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.
She comes over and nuzzles my forehead, getting horse slobber all over me. I scoff and wipe it away.
She gives a soft neigh.
“How am I, you ask? Oh, just fucking great. I’m always great. A lone wolf, don’t you know?”
She snorts.
I reach between the bars to scratch her behind the ears. “Okay, you got me. I miss her, too. I guess I got used to the two of you slowing me down. To her scent. It’s like violets—that’s the first thing I noticed about her.”
On some level, I’m aware that I’m drunk and talking to a horse. Utterly ridiculous. But being around Myst calms the black pit that’s been growing in my chest. I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to Myst’s, letting the scent of horsehair take me back to the ride from Bremcote. Those black nights with Sabine.
Gods—it fucking hurts.
I can smell a trace of violets in the air; Sabine must have been here recently, visiting Myst. My heart starts hammering, and my groin twitches as I breathe in that delicate scent. It’s almost overpowering. I could swear it’s getting strong enough to drown me.
Fuck, I downed too much ale . . .
Someone clears their throat behind me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
My eyes snap open. Sabine stands behind me, her hands perched on her hips and a scowl on her pretty face. She’s wearing a lavender gown the same goddamn color as violets. Fucking perfect. It’s an off-the-shoulder neckline, exposing her bare shoulders and the top of her godkiss birthmark. The air stalls in my lungs.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I’d forgotten how beautiful she is.
“Lady Sabine.” I sober up fast, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth. “What are you— Where’s Rian?”
Her hate-filled eyes burn into me hot enough to banish me to the underrealm. She lifts a hand toward the stable entrance. “Just outside. He saw someone he wanted to speak to. He’ll be in shortly.”
I can’t read her tone. Alcohol dulls my heightened senses, makes me just as obtuse as everyone else. I clear my throat. “Have you set a wedding date?”
Her eyes flash hotter. “No.”
I can’t stop my eyes from sliding down her short hair, softened with a braid along the front, to her fine leather riding boots. I swallow hard. “You look well. Has Rian been keeping his hands to himself?”
I wince as soon as the words come out. Stupid, Wolf. Stupid. I bent over backward to make this girl hate me, the last thing I need is for her to know how fucking jealous I am.
Her eyebrows rise at the bold question. “Can’t you tell?” Her voice is edged like a blade. “Can’t you scent him on me? Do I smell like fresh sex?”
My groin tightens at the same time that my jealousy combusts my skin into fire. She’s needling me. I know she is. My sense of smell isn’t so dulled that I would miss the telltale scent if they had fucked. But even knowing this, I suck my teeth, fighting to calm the wave of covetousness that rolls through me.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he had taken you,” I answer evenly. “He’s certainly wanted you long enough.”
Her mask of anger slips long enough to show confusion. “What do you mean? He ignored me the first time we met. The only reason he wants to marry me is because it’s more likely I’ll give him a godkissed child.”
A bitter laugh tears out of me. “Are you serious? You believe that? He came back from Bremcote last year with fire in his eyes. He knew he wanted to marry you the second he saw you. It didn’t have a thing to do with your godkiss. Fuck, he plotted for months to entrap your father in debts so he’d have no choice but to give you to him.”
Her eyes widen—she didn’t know that her father didn’t fall into debt by his stupidity alone. But then her pretty brows furrow. “But Rian never showed any—”
“He runs a gambling empire, Sabine. He knows how to hold his cards closely.”
She goes quiet. The silence stretches between us, only broken by the sound of shovels at the far end of the stable, and the stomp of horses in their stalls. All the fight goes out of me as I bask in her gorgeous presence. What I would give for one more day with her love instead of her hate. I’d find a way to snare the stars and put them on her dinner plate.
Something shoves me from behind, and I stumble forward with a curse. Before I know it, I collide with Sabine, our bodies pushed together. My hands secure her waist on instinct to keep us both on our feet. Her soft curves graze against my harder edges. Her scent bathes me like exotic oils. I feel the beat of her pulse, once so familiar to me that I fell asleep to its soft patters.
I look around to find Myst’s head between the bars. That crazy mare pushed me!
I swear that goddamn horse is smiling.
“Sabine . . . My lady . . . . Forgive me.” With apologies on my lips, I extricate myself from Sabine. It’s so damn hard to let her go. I’d forgotten how perfectly she fit into my arms, like she’s my world and I’m her gravity.