Basten
“Basten!” A honeyed voice snags my attention, and I whip my head toward the golden-haired girl sprinting across the grass. “Basten—I did it!”
I slide the 100-lb bag of seed off my shoulder just in time for Sabine to leap into my arms, her legs closing around my waist. I cup one hand over her ass, holding her up, but I hardly need to—she’s clinging to me like moss on bark.
She’s beaming, cheeks flushed in a fresh-faced smile that shows none of the sharp-edged rage she always seemed to wear under Rian’s control. Her gown is robin-blue velvet over a chemise with lace sleeves that fall to her wrists. Soft as a cloud.
Amused, I let myself smile, too. Not something I plan to do often, mind you, but her grins are so damn contagious. “What is it, little violet?”
Her hands twist excited knots in the hair at my nape. For a minute, with her bright face shining on me, I could almost forget that we’re at the brink of war.
She gushes, “I sprouted a rice seed with my fey. It wasn’t like before, during the Gloaming. There was nothing scary about using my power this time. I felt in control. Even at peace, I’d say.Like I was workingwiththe seed. Oh—” She glances down at the fallen bag of corn kernels, where a handful is spilling out of a split seam. “I’ll show you!”
She wiggles her perfect ass until I set her down.
She drops to her knees in the tall grass, scooping a handful of corn kernel seeds, then presses them into the soil, holding them there like trapped ants under her palm.
There’s a lightness to her movements. A raw vigor I’ve only seen in her when she rides Myst, wild and free.
At the same time, though, my godkiss picks up on something that gives me pause. Her enthusiasm is hot and fast—almost manic. Her pulse is rushed, even for a fae.
“Woudix told me that my body remembers how to do this. It’s just my mind that needs to catch up,” she rattles.
Her fey lines break out across the back of her hands, snaking up her wrists, where they disappear under her lace sleeves, only to blaze again with full force as they reach her neckline and spread to her temples. Her attention is so riveted to the seeds that I don’t think she’s even noticed how her ears have grown points.
And, I’m not the only one watching.
Throughout the garden, a chorus of awe-filled gasps spreads as she slips into her otherworldly fae body. Hedge-trimmers and kitchen girls stare. Courtesans and cooks stop in their tracks to watch. That bastard, Woudix, is crouched down to stroke Hawk’s back, but he doesn’t fool me—his attention is on her, too.
I clock each onlooker, as protective over Sabine as a wolf with its mate. I can’t begrudge some gangly young soldiers their adoration. No matter how many times I’ve seen Sabine drop her human glamour, I lose my damn voice for a minute too.
She isn’t just beautiful—she’s mythic.
From the moment I saw Sabine Darrow, I thought of her as a goddess. Now, she simply reflects the way I always saw her.Utterly fucking divine.
But something’s wrong.
Her eyebrows draw together to form a thick line of worry. Her hand shakes. When I sink into a crouch next to her, resting one hand on her shoulder, her eyes are still feverish-bright, but there are deep hollows around them.
“You’re exhausted,” I say softly. “You need a break. You used up all your fey sprouting the rice.”
“No!” She turns sharply back toward the soil, knocking my palm off her shoulder in the process, but doesn’t seem to take notice. “I—I can do it again. I know I can.”
Her eyes glaze over the same way they did during the Gloaming.
“I want to show you what I can do—” she insists.
She closes her eyes, wrinkles deepening as she concentrates. And, it happens. A tiny, weak green shoot breaks through the loamy soil to curl around her cupped palm.
She lets out a small cry of satisfaction, but it’s immediately overshadowed by her flickering fey lines, which dim to a barely-there flutter.
She moans as she slumps forward, her hair cascading forward over her bowed head.
That’s all I fucking need to see.
“Yeah—you’re coming with me,” I mutter. “You need rest.”
Every protective instinct roars in me as I scoop her up in my arms, throwing her weak, too-light body over my shoulder. Damn, but she feels even lighter than the seed sack, like she might float away on the next breeze.
