Ah, but her job wasn’t entirely her job any more. It was looking after him. Keeping him alive.
‘Just talk,’ Bastien assured her.
The cottage garden behind the kitchen was the only place she could think of. If that was because he had asked about a garden, or because it had been in her dream, Grace wasn’t sure. But it was private.
It wasn’t much. Vegetables, herbs, a few stray flowers, some chickens scratching around in the corner. The square beds were as regimented as the Academy, everything in its place, and, thanks to the talents of a few young Loams recently arrived here, the garden bloomed with abundance.
There was definitely no glowing pool of light in the centre.
Bastien sat on the low, ramshackle bench across from the kitchen window, ignoring the bucket of sand full of poorly rolled cigarette ends and the sorry pile of empty beer bottles under it, with all the diplomatic skills she would expect from a prince. He closed his eyes. Beyond the high walls the sounds of the city filtered through, but it sounded far off, distant. It had always been her escape, hers and many others. Here there was birdsong and a breeze. You could barely even hear the cook yelling blue murder at the unfortunate scullery boy in the rooms behind them.
Grace tried to make herself relax, but she couldn’t sit still. She shifted around, crossing and uncrossing her arms, and she finally managed to stand at ease, even though she wasn’t really at ease at all. She just waited there, in front of him, trying to figure out how to broach this.
He beat her to it.
‘How did you hide yourself for so long, Grace?’
She could argue. She could deny everything, play innocent or ignorant. It had worked all the other times the suspicion had reared its head.
‘I don’t know what you mean…’ She didn’t even sound convincing to herself. Not this time around.
He just sat there, as patient as stone. Waiting. She folded her arms, defiant.
‘You’re a Flint. But something happened, when you were a child, I presume. Before the Academy.’
‘I don’t remember life before the Academy.’
He gave a little sound of understanding, a brief ‘hah’ and lifted his head in a nod of understanding. ‘Memories can be difficult, I know. I can help with that.’
She shied back from him, even though he hadn’t moved. ‘You’re not touching me again.’
He laughed. Actually laughed. And suddenly he was on his feet, moving faster than she could have anticipated. An instant later, she was in his arms, her body pressed to his, far too intimately, and his lips were only a whisper away from hers.
She could kiss him. Just lean forward a little and kiss him. Like he had kissed her last night. That weird, feverish kiss that should never have happened.
Like they had kissed in the Maegen, so many times. He had been her lover in the light, so tender and so careful of her, bringing her such joy. No earthly lover had ever compared. She knew him better than anyone else. More intimately. Completely.
‘Really?’ he said.
Something snapped inside her, that spell he wove over her, the madness that seemed to infect her just being close to him. It melted away, and anger flooded in to replace it. Anger she could work with. Anger was good. Anger was strength.
She twisted in his grip, dropping her weight, and kicked hard into his ankle. Startled, Bastien released her and she leaped back from him, landing in a crouch, her knives already in her hands.
‘Don’t try that again,’ she snarled.
Bastien shook off any pain or humiliation. Perhaps the Lord of Thorns didn’t feel either. ‘You certainly have the temperament of every Flint I’ve ever met,’ he said ruefully. ‘It’s a wonder no one else ever realised.’
‘I didn’t even realise.’ He gave her a single look which branded her a liar. She straightened, but kept the knives to hand. ‘I didn’t. Not at first. Look, I was mageborn. And something happened when I was a child which took it from me. A syphon or something. I was burned out completely when I got here. Craine knows. They all knew. I was tested and found… empty. It was only recently that I…’ She sighed, surprised how difficult this was to admit. Because she had never admitted it before to anyone, apart from Kai. ‘It started to come back. Like an instinct, a feeling, and then… just a little. Kai helped. Whenever I needed him to.’
‘You let him drain you?’
He made it sound illicit, like something to be ashamed of. She scowled. ‘It wasn’t like that. He helped, that’s all. He was my friend. We’re Academy. We look out for each other here.’
‘Oh Grace,’ Bastien whispered. It was a sound of deep remorse, and terrible understanding.
The wave of horror that had been hanging over her for days finally crashed down on her. Her shoulders sagged as she admitted her darkest fear. ‘Did I kill him? Was it my fault?’
‘What?’
She pressed on. She had to know now. And Bastien could tell her, even if no one else could. ‘Was it my fault? If he syphoned power from me, and then he—’
‘No. It doesn’t work like that. I promise. We aren’t just batteries, Grace, absorbing power and overloading. Sometimes, like any mageborn, it’s just too much to house inside us. Sometimes it’s just our time. The Maegen… it has a life of its own. It wants to escape the pool. It wants to be used.’
‘But you don’t just leech magic, do you? You did something else. With those students.’
And as quickly as that, he seemed to close himself off from her. ‘It was nothing.’
She’d walked in and seen him there, felt the surge of magic, the raw power swirling in the air all around them. It was not nothing. She’d thought he was draining them, that he was stealing all their magic as hers had been stolen. And in that instant, all she knew was rage.
They were just cadets. Little more than children. And she’d lost it.
Now… now she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like the feeling. She needed answers.
‘I felt it too, Bastien. Remember? It made the Flint in me stronger… the torches, the candles… I thought… I’m sorry. I was wrong. You weren’t leeching their magic. But what were you doing?’
He sat down again, his hands folded in his lap, his head bowed. ‘I was just helping them. Securing their powers, strengthening them, keeping them safe. That’s what I’m meant to do. The Maegen flows through me, more readily than through anyone else. I can send it either way. I’m not really a Leech, or… not just a Leech. I… I manipulate the Maegen itself. That’s what the day of homage is, a way of securing the powers of the mageborn, stopping them becoming overwhelmed, as your friend was.’
She recalled him standing over Kai’s body, the strange gentleness as he stroked her dying friend’s face and drew the magic devouring him out of him.
‘You didn’t kill Kai, did you?’
‘I released him.’
And she’d cursed him, hated him. When he had finally set Kai free.
‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer for a moment. He looked stricken, then bowed his head, staring at the ground.
‘Every time.’
Like a sickness, ma’am. But it is my honour to serve. That was what Kai had said. And he was right. It infected everything. Grace stared at the Lord of Thorns, not able to think of a single response.
As if uncomfortable with the line the conversation had taken, he seemed to shake himself off and turned away. ‘All right, I promise. I won’t touch you without permission. Never again. As you command. It’s not like I haven’t had the experience and it isn’t one I relish.’
For a moment she thought he meant touching her. But then she realised. Being touched without permission… maybe he did remember… or at least he knew, in theory, what had happened.
Her stomach twisted again and she sheathed the knives. His promise would have to do. She still wasn’t sure if she believed him, and it didn’t really matter. He sounded like he meant it. Remorse stained his eyes. He might be struggling with what hap
pened to him last night. Perhaps this was his way.
But he knew her secret now. He was the worst person who could have found out.
‘And if I’m a…’ She couldn’t even say it. Not out loud. It was too much. Too dangerous. ‘Bastien, what… what do I do?’
He paused for a moment, considering. Then said the impossible. ‘Nothing. Say nothing, do nothing. Unless you want a collar around your neck too.’
‘But—’
Duty said otherwise. Protocol and directives. If it was anyone else, she would be honour-bound to report it. And if she looked, if she dared to actually look through the regulations she had once memorised so assiduously, she was certain she’d find one telling her she had to turn herself in. But she hadn’t dared to look. She didn’t want to remember.
‘No buts, Captain. I’ll protect you.’
She couldn’t help the smile, a broken wavering expression. ‘That’s my job, Bastien. I’m meant to protect you.’
‘Then we protect each other. It seems only fair. Deal?’ He held out his hand and she stared at it. An awkward moment passed and a bird flew out of the apple trees at the rear of the garden, distracting her. When she looked back, his hands were folded in his lap again and his head was bowed. He got to his feet, every movement elegant. ‘We should go. I will be needed back at the palace.’
The palace. His home, where he was a prince, the Lord of Thorns, where people obeyed his every command. And yet the last place he would be safe. Or perhaps that was here. She didn’t know any more. Nothing felt safe. Not with him around.
And yet, he’d offered to help. He’d offered her a deal.
‘Bastien,’ she said firmly, pulling his attention back to her. She offered her own hand this time and Bastien stared at it. ‘It’s a deal.’
He stood, towering over her, his shadow falling and encircling her. But she didn’t feel the cold, not now. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said and slipped his hand into hers.
His skin felt so cool and inviting against hers, his hand strong and yet gentle. She remembered it holding her, effortlessly. Magic pulsed inside her, in time with her heart. Or maybe in time with his.
She didn’t mean to let go quite so quickly. ‘All right,’ she said, trying to mask it. Knowing he wasn’t fooled for an instant. ‘Back to the palace. But… but first, I need to interview someone. Can we make a stop on the way?’
The light of intrigue entered his dark eyes. It looked a lot like hope.
Chapter Twelve
The Great Temple of the Little Goddess, far older than the palace or the Academy, sat in the very centre of Rathlynn. Far older than anything else in the city. The thought of it played havoc with Grace’s imagination. The round building stood on a labyrinth of catacombs that interconnected with countless other subterranean paths, because the Rathlynnese colonised everything, above and below. It was topped with a golden dome and the round arches encircling it led into the cool interior. The windows had been added later, a mosaic of blue and white glass, tiny mullioned panes the size of duck eggs.
Four galleries stretched out to each compass point, leading to towers where the novices, sisters and servants of the Temple lived. In the quadrants between, the gardens spilled life everywhere, lush with fruit and flowers, all the bounties of the Little Goddess.
She brought life to every garden.
So too, Grace thought as they lingered in the cool shade of a reception room, just beyond one of those gardens, did the number of Loams who she had already spotted living here, tending the plants, turning the soil, singing soft and magical songs.
It was a legally acceptable thing, of course, fosterage at the Temple, a viable alternative to the Academy. Certainly better than the streets. Kids went missing all the time, mageborn kids most frequently. She thought of the file in her pack, the ones whose bodies had been found with their hands burned.
Bastien paced back and forth, unable to settle. The long black cloak made him look like a crow.
‘How may we be of service, Officers?’ The voice of a woman floated softly into the room, followed by the woman herself. Daniel and Childers were already bowing. Ellyn took one look and dropped to her knees.
‘Mother,’ she gasped. ‘You honour us.’
Grace winced, but she bowed too, while the Mother of the Temple laid her hand on Ellyn’s head. Grace hadn’t really expected her to come herself. She stood, tall and stately, robed in her customary green. Long chestnut hair, threaded with strands of silver, was piled on top of her head and tumbled in graceful curls around her face. She was younger than Grace had imagined, in her middle years, but still beautiful. For some reason Grace had always thought that the woman would be ancient. But she wasn’t. The same age as Craine perhaps.
Then Mother Miranda noticed Bastien. She smiled, the smile of a much younger woman by far.
‘Your highness? We weren’t expecting you today. Do you wish to visit her? She’s… not having the best day, I’m afraid.’
‘Not today, madam. You are too kind.’ He smiled, but it didn’t make it all the way to his eyes, Grace noticed. Whoever he was being invited to visit, he clearly didn’t want Miranda to know whether he actually wanted to or not. ‘I’m simply assisting the Academy with their investigation. I’m sure you’ll want to do the same.’
‘But of course, my dear. Tell me, Captain, how can I help?’
She was the most powerful woman in the city, next to the queen. Settling herself on the bench overlooking the garden, Miranda beckoned to Grace as if she was an old friend.
Grace’s spine stiffened in alarm. Her mind had a frozen image buried in it, a woman sitting like that, overlooking a ramshackle and pathetic garden, which had more buckets of stagnant water and broken bottles in it than fountains and verdant foliage. Something in the back of her mind clawed at her memories, the dark, forgotten part of her life. She closed her hands into tight fists to stop them shaking.
‘Ma’am,’ she began and the others all looked at her in confusion. You didn’t address her like that. Of course you didn’t. What was she doing? ‘Mother…’ That didn’t feel right either.
Miranda smiled. ‘There’s no need to be afraid, Captain. Come, sit down.’ She gently patted the bench beside her.
Grace shook herself, telling herself to focus, to fight this unknown fear and do her job.
‘It is regarding a series of murders. Mageborn left with burns on their hands. Commander Craine sent us to ask for your help.’
‘Dear me, the poor things. Do you know their families? We can send some financial aid, or counsellors. We can always make space here if needed.’
‘Only one,’ she said. ‘A sailor who was a Zephyr.’
Miranda bowed her head and said a prayer. ‘And the others?’
‘I have descriptions, some drawings. If you recognise them, if they ever came here, or if you know of any mageborn who came for healing with burns on their hands…’
‘Show me. We will help in any way we can. Let me call some of our wards and see if they can identify them. Children, you know, have the most remarkable memories.’
The words seemed to echo through Grace’s head for a moment, rebounding back and forth. Children… memories… She swallowed hard and tried to make herself breathe.
Grace took the files from her pack, while Miranda sent an attendant off to call her wards. Moments later the courtyard was full of children of all ages. Ellyn, Daniel and Childers set about showing them the pictures and talking to them but it quickly became clear that this was going nowhere.
Bastien watched from the corner, a dark shadow, and Grace glanced his way only when Miranda approached him. She put her hand on his arm and he pulled back as politely as he could. If it offended her, she gave no sign.
‘The queen sent word,’ she said. ‘They were worried when you left so suddenly. Are you feeling better?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, his voice cold. ‘I’m fine. Now… Miranda… how is she?’
‘She’s… she’s been better. Not a good
day today but you could see her if you want. You know we will always make accommodations for you, Bastien.’
‘In return for what?’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘Your company, nothing more arduous than that.’
He looked up and his eyes met Grace’s. His face fell to perfect stillness. ‘Thank you for helping them. But if there’s nothing else we really should get back to the palace.’
With the dregs of the market clearing up in King’s Square, they diverted along Grand Way, the wide white-stoned street which led towards the palace and the Royal Promenade. Grace kept her eyes on the junctions and the rooftops. Something niggled away at the back of her brain, something that didn’t feel right. As they passed under the shadow of the watch house, she felt a chill and her shoulders tightened.
‘Captain,’ Bastien said, his voice no more than a whisper of a warning.
The explosion from the left blew out the timbered colonnade. Grace threw herself back, reaching for Bastien, but Daniel was already on him, pushing him towards the ground.
‘No! Get to cover!’ Grace yelled. She hauled Bastien up and headed for the other side of the road but as she did so, a group of armed men and women descended on them. They wore grey clothes, their faces wrapped with scarves, hiding their identities.
From overhead, arrows rained down. It seemed to be just one archer but his aim was good and he was fast. Worse, the arrows were aided by the wind itself, a Zephyr behind them, no doubt. Zigzagging back towards the square, Grace heard the crash of weapons as Childers and Ellyn engaged. She and Daniel formed up around the prince. Bastien had drawn the sword he’d borrowed from the Academy armoury. He had to know how to use it. That was the type of thing posh boys like him learned from childhood, wasn’t it?
But she’d bet he couldn’t use it the way they did.
Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1) Page 15