Page 67 of A Promise of Lies (Shadows of the Tenebris Court #3)

66

Kat

I t turned out, negotiating with Sepher and Zita was the easy part. Next came the aftermath, which was… complicated. There was dealing with the Convocation and various other officials, as well as planning for the new government with Sepher and Zita.

But Bastian had them agree to delay the public announcement of his ascension to the throne. “Just for a few days,” he said, “while the dust settles.”

He claimed it was to give him a chance to get used to the idea, to make preparations for the announcement, for stability. There had already been two new kings in as many months and Elfhame needed a moment’s peace, he said.

But when he caught me in a corridor and kissed me silly because we hadn’t seen each other all day, I noticed he didn’t wear his crown.

“You’re king now,” I reminded him, “isn’t it scandalous to be caught kissing a human where anyone might see?”

There was a momentary scowl at my reminder, but he soon smothered it with a grin. “I thought my Wicked Lady liked a little scandal?”

Before we had a chance to get any more scandalous, Ennet came around the corner and pointed a pen at us. “Ah, there you are, Your Majesty. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Brynan said you weren’t to be interrupted, but there’s a matter that needs your attention.”

With a deep sigh and a quick kiss on my cheek, Bastian disappeared with her.

Still, speculation of a different kind ran rife through the palace, and from there it seeped into the city beyond. Word spread that Braea had died. That I’d killed her. That she’d secretly named Bastian as her heir. That he was really her grandson or that Asher was or that they were waiting for some other secret heir to return from overseas before crowning them.

Of course, some held on to the idea she was still alive. After all, she hadn’t left the palace in the past thirty-five years, afraid Drystan would kill her if she left the protection of the River Velos. Her people only saw her on the royal balcony.

I heard the whispers when I went to visit Rose and Ariadne (not wearing the Crown of Ashes—I didn’t want to add to the rumours yet). Dutifully, I reported them to Bastian.

He cursed, then went off in search of Orpha, muttering something about “damage limitation.”

The next afternoon, he strode into the suite carrying a hamper. He grabbed a coat from the hooks in the antechamber and donned it.

I looked up from my book. “It’s not that cold in here, is it?”

“Come on,” he said simply, continuing into the bedroom.

I followed, calling after him, “Is something wrong?”

“No, but we need to be quick. He’s there.”

“Who’s where? Quick to do what?”

He tossed a satchel on the bed. “The first part will become clear shortly. And quick to pack a bag.”

“For?” I drew out the word. “I need some more clues if I’m going to know what to pack.”

“Too slow.” He grabbed a couple of items from the drawers and shoved them into the bag.

“Are we in trouble? Are we going on the run?” I glanced back towards the entrance to the suite. He hadn’t barricaded it, but part of me expected guards to burst in. A horrible thought made my stomach dip. Those rumours… “Are they arresting me for killing Braea?”

He blinked up from buckling the satchel. “What? No. No . Nothing bad, just… I want to be gone long before Ennet grabs me. Brynan is running interference, but I’m not sure how long he can keep her away.”

Brynan was still his assistant as he’d always been, but there seemed to be a minor rivalry developing between him and Ennet, since she was officially the Night King’s assistant. Bastian was still clinging on to the Shadow’s offices, due to their convenient entrance to the secret passages. Ennet seemed to have accepted that, but she kept on at us to move into the royal suite.

Bastian took my hand and pulled me into the living room. “Here.”

With a whispered word, he made the air before us shimmer, then four dark lines drew themselves in the air, connecting to form a tall rectangle. It swung open, revealing utter darkness.

With anyone else, I might’ve found that absence of light frightening, but not him. I held his hand and trusted myself to his shadow door.

We stepped through, and I found myself on a rocky clifftop, face-to-face with Faolán. The wind pierced my clothes at once, stealing my breath and blowing clouds along at speed. “What’s going on?” I called over its bluster.

“Faolán very kindly spent the afternoon riding out here, so we could jump to his location.” Bastian clapped him on the shoulder.

Faolán flashed the bracelet I’d spotted him wearing before. “It’s an anchor point. He can reach me anywhere. Rare magic.” He slid Bastian a wry look. “Lucky me, eh?”

“How else do you think we stay in touch when he’s in the field? Thank you.”

The shapechanger grumbled, pausing by the shadow door. “Just give me a warning when you come back. I don’t want you appearing while I’m… busy .”

“Hey, you interrupted us while we were trying to get busy. Fair’s fair.” Bastian gave him a wide grin.

Shaking his head, Faolán disappeared and the door shut behind him. A moment later there was no sign it had ever been there, save for the faint ripple of Bastian’s magic dissipating.

“So, why are we…?” Before I could finish the question, he turned me around to face a small house built of pale silvery stone. Two storeys, with a small tower at the end closest to the sea. A ramshackle garden of wild, windswept plants surrounded us, all of them crooked, bending inland. The smooth stone and miniature spire reminded me of Tenebris, but this was simpler, more humble than any building in the city.

“Come on, you’re not dressed for this weather and it’s about to rain.” He pulled me into the shelter of his coat, my back to his chest, and slid an arm around my belly as he walked me inside, stealing a kiss as he shut the door.

We left our shoes and his coat in the small porch just as thick, drenching rain started.

“It’s Asher’s, but he rarely gets a chance to come here,” he half explained as we moved further inside.

Rich, dark wood clad the walls and covered the floor and ceiling, sweeping upward in a staircase at the far end of the room. The embroidered wall hangings and velvet upholstered seating covered in oversized cushions and thick, plaid blankets made the room feel enclosed. Safe. Cozy.

Bastian called for the fire to light, and I understood how my ancient ancestors must’ve felt in their caves on a wintry night.

“We have a stocked larder, and I think you’ll like what’s in there.” He nodded towards a door I hadn’t noticed amongst the panelled walls.

I poked my head in while he busied himself in the sitting room. Dark tiles like smoked glass covered every surface, and at the centre of the room was a large, sunken bath. I let out a little moan at the sight. It was similar to the one in Bastian’s rooms back in Lunden, big enough for me to float in, starfished without touching the sides. A bath I very much hadn’t taken full advantage of—I’d been too lost in those days.

When I returned to the living room, Bastian was grinning. “Told you, you’d like it.”

“Right, but…” I spread my hands. “What are we doing here? It’s a long way to come for a bath.”

“Well, first of all, we’re having dinner.” He stepped aside revealing plates and bowls of food on the small table by the window, a cluster of candles—a real candles, not fae lights—at its centre. “Don’t worry, it’s all from the palace kitchens. I didn’t cook. No one needs that. Though I did try, for you, it just…” He winced and pulled out a chair for me.

As I took it, he went on, “Then we can take a bath, sit by the fire… go to bed. Whatever you want. We have a few nights here. That’s why I wanted to get away before… anyone could summon me.”

“You’ve arranged all this so we can have some time alone together.” I couldn’t help how wide my smile went. I didn’t want to hide how pleased I was. Didn’t need to. Not here. Not with him.

“I’m sorry it’s been so hectic since you got back from Dawn.” He sighed as he took the seat opposite. “It feels like I saw you more when you were there.”

I made a low sound of agreement. The month since I’d returned from Dawn felt more like a year.

Bastian offered me the choice of wine or a sweet elderflower drink. I chose the elderflower and he followed suit, pouring glasses for us both. Drinking less alcohol had made me realise how much it dampened everything, good and bad. And now I was where I wanted to be, I had no wish to water down my existence.

We loaded our plates with steamed beans, roasted carrots and potatoes, and a savoury cheese and spinach pie whose lid was an intricate latticework of pastry. “So what is this place, exactly?” I asked as I eyed the two jugs on the table—there was a choice of a creamy sauce or thick gravy. I went for the gravy, careful to avoid the lid of the pie. No one wanted soggy pastry.

“It’s a holiday home of sorts. Dusk’s royal family has had it for centuries as an escape from the city and political life. It passed to him when Sura died, since he was Braea’s closest relative and she didn’t leave the palace.” His brow creased as he cut into his slice of pie. “I suppose, technically, it should be mine. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take it from Asher.”

“You are king now. You could just order him to give it to you.”

He made an amused sound, though there was no glint in his eye. “To be honest… I don’t really feel like the king.”

“You don’t say.”

“I know it’s idiotic. Just like… mourning Braea is.” The pained look on his face made me put down my forkful of food instead of eating it. “I accept it’s better that she’s gone, it’s just… I suppose I mourn who she once was. All she did for me. Even as I’m horrified at what she did to my mother and to you.” A deep frown scored his brow. “It’s like she was two people and I can’t reconcile these two sides in my mind. And I feel so foolish for not seeing it. Am I truly that stupid?”

“You’re not stupid at all,” I murmured. “Or idiotic. People have different facets that can surprise us. You saw there was another side to me beneath the terribly proper Lady Katherine.”

“That’s because I met the Wicked Lady first. You showed your hand and I couldn’t unsee who you really were—brave and vibrant and wicked clever. I could never reconcile that with the folded hands and shame of Lady Katherine.”

“Then what about you? You’re the Bastard of Tenebris, but also Bastian Marwood.”

“Bastian and the Bastard.” He grimaced, a battle written on his face. “Sometimes I’m not sure who’s more real.”

My heart clenched at his confession and the fact he trusted me with it. How could I help him?

“But”—he raised his eyebrows at me, expression easing into a crooked smile—“I know this dinner is real, and it’s growing cold.”

I chuckled, though it turned into a moan as I took a mouthful of food. Damn, the palace chefs knew how to cook. Subtle spices had been baked into the pie—nutmeg and something else I couldn’t identify—and they’d sprinkled nigella seeds on top. Honey glazed the carrots, creating a sticky sweetness. And the potatoes.

Good gods, the potatoes .

Their corners were crisp, their insides perfectly fluffy, and they mopped up the gravy like they were made for that one purpose.

Somewhere along the way, I’d closed my eyes, and now I opened them, I found Bastian watching me with a faint smile. “I love it when you lose yourself like that.”

My face grew warm, not with embarrassment but with pleasure. Would it ever grow old having him look at me like this? It didn’t feel possible.

We ate in pregnant silence for a little while, save for the odd sound of enjoyment. It was that kind of food—you couldn’t help showing your appreciation.

Eventually, I looked up and found him staring at me over the rim of his glass.

“What’s wrong?” I dabbed my mouth with the napkin. Did I have gravy on my chin?

“Not wrong. Right.” He gulped his drink, throat bobbing like it was an effort. “Kat. That night. When I found you by the trees, I thought…” He shook his head, eyes bright. “My world was over. I couldn’t fathom existing in it without you. Are you sure you’re all right? Nothing since—no pain or?—?”

“I’m fine. Good. Great .” I took his hand and squeezed. “I’m here. I’m healthy. And my only complaint is that we have to run away to a remote clifftop to get a moment to ourselves.”

He sighed and took a more sensible sip. “Good.”

“Though I have to ask you the same, my king in denial.” I raised an eyebrow as he stilled. “A lot has happened lately. Are you all right?”

Exhaling, he looked away. “My mind has been very… full. Meeting my mother… my father… losing Athair … Braea’s death… The throne. It feels like everything has changed but I haven’t had time to wrap my head around any of it. None of it feels real.” He took a sip and shook his head. “I’m sorry. We’re not here to think about anyone else. Just us.”

“This is about you. Especially if it’s on your mind.”

“It is. I keep trying to push it aside and get on with work or making sure you’re all right… and plotting this little trip…” He flashed a grin. “But somehow it muscles in, like it’s too big to keep contained.”

“Bastian.” I set down my knife and fork. “You discovered the woman you thought was your mother for your entire life was not. Your queen and employer was your grandmother. Your mother was a princess and next in line to the throne, and she was killed by that grandmother to prevent her going to your father and giving birth to you . Then, your father, who happens to be an unseelie King of Death killed her with a flock of ravens. I would say that’s allowed to take up a lot of space in your head.”

“When you put it like that… Though, there is another matter.” He winced and went to the bag he’d hastily packed. “I found this.” He pulled out a book.

Cracked oxblood red leather decorated with the moon’s phases in gold. A gate stood below the arcing moons, foreboding, like only death lay beyond.

“It’s the one they used to make the Horrors,” he went on. “I’ve kept it with me ever since I found it in Braea’s things. I can’t risk it getting into the wrong hands.”

None of this shocked me. It explained the uneasy feeling the book gave me. “No. We can’t. Especially not now we know what— who the Horrors really are. Have you tried destroying it?”

“Of course. It doesn’t burn, won’t cut, and the ink didn’t run in water.”

We discussed it as we ate, deciding to try contacting his father at the next new moon and see if he had any ideas. Maybe the book that was used to turn unseelie fae into Horrors could be used to return them to themselves.

With nothing more to say about the terrible book, our conversation turned to how people would react to his announcement as king. The way he spoke about it, I knew he just meant it as a thought exercise, but it was a truth he would have to face. I wanted to help, and yet forcing it on him wouldn’t make the change any easier to handle. He needed time to process and heal from Braea’s manipulations.

Outside, dark clouds gathered over the sea, and it was hard to tell where day ended and night began. There was no orrery on the mantlepiece, either.

This was a place to escape time as well as court politics.