She scowled at him. ‘Very funny.’
He smiled back at her outrage. ‘It was, wasn’t it? All right, I’ll go upstairs and stay out of trouble. That’s what you really want to say, isn’t it?’
They waited. Word came through that the riot had been put down by the city guard with the usual stolid efficiency. The reports of mageborn among the attackers had started rumours though, nasty rumours.
They’re always dangerous. They can’t be trusted. There’s a reason they need to be controlled. Everyone knows that. They’d wipe us out if they could. They tried. The Hollow King almost succeeded. No one could let that happen again.
There was no mention of Bastien. So there was that small mercy. The fewer people who knew he was outside the palace the better. But it wouldn’t be long before someone blabbed. He’d been seen at the Academy. Besides, he tended to attract attention.
So far Grace had deflected four of the regular girls from going up to the room ‘just to check if your friend needs anything’. It was draining.
When she went to check on him herself, he appeared to be asleep sitting up on the moth-eaten bed, his back against the wall, facing the window.
‘Oh sorry,’ said a voice behind her. ‘I didn’t know that there was someone here. He asked for some wine.’
A woman stood in the doorway, a jug in one hand and two glasses in the other. She was hard-faced and the dress she wore was almost falling off her, dipping down so low over one shoulder it nearly exposed her breast.
‘No I didn’t,’ Bastien said, the suddenness of his voice almost making Grace jump. Not so asleep then. Only long experience meant she stayed still and kept her attention firmly fixed on the woman at the door. Her skin was flushed, a light sheen of sweat making it glisten. Like she was too hot. Like she was feverish.
The woman dropped the jug and the glasses which shattered, red wine boiling as it splattered across the wooden floorboards.
‘Get out of the way,’ she snarled at Grace, who didn’t move. ‘I don’t want you. It’s just him. He’s a monster.’
‘He’s just a man.’
‘That’s what he wants you to believe. We know the truth. The Hollow King is coming!’
Behind her Bastien Larelwynn surged to his feet. ‘What did you say?’
Flames roared from the Flint towards Grace, and she staggered back, throwing her arms up in front of her face as if they would protect her.
But the fire didn’t touch her.
‘Stand down,’ she heard Bastien yell. ‘I can help you.’
‘You’re lying. You are made of lies. You’ll steal the life and the light out of all of us. You’ll drain the whole city if you can. You can’t become king. Not you, nor your line.’
His voice grew strangely gentle, quiet and calm. But cold. So cold. ‘They’ve filled your mind with deception,’ he said, the tone almost singsong. Like he was trying to charm her. Did he have that power? Was he a Lyric or a Charm as well as a Leech? Was that even possible?
The fire grew brighter, a wall of it moving towards Grace, hemming her in. The floorboards burned and the flames reached for her, like hands. Grace opened her mouth to scream, but as it touched her, there was no pain. Just a gentle warmth. Her hands shook as she reached out. It didn’t burn. Her blood rushed through her, her breath like the flames. Her hair lifted around her face from the rising heat. But she didn’t burn.
‘Bastien,’ she called out. She could almost see him through the fire, a dark figure, tall and thin as a shadow, staring at her in horror.
And at that moment the woman made a dive for him.
But the Lord of Thorns was faster. The Flint flung herself towards him, fire blazing from her hands. Grace felt it, felt the power and the desperation which drove her. And the man in black caught her with one hand. The woman screamed and Grace screamed with her. Somewhere inside she was just a child. A terrified child.
Grace’s knife flashed in her hand as if she could leap through the fire and attack him, and Bastien flinched back, but he didn’t let go. Something dark unleashed itself from inside him, that terrible sucking vacuum. The woman shrieked and tried to wriggle free.
The flames died down, and the Flint fell still in his grip.
Empty.
He lowered her gently to the charred floorboards.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, without looking at the woman. ‘Are you burned?’
It took a moment before Grace realised he was talking to her.
She was shaking, that was certain. She felt like all the strength had been drained out of her and filled with flames instead. ‘I’m not hurt. I don’t think she wanted to hurt me.’
‘No,’ he said, staring at the suddenly small-looking body. ‘Just me. I’m a monster, remember?’
Four mageborn sent after him, powerful and terrible, hunting him to the most unsavoury dive in the worst part of town. And yet here he was, still standing.
‘She isn’t dead?’
‘Not quite. But she’ll never raise a flame again. There’s that at least.’
The way he said it chilled her. Grace glanced at him, his fine-boned face and dark eyes. The strain was evident in the line of his mouth, and she could read exhaustion in his gaze.
‘You’ve taken her power from her?’
‘Would you rather I let her burn you? This whole building?’
‘The building might have been an improvement. But she didn’t burn me. She used it to drive me back so she could get to you. Don’t you see that?’
He looked at her then and Grace wished she’d just shut up entirely. ‘If you hadn’t come up here…’
She shifted her stance uncomfortably. The thought of him just draining the power out of that woman made her on edge, nervous, and she couldn’t say why. At least he hadn’t just killed her.
Because she knew, the Flint hadn’t tried to kill her. Grace had stared into the fire and she’d seen… what?
A little girl, with red-gold hair.
Something in the back of her mind shuddered and she lurched back. The lance of pain that struck would have taken her to her knees if she hadn’t been standing near him. She couldn’t fall, couldn’t let herself show weakness. Not in front of him.
But the feel of the flames against her skin came back, the fire that touched but didn’t burn her, and her blood sang at its touch, and at the memory. Her vision swam and she reached up to hold her head.
‘Are you hurt?’ Bastien asked. He tried to catch her in case she fell and she shied away from him, almost falling anyway in the process. ‘Take it easy, Captain. Slowly. Breathe.’
‘Don’t tell me what—’
She sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed and her head finally cleared. She couldn’t let him touch her, she knew that for sure. Whether his power would have an effect on her or not, she couldn’t let him touch her.
Breathing definitely helped though. As did the calmness of his voice.
Get a grip, Grace, she told herself firmly. Get your act together and stand up, soldier.
It took all she had to do it.
‘We need to leave,’ she said.
‘We can’t leave her here.’
‘We aren’t taking her with us. Let Kurt mind her. Promise him money. He likes money. You can send for her later. Right now, I need to get you to safety. That’s what I came up to tell you. The city’s quietened down again but they’re blaming mageborn terrorists.’
She glanced down at the unconscious Flint.
‘They weren’t terrorists. They were assassins.’
‘I heard. What did she mean about the Hollow King, Bastien?’
He looked troubled, his brow creasing as he frowned. ‘I don’t know. But I need to find out.’ Then he looked up, his eyes darker than ever, a shadow beneath them. ‘You didn’t burn, Grace. You’re getting stronger.’
She tried to shrug, tried to make it nothing. It wasn’t. He knew it as well as she did. Perhaps better.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she replied.
If only she could trust him. But after what she had just seen? No. She couldn’t do that.
‘I’ll be fine. Let’s get moving.’
Chapter Thirteen
As the sun set over Rathlynn, Bastien found himself following his ragged group of erstwhile protectors out of the dregs of the city and up to the main gate of the palace complex. The walls of yellow stone curved inwards to the Lion gate, the azure blue tiles set with golden lions blazing in the light.
All along the main approach to the gates, figures gazed down on him, the Larelwynns of the past, all his ancestors. They all had his own face, or aspects of it. His nose, his jawline, his eyes… He’d lived with it his whole life, but he’d never noticed it before now. His heritage, his history was everywhere, but he didn’t feel part of it. He never had.
Home. Or at least its public face. There were other ways in. Few people knew them and, though it was tempting to just sneak inside by another way, people clearly needed to know that the Lord of Thorns was back.
He heard the shout go up as he walked forwards.
‘Captain, let me go first,’ he said. For once, Grace listened to him. The Royal Guards flocked forwards, and for the first time since they left the Temple Bastien felt able to breathe again.
‘Your highness,’ the overly handsome man who had been promoted above his ability to lead a group of veterans gushed at him. ‘The king has been so worried. He has been asking for you.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant…?’ he fished for a name.
‘Lieutenant Neren, your highness. Of the Camford Nerens.’ Bastien had no idea who they were but he nodded as if he did. ‘We can take it from here, Captain. You can stand down.’
Grace didn’t move. There was something dark and dangerous in her eyes. Of course a lieutenant shouldn’t be ordering around a captain, even if he was Royal Guard, of the Camford Nerens.
‘Captain Marchant carries the king’s warrant and is assigned to my personal protection, seconded to the Royal Guard. We should probably talk to General Kane, don’t you think? You could go and make sure someone has prepared rooms for her and her people. In my apartments.’
Neren went white, a mixture of anger, humiliation and fear. It almost made Bastien laugh, but that wouldn’t have been becoming, and would have compounded the problem. He didn’t need another enemy just now. But he didn’t like the way the boy talked down to Grace, or the way his squad looked at Ellyn and Daniel. They’d lost people today. Childers was dead. So Bastien sent Neren to make sure accommodation had been arranged for the Academy officers he thought so far below him and smiled softly to himself when he thought no one could see.
That said, he was pretty sure that Grace noticed. She saw everything.
Except perhaps her own potential. The fire in her was growing stronger. And the need to reach out and touch her, or taste her, was growing too. He could feel her power, humming just beneath her skin, warm and inviting.
He’d moved too fast. He’d made fun of her. That had been a mistake. It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to protect himself, to push her away because he couldn’t deal with what might have happened to him the previous night. Nothing helped with that.
And now… now… he had to face Asher Kane.
Asher was in his office, lounging back in his chair, drinking from a mug that Bastien firmly hoped didn’t contain anything alcoholic. Or worse. When he saw them, a ghost of annoyance crossed his face for a moment. Just a moment. Then he smiled, too knowingly. He got to his feet, putting down the mug. As their eyes met, Bastien suppressed a shudder.
‘Your highness, you’re back. How’s the head?’
So that was how it was going to be? Dismiss everything as drunkenness? He kept his voice calm. He didn’t know how.
‘We had some problems on the way.’
Had Asher ordered the attack? Had Aurelie? Would they do such a thing? It didn’t seem possible. And yet… he knew where that drink had come from, who had handed it to him.
‘So I heard.’ Asher looked past Bastien then, and nodded at Grace. ‘Problems, eh?’ He grinned, that irritating all-too-knowing grin that had got them in trouble all their lives. ‘Well done, Captain.’
Grace’s expression didn’t change. Bastien tried to remember what he’d told her about Asher, what he might have said. If you looked in her eyes, Bastien could see she didn’t trust him. How did she do that?
‘It was not without casualties, sir.’ She spoke curtly, carefully.
Asher nodded and his expression grew more solemn. Bastien breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been worried there would be a confrontation. But Grace was better than that. And Asher was more the diplomat than he gave him credit for.
‘My condolences. Their names will be written with honour. You have credentials for me?’
Grace undid the top of her leather jerkin, and Bastien found himself unaccountably warm all of a sudden. He caught a glint of gold hanging in her cleavage, the coin, the warrant which tied him to her, and that sigil she held so dear, the intricate workmanship of a master Atelier. She reached inside the jerkin and pulled out a small envelope which she handed over.
Asher’s eyes hadn’t missed any of that. He raised an eyebrow and Bastien knew, just knew, that Aurelie would be hearing all about this later.
And if Aurelie saw Grace as a threat…
Asher unfolded it, reading carefully. Then he folded it back up and put it on his desk. ‘Commander Craine speaks very highly of you. Welcome. You will report only to me, or to his majesty.’
Not to me, Bastien noticed. Trust Asher to try and leapfrog him in the process.
‘Technically I outrank you both,’ he reminded them.
They gave him a look which made Bastien suspect they’d either forgotten he was there or that he had said something deeply foolish. From by the door he distinctly heard Daniel Parry snicker.
Wonderful. This was just the nightmare he’d been worried about.
‘Of course you do, your highness,’ Asher said smoothly. ‘There’s also Marshal Milne. I believe you met. She, too, has a special dispensation from the king himself. Actually from his father, and his father before him, carried down through her line. Such is the way of things. The royal family of Larelwynn works by generations. Now, Parry and de Bruyn…’ They snapped to attention so hard Bastien almost heard the crack; if he looked at them he was pretty sure he’d see them vibrating. They weren’t stupid. Asher was probably the highest-ranking military officer of any kind they’d ever seen, never mind had address them. ‘Good, good. You report directly to Captain Marchant as usual. No deviation. What the three of you must understand is that the chain of command is more important here than anywhere else. It is paramount. Too many people within these walls think they have every right to hurl orders around, and they will try to take advantage of your relative naivety.’
‘With respect sir, we are not naïve.’ Grace, prickly as ever. Bastien should have warned Asher. It would have been fairer. But far less satisfying.
‘And with all due respect, Captain, I have been here a lot longer than you. Watch your back. You’re here to work with and protect the prince, at the king’s command. Your people are here to support you. Don’t be drawn into politics and dramas. You will need to…’ he gave their rough day uniforms a dismissive look… ‘attend court functions and dress accordingly. Attire will be provided.’
‘Attire?’ Ellyn said nervously. ‘What sort of attire?’
‘Dresses and such, de Bruyn.’
‘I don’t think Parry wears dresses,’ Bastien interjected but no one smiled. Well, Ellyn almost did. She covered remarkably well.
Asher just scowled at him. ‘We are finished here. My thanks for your time and patience, your highness. Captain, officers, you are dismissed.’
‘Thank you, General,’ said Grace, giving him a neat bow. ‘Just one small comment.’ She smiled so sweetly
, but it didn’t make it to her eyes. ‘I hold the king’s warrant. I report only to him. But my thanks for your advice.’
It was almost worth being there to see the look on Asher’s face.
Bastien’s apartments occupied an entire tower. It was bigger than the Academy and the security was second to none. There were only a few access points. On the top two floors were a study and his private chambers. There were reception rooms, kitchens, a guards’ room and a way down to the dungeons. Marshal Simona Milne lived here too, apparently, but she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Your royal highness, we have been beside ourselves with concern.’ The voice came from the stairs and footsteps followed, heralded by the glow of a candle.
‘This is Lyssa,’ Bastien said as a small, neat woman with white hair and all the bearing of a noblewoman appeared. ‘She’ll take care of you. I have… I have things to do.’ And like that he was gone, up that same flight of curling stairs from which the woman had appeared, leaving them in the path of a veritable whirlwind.
‘I’m Lady Lyssa Arenden of Valencourt. My late husband was master of ceremonies in the royal court of Larelwynn for many a year. Prince Bastien, bless him, found me a position here after his death. You can call me Lyssa. Now, rooms, and a chance to refresh yourselves perhaps. I’ll have someone go and draw baths. You look half dead, you poor loves.’
‘There are other servants here?’ Grace asked and then felt foolish. Of course there were servants. She just didn’t think they would be serving her.
‘We run a small household here. His royal highness dislikes company at the best of times and we are so removed from the main palace here. It’s very… peaceful. Yes, peaceful. What else? Have you eaten?’
Grace thought back to the prostitute omelettes and the rest of the dubious fare Kurt had provided. ‘Not for some time, but we…’
‘Oh well, we’ll have to see to that. And some wine perhaps?’
The housekeeper fussed around them like a mother hen and showed them first to the rooms set aside for Ellyn and Daniel. They were neat, functional, and far more spacious than either of them were used to. Ellyn’s overlooked the sea and she stood there, staring out the window for the longest moments, as if she couldn’t believe it.
Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1) Page 17