Jagged scars in varying lengths mar his arms, one shoulder, and lower back, and as he turns slightly my way, I note a scar across his stomach, as if he’d been pierced with a sword. My heart bleeds for his sacrifices to win this war, and once again, my breath stills within me as Bastien’s hands go to the front of his pants to unbutton them.
I have no intention of stopping him, figuring this is his house, and he can walk around naked if he wants. Also, I’ve seen what lies beneath, and I know its beauty. For a time, it belonged to me, and I’ve missed intimacy with this man.
But then he jolts, glances over his shoulder at me as if he’d forgotten I was there and mutters a curse. There was a time when there would be passion etched in every line and angle of his face if he caught me checking him out, but now there’s anger.
I don’t think at me but at himself for forgetting that I’m here now, and his life has changed.
“Sorry,” I mutter, although I’m not. I prefer the anger and frustration over his impassivity, because it shows me he isn’t completely dead inside.
Bastien ignores my apology and moves to a chest at the foot of the bed. It opens with a creaking groan, and he pulls out a wool blanket, which confuses me. It’s a warm evening, and I ended up kicking off the quilt as I tossed and turned.
Blanket in hand, he heads for the door.
“Where are you going?” I blurt.
“I’ll sleep in there,” he replies, nodding toward the living area.
My jaw drops slightly. “On the floor? There’s no furniture.”
“I’ve slept in worse conditions, Thalia,” he drawls with a sigh. “I’m a soldier.”
“But there’s plenty of room in the bed. It was clearly made to accommodate a man of your size. There’s no sense in you sleeping on the floor.”
He doesn’t even spare me a glance when he mutters, “I’ll take the floor.”
“Wait,” I exclaim before he can leave the bedroom. “Can I talk to you?”
Bastien turns and glowers at me with impatience. “It’s late, Thalia, and I’m tired. Can this wait?”
I should let it wait. He’s exhausted, I can tell. It’s been an upsetting day for everyone.
But I disentangle the sheets from over my lap, pushing off the bed. “No. It can’t wait.”
I hadn’t given a single thought to how I was dressed. Bastien’s thin cotton shirt hangs loose on me, just mid-thigh, totally covering everything, but also slightly transparent. I only know this is an issue when Bastien’s gaze rakes down over my body, and that muscle starts ticking at the corner of his jaw. He looks fiercer than ever.
My plans to talk about the spell and what he did to me, and how it’s making me feel, evaporate. That look on his face tells me he won’t care. He was the one person in the world I could tell all my troubles to, and now he’s the one I absolutely can’t.
But I have to talk about something.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I learned much at Conclave Hall today, and I’d like to talk about a game plan.”
“Surely the Conclave filled you in on our prior discussions,” he replies with a frown.
“Yes, but I want to hear it from you. There’s still a trust issue with them.”
Bastien snorts. “And you miraculously trust me now? I don’t think so, Princess.”
I was expecting this… a denial of potential forgiveness. My voice is gentle so he knows I have a new perspective. “Archer told me that the Conclave was going to send me away regardless. Put me in stasis but offered you the option of sending me to the First Dimension as an alternative. It wasn’t hard to figure out you chose the option that would give me a happy life until I could return.”
Surprise flickers over Bastien’s face, but quickly fades. He doesn’t confirm or deny the Conclave’s perfidy, nor does he further justify his decision to do what he did. Instead, he answers my original question. “If we want to take back Kestevayne, we need to muster all forces spread throughout Vyronas into one place within easy marching distance to the city walls. This can be accomplished with planning and a combination of magics through each house’s Scrinia. But, even if we could breach the walls and have enough forces to fight Ferelith’s men, we still don’t know how to battle her magic.”
“Blood magic,” I say distastefully.
Blood magic is absolutely prohibited in Vyronas, and its use can result in imprisonment or banishment from our dimension. If the offense involves killing of another, then it can mean a death sentence for the practitioner. Not that Ferelith is worried about those consequences. “I heard the horror stories today. Requiring the citizens left within the city walls to swear a blood oath to her. If they refuse, she burns their houses to the ground with them in it. If they accept, their lives are forfeited if they ever betray her. Her magic ties their fidelity and their lives together. They cannot exist if the pledge is broken. Archer told me that business still goes on as usual within the city, that most of the shops are open, but Ferelith taxes at fifty percent, causing those previously living good lives to exist mostly in squalor now. The poor are being systematically murdered, and Archer says their blood is used in horrific rituals to strengthen Ferelith.”