Page 133 of The Nightshade God
“Alie is pushing us as fast as we can feasibly go. But that might bring another problem, because the Caldienan fleet is up ahead.”
A moment of wide eyes, a flicker of hopelessness beforeBastian banished it. Even Gabe wasn’t allowed to see him hopeless. “Dammit. All right; we can salvage this. Caldien is on our side. If we tell them that I’m no longer Apollius, they’ll help us reach Lore. We’ll have to explain Jax…”
“Not a problem anymore,” Gabe murmured. He considered telling Bastian exactly why but held the information close. It was more of a discussion than he wanted to have at the moment.
Bastian’s brow furrowed, but he raced on. “If they still want a war, the navy is under orders to give them one. After your show of power, I don’t think they’ll try to stop us.” He glanced at Gabe. “You never told me why you and Malcolm opted to use magic—to great effect, by the way—to come to the Citadel instead of staying with the fleet. Unless you wanted to see methatmuch.”
Despite his tone, a sadness lurked beneath his voice. Gabe had given up control of mind and body to get to the Citadel faster, and he knew that Bastian would always blame himself for that.
“Because,” Gabe said, tangling a hand in Bastian’s hair, “they want to kill you and take your crown.”
“Ah.” Bastian sighed. “That does complicate things.”
“I could burn the fleet,” Gabe said, his hand dropping. “That would take care of it.”
The Presque Mort didn’t teach pacifism—far from it—but Gabe still knew it was unusual for him to sound so ready to commit several murders.
Bastian arched a brow. “As much as I love you bloodthirsty, dearest, I don’t think that’s the right way to go about this.”
“We’ve surpassed caring about that.” His palms crackled, fire dancing in the corners of his vision.
The thump of running feet up above, someone sprinting across the deck. Malcolm’s face appeared in the square of sunlight that made up the hatch. “The Caldienan fleet is up ahead,” he said, unnecessarily, “and there’s a skiff on its way to us.”
“Well,” Bastian said, “at least they’re being diplomatic.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
BASTIAN
Much of power comes down to acting like you already have it. Behave as one who should be listened to, and people will listen.
—FromComportment, by Yvonne Angier
Bastian wasn’t surprised to see Val and Mari, once the skiff got close enough that he could make out their faces. Still, relief hit him like a glass of wine on an empty stomach. Lore would kill him if he let something happen to her mothers. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see Michal, either, though the sight of his old boxing nemesis brought a sort of painful nostalgia—he’d heard that the other man had taken up with Malcolm and been part of the escape to Caldien, but the sight of him was still something from before his life spiraled completely out of control.
The fourth person on the skiff, though, was unfamiliar.
Not unfamiliar to Gabe, apparently. His monk’s tattooed hand closed around Bastian’s shoulder, trying to maneuver in front of him.
Bastian brushed him off. “Touched as I am by your protectiveness, Mort, I am capable of holding my own.”
Gabe crossed his arms with a scowl.
“You seem to recognize their fourth passenger,” Bastian remarked.
“You could say that.” Gabe’s scowl carved itself even deeper into his face. “That is the acting leader of Caldien, now that Eoin is dead. The leader of the navy, at least, which puts him in a more powerful position than anyone left in the Rotunda.”
His heady relief turned colder. “Eoin is dead?”
“Lots of people are dead,” Gabe replied, in a tone that made it sound like he didn’t think any of them a great loss.
Worry closed a fist in Bastian’s gut.
From behind a mast, Lilia crept into the sunlight, her lips pressed together. She stayed quiet, though when she saw Val and Mari, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if guarding against her own collapse.
Bastian and Gabe both glanced at her, their heads pulled by the same string. Then they looked at each other. Neither of them had yet had a chance to speak much with Lore’s birth mother. Bastian, for his part, didn’t know what to say to the woman. She’d birthed Lore into a cult, but it’d been out of desperation. She’d told her to run, then tried to catch her again. Now she was here, sailing to what could easily be an apocalyptic battle with the god she was supposed to serve.
He of all people knew that love was complicated, but he couldn’t make head or tail of Lilia’s.
