“Blackwater is no place for a lady.”
Basten clearly isn’t inclined to have this conversation, but I pull Myst to a halt and wait, hands on my hips.
He turns around with a scowl like I’m a thorn in his side.
I clear my throat. “I want to go through Blackwater.”
“What you want doesn’t concern me, Lady Sabine.”
I trade him a scowl. My position on top of Myst gives me the advantage of height, and I draw myself up to take full advantage of that fact. Theatrically, I hold up a lock of my oily hair.
“If you can smell anything beyond your own stench, you would know that I’m in dire need of a bath. I doubt your master would be pleased to have his new bride parade through town looking like a cat who’s been wallowing in the mud. I need to stop at an inn to bathe before arriving in Duren.”
He folds his arms tightly. “I told you, we aren’t going north.”
I lift a pointed eyebrow. “Are there any inns along the forest road?”
“There are not.”
“Then we will be going north.” I bore a hot gaze into his skull as I lean forward threateningly. “Lord Rian commanded I perform this obscene ride naked,” I hiss. “But it’s up to you if I arrive filthy or not, Basten. Give me this one dignity. You owe it to me.”
His hard expression eases. Guilt flashes in his eyes again at my referral to the kiss. His throat bobs in a dry swallow. “Blackwater is a rough town,” he presses. “A river port that draws riffraff from all the bordering territories. A lot of men pass through that town, looking for trouble.”
I don’t back down. “I have every confidence that a guard of your ability can protect me from a few pickpockets.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath. I know I’m not asking for the impossible—if we had kept the original route through Middleford, we would have passed through Blackwater anyway. So it’s unlikely to be as rough as he claims.
“Fine,” he says tightly. “One inn. One night. One bath.”
I smile in mocking sweetness at him. “You could stand a little soap yourself.”
Blackwater is three days away, which gives me time to think through exactly how I’ll manage to send a message to Adan. It warms my heart to think of him receiving my letter and knowing that I didn’t give up on him. It isn’t the same as us being together, of course, but it would destroy me to think he might believe I abandoned our plans in favor of marrying Lord Rian.
I rub my fingers together absently, recalling Adan’s touch. What a shame my first kiss was with Basten, instead of Adan. The best Adan and I managed under the ever-present eyes of the Sisters was to hold hands in the kidding barn. Seated in the straw with a goat in my lap, Adan’s hand brushed mine as he reached for a towel. We both blushed, and then he smoothed his strong hand over mine intentionally.
Holding hands with Adan was like warm spring sun on my heart. I can only imagine what kissing him would feel like: hot noonday heat, maybe. Nothing like kissing Basten. The last word I’d use to describe that interaction was “sunny.” Kissing Basten was like embracing a storm. Like being consumed in dark clouds, and claps of thunder, and bolts of lightning and . . .
. . . and I need to stop thinking about kissing Basten.
Okay? Myst asks me. Breathing hard.
By the Immortals, she misses nothing, does she?
I’m, ah, thinking of Adan—the Boy Who Shines Like Sunlight.
She snorts, displeased. Oh. Him.
She doesn’t like Adan, but then again, he did come to the Convent of Immortal Iyre to cut the balls off the livestock, so he might not be my favorite person, either, if I was four-legged.
I tell her about my plan to send him a message, and her response is swift and strong.
Forget him.
For a horse, she can be awfully judgmental. I dig my heels into her sides and say, What, you’d rather see me married to the man my ass of a father chose?
She tosses her head in Basten’s direction, several paces ahead of us. I like that one.
I grumble at her insistence that Basten and I would make a good match. Is she crazy? Granted, she is a horse. Maybe my expectations are too high if I’m expecting sage dating advice from a creature whose greatest joy is grass. But Myst has also known me longer than anyone. She belonged to my mother, and is the only thing I still have of her. No one in the world knows me as well as Myst.
I thought you said he smelled like a predator, I remind her.
He gives me apples.
By the Immortals, this horse will be the death of me. For once, I wish I could shut off my godkiss and listen to nothing but the wind in the trees.
What are you afraid of? Myst asks, tilting her head to look back at me.
The question lodges deep in my chest, reaching past my proverbial armor straight to my heart. I know that she isn’t asking about what gives me jump frights. She wants to know what it is about Basten that sets my nerves on edge and makes my heartbeat stumble. Of course, I could remind her that I’ve already committed myself to Adan. My heart simply isn’t free to search out another man. It’s true that Adan and I barely know each other, but in that brief time together, I felt a stirring of love for the first time in my life.
What kind of a person would I be if I threw that away for a man with a permanent scowl and bullheaded loyalty to a tyrant?
There’s no world in which Basten and I could be together, anyway. I’m intended to marry his master. Basten would never break his oath to the Valvere family, and I’m guessing that my future husband wouldn’t love the idea, either, if I suggested I make out with his huntsman on our wedding night instead of him.
I shift my position on Myst’s back to ease the ache in my thighs.
Basten glances back. “Everything all right, Lady Sabine?”
“It’s my thighs,” I admit with a groan. “It’s fine when I’m riding Myst at a walk, but that gallop to get away from the priests back in Charmont left me aching. It’s only gotten worse since.” I sigh, then lift a shoulder as my irritation fades, replaced by the fond memory of the wind in my hair. “It was worth it, though. I never get to gallop like that. So fast and free. It was incredible.”
In the Convent of Immortal Iyre, the Sisters wouldn’t let me ride Myst beyond the convent’s grounds for fear I’d run away. But the convent was a self-sufficient place with ample fields and gardens, surrounded by a high stone wall. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would sneak into the barn and mount Myst. The two of us would ride circles around the grounds beneath the moonlight.
Basten tosses back another assessing look, then barks, “Go on, then. Ride free.”
I laugh mirthlessly until I see that he isn’t laughing. My face sobers. “Are you serious?”