“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sputter, but Bastien has hit close to the truth. Shame floods me.
“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” he asks quietly, so quietly, a shiver runs up my spine when I hear the barely contained rage underneath the whisper.
Jolting from the chair, Bastien charges across the room toward me, fury blazing in his eyes. I try to scramble backward, but he’s on me before I can move two inches. Grabbing me by the scruff of my shirt, he spins me toward the door and marches me into the kitchen. I don’t even think to pull away or halt the progress because I’m scared into inaction. Propelling me right up to the window over the sink, he points with his free hand.
“Look at that house across the street,” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Do you see that little boy on the front step?”
Focusing, I spot a darling child maybe six or seven years old. He has the brightest red hair I’ve ever seen with a spray of freckles dusting his nose. He’s reading a book on his lap, face full of concentration. And that’s when I realize he only has one leg. His brown pants are ragged, one side frayed at the bottom hem that hangs a few inches above his ankle, and the other rolled into a wide cuff that sits just below where the knee joint should be. A pair of crudely carved crutches rest beside him.
“Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Bastien’s voice is low and rumbling, like he has a volcano of pent-up rage inside that’s about to burst free. My hair stands on end as tears well up with both sorrow for the boy and fear for what Bastien might do. “That is what has been happening the last seven years. Every day. Bloodshed, death, and maiming. His name is Sam, and he lost his leg because he dared to have the temerity to kick one of Ferelith’s soldiers. Want to know why he kicked him?”
The violence emanating from him chills me to the bone. I’m absolutely certain I do not want to know, but Bastien continues, dipping his head. With his mouth near my ear, his voice is soft but menacing. “It was because the soldier had slit Sam’s mother’s throat. Prior to that, he’d raped her. Sam fought the soldier the only way he knew how, by kicking him with his little leg.”
Monstrous tears form as I watch the little boy reading his book on the porch step. “I got there just as the soldier was bringing his sword down, and I was too late to stop Sam from losing his leg.”
A strangled sound wrenches from my throat and wet grief flows freely down my cheeks. Oh gods, the pain that poor child went through. But Bastien isn’t finished.
His voice drops even lower, a tremor of restrained fury. “I murdered that man with my bare hands. I strangled him, and I took my time about it.”
“That was justice, not murder,” I whisper. I dare to look up at him, realizing that Bastien suffered too.
He glowers at me, using his hold on my shirt to pull me in closer. “I have more blood and sweat invested in this war than you will ever have, Princess.” My title is issued with the utmost disdain, not because of my station but because I was not acting as a princess at Conclave Hall. “While you were tucked safely away on your little horse farm in Wyoming, completely oblivious to this carnage, I defended our citizens with my life. I watched my father die to avenge your parents and your honor. You may sit on the throne and rule one day, but for now, the army follows my command. The Conclave looks to me for strength and encouragement. It’s what the House of Dunne has done for Kestevayne for centuries.
“For the last seven years, I have been leading the fight for your country, not because I wanted to, but because I love these people as much as you do. Now, you can make all the proclamations you want, but I am not stepping down as commandant, nor am I withdrawing from this fight.”
Bastien releases his grip on me, and I stumble. I glare at him, but it’s without heat. He seems to have run out of steam, and I watch the rage recede before it flickers into sadness. Shifting toward the window, I stand silently, eyes on little Sam as he reads his book.
Stepping away, Bastien says, “I’m going back to Conclave Hall. We have work to do. I suggest you leave your bitterness toward me out of your decision-making and put your energies into helping your people. Trust me, after we win this war, you’ll have plenty of time to hate me.”