‘Prince Bastien? Grace?’ Daniel’s voice from the other side of the door sounded frantic and that was enough to propel her forward to open it and let him in. He stumbled inside, Misha following him. ‘You were right. We found out where Ell is. She’s where you said she’d be.’
‘Ellyn?’ Grace’s voice shook. ‘Where? How?’
Bastien needed to explain and fast, before she did something rash. ‘Rynn told me. She wanted me to find Ellyn. I don’t know why. She told me when we danced. But then…’
He would never forget the moment, the feeling. He’d been dancing with the princess and she’d just told him what she knew about Ellyn and what she suspected it meant. And then he’d felt it – that terrible sucking emptiness, the void in the world and the threat to Grace. Most of all he’d felt Grace, the light in her flickering, going out…
He’d all but run from the ballroom out into the garden. What the Dowager thought of that he didn’t dare ask.
He swallowed hard, pushing the thought of that away for now.
‘Where?’ Grace snarled.
‘They locked her up in the most secure prison they have,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s an island, too. Anyone trying to escape alone would drown.’
‘Show me,’ Grace interrupted. She was already pulling on clothes, ignoring the men around her. When she turned to Bastien, her glare was a warning. ‘You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t know if there was anything to this. And besides…’
He didn’t add anything about the Deep Dark, or whatever it had done to her.
‘Besides nothing. You should have told me. Where is this island, Danny? Where is she?’
Daniel looked from Grace to Bastien and then back again, like a trapped rabbit. ‘It’s, um… it’s not like…’
‘It’s a royal prison,’ Misha answered for him. He still had that trace of nerves in his eyes, especially when faced with Bastien. Perhaps he saw the shadow of Celeste there, reminding Misha of the time she had spent torturing him. ‘They use it for anyone in the Dowager’s bad graces, usually her family. Other claimants to the throne, traitors, or the people they deem too politically dangerous to have in any of their normal prisons. They have more than you’d think. Ellyn’s locked up in one of the most secure places they have. We couldn’t get that close to her, but we talked to people. They bring in musicians for some of the prisoners, the rich ones. It’s that kind of place. You get what you can pay for. Or what your family can pay for.’
Grace raised her eyebrows, realising what he meant a second before Bastien did himself. ‘Musicians.’
Misha swallowed hard and then nodded. ‘Yeah, pretty ones. I only saw her from a distance. But it was definitely her. They weren't keeping her in the posh cells, if you know what I mean. And she wasn't making life easy for herself either. They were taking her down to the isolation cells, underground, the real shitholes.’
They owed him. Owed him big time. Misha might be a musician but he wasn’t a whore. That he had played one to get close enough to identify Ellyn and her place of imprisonment spoke volumes. Loyalty came in many forms, Bastien knew that. And respected it.
‘Then we’re going to get her out,’ Grace said. ‘We can break in tonight—’
The woman was incorrigible. Bastien needed to protect her and here she was, planning a jail break with the least information available. ‘No, Grace. Or at least not yet. This needs planning, and careful planning at that. Let me at least try something else first.’
The Dowager’s private garden was enclosed in glass panels. Small, brightly coloured birds were free to fly about inside it. There was a fountain which also fed into various streams and waterfalls, forming an ingenious irrigation system. Plants from every land grew here, each more beautiful and startling than the last. And in the centre, on a small patio formed of interlocking tiles of many colours, the Dowager sat on a wicker chair, taking tea, admiring her own secret domain.
Bastien joined her there, with Lara in attendance. His request for a private audience had been given a prompt and courteous response. There was only one unused chair, a deliberate snub to his marshal, no doubt. As Lara had said, they knew each other of old. He wondered if the Dowager had expected him to bring Grace instead.
The old queen waited until pleasantries were exchanged and a servant hurried forward to pour him a cup of the delicately scented tea in a porcelain cup so fragile it was almost transparent in this light. He sipped it, savouring the exquisite flavour. No expense had been spared. Then he held it without drinking more, because drinking unknown liquids was not a mistake he intended to ever make again. Not after what the Larelwynn family had done to him for years, using a poison to steal his memories.
‘Shall we get down to it?’ the Dowager asked.
‘By all means,’ he replied, pleasantly enough. ‘But before we go further, I require that my liege woman, Ellyn de Bruyn, be returned to my household.’
If the Dowager was in any way surprised, she gave no sign. There was no indignant denial, or argument. ‘Your liege woman, is she? She made no such claim.’
‘I’d be surprised if she spoke at all.’ He could imagine some swearing, but she wouldn’t talk, not Ellyn.
‘Once the wedding is done, I’m sure her return can be arranged.’ So they both knew where they stood. But still, Bastien wondered about her objectives.
‘Why take her in the first place?’
‘Young de Bruyn is still Valenti, Prince Bastien.’ She smiled. ‘We have questions for her. Family business, if you will.’
‘Family?’ Lara cut in with a hint too much suspicion.
The Dowager waved a skeletal hand dismissively. ‘You know how we are on these islands, Lady Kellen. All related in some way or another. I’m not saying she’s any blood kin of mine, you understand, but her family were of some standing once. Although all who would climb high run the risk of falling far. Right to the gutters of Rathlynn, it seems. A fitting end, maybe. I won’t mourn her mother’s loss.’
Charming. Bastien would have to ask Ellyn what on earth that meant. He fully expected her to swear at him and refuse to answer though. Maybe Grace or Daniel knew. It sounded like something they should know.
‘Then you’ll return her?’ he asked.
‘If you really want her back, yes. After the wedding.’
After the wedding. The wedding that was not going to happen. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.
Bastien stared down into his tea. It was the same colour as Grace’s eyes, which made the next part all the more difficult. He left it to Lara. She could spin it out long enough so they could work something out.
‘We should discuss dowry,’ the marshal said.
The Dowager fixed her with a steely glare. ‘We don’t need to play that game. We all know he has what he has only by my grace and Marius’s foresight.’
‘Then why do this? What is your price?’
Rhyannon, the queen mother, put her cup down on the flimsy saucer with a distinct click and pushed it away, scraping it across the lacquered table. ‘The name, the bloodline, and ultimately the Larelwynn throne, of course. You do want it, don’t you?’ Her gaze met Bastien’s and, whatever she saw there, she didn’t look too pleased. ‘We will get it. I want my girl beside you. Her children after you.’
If only she knew, Bastien thought. He didn’t want the throne because it wasn’t his, no matter what Marius had thought. His throne was dark as night and long broken.
He replaced his cup silently on the table. ‘I see.’
‘Do you? You will set your Academy chit aside. Rynn is to bear your only heirs. No one else.’
The urge to just stand up and leave swept over him and from the corner of his eye he saw Lara frown. He gripped the arms of the chair instead, clasping them until his knuckles strained.
‘Rynn’s children would be mageborn then. Like me.’
The Dowager snorted. ‘So be it. We don’t have the same prejudices as where you come from. Mageborn hav
e their uses. You’ve seen them here. Our own, and those refugees who followed you.’
‘And I suppose you want a say in Larelwynn policy too?’ So much for leaving this to Lara. He couldn’t help himself.
Rhyannon smiled, her brittle yellow teeth on display. It was like looking into the maw of a shark. ‘I’d gladly lend you my extensive experience, yes. Are we done?’
‘That’s all?’ Lara asked. ‘No land? No waters?’
‘Come now, Lara. Don’t be so tawdry. The boy and I would be family.’
It was one of the most terrifying statements Bastien had ever heard. Of course the Dowager didn’t want any specific parcels of Larelwynn possessions. In time, she’d have it all.
‘What about Queen Aurelie?’ the marshal continued, unfazed.
‘Oh, Aurelie.’ The Dowager Queen smiled, as if talking about a foolish girl. ‘She will come to see sense. She’s with child. Women get so emotional at such times, don’t you find?’
Lara had no children that Bastien knew of. Was it another dig? Probably.
‘She doesn’t carry my child,’ Bastien interjected. It was hardly necessary. The Dowager already knew that or this whole negotiation would have been pointless.
Suddenly the old woman’s eyes on him were very cold. ‘Nor Marius’s either, I believe. She always was a Tlachtlyan to the core, that one. They’ll do anything, tell any lie, even the most transparent one, for power. But when the child is born and proved to be… well, the wrong sort of blood, it will all resolve. We’ll see to that.’
A premonition tingled at the base of his brain. She’d use him as a figurehead whether he wanted it or not, and whether his home wanted him or not. He would return either as their saviour or at the head of an invasion force, backed by the Valenti and whatever mercenaries she would pay for. Rathlynn, if it resisted, would be sacked. His land would burn.
He walked a dangerous path with her as his guide.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. ‘And if I choose otherwise?’
She sighed and folded her hands together in her lap. ‘It would be… unwise. In the current climate. And de Bruyn would only be the first to regret a change of mind.’
That was her threat then. Ellyn, Grace. And the rest of them.
She and Bastien stared at each other, the significance clear. She was a monster, a spider at the centre of her web. And her hunger for power was insatiable. The thought sickened him.
‘Now,’ she went on as if no threat had even been implied. ‘Time runs short. I must get on. So many people are keen for audiences. You understand how it is. Come back tomorrow. It’s almost the end of Carnaefal and the final royal ball will be magnificent. Rynn would so love for you to be here. You can give your answer then, either way.’
Either way? He doubted there was any either way about this. Not as far as she was concerned.
‘A member of the Larelwynn line cannot be coerced,’ Lara cut in suddenly. ‘You know that, Rhyannon. With the threat their magic represents, the other realms would never allow it. There are treaties as old as the kingdom of Larelwynn itself. Valenti would lose everything you have built.’
‘Lara,’ she scoffed, as if talking to an idiot. ‘No one is threatening the royal accords. They were signed by our legendary forebears and every realm holds them sacrosanct. I’m simply making an offer. If Bastien chooses to leave, so be it. How could we stop the Lord of Thorns? But he won’t get a better offer than Rynn.’
Bastien rose to his feet and gave a curt nod of his head, the minimum necessary so as not to insult her. His skin crawled as he did it. ‘I will… give it thought…’
It seemed like the only thing that might put an end to this.
‘Rhyannon, a pleasure, as always,’ Lara said. There wasn’t a hint that she actually meant it.
The Dowager smiled. ‘A short engagement is best, I think. Don’t you?’
Bastien turned, stunned. He had imagined months of negotiations and preparations. What was she playing at? ‘Short?’ He hadn’t agreed. He wouldn’t agree. But it seemed that the Dowager Queen had made up her mind regardless.
‘Propose soon. Tomorrow would be best at the Carnaefal ball. That would be romantic, don’t you think?’ She gave him the coldest nod, satisfied with her solution and heedless of his thoughts on the matter. ‘Send in the other envoy on your way out. He should be waiting.’
The door to the conservatory garden clicked shut behind him. Lara let out a long sigh. ‘Like we’re servants to that old crone,’ she snarled.
‘I think that might be what she wants,’ he muttered.
And then he looked up. The antechamber was empty except for one man who turned to look at Bastien. He didn’t look alarmed at all, but smiled that all-too-familiar smile.
Asher Kane.
Magic surged through Bastien’s system, the instinct to defend himself and Lara by any means necessary overriding all thought of where they were.
‘Prince Bastien,’ said Asher Kane, with all the false warmth Bastien had come to expect of him. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’
The Dowager had to be watching somehow. She probably had spies looking in on them right now, if she wasn’t somehow doing so herself. She had the money to spend on any number of Atelier-wrought wonders to see whatever she wanted. Bastien tightened his fists at his side, his shoulders taut as wires.
‘What are you doing here?’ The air crackled around him. Lara’s hand closed on his shoulder but he barely felt it. The things that man had done, to him and to others, the things he had attempted to do, had threatened to do…
‘I’m here for the wedding, of course,’ Asher replied as if he had lost his mind. ‘Your wedding. What sort of oldest friend would I be if I missed that?’ He laughed, like he’d never drugged Bastien, or led him into a trap, or threatened all he loved. Like it was nothing at all. Like they were still old friends. Your wedding… Had the entire world lost their mind? Was he to have no say in this at all? He glanced at Lara. Had she made promises on his behalf? ‘Our queen insisted,’ Asher went on. ‘The Larelwynn throne must be properly represented, after all. The Dowager is family, did you know? My great-great-aunt on my mother’s side. Or something anyway. She demanded my presence, can you believe it?’
Before Bastien could move aside, Asher slapped his upper arms and pulled him into an embrace. ‘I may even have the honour of escorting the two of you home,’ he rasped in Bastien’s ear. ‘I’d like that. I believe she is quite the beauty, the Rose of the Valenti.’
The leer in Asher’s voice sent a wash of icy water through him.
‘You—’ The words choked him and he tore himself free, magic kindling on his fingertips. All the things he could do to Asher Kane flickered across the forefront of his mind as a red haze descended.
‘The Dowager Queen will see you now, General Kane,’ Lara said, with a smooth, obsequious tone that Bastien hoped never to hear from her himself. ‘My Lord Prince, we must go.’
She propelled him forward, and Bastien never looked back. He was sure he’d see Asher watching them go and grinning from ear to ear.
Chapter 9
The Valenti Atelier she visited down the cobbled Iliz alley wasn’t as good as the Master Atelier back at the Academy, Zavi Millan, had been, but few were. Grace paid her respects and examined the man’s many sigils, beautifully wrought and cunningly fashioned but still lacking an indefinable something.
Careful planning, Bastien had said. So she and Daniel were scouting the approach to the prison, plotting ways in and out, and gathering supplies. She could plan when it was needed. It was just that plans tended to fall apart when you needed them to work.
‘Where next?’ Daniel asked when she came outside.
She didn’t get a chance to answer. As they turned the corner into the little plaza, guards swarmed towards them. Twenty of them, all armed and all deadly serious, surrounded them both. It was so fast Grace didn’t even realise she and Daniel were the targets until the trap was sprung.
She
spun around, back to back with Daniel in a defence so well drilled into them that it was now instinctive. They could protect each other, circling slowly to take in all around them, weapons already in hand.
‘In the name of the king, lower your weapons to the ground and stand ready to be apprehended.’ The officer barked out the commands and Grace tightened her grip on the sword hilt, without the slightest intention of yielding. As warnings went, it was unequivocal.
‘Ours is prettier,’ Daniel muttered.
‘Ours is for mageborn. They appreciate the poetry,’ she replied, counting their number, assessing their armour and their weaknesses. Then she raised her voice, making it ring out clearly and loudly enough for the whole plaza to hear. Every gossip-hungry ear was their friend right now. If they were taken, publicly, at least she intended news would get to Bastien. Word had to have been passed along by now. ‘We serve Bastien Larelwynn, the Lord of Thorns and heir to the Larelwynn throne. We’ve been granted royal protection in this kingdom.’
The officer barked out a laugh. ‘Royal protection has been revoked. We’re to bring you in.’
Shit, thought Grace. Shit, shit, shit.
‘Danny,’ she hissed. ‘Can you make a break for it if I give you the opening?’
‘I’m not leaving you. And no. Not a hope anyway. What happens if we kill a few of them?’
‘Nothing good.’ But possibly nothing worse either. And they might not have a choice. ‘I don’t think even Bastien could talk us out of this.’
‘So we fight?’
‘Of course we fight. Any second now. Wait for it.’
The nearest guard roared at her as he threw himself forwards. It was a showy and stupid act, designed to intimidate, but it was never going to work on either of them. They’d faced monsters, psychopaths, and a crazy goddess. One screaming man just wasn’t going to cut it.
The clash of weapons echoed behind Grace in time with her own as Daniel fended off another attacker, and a third came in on her left. She whirled around, driving him away, and twisted, kicking the first one so hard in the stomach the war cry died in a strangled sob.
Nightborn: Totally addictive fantasy fiction (The Hollow King Book 2) Page 7