He lifted his chin just a little, a gesture to remind her of his status, but that didn’t seem to have the desired effect. ‘And what if I insist?’
‘As the royal heir? Or as the Lord of Thorns?’
She spat out the words and he took them like the blows they were. It didn’t matter. He’d heard far worse.
‘Something is afoot in this city. Something dark and evil, and someone is trying to make it look like I am part of it. Not to mention trying to kill me.’ Admittedly that could be any number of people but he decided not to go into that for now. ‘I would like to know who it is. And why. I think you are the person to help me discover it. Who is using my people? Who is using my work?’
‘Your work?’
‘Yes. Certain aspects of this case are… familiar to me. I’m not at liberty to tell you more.’
She gave a brief, dismissive laugh. ‘Of course you aren’t.’
‘I serve the king. As you do. So yes, Lieutenant Marchant, as the royal heir and as the Lord of Thorns, I insist.’
‘Well then…’ She scowled. ‘It’s my honour to serve.’
She didn’t sound like it though.
Chapter Seven
What could she do? He just stood there and invited himself onto her team as if it was some kind of holiday adventure or a hobby to pass the idle hours. Lecturing her on ancient history and old legends. All the time, smirking at her with that too bloody handsome face of his. And every second she stood in his presence, the instinct to get the hell away as soon as possible was growing stronger. Or to do something else. Something reckless and insane.
‘Fine,’ she said. But it wasn’t fine. Not Danny and Misha fine. It was just a word that everyone used when they were trapped into a situation that they knew was going to be a disaster but there was nothing they could do about that.
She needed to get out now. The glow inside her, the one she kept buried deep in the pit of her stomach, was stirring like a seed after winter, just standing that close to him, and she needed to smother it as soon as possible.
‘Should I come with you now?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Damn it, there had to be a way out of this. ‘I’ll have to clear this with my superiors and you’ll have to…’
‘Clear it with mine?’ He laughed softly. ‘I don’t think my cousin will mind.’
‘But my commander might.’
‘And who does your commander report to? Let me see… Come on, Lieutenant, we can find out together.’ He swept towards her and the only way out was through the door ahead of him, with the Lord of Thorns following right on her heels like her shadow. There was no escaping him, not down here in his domain.
She rounded on him, finding him just a little too close for her comfort. ‘Back up,’ she snapped and to her surprise he did. He drew himself back a step or two so that suddenly it felt like she could breathe again, and think.
Having him on board might be a good idea. She could keep an eye on him, wait for him to slip up. And if he wasn’t the killer… if it really wasn’t him, he’d certainly open doors around here. And terrify people into answering her questions. If he didn’t terrify them into complete silence first. It could go either way.
‘Where are we going?’ Bastien asked. ‘Do you need to talk to Hale?’
‘I’ve spoken to him already.’
‘Oh.’ If anything he sounded disappointed.
‘This isn’t a game, your highness.’
‘Bastien,’ he reminded her.
‘Bas-ti-en.’ She put as much ice on each syllable as she could manage. If this was some sort of entertainment to him, she’d make his life hell. It should be a pleasure. No, an honour.
Running footsteps made her turn and Hale appeared. ‘Oh thank the divine, there you are, the king is looking for you.’
‘What does he want?’ Bastien asked.
‘No… not you, your highness. Her. Lieutenant Marchant.’
Her stomach dropped down somewhere around her ankles. ‘Me?’
‘I don’t know any other Lieutenant Marchant around here, do you?’ Bastien said with a laugh. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you the way.’
‘But why does the king—’
Bastien linked his arm with hers and she was too stunned to shake him off. ‘He probably doesn’t. Not personally, anyway. He doesn’t do much of anything these days. It’s going to be the queen.’
The way he said it made it sound like a death sentence. No love lost there, clearly. But the little Grace knew about Queen Aurelie was that the foreign queen was well liked in Rathlynn, and in the realm in general. To many she was the perfect queen, the darling of the nobility, kind to the common people, and generous to her various charitable causes. Her devotion to the king was legendary.
‘Do you know her well?’
‘Aurelie? She’s not the sort of person you know.’
Daniel and Ellyn were waiting for her in the courtyard above the Lord of Thorns’ domain, but there wasn’t any way they could come with her, not into the most secure parts of the palace. Grace caught little more than a brief glance at their surprised faces as she passed them. Bastien led the way. He moved like he owned the place. Which he pretty much did, or would one day. He had lived here all his life. They passed extravagant tapestries in greens and golds, depicting Larelwynn’s long-dead forebears battling endless enemies. Lucien Larelwynn and the Hollow King faced each other on the walls of Thorndale Castle. His son, Anders the Great, knelt before the Little Goddess and founded the Temple in her honour. The three sisters of King Riah cut off their hair in mourning at his funeral. There were portraits too, face after face staring down at Grace. The same eyes, the same nose, the same high cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them.
But she didn’t have to look far to see those features anyway. She watched him from behind, the broad shoulders, the slim hips, the long legs. Everything about him screamed his pedigree.
She needed to look anywhere else than at him. Anywhere.
Their footsteps echoed through the high halls as they passed over intricate mosaics and painted tiles of white and azure blue. It was overwhelming, the beauty in here, especially when Grace thought of the austerity of the Academy where she’d grown up. Or the poverty and violence she saw every day in the city below.
And yet, Bastien barely glanced around him as he walked. He didn’t even seem to notice the magnificence all around him. But it wasn’t a place of luxury. There was nothing comforting here, nothing anyone could possibly call homely. She thought of Craine’s watchful eye, of the laughter ringing out through the mess hall, of blankets shared and boots handed down, borrowed clothes, the water of the baths, snatches of song and dirty jokes, and a hug when it was needed most.
It wasn’t like this, her home. But it was her home. The only home she could remember.
Had anyone ever done anything as vaguely human as hugging Bastien Larelwynn? She couldn’t picture it. When she tried to imagine it her brain just wouldn’t create the image. Had anyone held him when he cried? Had he ever cried?
Grace didn’t expect the surge of pity she felt for him. She certainly didn’t want to feel it. If anything she should be feeling pity for herself right now.
Divinities, she wished she’d worn the stupid dress uniform now.
They climbed a sweeping staircase, Bastien’s hand brushing lightly along the marble bannister. At the top, at the far end of a long corridor more sumptuous than the last, they stopped in front of a huge set of double doors, painted a brilliant white with the carvings highlighted in gold.
‘Ready?’ he asked and before she could answer, he pushed the doors open.
There were at least a hundred people on the other side. They wore court finery and more jewels than Grace had ever seen. They were beautiful. More than beautiful.
It was like a glimpse into the realm of the divinities themselves.
Her mouth went completely dry.
‘Lieutenant?’ Bastien said, so quietly, so gently that she couldn’t
believe for a moment that it was him.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered.
‘Yet here you are. Ready?’
‘If I say no, what happens?’
He smiled at her, a normal, human smile, and she wanted to believe in it, in him. She wanted it more than anything. ‘It still happens.’
Of course it did. This was so far beyond her petty control that she might as well try to put reins on a cloud.
Grace swallowed down her terror, lifted her chin and straightened her spine. It wasn’t going to be worse than facing down a riot, was it? Or an inquisition to detect mageborn? Or capturing the Gore? She’d been through all of those things.
And survived.
She walked through the crowd, which parted – more she guessed for Bastien’s benefit than for hers. He was behind her now, her shadow, his presence making her continue this long walk.
The far end of the room was bathed in light, all kinds of colours which shifted and moved. She squinted at it and then realised it came through five long narrow stained-glass windows surrounding the thrones, which captured swirls of bright jewel colours. Two thrones, one much bigger than the other, and both of them occupied. The man – the king, she corrected herself immediately – was slender and pale, almost wan. He had the same dark hair as Bastien, neatly cut to his jaw, and his skin was the colour of marble. It looked stretched over the bones underneath. Rumours of his illness were not an exaggeration, that was for sure. In fact, they probably didn’t do it justice. In full health he would have been handsome and there was still something about him, something delicate and enticing. The same high cheekbones as Bastien, too, but here the cheeks below were hollow. Similar eyes too, although his were a deep brown rather than the intense darkness of his cousin’s. He wasn’t as tall, or as broad. He sat very still watching her.
She sensed that he missed nothing.
The queen sat beside but slightly behind him, on a smaller throne, though it was still clearly a throne. She wore a golden circlet and a gown of brilliant white. Golden hair, as fine as silken threads, was styled around her face, accentuating her slender neck and delicate shoulders. And she really was beautiful.
Grace remembered Ellyn talking about catching a glimpse of her one day when she had been travelling through the city to give alms at the Temple of the Little Goddess.
‘Like a spirit in human form,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like her.’
The pale blue eyes scanned across Grace, taking in everything, but then moving on, lingering past her shoulder. On Bastien no doubt. Queen Aurelie had already dismissed her with a single glance. Grace tightened her jaw and tried not to clench her teeth. She looked up instead, past them. The sword hung in front of the central window, above the king’s throne: Larelwynn’s weapon, the Godslayer. It caught the light, reflected the colours, but there was something dark and dangerous about its edge. Like an aura of shadows. It felt cold, as if it sucked in light and heat, and everything good in the world.
As Grace reached the foot of the raised dais, she bowed. It wasn’t the bow of a courtier, but it was the best she could do.
‘Lieutenant Marchant,’ said King Marius. ‘We are most pleased to receive you.’
‘Your majesty sent for me. I am honoured to obey.’ The fact she had no idea why she was here or what he wanted had to go unspoken. She was out of her depth and struggling to keep up.
‘My cousin informs me that he wants to work with you to solve this mystery. Will you have him?’
Oh. Bastien had already asked. Grace squirmed inside as she tried to think of a way to answer. Would she have him? She didn’t have a bloody choice, did she? What did they expect her to do?
She could name Bastien as a suspect right here in front of everyone. She could refuse his help and leave. She could even tell them that they should not be interfering in an investigation. That they had no right.
Except they did. They had every right. She served the crown.
He wasn’t wearing it but he might as well have been.
‘Your majesty does me too high an honour.’
The queen laughed, a pretty, girlish sound, covering her mouth as she did so. Then she leaned forward and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘You misunderstand, Lieutenant,’ she said.
Misunderstand? It wasn’t an honour. Grace understood that well enough. What else was she misunderstanding right now?
‘Forgive me, your majesty. I… I’m… how may I serve you?’
The king lifted his arm, which forced his wife’s touch away. Great, Grace thought, here’s the point where he orders me taken away in chains or something. And where was Bastien bloody Larelwynn in all this, standing behind her like a statue. So far she hadn’t been able to shut him up but now, when he could have been the one to speak for her, he was silent.
‘Serve me by finding out who is doing this, and make sure my heir does not get himself killed.’
‘Your majesty,’ she replied weakly. That was that, then.
‘Bastien, you’ll need to learn how to take orders,’ said the queen. She was smiling again, smiling at Bastien. It wasn’t a pretty smile, not when you looked into her eyes at the same time. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible for our Lord of Thorns.’
Laughter rang around the court. Nasty, petty laughter. They really hated him, didn’t they? Grace stood there, feeling ice clutching at her insides, imagining facing this day in, day out, in what was meant to be his home.
‘Hush,’ said King Marius and the laughter died away instantly. ‘Cousin, my wife makes a point. Can you obey this officer?’
Bastien stepped forward, beside her, and to Grace’s surprise he bowed his head. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He was bowing to his king, and though the gesture was small he did it with the utmost respect.
‘I can and I will, your majesty.’
A ripple of shock flowed around the room. Why did they need to do this here, in front of all these people? Why make him humble himself like this?
The king had never struck her as cruel.
Not that she knew him. Not really. None of them did, except perhaps Bastien.
‘Very well.’ Marius turned his attention back to Grace and she half wished he hadn’t. ‘Come here, Lieutenant.’ He beckoned her, his thin hand like a skeleton’s. She didn’t want to move but what else could she do?
She stepped up onto the dais and approached the throne. Not too close. She wasn’t suicidal. The Royal Guard were already bristling all around her and she was armed. One wrong move and someone would have an arrow in her back before she could explain.
‘Kneel,’ he said and his voice was kindly enough.
Grace obeyed, dropping to her knees.
‘You serve the crown already, and with distinction I am told. One of our finest officers. In recognition of that, and to give our cousin something to think about, I am awarding you a royal warrant.’
He leaned forward, taking something from around his neck, and then that same something fell heavy against her chest. For a moment she thought it was a collar encircling her throat, about to tighten, and the sheer sense of panic made her head whirl. But it wasn’t. A heavy medallion on a golden chain nestled against her chest, clinking against the sigil Zavi had given her. It bore the mark of the Larelwynns and it was clearly worth a small fortune.
‘Your majesty, I…’
She looked up and instantly wished that she hadn’t. The emaciated face of the king gazed down at her, his dark brown eyes seeing into her soul as clearly as Bastien’s did. A family trait then.
He leaned forward, embraced her, and Grace froze in shock. All around her she could hear shocked mutterings, but Marius just held her close and she couldn’t pull away. For someone who looked so frail, he was strong. As he held her, he whispered in her ear.
‘Keep him alive. Whatever else, I charge you, protect him. That is my primary command. He must live. To protect the mageborn. That’s what we forgot. Not just control. Protect. That was the deal
we made, the Larelwynns, right at the start. Give the warrant to no one else. Keep it safe. It is just for you.’
He released her and she had to fight to stay upright. Marius had just broken every rule about engaging with royalty, especially for a commoner like her. He’d just ignored all protocol. Which, as he was the king, she supposed he was allowed to do. But still…
She staggered as she got up, bowed again clumsily and stepped back, wondering where the edge of the dais was, and whether she was about to fall off it to compound the horror of this whole audience. But thankfully, she kept her feet, finding the edge and re-joining Bastien without embarrassing herself further.
Keep him alive. A royal command. How was she meant to do that? She was only a lieutenant. He had to have bodyguards and servants. He had his marshal, Simona Milne, and that healer, Hale. And… she couldn’t recall anyone else.
‘I hereby name Grace Marchant a captain of the Academy, and adjunct to the Royal Guard in honour of her years of dedicated service to the crown. Let all honour her, respect her and aid her in her duty.’
Marius fixed Bastien with a terrible stare and just for a moment Grace was sure his eyes glowed with a golden light. ‘And cousin, you will obey her.’
Bastien winced suddenly, his shoulders tightening, his body flinching as if in response to an expected blow. His mouth opened and a dazed look passed over his beautiful features, a shimmering of something beneath his skin. He looked so shocked, so betrayed, tears glistening in his eyes. The eyes he couldn’t tear away from the king.
The instincts inside Grace that had saved her so many times flared into life as she sensed magic. It surrounded him, bound him, and Bastien was helpless before it. The collar, she realised. The torc he wore was still a collar.
Bastien had thought he’d been so clever, volunteering to help investigate. And Marius the Good had called his bluff.
The king smiled weakly and waved his hand at some functionary or other, who raised a voice like the ringing of a bell. ‘Their majesties will retire. The court will disband. Divinities be with the king. Long may he reign.’
Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1) Page 10