Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1)

by Jessica Thorne

  They’d been attacked as soon as they left the Temple, as soon as they had asked questions about the dead kids. Bastien had been the target, sure, but he hadn’t been the one to die. That had been Childers, one of her people. And they had all been targets. So maybe… maybe the assassination attempt hadn’t simply been aimed at Bastien.

  Besides which, the assassins had been mageborn. And that made investigating it her job. It always had been.

  ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  It was a cell, Grace supposed, though not like any cell you’d see elsewhere in Rathlynn. But then this wasn’t the royal dungeons, this was the base of Bastien Larelwynn’s tower. Less a cell and more a small, comfortably furnished bedroom with no windows and highly effective security. Simona nodded at them as they entered, but didn’t follow, engaged in some work of her own that Grace didn’t actually want to investigate too closely.

  The Flint sat on the edge of the bed. Her red-rimmed eyes showed she’d been crying and her pallor made her look ill. She held her hands clasped before her and even that couldn’t stop them shaking. Daniel and Ellyn took up position outside the cell. When Grace entered, the Flint stood up, ready to fight, argue or plead her case, but when Bastien followed, she almost threw herself back into the corner.

  ‘Please… please… don’t let him hurt me.’ She dropped to her knees, sobbing once again.

  Grace’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t say anything. Bastien didn’t need to torture anyone. His reputation did that for him.

  ‘Perhaps I should wait outside,’ he said in that soft, calm voice. He didn’t even need to make it threatening.

  ‘Thank you,’ Grace replied. ‘That might be best.’

  But still he paused for a moment. ‘If you should need me…’

  She cut him off with a look. Need him? Why on earth would she need him? And if it was a threat aimed at the girl, it wasn’t exactly helpful.

  He closed the door gently behind him. She didn’t hear the lock slide home.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Sylvie, Sylvie Lexin.’ And suddenly, as if naming herself released her tongue, she was talking, quickly, desperately. ‘They said… they said it was just a simple job. Just kill him, they said. They didn’t tell us who he was… I would never have… if I’d known…’

  Who hadn’t told her? That was what Grace was here to find out. But rush it and Sylvie would panic. She was already panicking. She had a lot to panic about. Threats weren’t going to get anywhere here. There was an art to this and Craine had taught her well.

  ‘Do you often do jobs like that?’

  The woman buried her face in her hands and sobbed again. She was younger than Grace had thought, thinner too. Desperate. Slowly, carefully, Grace reached out and helped her back onto the bed. She picked up one of the luxuriously soft blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. Bastien had said Sylvie was as much a victim as a perpetrator here. Perhaps more so. What choice did she even have?

  What choice did any of them have?

  ‘Were you very young when you found out?’ She didn’t need to elaborate on what Sylvie had found out. They both knew.

  ‘Five. Maybe six. I don’t know. It was fun at first, lighting candles. The house was draughty but I could heat it. My mam worked long hours as a seamstress and she’d make tea but it would go cold. So when she came back I’d heat it up for her.’

  They’d been poor then. Desperately poor. Like so many of the people of Rathlynn. Grace knew this story well. She knew what happened next.

  ‘When did they find you?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not long after. Took me one day from outside when I was minding my baby sister. Slapped a collar around my neck and said I belonged to them now.’

  ‘Did you ever see your family again?’

  Sylvie bit her lip and looked away. ‘A couple of times. Mam died last year. Two of my sisters as well. Fever.’

  In a freezing house, starving. It happened a lot, especially in the winter. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why? You don’t wear a collar. Neither does he.’

  And perhaps that was the point.

  ‘Not all collars are visible, Sylvie. Who sent you after him?’

  The miserable girl sucked in a series of breaths and for a moment Grace thought she might answer, but instead she asked a question.

  ‘What’s he going to do with me?’

  ‘Answer the question and he’ll let you go.’

  Sylvie looked up, viciousness entering her eyes, and the little-girl-lost act promptly fell away. ‘You believe that? Divinities, you’re stupider than you look.’

  It always ended up like this. Grace didn’t want it to be true, but it was. The mask slipped. Street rats could bite. ‘Sylvie…’

  ‘He’s from the guards, from the palace. Don’t know his name. Dev dealt with that.’ She paused and then gave a bitter laugh. The Shade Bastien had killed.

  Damn. Grace got up, more to get away from Sylvie than anything else. She crossed the room. It didn’t take long enough. But it gave her time to think. Just a little.

  ‘Was it just the prince they were after?’

  ‘The prince,’ Sylvie scoffed. ‘Sure. Just him. We weren’t expecting anyone to help the Lord of Thorns. Sidekick, are you? Sleeping with him? Does it get you off knowing what he is? What he does to people like me?’

  People like her… Grace’s heart plummeted inside her but she kept her expression neutral. And as for the insults… well, she’d heard far worse.

  ‘Can you describe the man?’

  Sylvie didn’t even pause. ‘He’s got blue eyes. And a mole in the shape of a crown. And six fingers on one hand.’ The mockery in her voice made it clear he had nothing of the sort. ‘And a massive, massive—’

  ‘Enough!’ Grace snapped. ‘If that’s the way it is, fine. I can’t help you. I’ll tell him that.’

  She started towards the door but Sylvie leaped to her feet.

  ‘No wait, please.’

  ‘We’ve nothing left to discuss. I’ll let him know.’

  ‘Please…’

  ‘Then answer the question.’

  ‘I… I can draw him.’

  The picture was good. When Sylvie had finished it depicted a man, in his forties maybe, older than Grace and Bastien anyway, with a strong jaw but nothing else to distinguish him. Grace took it and her stomach twisted as she looked at it. The face of a bully, of a coward. She knew him. Then, because she couldn’t do anything else, she handed it over to the Lord of Thorns.

  ‘What… what about me?’ Sylvie yelled through the door. ‘You said I could leave.’

  ‘Let her go,’ said Bastien, still looking at the drawing. He didn’t seem able to tear his gaze from it. Simona came to join them, her expression dubious.

  ‘Do you know him?’ Grace asked.

  He looked at her then, his face a frown. ‘Yes. He works for Asher Kane.’

  A few steps away from the king then. Which meant the order could have come directly from Bastien’s cousin. Or his wife. Or Kane himself. A smile quirked at his lips as he watched her work it out.

  ‘You’re sure, Bastien?’ Simona asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He swallowed suddenly, as if trying to clear something from his throat.

  ‘Are you sure you want to let her go?’ Simona went on, not quite sure of his intent, perhaps feeling that this was a terrible idea. Grace had to agree.

  But instead of answering he took a coin bag from a pocket somewhere and held it out.

  ‘Open the door.’

  Simona did as instructed. Sylvie burst out of the cell but staggered to a halt when she saw him in the corridor. The next second her eyes lit on the purse which dangled from his fingers.

  He shook it to get her attention. ‘Listen to me. You’ll leave Rathlynn. Take this, get as far away from here as you can and don’t come back.’ He reached out and she flinched back, but there was nowhere to go but back in the cell.

  She hesitated and then snatched
the purse from his hand. Grace drew a knife before she realised she was already too late. Sylvie’s hand closed on his and she smiled triumphantly, a vicious, terrible smile. Her eyes slid closed and she threw back her head.

  ‘No!’ Grace yelled, as she felt the Flint’s power unfurl.

  A rush of warmth, an ache of loss and despair shimmered through the air around them and dissipated. Sylvie shuddered from head to toe. Her jaw dropped open wide.

  ‘What did you do to me?’

  Grace grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back from him, but it was like moving smoke. The woman didn’t resist, didn’t fight, just stood in shock.

  ‘What did you do? Where’s my fire?’ she screamed.

  Bastien hadn’t moved. If anything he stared at her in pity. ‘It’s gone, Sylvie.’ Simple as that. Grace shifted uncomfortably on her feet. ‘It won’t come back either.’

  But Sylvie just clutched the purse. ‘What will I do?’ she wailed.

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Bastien replied. ‘If you need help to find somewhere I can help. But don’t come back to Rathlynn, understand?’

  She threw herself towards him, nails like claws, screaming. Grace blocked her this time, throwing her back against the wall where she slid down to the ground, sobbing and shaking, devastated.

  Bastien watched for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. ‘We should go,’ he said at last. ‘Have someone escort her out.’

  Daniel and Ellyn nodded and dragged her to her feet.

  ‘You’re the monster,’ the girl snarled at him, snot and tears gleaming in the half-light. ‘You’re worse than the Hollow King. You’re cursed, Larelwynn. You’re all cursed.’

  He stopped in his retreat, flinched, his shoulders tightening under the black silk of his shirt. He was beautiful and he was in pain. Grace recognised it when she saw it in another. Even in him.

  His voice when he spoke didn’t sound like a prince, or a lord. ‘Sylvie, that’s the first thing you’ve said which I know to be true.’

  Daniel and Ellyn accompanied her out, with Simona leading the way. Which left Grace alone with Bastien in the corridor outside the cell.

  ‘You said you’d help her?’

  ‘I did. I’ve set her free. Even if she can’t see that.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll leave Rathlynn?’ she asked at last.

  Bastien shook his head. ‘I hope so. Whoever sent her won’t take kindly to her failure. Or her loss of power.’

  She recalled the flinch and the way his shoulders had tightened. ‘You took her magic from her. Completely. When she tried to use it, it wasn’t… it was like a void… an emptiness… drawing on you…’

  He gazed at her for a moment, as if she was a puzzle to be solved, and then slowly nodded. ‘You felt that then?’

  Warning bells were ringing in the back of her mind. She shouldn’t have said anything. But the feeling… it had been so familiar… She busied herself re-sheathing her weapons.

  ‘I… I felt it.’ Her face heated as he turned to look at her, his expression thoughtful. ‘It felt like her power was trying to tear itself out of you.’ He watched her like he could see right into the heart of her. It made her squirm. It also made her want to tell him everything.

  And she knew, as surely as she knew herself, that was a really bad idea.

  Bastien’s dark eyes gentled, the lines around them smoothing out until he looked like someone her own age. Which he was. She kept thinking he was older, but he wasn’t. Maybe a year or two, but no more than that. Not even thirty yet.

  ‘Do you want to explain why that is?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ She didn’t believe that, not for a moment.

  ‘May I?’ he asked. She wasn’t sure what he meant but something made her nod. Madness perhaps. Or stupidity.

  He brushed his fingertips along the line of her jaw and she found herself leaning in towards him. No, this was a terrible idea. She knew that. She just didn’t seem to be able to move away. His touch was strong but gentle, like velvet wrapped around steel. He made her body do strange and bewildering things. With her breath caught in her throat, her face tipped up towards his, she was helpless. And she couldn’t have that.

  ‘I think I know, Captain Marchant.’

  His kiss on her lips was a complete surprise, gentle, curious, intoxicating. His hand curled behind her head, cupping her skull, his fingers buried in her hair. She could escape in a moment, logic told her that. Her skill, her training, her physical strength… it all told her she could, and really should, pull herself free.

  But her mind didn’t seem to be in charge any more.

  He was the one to pull back, staring into her eyes. ‘Grace, don’t forget why we’re here.’

  It was like being doused in cold water. She jerked away from him, twisting free and knocking his hands aside in a deft move.

  ‘You said you wouldn’t touch me again,’ she told him, but Bastien just smiled.

  ‘Never without your say-so,’ he said. ‘That I swear. But I asked permission, didn’t I? And one day, my dear captain, you’re going to tell me what happened to you. I’ll find out anyway.’

  He left her standing there, retreating before she gather any thoughts of a reply. Grace just stood there as he vanished up the staircase back to his study and his tower.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bastien wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her, why the urge to do so appeared whenever he looked at her. Devilment perhaps. The need to see a crack in that shell. And because he had wanted to. So badly.

  She was a beautiful woman, whether she saw it or not. Her hair felt like silk between his fingers and her lips parted for him as if she longed for him just as much.

  So why did he feel the need to push her away as well? To tease her to the point of anger, so she’d tell him to leave her alone with venom. Or draw knives on him.

  Protecting her? Or protecting himself?

  He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in years. Not in his conscious memory. Not since Hanna.

  This was ridiculous. He barely knew Grace. She was just a glorified guard and enough trouble for him already. And there was something she wasn’t telling him, something about her, about her past, about her background. She tensed up whenever her childhood was mentioned. He could relate to that at least. Much of his own youth was a mystery. An accident. Celeste had gone for Hanna, enraged about something, and he’d stepped between them. His sister had never known her own strength and she’d sent him flying down the stairs. By the time he woke up it was too late. Hanna was dead. And Celeste was taken away. Everything was hushed up. Marius and Simona had explained it all. What would his sister say about Grace? He really was playing with fire.

  She was too distracting. Had been from the very first.

  The people he cared for got hurt. Always. He couldn’t afford to have any sort of feelings for anyone. He knew that deep down in the heart of him.

  Work harder, Bastien. Find a way to shut out this woman. If he truly wanted to protect her, the biggest danger was being anywhere near him. Just like everyone else in his life, his mother, his sister, Hanna…

  Simona would agree, wouldn’t she? The marshal would tell him he was being a fool and remind him of all that was at stake.

  But Simona was nowhere to be found. She must still be with Daniel and Ellyn, seeing the former Flint off the grounds of the palace and arranging for her to be sent far, far away. Grace was right, this wasn’t the first time. It was costing more every year, but he still kept on doing it. It didn’t really matter where they went. They had enough coin and a future.

  The wave of pain struck him unexpectedly, like briars curling through his veins. He gasped and grabbed the bannister to hold himself upright. Sylvie’s power wanted out. Grace hadn’t been wrong about that. It would tear its way free if he didn’t do something.

  She was beside him in seconds and reached out to catch him. She’d followed him. He hadn’t even heard her come up the stairs but now she was here, almost holding him up.


  Grace.

  Alone together for a moment at the turn of the winding steps, he stared into her eyes and she stared back. She gazed into his soul, into the heart of him, and he didn’t know what she found there but he didn’t like the reaction. There was something in her, something that leaped and danced and fought, something bright and terrible. He knew it. He recognised it. Even if she did not.

  ‘You should rest.’ Her voice was gentle, not the strident voice of the fighter, the protector. Caring.

  ‘Yes.’ He should rest. No, more than that. He wanted to wilt, to fold up and collapse. He wanted sleep more dearly than he had ever wanted anything. He wanted peace. But he wasn’t going to be afforded that luxury in this or any other lifetime. He knew that.

  Grace pursed her lips as if making a decision, not one she relished. She slipped one hand under his elbow, the other on the back of his upper arm. ‘Come on.’

  He ought to protest, he knew that. But he didn’t seem to have the power to fight her. She made him climb the remaining steps, out into the comfort of the upper floor. Deep carpets softened their footsteps. The tapestries protected them from the chill, brightening the world. And Grace held onto him, helping him forward.

  ‘Captain Marchant…’

  ‘Grace,’ she said.

  He sighed, giving in to the inevitable. ‘Grace, I just need to rest. I’ll be fine.’ They’d made it as far as the door to the study. He wasn’t going to be able to get any further.

  ‘Of course you will, your highness. But I need to know if you’re hurt. Sit down.’

  He didn’t have the strength to stop her. She all but pushed him into the nearest chair. It was wooden and hard, carved from a whole oak about two hundred years ago by a master Atelier sworn to his ancestors. The man’s work was legendary now, sought after and coveted. It was worth more than she could possibly earn in her lifetime serving the Academy. No one had sat on it for centuries. Lyssa would have a fit.

  It wasn’t even comfortable.