His need resonated through the light, urgency settling around her, echoing through her. He was all that mattered, here in the light, all she needed, all she wanted. Duty and honour fell away, truth and justice could be set aside.
His kisses consumed her. His touch made her gasp into his mouth and the answering groan of desperation that forced its way out of him ran like electricity around her heart.
They moved as one, bodies entangled, filled with flames, burning with a radiance too bright for the mundane world. The ripples skimmed her skin and she filled with light, with him, with pure joy.
She cried out, and his mouth claimed the sound. The burst of raw energy that engulfed them both made the pool of light blaze anew. Brighter than the sun, brighter than the stars.
Slowly he guided her back, his hands still caressing her, soothing her, and when she could almost breathe again she opened her eyes to try to catch a glimpse of him.
His eyes were dark and endless. She recognised them at once.
Here, deep in her dream of the Maegen, the source of magic, where the power of everything from divinities to the mageborn originated, she stared directly into the eyes of Bastien Larelwynn.
The rec room reeked of sweat and that awful ointment for aching muscles Gabe Delleran used, which Grace suspected was actually cheap horse liniment cut with rancid bacon fat. She never did have the heart to tell him he was being cheated by the so-called expert he visited down on Chapel Street.
As they jogged by her, the cadets paused and saluted before running on, so young and full of life. They made her feel ancient rather than a woman in her twenties.
‘Get moving!’ Dayne roared at them. He nodded to Grace, a grim gesture of respect and mutual grief. ‘All right, Grace?’ the sergeant at arms grunted.
All right? No. Definitely not all right. But she just nodded in return.
The three remaining members of their squad had been given the traditional twenty-four hours’ leave, most of which Grace had spent asleep. She’d hardly eaten because any food made her want to throw up right now. Not long before midday, she’d found Ellyn in the baths, annoying the supervisors as only Ellyn could. They had been sparring for the last half an hour in the gym and now they sat, facing each other, drinking cheap wine in silence. It wasn’t even lunchtime and Grace really didn’t care. When Daniel arrived they barely looked at him, but he sat down with them at the low, plain table and poured himself a cup.
‘They won’t tell me when they’re cremating him.’ He slammed back the wine, which Grace already knew from bitter experience was a really bad idea. Daniel shuddered and then swore, as he wheezed. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘It was cheap,’ said Ellyn and lifted her cup towards him in a salute. She didn’t give any answer other than that. Cheap, yes, and with good reason.
‘They’re not going to release the ashes,’ Grace told him bleakly. ‘The Lord of Thorns has him.’
She hadn’t told them everything that had happened in that room. She didn’t dare. Prince Bastien Larelwynn had killed their friend and she had stood there and let it happen. She couldn’t tell them that. They’d never forgive her. Even if he was a prince and she was a nothing guard from nowhere, with no past and with no future. She’d promised to look after them. All of them. And she had failed Kai already. It was eating her up inside. She couldn’t fail them as well.
As for the dream… well, she couldn’t tell anyone about her dreams. They were just dreams, she kept reminding herself. That was all. Stupid light and stupid fire and stupid lovers. And the darkness underneath.
Even the dreadful wine couldn’t wash away the taste of bile from the back of her throat. It burned there, corroding the soft tissue and dripping back down her oesophagus to boil in her stomach. The wine didn’t help with that either.
Could she have stopped the Lord of Thorns? If she’d actually tried? He was a prince of the royal blood, powerful in every way. But it was more than that. High station and any kind of power didn’t impress her. She came from the streets and she’d probably end up bleeding out on them. No member of the royal family could do what she had to do on a daily basis. But her physical reaction to him had shaken her to the core. His presence had stolen all sense from her, all strength from her. It all happened so quickly. She couldn’t even get it straight in her mind any more.
It must have been magic. There was no other explanation. He was the Lord of Thorns, blood royal, seneschal of the mageborn. And now he was in her head.
She poured more wine and gripped the plain earthenware cup in her hand. It was solid and real, cold to the touch. There was no magic to this. No glowing light beneath the surface. Nothing to fear.
Princes didn’t drink out of cups like this when it was barely past midday. They didn’t drink wine that was only half a step away from glorified vinegar. They certainly didn’t succumb to the temptation to spend the whole day drinking it, no matter how foul, until they passed out and couldn’t feel anything any more.
And why was she thinking about him anyway?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
‘Slow down, boss,’ Daniel said, the edge of concern in his voice irritating. ‘Leave some for the rest of us.’
‘You’ve got to catch up, Danny,’ Ellyn told him. ‘Serves you right for slacking.’
They were so at ease together. So comfortable. Whereas Grace felt like she was wearing someone else’s skin. They bore their grief honestly.
She couldn’t tell them what had happened, what she’d seen the Lord of Thorns do.
‘There you are,’ Craine said as she entered the room, her crutches clicking on the tiled floor. She looked as neat and perfectly turned out as always. Her uniform was pristine and her coppery hair was freshly trimmed, which meant her wife was back in town. ‘A body’s dropped. Down by Belport. You’re up.’
‘We’re off duty,’ Ellyn protested and waved the wine at her. The commander gave her a flat look.
‘We’re short-staffed, in case you hadn’t noticed, de Bruyn. I have five experienced officers up at the palace for their day of homage who aren’t back yet. And you’ve had time off. It’s meant for recuperation, not getting blind drunk.’
‘But boss—’
‘You could be on the night shift if you want. I’ll put you in charge of cleaning out the drunk tank, how about that?’
Daniel was the first to stand, his chair scraping back across the stone floor. ‘We haven’t had that much.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Ellyn muttered, but she stopped arguing when threatened with the worst job in existence. Piss, shit and vomit had that effect, Kai always said. Grace smiled bitterly. Short-staffed indeed.
‘We’re a man down, Commander,’ she said in low scornful tones. All the mageborn had to pay homage annually, although those sworn to the Academy usually went more frequently. And who did they report to? Bastien Larelwynn of course. He was everywhere today.
If Craine noticed her mood, she ignored it. ‘I know. And if I could afford to give you all a longer break I’d do it. But I can’t. They found her this morning near the docks. She’s not from Rathlynn, or even the kingdom – Leanese by the looks of it, and all hell could break loose about that. The Watch has the place secure for now but that won’t last. It’s not their jurisdiction. Looks like someone got greedy with an illegal syphon, and a nasty one at that. Just sort it out.’
Grace felt her stomach twist. A syphon was a trade in magic, usually under duress, and usually not a great situation for the mageborn involved. They were often just kids, desperate and afraid. Her own history pointed that way. She’d been dumped on the Academy steps, magic burned out of her, stolen. She tried not to think about it too much. The syphon rings traded in magic, and the worst of them trafficked mageborn and killed them when they didn’t perform. Or when someone got too nosy. The gangs ruled half the city, even if the royal family thought differently. Eastferry was their stronghold, and the docks were the dumping ground. Not even the Royal Guard were stupid enough to
go there. Too many mageborn vanished into its labyrinthine lanes. Too many other people too.
‘Without Kai, I don’t know that we’ll be able to track them.’
Magic responded to magic. Mageborn could sense each other. Hunting a syphon ring without a powerful mageborn was like looking for a needle in a giant pile of needles. And Grace wasn’t looking forward to another expedition into Eastferry, even if she did have Daniel Parry – her secret weapon – at her back.
Craine fixed her with an all-too-knowing scowl. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage, Lieutenant. You usually do. The mageborn will be back from the palace soon enough. I swear, I think they take their own sweet time. We’ll assign a new one to you when they become available.’
Like a piece of kit, a useful bit of equipment. Not a human being.
But what else could Grace say? Orders were orders.
‘It’s my honour to serve. Where’s the location, Commander?’
The waterfront of Rathlynn was divided into two sections. One, Adensport, was beautiful. Tall ships from all over the world came in there, bearing emissaries and trade delegations, the great and noble of other countries, as well as Rathlynn’s own children returning home. The seafront was lined with pretty cafes, and inns, various shops and ateliers. Little boats plied their trade between the larger ones and brightly costumed mageborn entertainers could be found on the quayside – Lyrics who spun song out of a breeze and Zephyrs who danced on the air. Emporiums sold goods from all over the world, riches and treasures more exotic than anything in Rathlynn.
The second, the other port, was best described as a shithole. Some joker had called it Belport. They were probably still laughing in their grave.
This was where everything else happened. Every underhand deal, every dodgy cargo, every stinking haul of fish, every knife in the dark was found in Belport. The taverns heaved all day long. That was where business was done, the locals would tell you, but Grace knew that the legal business done there was in the minority. That didn’t bother her.
The dead body of a Leanese sailor did. A young woman. Perhaps nineteen.
There were burn marks on the woman’s palms, and her eyes stared in horror at the sky overhead, like she couldn’t believe this had happened. There was no obvious cause of death, and she wasn’t wearing a collar like anyone mageborn in Rathlynn was forced to do. But the Leanese had a different marker for their mageborn: the tell-tale tattoo on her wrist hadn’t quite burned away. She looked like a beautiful doll, copper-skinned and black-haired, and that endless, vacant gaze. The brightly coloured split skirt she wore splayed out around her body, too bright in the dank laneway.
‘What ship was she from?’
Daniel shrugged, staring at the woman in morbid fascination. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, like he was trying to look inside her head to find out her secrets.
Grace drew in a breath to centre herself. She needed to keep her cool. Especially now. ‘Do you think you could be bothered to find out for me? You’re meant to have contacts, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, right, sure. Yes boss.’ And off he went like a hare through the crowd that had gathered around them now the Watch had gone. Ellyn was doing her best to shoo them back but not having a great deal of success. Everyone there had been drinking far more than they had, and for much longer.
‘What did she die of then?’ someone yelled. There were various suggestions, all of them obscene, so Grace ignored them.
She closed her eyes and tried to sense it, to reach out and feel whatever lingered on the air here. It wasn’t easy. Kai could have done it in a second, whereas she had to scrabble for whatever echoes she could find. The tension headache started moments later and she knew, with horrible clarity, that she’d have it for the rest of the day, and probably the night as well. She offered up a silent prayer that the Academy’s Curer wouldn’t be too busy when they finally got back.
But there it was, the trace of magic lingering like an invisible thread, a shimmering in the air which quickly translated to an itch under her skin.
‘Lieutenant Marchant?’
She opened her eyes to find a man of medium build standing beside her. He had the familiar Rathlynnese golden tone to his skin, and his auburn hair was darker than her own red. Good-looking, in a very proper way. His kind never looked twice at someone like her. He was well dressed, clean-shaven, and clearly had no place here in Belport. His eyes were sharp and cunning, that sort of blue that turned up only in the oldest Rathlynnese families.
‘Who are you?’
‘I was sent to assist.’
She glanced at him again. He wasn’t wearing a collar so he couldn’t be a mageborn. She’d never seen him at the Academy. She’d remember. Where had Craine dug this one up?
‘Assist me how?’ Suspicion made the howling pain in her head sharpen.
‘In your investigation. I’m a healer.’
Grace raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the body. ‘I think she’s a bit beyond your skills, healer. Unless you can raise the dead.’
He gave a snort of laughter which was almost human and shook his head. ‘I’m not a Barrow, if that’s what you mean. Or a Curer. And certainly not a Gore. Just a healer. The common or garden variety.’
Well, if he was here to help – whatever that help might entail – she might as well make use of him. She stepped closer to the body, circling it. Craine must have some idea what she was doing and it wasn’t the first time a healer had helped on a case.
‘Fine. What’s your name, healer?’
‘Merlyn Hale, Lieutenant. His highness Prince Bastien sent—’
She spun on one heel to face him. ‘Excuse me, what?’
Hale shied back, the alarm in his eyes almost comical. ‘The prince thought…’
‘The Lord of Thorns? What interest does he have in this case?’
‘He thought you could use my help.’
She scowled. Her? Need help? Oh, he thought that, did he? Why?
‘I can do my job, Hale.’
‘And I can do mine, Lieutenant. The prince wanted a report on this death.’
‘Why this death in particular?’ she asked. There was nothing obvious here, nothing special. Except for the burn marks. And the fact there was no other obvious cause of death. But maybe a healer could tell her more. Maybe.
Hale gave a tight-lipped smile which made his mouth even thinner. ‘He didn’t share that with me.’
I’ll bet he didn’t, Grace thought. Bastien Larelwynn didn’t strike her as the sharing type. Not even when he wanted something in return. She’d have to take it up with Craine when she got back to headquarters, but it wouldn’t matter if Merlyn Hale was telling the truth. If he wasn’t, well, she’d enjoy teaching him the error of his ways. As would Bastien Larelwynn, she guessed. No one went around blithely claiming the royal family had sent them. Not if they wanted to live very long.
‘So what can you tell me?’
‘Lieutenant?’ He looked almost shocked. She wasn’t sure what he thought she was suggesting but she had to stifle a laugh.
She pointed at the corpse. ‘About her. What can you tell me about her?’
‘Oh!’ And the calm mask of a professional healer slipped over his face. He pushed his auburn hair back before taking out a strip of fabric which he proceeded to wrap around his narrow features, covering his nose and mouth. Grace watched, bemused, as he crouched down and peered closer at the body.
‘Leanese, obviously. And from her dress a sailor. Sixteen or seventeen.’ Younger than Grace had thought, then. That shouldn’t have distressed her, but somehow it did. ‘She died quickly, very quickly. No sign of…’ He actually blushed and coughed, like he couldn’t say ‘rape’ in front of her. ‘The marks on her hands need studying.’ He reached out and pulled down the woman’s lower eyelid with the tip of his gloved finger. ‘She was… it looks like the life was just drained out of her.’
‘Have you seen this before?’
‘Once or twice. But there’s usually
more of a struggle. It takes time and this… this was extremely rapid. A syphon like this is… well, unheard of.’
‘Definitely a syphon then?’ That was what Craine had thought. But then, Craine knew this city better than anyone.
‘Well yes, but… like I said, it would have been almost instantaneous. A syphon takes much longer to entirely drain a mageborn of their powers .’ He picked up one hand and cradled it in his own as he studied the burn marks on it. ‘There’s a curious residue here.’ He tilted the hand to and fro and something on it caught the light, some kind of oily sheen on the charred skin. ‘Like she was holding something when it happened.’
Interesting. Grace didn’t know why yet. But it was interesting. ‘Can you find out what?’
‘Perhaps, back in the palace anyway. Not here in the street.’
‘You need to take the body?’
‘Better that than just the hand, I suppose.’
She caught up with his words and froze, trying to work out if it was a joke or not. He didn’t appear to be smiling. He was still staring into the face of the dead woman, still holding her tiny hand like it was a treasure.
‘Grace?’ Daniel called. He was back, slightly out of breath. ‘Found the ship.’ That was quick. He’d been lucky. Must have been one of the first ships he started with. ‘Only Leanese in port. Captain Vayden is on his way. He’s not happy.’
Well, who would be? She wasn’t happy either. There wasn’t a lot of happy going around.
Grace muttered a curse and Hale looked up at her with a mild expression of shock on his polished features. Where he came from women clearly didn’t swear at all. Or made sure no one heard them. Posh boy, then. Well, you usually had to be to become a healer. And to serve the Lord of Thorns.
Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1) Page 5