Icy air flooded his lungs, piercing his chest.Lightheaded and miserable, he lay back and let the waves buffet him gently.He wondered how long he’d stayed under this time, allowing himself that small accomplishment amidst his turmoil.
A soft splash, incongruent with the cadence of the sea, brought him upright.
Bastion scanned the surface, a thrill of uncertainty cutting through him.The white caps, tinged with the last molten light of the sun, made it difficult to distinguish anything out of the ordinary.
Then, he saw her.
A pair of sea green eyes set in a face the color of twilight bore into him.Beyond that, two delicate horns curved back over her head.She watched him with all the contempt of a panther forced to tolerate a kitten.
Yvri–one of the dragon-kin.
She moved then, gliding toward him effortlessly as he tread water to keep his head above the rolling waves.Black hair trailed after her, studded with pearls and small shells, opalescent stars in a night sky.A hint of danger hit Bastion, like claws scraped over stone.She could drown him right now, if she wanted.
Bastion expected her to speak, but she kept her lower face below the surface.Her eyes raked over him, vertical pupils narrowed with annoyance as she passed by.He spun in the water, unable to look away even if she meant to gouge his eyes out.
Then she turned away, dismissing him in favor of the shore.When she reached the shallows, she rose out of the water the way tales described goddesses, sea foam clinging to her bare hips and legs in lacy rivulets.
Without a backwards glance, she went to the rocks near where he emerged onto the beach and bent to retrieve something.A loose shift, camouflaged by its subdued colors, which she pulled over her head.
Then she was gone, disappearing up the rocky trail as easily as a shadow.
Chapter 3
Bastion kept his fire burning all night.
After spending so many anxious nights on the island, he didn’t quite believe that he was free of the imp’s torment.
And, if he was honest, he was hoping for another glimpse of the Yvri maiden.
Her eyes haunted him, bright and sharp as they were.Her vertical pupils reminded him of a serpent about to strike.He wished he hadn’t been so tongue-tied.
He spent another day in the cove, staring at the sky, listening to the waves, and hoping she would return.Dragon-kin were fairly solitary, preferring to live in pairs or small pods, but still, a single female seemed unusual.
Perhaps she’d been a figment of his imagination.He’d expected visions and battles of inner darkness on the island and instead got the imp.If I’m going to be terrorized by something, he thought with a sigh,let it be a beautiful woman.
As he was organizing his things to speed up breaking camp in the morning, a journal fell out of his bag.Bastion picked it up and considered the leather cover, dyed a deep emerald, before he flipped through the blank pages.
“Take it,” Endre had said when they parted ways.He’d spoken gently, but there was a command in them that Bastion couldn’t ignore.“Writesomethingdown.You’ll feel better.”
If he’d been anyone else, Bastion would have punched him.But they weren’t best friends for nothing.
There, in the shelter of that little cove, he opened the book and wrote:The Account of Sir Bastion.He stared at the text, a feeling he couldn’t name ripping through his chest as he read the titleSir.That single word held an ocean of meaning.It encompassed a decade of blood, sweat, and tears.The late nights and early mornings, aching muscles and broken bones.He imagined writing it for the first time with triumph and hope for the future.Not alone on a beach in the shadow of defeat.
He scratched out the title and turned the page.
Reading previous Accounts had eased many of his fears, and peering into the past had been enlightening.Of course, there were more recent Accounts, like Endre’s, but the knights of old who now lived on only in songs fascinated him.That they could speak to him from the distant past felt like a gift.
He was angry that he had nothing of value to pass on.That he was a broken link in the chain of knights who had come before him.Documenting his failure only brought that into sharp focus.
Bastion scrawled three sentences.
I encountered nothing and no one.My prayers have gone unanswered all my life, so I should not be surprised it is the same here.If there was ever a god that favored me, they are sleeping or dead.
He considered all he was omitting, but shame overrode his guilt, smothering any other thoughts like a despondent blanket.Madness was an acceptable outcome of a Trial, but without a Godmark he feared he wouldn’t just lose his knighthood, but his freedom.
With a bitter grimace, he closed the book and shoved it back into his bag.He gazed out over the dark water, wishing the Yvri maiden had truly been a goddess.
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