocks the door to admit a pair of young men who strain under heavy cauldrons of hot water. Basten glares at them as they head toward the copper tub, making it clear he wants them to keep their eyes on the boiling water, not me. They empty their buckets and quickly shuffle out under Basten’s close scrutiny.
Basten closes the door behind them. Steam rises from the copper tub. The scent of lavender soap permeates the air.
He drops a bundle of clothes on the bed.
“What’s that?” I ask, curious.
“A dress. Undergarments. For you.” At my confused look, he adds nonchalantly, “I thought you must be tired of wearing my shirt, given how often you tell me I smell.”
He bought me clothes? It is appealing to dress in real clothes—clean clothes!—even though I’ll only have the chance to wear them for a single day. Here, in this room. I can’t go even as far as the common room in a dress, or Rian will know I broke his rules. Still, I’m touched that Basten thought to grant me this kindness.
I wind a curl of my hair around my finger and say quietly, “Thank you.”
Basten shrugs it off.
Petting my hair, I eye the hot water enticingly.
He picks up on the hint. “Go ahead, while it’s hot. I’ll keep my back turned while you bathe.”
He tromps to the window, thrusting open the pane I so recently shut, and pretends to take great interest in the goings on of Blackwater.
I sneak glances at his back as I shed the sheet and slip into the bathwater. If he’d returned only a minute sooner, he would have caught me sending the swift to deliver my message to Adan. If he’d found me out, would he have told Lord Rian? Would he have punished me?
Given my meager supplies, my message to Adan was necessarily brief:
Call off the plan. I’m sorry. I love you.
The last line was a stretch, but I panicked and added it out of guilt. Whether I’m in love with Adan or not, it’s simply too risky to involve him in any escape plans. Basten has proven with terrifying certainty what he’s capable of, and I can only guess what other tracking resources my future husband has at his disposal. If I were caught with Adan, they’d likely hang him for seducing a lord’s betrothed.
I climb into the tub and recline back. As the hot water unwinds my aching thighs, and washes away days of grime from the road, my worries slowly unlock.
Basten was right about one thing: I really don’t know Adan. What I thought was love at first . . . now I’m not certain. Maybe it was just a handsome face and a friendly smile. Maybe it was Adan’s promise to take me away from everything. Maybe I was just desperate for a tender touch—any touch—after so much neglect.
I have to admit that a small part of me is, shamefully, glad to call off the escape with Adan. I crave freedom more than anything, but I’m not certain anymore that I want it with a boy who is essentially a stranger.
Besides . . . I can’t stop thinking about the kiss with Basten. If I truly loved Adan, wouldn’t I have thought of him when I let Basten put his lips all over me? Wouldn’t I feel more guilty?
Because I don’t feel guilty at all.
I scrub the scented soap bar over my skin, washing away layers of dirt, and study Basten’s muscular shoulders straining his shirt.
That kiss. By the Immortals, that kiss.
It took my breath away, and I might be inexperienced in the ways of men’s bodies, but even a rock would know that Basten was fully invested in our tryst, too. In the weeks we’ve spent together, he’s only broken his absolute fealty to his master twice: the first time was to let me wear his shirt, and the second was when he kissed me.
Me.
I’m his weakness.
I’m the only thing that makes his resolve falter.
And maybe I can use this fact. It’s painfully evident that, given Basten’s powers, I’ll never escape from him. But there’s a chance that I could redirect his loyalty, just as Myst suggested.
I groan inwardly. She’d gloat to no end to know she was right.
Still, would it even work? Would Basten ever choose me over Rian? He’s so damn stubborn in his devotion to a man who clearly cares nothing for him. I want to shake him, to save him. To show him he’s better than someone’s servant. He’s smarter than even he realizes—he uses vulgar words like a brute, and he clearly had no formal education, but he has a naturally sharp mind, and he’s picked up polished language from his time around Lord Rian. If he wanted to, he could speak like a nobleman. Between his intelligence, stature, and godkissed abilities, he could amass more wealth and power than the Valveres. He could rule that family.