by Megg Jensen
He didn’t say it to Tressa as they ran down the alley, but if someone had purposely ended the physic’s life to keep him from talking, it meant someone knew Bastian and Tressa had discovered Connor was missing.
Chapter Twenty
Buildings flashed past her vision, but Tressa didn’t stop to marvel at how different some of them were from Hutton’s Bridge. Only Connor mattered. She picked up her pace.
“Tressa!” The strained whisper came from behind her.
Tressa slowed down, allowing Bastian to catch up.
“We can’t leave the alley in a run. Maybe if we slow down, we’ll fit in,” he said.
“Fit in?” Tressa held back a snort of laughter. “We’re not dressed like anyone else out there.”
She looked down at her rough, woolen dress. Her breeches were still hidden underneath. Tressa grabbed the waistband, her fingers fumbling with the ties holding her skirt tight around her waist.
“Do you need some help?”
Tressa looked at Bastian. Memories flashed in her head of the night they’d been coupled. The night he’d first undone the ties of her dress. A blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down, her hair covering her flaming cheeks like a veil.
“Of course not. I can take care of my own clothes.” Her fingers finally found the knot. She deftly released the ribbons from their balled prison. The skirt slipped easily over her hips. Tressa stepped out of the skirt, balled it up, and put it in her bag. “At least I look somewhat like the other women now. I haven’t seen one woman in a skirt. Have you?”
She looked at Bastian, who opened his mouth, then closed it without uttering a word. Tressa remembered the dancer in the tavern. She’d been wearing a skirt. At least she had when they walked in. Tressa was pretty sure she’d taken it off before they left.
“And you…” Tressa reached up, running her fingers through Bastian’s hair. He tensed under her touch, but she didn’t stop. “The men here comb their hair back from their face. Yours is too messy.”
Bastian didn’t respond again. Typical. He’d grown more and more silent with her every year past their uncoupling. That was why they’d stopped talking to each other. Tressa didn’t believe in one-way conversations. Once she’d stopped addressing him directly, he’d never taken the initiative to communicate with her. If it weren’t for Connor, the two of them might never have spoken to each other again.
She stepped back and looked at him. “Okay. You look a bit better now.”
“We both look like outcasts,” Bastian mumbled. “They’ll know.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, hanging from his hip.
A loud clanging startled them both. Bastian and Tressa peered out of the alley. “Can you see anything?” Tressa stood on her tiptoes, but the gathering crowds were blocking everything in the distance.
Bastian strained his neck upward. “No, probably not much more than you.”
He was taller than Tressa by a head. Even that wasn’t enough. It looked as if the entire town was streaming into the square. The crowd pushed, elbows flying in every direction as they all clamored to get closer to the wooden building in the center of the square.
The bell continued, getting more frantic with each clang. Tressa’s heart beat in time with the sonorous ringing. The crowd fell to its knees, their heads bowed in supplication toward the building.
Women began to wail, waving their arms in the air. Men beat their chests, creating a thundering so intense, Tressa had to wonder if they were actually hurting themselves.
She looked up at Bastian, her eyes wide. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. Do you remember any stories like this from Sophia?”
Tressa closed her eyes and thought, trying to remember anything that might help them know what to do. “No.” She shook her head. “But we’re more conspicuous standing here than we were a few moments ago worrying about our clothes.”
“You’re right. Let’s go.” Bastian grabbed her elbow, steering Tressa into the crowd of people.
They dropped to their knees. Bastian thumped his fist against his chest. Tressa threw her arms up in the air in imitation of the women around her. She opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a sound. The wrong noise at the wrong moment would mark her as an interloper.
The bell stopped. Silence draped over the crowd like a blanket. Tressa dropped her arms to her sides, mimicking the woman next to her. Bastian shuffled closer to her until their shoulders were barely touching.
“Gaze now upon the glory!” The voice came from the front of the crowd.
Tressa lifted her chin, only after seeing the woman next to her do so, and glanced at the spectacle on the steps to the building. The woman who’d plucked them from the edge of the fog stood on the top step, her arms spread in the air.
Her braided ponytail hung to the ground, woven with ribbons shining against the rays of moonlight. The blue leather hugging her body looked recently buffed.
She grasped the large knockers on the door, flinging them open. Her braid swayed to the side, glinting as if a million stars were woven into it.
A puff of smoke preceded a loud scratching noise.
“Are you ready to seek absolution?” She screamed at the crowd.
The wailing and beating began again, drowning out her words. People rose to their feet. The crowd closed in on them. Tressa’s breath caught in her chest. The people squeezed in tighter, cutting off her view of the building.
Bastian leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Seek absolution? That’s what the physic said to do.”
“Then I guess we’re in the right place.” Tressa jumped up, trying to see over the masses of people blocking her view.
“Quiet,” the woman next to her hissed. “Let Queen Stacia speak.”
Queen? Tressa mouthed it to Bastian. The woman who’d captured them wasn’t just a military leader, she was their ruler.
“Will he forgive the trespasser?” Stacia shouted. She gestured to somewhere in the crowd.
Tressa could only see her arms and head, the rest cut off by the crowd. More heads appeared above the crowd, climbing the steps toward her. They held something between them, their muscles bulging with the effort. A shock of sandy hair rested on the shoulder of one of the men in back.
“Connor,” Tressa whispered to Bastian. He didn’t need to respond. The automatic tightening of his bicep told her he saw the same thing she did.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bastian strained against Tressa’s grip, holding him back from pushing his way through the crowd to Connor’s side. He was so close, but assuming everyone there would be against them, Bastian knew trying to rescue him now would only get Tressa and him taken hostage too.
Bastian relaxed, forcing himself to take steady breaths. His muscles unclenched. Tressa’s hand dropped to her side. His eyes focused on the scene at the front, burning holes into the backs of those who carried Connor.
Stacia raised her arms higher in the air. “Let us pray!” she shouted.
As one, the crowd intoned, “Lead us. Forgive us. Take the trespasser. Make your judgment on all.”
Tressa put her hand on his arm again, but this time it wasn’t enough. Bastian pushed his way through the masses, elbowing anyone who wouldn’t move. He didn’t even look behind him. He knew Tressa was there, following. She wasn’t the type to hide.
Bastian advanced on the woman in blue. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing the apprehension down and replacing it with grit determination. The crowd parted, now aware someone was breaking tradition. Women cowered in front of him. Hands pawed at his feet. He trudged on until he arrived at the wooden dais.
The twelve men in black surrounded Stacia. Bastian couldn’t see more than the blue boots on her feet. The shiny toes peeked out between the black boots of her guard.
“Fools! Let me be!” The men parted and Stacia stepped toward the edge. She held out a hand to Bastian.
He grasped it in his. With a surprising strength, she pulled him up. Bastian’s kn
ees scrambled over the edge, gaining purchase on the rough wood. He stood up and reached out to help Tressa up, but the guards surrounded him just as they had Stacia a moment ago.
“She is not allowed on the sacred stage. Her,” Stacia wrinkled her nose, “womanhood will sully the ceremony. You interrupted us. Pray for forgiveness. You’ll need it.”
“You’re a woman too,” Tressa called out from below.
“You have no idea what I am.” Stacia’s lips turned up in a snarl. Her head snapped back to Bastian. “Step forward. Come see your friend.”
Bastian followed her to Connor’s side. Connor’s head lay limp, lolling on his shoulder. Eyelids closed. Bastian willed them to open, for his friend to spring to life. Together they might be able to fight their way out.
The men crowded behind Bastian, cutting off his view of Tressa completely.
Bastian looked closer at Connor’s neck. He reached out a hand, but Stacia slapped it before he could search for a pulse.
“He is alive. If he was dead, someone else would be in his place.” Stacia looked Bastian up and down, starting with his head and ending with his feet, as if she were tasting every inch of him. “Perhaps you, though perhaps not. You’re not exactly what we’re looking for.”
“And Connor is?” Bastian asked. “Why?”
Stacia threw her head back. Her braid, studded with metal spikes, scraped the wooden planks, leaving scratch marks in its wake. Her neck rolled to the side, her braid following like a snake. “Because you’re far too scrumptious to sacrifice!”
She pushed him backward. Bastian fell on his ass, his hands smarting from slapping the wood. Stacia’s head wound again, faster this time. Her braid ascended, sparkling in the waning light of evening.
“Sacrifice is ours. We commend his spirit to the cycle!”
The crowd ululated, their voices reaching a fevered pitch. Bastian scrambled to his feet, but he couldn’t match the speed of Stacia’s murderous braid. The sharp tips of metal lashed at Connor’s body. Flesh and blood sprang from his body, showering Bastian with tiny pieces of his best friend.
“No!” Bastian lunged toward Connor, but three of the men held him by his arms and waist.
Stacia chortled as her braid ripped Connor into a blur of maroon streaks. Bastian gagged at the copper scent tickling his nose. He’d smelled it a million times before helping with the slaughter of animals in Hutton’s Bridge. Knowing it came from his best friend forced bile to rise from his stomach. He swallowed it back, refusing to show any weakness in front of the people he wanted to destroy.
Stacia stepped back. Blood ran down her face to her chest.
The tall door behind Connor opened slowly. A puff of smoke preceded a clicking noise. Bastian looked back into the crowd. Tressa stood at the edge, her eyes wide, frozen in place. He swung back to the door. Three claws scraped on the wood planks.
With each tap they moved ever closer to Connor’s body. He was so still. Bastian could only hope he was dead, unable to experience the horror surrounding him.
The claws marched closer and closer, each second more agonizing than the last. Bastian realized he’d stopped struggling against his captors. His arms were slack, defeat pouring out of every vein. Still, the men held onto him with grips tighter than newly forged manacles.
“Let me go,” Bastian growled at them. Their heads were trained on Stacia, refusing to acknowledge Bastian’s command. He stepped to the side, crushing the toes of the man on his right. Faster than lightning, Bastian yanked the injured man to the side, knocking out the guard on his right. With his newly free hand, he slammed his fist into the nose of the man behind him.
“Get Connor,” Tressa yelled from behind him.
Bastian bent over, prepared to rush through anyone in his way. Until the claws snapped forward, curled around Connor, and pulled him through the doorway.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Bastian shot Stacia a look of hatred. She replied with a smile. Her tongue crept out the side of her mouth, licking Connor’s blood and pieces of his flesh off her lips. She blew Bastian a kiss. “Go now. Run. There’s nowhere for you to hide. We will find you again.”
She slipped through the doorway, following the beast and his best friend’s body.
Bastian leapt off the dais, grabbed Tressa’s hand, and tugged her away from the crowd.
“That’s not the first time we’ve seen one of those.”
Bastian glanced down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“That was another dragon, just like the one that died in our village.”
Bastian’s anger grew. He’d been so blinded by the vicious woman and the way she’d flailed on Connor to make the connection. Another dragon. More myth come to life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tressa didn’t let go of Bastian until they were well away from the town. She laid a hand on the rough bark of a tall tree. Her panting led to a raspy voice. “Can we stop now?”
She slipped her hand out of Bastian’s.
“I don’t know where to go,” Bastian admitted.
“We should try to get back to our village. Let them know there is a way out. Maybe with more people to help, we can find a cure for the plague. We need to tell Hazel what happened to Connor.” Tressa’s heart ached, knowing how devastated Hazel would be. “And you should be with your wife.”
She glanced up at him. Bastian kicked the tree, and then stalked away ten paces. “Why do you do that?”
Tressa thought to say, “Do what?” but she knew he would see right through her. He always did. Instead she said, “Because it’s the way things are.”
“Nothing is as it was. We’ve escaped. Connor’s dead.” Bastian motioned her toward him.
Tressa took a few tentative steps, not sure what he wanted. His eyes softened, standing in stark contrast to the blood on his vest. Connor’s blood. It was all they had left of him. The only item they could offer to Hazel in consolation.
She closed the distance between them. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on Bastian’s vest, setting free the three wooden orbs from the looped fabric. She touched Bastian’s shoulders. The vest pushed backward. Her hands slid down his arms, until the vest was at his wrists.
“Take it off.” Tressa drowned in Bastian’s blue eyes. Her fingertips grazed his wrists.
“If I take this off, I’m shedding the last of my ties to Hutton’s Bridge. That includes Vinya.”
“You have a daughter.”
“I grew up without a father. So did you.”
His breath lingered on Tressa’s forehead, stirring that longing she’d spent so many years suppressing. She tore her gaze away from his. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for your daughter growing up without her father.”
“No one is responsible for anyone else’s choices. Despite what your guilt may tell you, my desperate desire to have you in my arms again isn’t forced. It isn’t a game. It isn’t nostalgia. Whether we’re here, facing an uncertain future, or back in the village, the only consistent want I’ve ever had is you.”
Tressa read the truth in his face. It was the only truth she’d ever known outside of her love for Granna. Bastian was hers and she was his. She may have tried to fill that void with Connor’s friendship. Connor had become the wall between them.
The wall had fallen. So had her resolve.
Tressa ripped the vest off of Bastian, tossing it onto the ground. She tugged on the string at Bastian’s neck. His shirt opened. Tressa’s hands reached under his shirt, her fingernails scratching at his muscled stomach.
A groan slipped from Bastian’s lips. Tressa lifted his shirt up and over his head. He took it off the rest of the way and tossed it.
Bastian grabbed her forearms, forcing her hands from his body. “Are you done fighting me, Tressa?”
“I’ll never stop fighting, Bastian. We have to get rid of the fog, lead our people out, and figure out how to kill that bitch who killed Connor. But I swear right now, on the life of my sweet Granna, I will never
deny you again.”
Bastian lifted Tressa into his arms. Her toes dangled just above the ground as he kissed her for the first time in years. To her, it felt like they’d never stopped being together. In her mind they hadn’t. This is where they were supposed to be.
“There’s no bed. No cover,” Bastian growled into her ear as they sank into the soft grass.
Tressa nibbled on his ear. “That never stopped us before.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tressa woke in Bastian’s arms. Nothing but Bastian’s cloak shielded them from the waning night. A faint thumping in the distance grew louder with each passing moment. It sounded like an animal, a big one, coming toward them.
“Bastian!” She smacked his chest.
“More? Aren’t you tired yet?” He groaned, rolling over and out from under the cloak.
Moonlight bounced off of his thighs, exposing every part of him. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before.
“Something’s coming!” She sat up, but pulled the cloak over her chest.
Bastian grabbed his breeches and shimmied into them. Tressa wished they’d had the whole night to themselves. The sun wasn’t even cresting before trouble decided to search for them. She grabbed her dress, pulling it over her head. The linen felt too heavy compared to the lightness she’d experienced in Bastian’s arms. At least this time she knew there would be more later. The last time they’d been together, she’d cried the whole time, knowing she’d never feel him in that way again. Their final goodbye, stolen in the meadow next to the fog where no one would search for them, closed a door neither of them dared open again, even though both left a hand on the latch in their hearts.
A great beast, hooves as solid as a tree, and hair hanging from its neck reared up next to them. Taller than a cow, but unmistakably a horse. The last one they’d had in Hutton’s Bridge died forty years ago. Without a significant pasture to roam, their horses became lame and weak, eventually unable, or unwilling, to reproduce. Granna had told Tressa about their magnificence. One more of Granna’s stories come to life.
