Divinities, Aurelie missed the taste of magic, the feel of it in her body. It was an addiction, she understood that, one she had been forced to quit far too soon. She longed for it again: the power, the strength, the ability to bend the world to her whim at will. And she deserved it. All of it. Magic wasn’t something to be wielded by the weak and cowardly.
Now she had no one to source it for her. The last of the orbs containing raw, drained mageborn power were used up. She still had Celeste, and the mageborn prisoners, but no Miranda and no way of getting at their magic.
But if the price was letting Celeste Larelwynn free… Even Aurelie baulked at that thought.
Luckily, Master Atelier Zavi proved to be even more stubborn than Bastien, Marius and Grace Marchant put together. That was probably how he’d survived the fall of the Academy. His knowledge of how to access mageborn power had saved him then, the information locked away inside him invaluable. If they could only get him to comply.
But even Celeste couldn’t manage it.
He wasn’t screaming this time, that was a relief. Whatever she was doing inside his brain, she kept him quiet. But Aurelie could see the pain in his eyes, the way they flicked from side to side in panic. Celeste held his head in her small and perfect hands and pressed either side of his face, muttering words that didn’t make any sense. They might have been a dead language or they might have been gibberish.
Who knew? Aurelie didn’t exactly care.
She cleared her throat and Celeste turned, releasing her victim. Zavi slumped down in the chair, sweat pouring from his skin.
‘What do you want?’ Celeste snarled at her.
Charming. Just charming.
‘I came to visit. I have news.’
‘What news?’
‘Your brother got married.’
Celeste threw back her head and laughed, a harsh, inelegant sound.
‘Where’s Asher? I need to talk to him.’
‘He isn’t back yet.’
‘I want him back!’ Celeste screamed suddenly, and Aurelie’s guards stepped in around her, weapons bare.
At that the former goddess retreated, her rage subsiding, fear making her meek again. She was vulnerable. She knew it. So did Aurelie. She lived by the queen’s whim, and without Asher to protect her, Celeste was running out of time.
Was it possible to kill a goddess? If she was clothed in flesh, why not? Aurelie was itching to find out. It was like reasoning with a goldfish. Even talking to her was a trial.
The queen smoothed down her skirts until Celeste was quiet again. ‘They left Iliz – in chaos I might add, unleashing monsters if the reports are to be believed. Asher has gone after them. The Dowager Queen has armed him and given him troops. He will track them down, but he’ll bring them here. Not to the Valenti. I’ve made it clear that if he does otherwise I will be most displeased. I need information, Celeste. About something called nightborn. Do you know what they are?’
Celeste stared at her for a long minute. ‘Nightborn? There are nightborn abroad?’
‘What are they?’
Her face broke into a grin like a naked skull.
‘Oh, but this is good news, Aurelie. Wild mageborn, servants of the Deep Dark, my servants, don’t you see? They’re part of me and I am part of them, my wild siblings. They’ll come and free me. They’ll bring me my crown and then we’ll see it all burn. All of it. Just like Thorndale did. I’ll burn Rathlynn and the ports. All the ships on the sea. I’ll burn the towers and the cesspit of Eastferry too… This is wonderful news!’
So… not good news at all. Iliz was still in pandemonium. The outer islands had closed their ports to all ships and the great Valenti trading empire would soon be on its knees. The few who had escaped spoke of the canals filled with corpses, the palaces crumbling, fire like an inferno. And so many dead. Mageborn… collared, sigiled, slaughtered. Thousands of them. It wouldn’t stop until they were all dead or driven out.
Aurelie swallowed hard. They’d have to be culled, any in Rathlynn who turned nightborn. It was already happening, unofficially. And elsewhere in the kingdom. She’d have to issue an edict. There’d be some innocent mageborn casualties along the way, but maybe that was for the best. Were any of the mageborn really innocent? Kill them all. Purge her kingdom of mageborn entirely. Start anew.
That was what the Valenti should have done.
She left Celeste where she was and approached the Atelier. He was watching her with his most intent gaze.
‘What about you, Master Atelier? Feeling any more inclined to serve the crown in its time of need? That was the vow you all took, wasn’t it?’
‘That was when the crown was worth serving,’ he growled, in a low, broken voice.
With a curse of frustration, Aurelie turned her back on him. This was pointless, infuriating. Not even Celeste had managed to break him. It was a wonder he was still sane.
From the corridor outside she heard a scuffle, a shout, and then the guards outside the door fell like dominos. Figures in clothes the colours of stone and shadows rushed through the door. Aurelie threw herself aside as a weapon swung through the air again, sharp little blades slicing anything in its path. She scrambled into the nearest alcove, grabbing a knife from a fallen guard as she went. She held it in front of her. It shook wildly.
And she knew it wasn’t going to help.
Kurt Parry stepped from the corridor, gave her an exaggerated bow while his men swarmed the room. There was only Celeste to protect her, insane and vicious Celeste, standing between Aurelie and the Rathlynnese scum who called themselves Thorns.
‘How did you get in here?’ Aurelie hissed at him.
‘Trade secrets,’ Kurt said with a laugh. ‘Can’t expect me to share that, can you? Couldn’t have done it without you though, love.’
They only opened the Temple for her now, that was what he meant. He’d been waiting for her to visit Celeste then. Damn him.
The woman with Parry stepped between Aurelie and escape, her sword bare, as if daring the queen to make a break for it. Celeste snarled at her but backed up against Aurelie, trapping her in the alcove. The other woman stood there, waiting, not engaging, holding them there, while her friends unshackled the Atelier and dragged him out with them.
Celeste lunged at their guard, her nails out like claws. The woman bent to avoid the frenzied attack, fluid and skilful. But she didn’t retreat and Celeste didn’t even press her advantage. If it was really an advantage. She snarled and fell back again, shielding Aurelie. Protecting her.
For what? That was the question. Why was Celeste protecting her? There was no love lost between them.
‘She’s mine,’ Celeste snarled, spittle flying from her mouth, all her teeth bared. ‘Her and her child. Mine!’
Aurelie’s stomach twisted. What was happening? What was she doing?
‘Leave them, Mel,’ Parry said, his voice completely uninterested now he had what he wanted. ‘You don’t want to tangle with that.’
No, but he’d happily leave Aurelie to Celeste’s tender mercies. Bastard.
The woman murmured something that sounded like psycho-bitch from the deepest pits of the seventh hell and nodded. ‘Yeah, I get it now, boss. Not really much of a conversationalist. We’d better just take what we came for and go then.’
Kurt Parry gave Aurelie another of those infuriating mock bows of his. ‘See you, love,’ he told her. And then they were gone.
Aurelie let out a howl of rage. How did he do it? Just come in and leave like that? Where were the rest of her guards? They couldn’t have killed everyone.
Bloody Eastferry rats with more luck than the gods gave a three-legged mongrel.
Celeste had fallen to her knees. She crawled to Aurelie’s side, crooning and muttering. She grabbed the queen’s legs and pulled herself up as far as her belly, which she petted and stroked.
Aurelie froze, sudden horror sweeping through her, Parry forgotten.
‘Mine,’ Celeste said. ‘All mine. It’s goin
g to be so good, you’ll see. You and me. We’ll get out of here. We’ll be free. Just you and me. Together.’
She wasn’t talking to Aurelie. She didn’t even seem to realise that the queen was even there. She pressed her face against Aurelie’s stomach.
‘Mine,’ she whispered. ‘My little miracle. My little way out.’
And then she stopped, frozen, staring. Slowly her gaze dragged up to meet Aurelie’s. At first the shock melted to disappointment, then betrayal, then rage. Her eyes burned.
And Aurelie knew that the ruse was over. And if Celeste knew, Asher would know, and the Valenti would know… everyone would know…
‘Liar,’ Celeste hissed. Spittle flecked her lips. ‘You aren’t with child…’
They would all know. She couldn’t be a regent if there was no child.
And there was no child.
‘You liar!’ Celeste’s hands clawed at her hips, digging into the skin through the heavy material.
Aurelie didn’t think. She just reacted. She would lose everything if anyone else found out. Everything.
She grabbed a fistful of the former goddess’s hair and wrenched her head back. Without hesitation she buried the knife up under her jaw, directly into her twisted, broken brain. Celeste’s eyes went round, bulged, and a choked sound came from her mouth, a wet gasp. Pulling the blade out, Aurelie plunged it in again and then sliced open her throat for good measure. Blood gushed from the wound, covering Aurelie’s gown, but she kept on cutting and cutting, long after Celeste finally fell still, just to be sure.
Her remaining guards found her some time later, sitting on the ground by the corpse, still cradling the severed head.
Smiling.
Chapter 21
Grace didn’t know what to expect when they set foot on dry land again, given that she was arriving back with Bastien Larelwynn, the Lord of Thorns, heir to the Larelwynn throne, who as it turned out was also the legendary Hollow King, the divinity who had once been all-powerful in this land. Earthquakes or whirlwinds, perhaps, towers of fire or the soil springing forth new life like an eruption of joy.
Nothing of the sort happened, of course.
They put in at a hidden cove, far from any towns or villages: herself, Bastien, Ellyn, Daniel, Misha, Jehane, Lara and Rynn, just the eight of them, on foot and lightly provisioned. It wasn’t far to the road east which would eventually lead to Thorndale. There were few towns along the way, not much to speak of. The outposts on the border were dotted along the same road where it swung close to the mountains. Lara had a plan, or something like one, but she didn’t seem very keen to share it.
And there was still the matter of Rynn. A Valenti princess was surely going to slow them all down. But all Bastien would say was that Lara was right about him having to play the role of rightful king. And they would have to continue this pretence that wasn’t really a pretence, about who he was, about his marriage, and his place in the world.
So Grace tried.
‘It’s going to be hard on the road. There are no luxuries, no comforts.’
‘I’ll manage,’ Rynn said. She’d found some spare clothes on the ship. They were all too big, slipping off her shoulders. The belt wound twice around her tiny waist. She even managed to make that look attractive.
To Grace’s surprise, it was Ellyn who answered. ‘I’ll – I’ll watch out for her.’
If that was a comfort to the princess, Grace wasn’t sure. There was something about the way she watched Ellyn… almost fascinated. Like Ellyn was a mystery to be solved. Like their family histories needed to be unravelled and examined. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Ellyn nodded and looked away from her, went back to shoving provisions into a pack. Every so often she pointed at something and barked out an order. Rynn meekly picked whatever it was up and put it wherever Ellyn said.
Grace grabbed her own pack and went to join Bastien. ‘Tell me again why you think this is a good idea.’
Someone had found him clothes too. They were black, the garb of the Lord of Thorns just as she remembered him from when she’d first seen him. He was lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the far distance, and his thoughts on somewhere else, far away or long ago, or both.
‘What’s a good idea?’ he asked. The bleakness in his voice should have been a warning.
Grace sighed. ‘This. Any of it. Thorndale. Bringing Rynn with us.’
‘We need Rynn.’
She rolled her eyes and then pushed his arm, not so much to get his attention as to fulfil the need to unsettle him in some way. ‘Why?’
‘Would you believe I had a vision?’
‘A what?’ The thought made her stomach knot inside her and her whole body go cold. ‘You… you and Rynn? In the Maegen?’
For a moment he didn’t seem to understand her, as if she was talking nonsense. Then his whole face transformed in horror. ‘No! Oh divinities, no. I didn’t mean that.’
It shouldn’t have been such a relief. The air left her lungs anyway. ‘What was it then?’
‘It was blood. It was always about blood.’
‘What?’
‘The vision. I saw blood in the Maegen. And I saw her. In the cave with me and something… something else, something I don’t think I can stand against. At least not without her. So…’
She knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. Something bad.
He needed Rynn. To do what? She didn’t want to feel sorry for the princess but he wouldn’t sacrifice someone’s life, would he? Not even to save every mageborn under the skies. Not to save her. He couldn’t. Not Bastien. At least not the Bastien she knew.
He had to know another way. Something buried in his broken memories, some way to trap the Deep Dark that didn’t involve—
‘Bastien?’
He was staring off into the distance, refusing to meet her gaze. Like it wasn’t him any more. She felt a chill snaking down her spine. He was a stranger, like he was back in Iliz…
Not Bastien. The Lord of Thorns. Or worse…
‘When we landed, did you feel anything?’ he asked. ‘Something in the air, maybe? Something in the earth? Something wrong?’
Grace shook her head and forced her breath to be calm. ‘Another vision?’ She didn’t mean it to sound bitter, although it did. Bastien didn’t react.
‘Not this time. A warning maybe. Something is missing… or loose, unleashed… This is bigger than you and me, Grace. The nightborn, the Deep Dark… I sense it… Do you understand that?’
What was she, an idiot? Of course she understood that. And she understood what he was saying as well, what he meant.
He was staring ahead, down the road that would lead to Thorndale. She shivered suddenly as cold rippled through her even more.
‘We head to Thorndale then,’ she said.
‘There has to be a way to stop it there. To trap the Deep Dark again. In the pool of the Maegen or…’ He closed his eyes and an expression of distaste passed over his face, giving him the look of a man tortured and lost. Then he opened them again and gazed at her, his eyes seeing deep inside her. Seeing far more than she wanted him to see. Her fears. Her doubts… ‘It’s a long way. We should get started, shouldn’t we?’
It was easier and safer to seal off her emotions, to just do her job. The same way he did. She could see him doing it, right now. And when the time came if she needed to stop him doing something unforgiveable, she would. She promised herself that.
She had lost him in Iliz. She’d thought for a moment that she had him back. She had been wrong. She couldn’t shake off the memory of his hands around her throat, the hatred in his eyes. And now he was closing himself off from her. Just as she had to close herself off from him.
They could go to Thorndale. They might find the Maegen and he might find a way to stop the Deep Dark. He might even find a cure for the nightborn, and for her. If it was within his power, Bastien Larelwynn would save them all. But she had lost him. She had to accept that.
While the k
ingdom of Larelwynn stood, he would never really be hers.
‘I suppose so,’ Grace whispered, and turned away. She didn’t like what she saw in his dark eyes. It left her unsettled, uncomfortable. Alone. There was no arguing with him. Not now. Lara Kellen had his ear. And whilst Grace wished she could bring herself to trust Lara, everything felt wrong. Whether it was her instincts or her emotions she couldn’t say.
This wasn’t Bastien. This was the Lord of Thorns. Or maybe worse. Maybe this was the Hollow King.
He wanted Rynn with him when they got to Thorndale, when he faced whatever he had to face in the Maegen. She was a Larelwynn, or as close to one as they had.
Blood, he’d said. He’d seen blood.
Whose blood?
Lara provided horses. Grace didn’t want to ask too much about where she’d got them but she and Jehane left the group and returned a couple of hours later with eight mounts and a couple of pack ponies.
Daniel wasn’t as concerned about offending the marshal. ‘They don’t look like farm animals. We don’t need angry owners following us.’
Jehane laughed. ‘There’s a garrison up the road about three miles. We’re borrowing them in the name of the Larelwynn line. They totally understood.’
‘Quiet, Jehane,’ Lara told him with a warning glare. ‘We didn’t steal them.’
‘You wandered in there and demanded this many horses in the name of Larelwynn?’ Ellyn asked. ‘Do you want to write a letter to Aurelie as well, just to tell her where we are now? I could ride ahead and take it to her. If you want.’
It was Grace’s turn to direct her own version of the warning glare at her squad member. But Ellyn, unlike Jehane, just shrugged and gave her a look of her own which said ‘What? I’m right.’
And she was.
‘I’m still the marshal,’ Lara replied. ‘And still a member of the King’s Messengers. I didn’t have to give more than a sign and make my requests. The garrison commander was happy to oblige. Your majesty.’ She offered Bastien the reins of the black stallion she led, a beautiful creature. It suited him, made him look like a man from legend. From the moment he mounted, Grace knew that Lara was setting a scene – Bastien Larelwynn, the Lord of Thorns, the monster he never wanted to be, coming to claim a throne, a crown and a kingdom.
Nightborn: Totally addictive fantasy fiction (The Hollow King Book 2) Page 18