Ren is kind, even when Bass hasn’t been so kind to her. And she is kinder now, even after his transgressions allowed her village to burn. He killed her people, and still, she is kind.
“We’re going,” he says, squeezing Ren’s hand delicately. “I know how to get there.”
“Where?” she asks.
“To Sa-cha.” Ren squeezes his hand back. “To the Winter River.”
They’ll move forward. He’ll race Kensy to the end—of time, of life, of the River itself. Basuin has always been one of Kensy’s pawns, strong and made for sacrifice. But Kensy can’t sacrifice him if Basuin has already sacrificed himself.
Chapter 26
Decisive. Basuin has always been decisive. One foot in front of the other, one goal to tackle at a time, one day of battle before the next. It lent him power, his simplicity a strength.
With a path in front of him, clearly marked by god magic the color of blood, Basuin wastes no time. He changes their course, closing the distance between them and Sa-cha. That’s his only focus right now.
Getting to the Winter River before Kensy can.
Because if the legion catches up to them, Kensy won’t let Basuin escape a second time. That act of kindness was a miracle. Ren won’t make it out of that alive, because Kensy will kill Basuin. And Ren goes with him.
That’s the sacrifice he made. The sacrifice he keeps.
They travel along the forest together in silence, but a comfortable one. The growing familiarity of it makes a warm feeling sway his stomach. In front of them, Qia clods through the forest with Yaelic chasing after her. Qia’s ears are too big for her head in her spirit form, her little puff of a tail wagging as Yaelic bounces in a clumsy circle around her, showing off how fast he moves. He’s growing into his paws, but his barks are still just little yaps.
It’s endearing, watching the two of them play. Ko is somewhere behind them, the slowest of their party, while Haaman flies over the forest scouting. They’ll join Ko once they tire out and bring up the rear.
Ren leans close to him, a small smile on her lips. “How nice it must be, to have a friend your age.”
He grunts in reply. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You didn’t have friends?”
“Not until I joined the legion.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
The smile she wears fades into a deep frown. “That’s so young, to go to war.”
But he sweeps right past it. “Did you have friends? As a child.”
Ren’s eyes fall, her brows narrowing. It takes her a moment before she speaks. “I don’t remember.”
It’s sad—the kind of sad that he recalls tasting when she first told Basuin her name. How it didn’t seem as if she knew it herself.
“Not at all?” he asks, ducking down closer to her height to see her face. But Ren blinks all emotion away, shrugging it off in the same manner he had.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ren looks back to where Qia and Yaelic play. “I am here to take care of this forest.” She gestures with an open hand to the children, as if it can absolve the sorrow weighing down her voice and replace it with duty.
His lips part, ready to challenge her, but the light catches in her eyes and they sparkle golden. Yaelic’s yapping, and Qia’s bleating, and his blood rushing in his ears. Ren is happy. She’s happy when her family is happy. Even as scrapes and burns bleed across her skin, marbling her like meat cut for roasting. Even as the forest hurts her—as the legion destroys her home.
“My mother,” he blurts out. “She was all I had growing up.”
Ren turns to him, and the admission is worth it when she smiles that kindly at him.
“Tell me about her.”
Something blooms in Basuin’s chest where his heart used to lie. “She was wonderful. Everyone was her friend, she was so kind. Until the fire, at least.” He tries not to dwell on it—how their neighbors wouldn’t even eat the fresh bread she would bake after god speakers were deemed witches.
