‘It’s okay, Celeste.’
‘There are so many jars, Bastien. Every day. She says it’s for my own good.’
‘It is.’
‘She said you said I had to do it.’
‘I did. It’s important. It helps, doesn’t it?’
She nodded but choked on a sob as she did so. ‘But it hurts. I don’t like it. I don’t want to…’
‘I know.’
‘Sometimes I say no. Sometimes I can’t help myself. And sometimes… sometimes… They said you were here. But you didn’t come to see me. No one comes to see me. They lie to you, Bastien. They lie to you all the time. I remember. When will I see you?’
‘Soon, sweetheart. Soon.’
‘Bring your friend.’ She grinned at Grace. It wasn’t a comforting expression. There was something feral and dangerous about it. ‘I want to play with her.’
He hid the bitter disappointment, reminding himself once again that Celeste could not help herself.
‘No playing.’ He kept his tone firm but patient. ‘And do what they tell you. They’re looking after you. Remember that.’
‘I’ll tell you a secret, Grace,’ she hissed suddenly, and pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘Just between us. Are you listening?’ Grace must have nodded. She was clearly too horrified to find words. Celeste smiled, satisfied. She leaned in close again, whispering like a child. ‘I’m the Little Goddess.’
It broke his heart to hear her. Every time.
‘Stay safe,’ Bastien told her. ‘I’ll come soon. I promise.’
His sister didn’t answer, not even to acknowledge the promise. Instead something seemed to pass over her face, a strangely distant fae look, and she danced away.
Bastien resisted the urge to call her back. She was gone for the time. Off in her own world of wonders and horrors. That was where she spent most of her time. Far too dangerous to be allowed out of that room. Far too dangerous to be let do what she wanted. If the Maegen was a pool in him, it was a tidal wave in Celeste.
Grace stood there in silence, watching him. Watching them both. Carefully, he put the cloth back on the mirror, making sure it was secure, and then murmured the few words that would mute the connection. Not sever it. It never severed it. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
He forced his breath to be even again, forced his shaky equilibrium back onto a balanced plane. It was hard. So hard. Celeste was a whirlwind. She always had been.
‘So there you have it. My secret.’
‘Your sister.’ Grace put her hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard her move. But her touch grounded him, made him feel whole again. ‘Your older sister.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wouldn’t that make her the heir presumptive?’
‘It would have. Once. But Marius changed the law. He named me. Because she was… She’s mageborn too. But more than just that. She’s… she’s everything. All the powers, all rolled into one.’
‘Like you,’ Grace said quietly. Like him. If only she was like him. If only being like him was her problem.
‘Yes, like me. But she can’t control it. She… she’s insane. Dangerous. She can’t help it and she doesn’t mean to be. There’s so much magic in her. It spills out. It hurts people.’
‘People like Hanna Kane?’
He recoiled. She’d heard. Of course she’d heard. Asher probably delighted in telling her his theory. ‘Yes.’
‘So they keep her locked up.’
‘Yes.’
‘And do what with her?’
‘You asked where they got the magic. That’s where. Celeste. I created the method of removing magic for her and her alone. The fact that I have to use it too is secondary. Her connection to the Maegen is wild and unpredictable. It burns through her and when it isn’t controlled, terrible things happen. It’s rare for me. It’s daily for her. So they syphon magic from her. Miranda…’
‘Miranda uses it for entertainment.’
‘That was never the idea. We thought… healing, or irrigation… or…’ Damn it, his voice was breaking as he tried to force the words out. He was an idiot, a fool. Miranda had assured him that they’d make good use of Celeste’s excess powers. He’d showed her how to store magic in the jars. Now Asher and the queen would use them to do whatever they wanted.
‘So they lock her up and milk her like some kind of livestock. That’s where all the magic tonight came from. ‘The bitterness in Grace’s voice made him turn into her arms, to look down into her face and recognise the outrage there, the anger. ‘And you’re all right with that?’
No. No of course he wasn’t. What did that have to do with anything?
Technically it wasn’t his choice. He didn’t actually have a say. He just tried to make it bearable. And failed.
‘It was never meant to be like that. I did it for her, to help her. And others. To share mageborn power, so that their days of homage were fewer, so that they didn’t have to serve. I tried to help them all.’
Her sigh was a balm to every sense. She whispered his name and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her. Grace, so near, so strong, so beautiful, was everything.
‘Of course you did,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Bastien. I’m so sorry.’
It meant everything. One moment of understanding.
He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to run his hands through her hair. But he couldn’t seem to move.
‘You said you remembered her. Mother Miranda.’
The shadow passed over her perfect features, darkening those golden eyes to amber. ‘She wasn’t called that. She was Auntie then. And we weren’t in a temple or a convent or anywhere like that. It was a dive, probably a whorehouse, down by the docks. I’ve never been able to find it again. There were kids there. So many kids. She’s moved up in the world. She must have thought your sister was a gift from the divinities.’
Yes. He could imagine that now. Miranda, salivating at the thought of all that power, easily accessible, ready for the taking.
‘Your hands…’
‘Burns, like those dead mageborn. Like yours. Like your sister’s, I presume.’
‘It’s a side effect sometimes. The orbs overheat. I thought I’d solved it.’
‘Not really.’
‘And before that?’
‘There is no before that.’
But how had Miranda used that method on Grace as a child? Had she always known how to do it? When he tried to think about it his brain throbbed. The memories weren’t there for him either. But for her… maybe… Grace’s memories. They could answer so many questions.
‘There is. I can find it.’
She almost flinched, but held herself firm. She didn’t pull away and for that he was grateful. Stupidly grateful. Her hands traced erotic patterns on his back, the touch so light and delicate, setting his senses alight. His magic unfolded inside him, blossoming like a rose in the walled garden, there for her and her alone. She could do anything right now, command anything of him and he’d do it. He’d kill for her. He’d die for her. The Maegen rose within him, eager to show itself, eager for her.
‘No,’ she said, and brushed the backs of her fingers down the side of his face. Bastien shuddered, leaning into her touch, and when he opened his eyes he saw her smile.
‘Grace,’ he whispered. She silenced him with a kiss.
‘Bastien,’ she murmured, her lips against his. ‘No magic. I don’t want anyone to ever use magic on me again. But… You can touch me. If you want. I won’t order you or anything like that, but if you want…’
She didn’t need to say it. There was nothing else he wanted. But he smiled nonetheless, unaccountably grateful for that mercy. For her.
His kiss was tentative, and she responded as if she didn’t quite believe him. Bastien didn’t quite believe it himself. But he wanted this, wanted her. This closeness, this tenderness. This comfort.
It was a kind of madness. He knew that. But it was a madness worth embracing.
She
slid her hands under his shirt and he shivered, his breath catching in his throat. He groaned and deepened the kiss, as if unable to tear his mouth away from hers. She was air, and light, and water. She was everything he needed to survive.
For now. Just for these moments.
His hands unlaced the back of her dress and he helped her step out of it, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice low and husky.
‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘Divinities, yes.’
She gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple and something inside him simply gave way. His fingers traced whorls and spirals on her skin and he felt the magic inside her unfolding to reach for him, in response to him. There were old scars on her body, along the line of her ribs, on her arms, a nasty one across her hip. He traced his fingertips over each one and she started to pull back. Was she ashamed of them? Of the things that marked her as strong, powerful, a survivor.
‘Please,’ he murmured and she relaxed again. His lips followed where he touched while she shuddered and cried out. He gathered her against him and she wrapped one leg around his, pushing as close as she could.
Her hands, her mouth, her body… all he could think about was Grace, the darkness she sensed in him, and the light she illuminated in response. Her kisses scourged questions from his mind. She drove her fingers into his hair and pulled him against her.
‘Please,’ she whispered, urgently. ‘Please, Bastien. Please.’
No one had ever said that to him before, not that way.
As he sank into her, body and soul, he promised her everything, even if he couldn’t say the words out loud.
Chapter Nineteen
Grace woke in his bed, his body still pressed against hers, their limbs loosely entwined, the light of the Maegen still shimmering in the forefront of her dreaming mind. For a moment, for the first time she could remember, she felt content, sated. Golden light enveloped her and she was at peace.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. For Bastien to be gone, probably. Not fast asleep, his long limbs loosely cast around her. She eased her way out of the bed, hoping not to wake him. Their clothes were discarded on the floor. Not that it was a lot of help. She couldn’t get back into that gown by herself even if she wanted to. And she wasn’t about to do a walk of shame back down to her own room when Daniel, Ellyn or, goddess forbid, Lyssa could catch her.
Divinities, what had she been thinking?
Well, she hadn’t. Had she?
She looked back at him, at the peace in his face. He looked different, younger. Not the troubled man she had come to know. Long coal-black eyelashes brushed his skin, and his mouth was slightly parted as he slept.
The things that mouth had done last night.
And the rest of him. He didn’t need to be mageborn to work magic, it seemed. He just needed to be… Bastien.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, surprised to discover that she didn’t actually regret a single thing. When she got back to her feet and turned around she realised he was awake and watching her, his dark eyes staring at her, waiting for something.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Good morning. Are you leaving?’
She swallowed hard. Did he want her to? Was he expecting her to just go now? ‘No.’
Well, this was awkward. What had she expected anyway? She’d heard Celeste’s voice the first night she’d been here – it must have been Celeste – and she’d thought the worst of him then. She’d just assumed… And now here she was. Like an idiot. He was a prince. She was a…
Bastien rolled onto his back, stretching out his arms and then folding them back behind his head, watching her all the while. He was sculpted like one of those statues. She had explored his body last night in every way and found it like the man in her dreams in every detail. He was perfect. It scared her how perfect.
‘I haven’t got anything to wear,’ she said.
He started to smile, a gentle, fond smile that looked good on him. Not like anything she’d seen on him before. It gentled the hard lines of his face.
‘Maybe that was my evil plan?’
Her own smile teased her lips. ‘Devious in the extreme. I suppose I could wrap that thing around me. It has about a million yards of fabric to it.’
He was ready with some witty retort, the delight in the thought of saying it brightening his eyes. But a sudden pounding on the door made her turn. Bastien was up out of the bed in an instant.
‘There are clothes in the wardrobe,’ he said urgently, flirtation forgotten. ‘Put something on.’ Then he raised his voice and her gentle lover was gone. It was the voice of a prince. The voice of the Lord of Thorns. ‘What is it? There had better be a good excuse for this.’
‘Your highness.’ The voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. Ellyn, Grace realised, but Ellyn sounding so unlike herself that it sent a shiver of alarm right through her. ‘Your royal highness… the Royal Guard are here, looking for you. And… um… and Captain Marchant.’
Grace’s stomach sank. They knew where she was then. But whatever this was, it was more important than her fragile reputation. She glanced at Bastien and realised she couldn’t read his expression. It was completely blank. She pulled on one of his shirts and grabbed another. Sleek, pitch black, silken, it whispered as it slid through her fingers into his. He nodded and started to put it on.
‘Spit it out, Ellyn,’ Grace said through the door. ‘What do they want?’
‘They’re downstairs. We didn’t let them up.’
This really wasn’t good. Why did she keep putting it off? Grace marched to the door and jerked it open. Her friend’s pale face greeted her, Daniel at the end of the corridor, guarding the stairs just in case.
Even with the shirt on, she felt very exposed. It only skirted her thighs. ‘What is it?’
Ellyn looked past her, her eyes fixing on Bastien who had somehow already managed to clothe himself immaculately, all in black, and was buttoning the jacket over the shirt she’d only just handed him.
‘Your highness, they say King Marius is dying.’
Bastien was a statue, standing there, looking past both of them, his face a mask as the enormity of it swept over them all.
‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘I see. Grace, can you—’
‘I’ll dress right away. Don’t go anywhere without me.’
The warrant hung around her neck, impossibly heavy. She closed her hand around it and saw him frown. Damn. She hadn’t meant it like that. She didn’t trust the Royal Guards. She didn’t trust anyone here to look after him. Except her team.
But he just nodded.
Daniel’s eyes went wide as she sprinted by him but thankfully there was no one on the lower floor either. She slammed the door to her room and immediately started pulling on her trousers and leather jerkin. Her knife belt hugged her hips, reassuringly familiar. She pulled her mess of red hair back and tied it out of the way, then rammed her feet into her boots.
She eyed the sword for a moment and then decided not to take a chance. She might insult someone. In fact she was sure she would. It didn’t matter now.
Only Bastien mattered.
She slung the baldric over her body and secured it, the sword hanging against her leg. The rest of her weapons and armour followed. To hell with what anyone else thought.
When she opened the door Bastien was waiting, flanked by Daniel and Ellyn. They were fully armed too. Good.
The torc shone around Bastien’s neck, his only adornment, and he looked every inch the royalty he was. Heir presumptive. Heir to the king. The king who was dying.
Oh goddess, Grace thought. I slept with the man who could be king today.
The sick feeling returned.
Bastien’s eyes swept up her body, the body he now knew better than anyone else, the body that had sighed and cried out for him just hours before. She was still wearing his shirt, she realised, and the warrant stood out as brightly against its s
able hue as his torc did.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
She just nodded. If he was ready for this, so was she. Ready to defend him. Just as she had promised Marius.
But he couldn’t be king, could he? He was mageborn. He was possibly the most powerful mageborn she had ever encountered. And more than that, he seemed able to wield more than one power, not to mention give it and take it away. She had never known anyone who could do that. No one except Bastien and now his sister.
But Marius had no other heir. And Marius wanted this. Celeste was insane, the power consuming her mind. And Bastien… Bastien was all they had left of the royal line.
They passed through the increasingly ornate hallways, past the hangings depicting the defeat of the Hollow King and a thousand other Larelwynn victories. Each scene felt designed to show them the enormity of what faced them, the weight of duty that would fall on him. It felt like a death march.
The elaborately decorated doors to the king’s private chambers opened as they approached and Aurelie and her attendants emerged, Asher Kane among them. They all looked wretched, like day old drunks. You could put it down to grief, but Grace had seen them the night before, drinking down magic and careening around the room like maniacs.
‘What are they doing here?’ Aurelie snapped at Bastien. ‘You were sent for. Not your pets.’
Pets. Charming.
Grace kept her face completely still. It didn’t do to show a slighted queen the contempt you felt for her. She recalled the way the queen consort had almost crawled into Bastien’s lap last night at dinner, the way she’d run her hand over his skin and… well… tried to do all that Grace had later actually done. She swallowed hard and hoped it didn’t show on her face. Queens like Aurelie were not exactly forgiving.
‘I’m here to see my cousin,’ Bastien replied blandly. Then he looked past the queen, directly at Kane. ‘The queen consort is overwrought with grief. Perhaps you might take her to her chambers and fetch her some refreshments.’
It wasn’t a request. Everyone in the room gazed from one to the other, and Grace could almost feel the balance of power swinging.
Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1) Page 24