“Why?” I ask. “Old Coros is southeast of Norhelm.”
I think back on the maps I studied with Woudix. For the first time in my life, thanks to the God of Death’s tutelage, I know something of geography. How to read a map. Even how to tell the direction by the sun.
“That’s true,” Basten explains, “but the Blackened Forest stretches to the east. Cutting through it without a road wouldadd days to the journey, not to mention putting the horses at a greater risk of injury. If we skirt around the forest instead, the distance is longer but the path is more passable. Then, we’ll cut south across the Arthurette Valley until we reach the Innis River, staying on back roads. We can follow that path to Old Coros. Maximan said only the southern gate is operational at the moment—the northern gate is permanently sealed. According to him, guards will be waiting there to help us enter the city without incident.”
Mentally, I trace the path he’s describing over what I know of Astagnon’s topography. “That won’t place us far from Bremcote,” I say in surprise, then feel a twist in my belly. “And the Convent of Immortal Iyre.”
Basten nods, his attention on the road ahead, though he flicks me a glance. “Bad memories?”
I sit back in the saddle, letting Myst take the lead so that I can fall into my thoughts. “Not…entirely. After all, Bremcote is where I became friends with Suri.” I flash him a smile that I only have to force a little. “And where I met a brooding guard who wanted nothing to do with his master’s headstrong new bride.”
He chuckles, but I can see some pain in his eyes.
My smile falls. “Oh—you don’t remember.” I swallow down a lump. “Right. Sometimes, I still forget.” I sigh. “Well, it’s okay if we take that path. As long as we don’t actually go to the town itself.”
A cloud rolls in to block the sun, plunging us into an uncomfortable shadow—and I’m not sure if the weather is responding to my mood or simply doing what weather does.
I scramble for something else to say to fill the awkward silence, but Basten beats me to it.
“Tell me about it. The first time we met.” His tone is velvet-soft and inviting, so different from the bitterness he used to use when speaking about his lost memories.
He’s trying.
I brighten a little—and that pesky cloud blows away from the sun. “Well,” I sit up straight in the sunlight. “You certainlyactedlike you weren’t staring at my naked body.”
He snorts. “Guarantee you that I was. I’m a hunter, sweetheart. I know how to hide where I focus my attention.”
Wistfully, I touch my fine silken riding dress with golden threads in the shape of monoceroses. “The first night, you gave me your shirt to wear. It was filthy. Stank of your sweat. But, I cherished it because it was the first kindness you did for me. The first time you bent your loyalty to Rian.”
At the mention of Rian’s name, we both fall silent again.
Nice going, Sabine,I tell myself. I might as well have invoked the devil.
“When we find him…” I start again, my voice scraping this time, “…are you going to hold the knife, or am I?”
I meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood—but it came out raw.
For a few moments, there’s only the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt path. Finally, Basten takes a deep breath. “Rian should be thrown in the dungeon like any other prisoner to await sentencing from the justice tribunal.”
I twist in my saddle, jaw hanging open as I stare to see if he’s fallen and hit his head. “Justice tribunal? Basten, RianknewIyre was coming for me and practically threw me into her arms.”
He shifts in his stirrups, keeping his gaze on the road. “Oh, he’ll be punished.”
I sputter, “That’s it? Punished? I thought you’d pledge to rip his head off with your own two hands.”
Maybe Basten hears the slight break in my voice, because he nudges Ranger closer to Myst and takes my hand. “Little violet, I’m not going to let him get away with what he did to you. I’ll make sure he spends the rest of his life regretting he ever knew your name. But the old Basten? Wolf, the hunter, who only caredabout himself? I have to leave that brute behind—at least, try to. If our plan works, I’m going to sit on a throne. Rule a kingdom. Have hundreds of thousands of people’s safety in my hands. I can’t go around slitting throats anymore.”
There’s a rare vulnerability in his voice, and it gives me pause. I realize, maybe for the first time, that I’m not the only one struggling to balance two different identities. Basten’s world has turned upside down, too. Can I blame him for trying to find a way to navigate both?
After all, he became my acolyte. Even at the risk of his own death, he freely gives me his blood, his breath. Gods, his patience most of all.
I suppose I can try to be patient for Basten, too.
“I—I understand.” I squeeze his hand, hold it as long as I can before the road forces our horses too far apart. My hand falls at my side, my palm cold without Basten’s warmth. I slide him a mischievous wink to break the tension. “I’llslit his throat, then.”
He laughs, but there’s a ripple of concern in his eyes that I might not be joking. Which, honestly, is keen of him. Because I’m not sure I’mnot.
The further we get into the journey, winding through the dramatic scenery of the Vallen Mountains, it’s easier to leave all the stress of Norhelm behind. Myst prances beneath me, happy to be together again, like we were for so many years.
