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

by Jessica Thorne

  ‘Danny?’ Grace asked. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  ‘I… I can explain. Later. I promise. He’s right. We have to leave.’

  She nodded. She knew he was right. She didn’t want him to be, but it didn’t matter what she wanted. Not any more. He was the king, even if he would never wear the crown. And her duty was to him. Her heart… well, her heart didn’t really get a say in this, but she already knew she would do anything to keep him safe.

  The tunnels led down, into the lowest levels of the palace, places best forgotten about. They were only a small group, twenty mageborn, three officers and one king. And the bells followed them, mocking them all the way. One of the mageborn had a tattered cloak and they tried their best to disguise Bastien with it. It wouldn’t hold up to more than a glance, Grace knew that, but it was the best they could do.

  Bastien led them through the narrow, drain-like tunnels and then out into stables at the back of an abandoned inn. Grace had passed it a dozen times in the last five years and never looked at it twice. She’d thought she knew every inch of Rathlynn. Missing this seemed like an affront to her knowledge. She didn’t like it. The blood royal of Larelwynn kept more secrets than the acolytes of the Little Goddess. They pushed open the doors lined with peeling paint and thick with ivy growth, and the mageborn – each of them taking Bastien’s hand once, pressing it to their lips – took their leave and vanished into the city.

  To Grace’s surprise, Daniel had spoken to each of them in turn on the way down, his manner solemn and firm. The words had been the same.

  ‘Go to the Larks’ Rest in Eastferry. Ask for Kurt. Tell him a bird must fly and do what he says.’

  Grace pulled him aside. ‘What the hell does that mean?’ she asked.

  Daniel shrugged. ‘It’s a way out, Grace. What Bastien was saying. How do you think Kurt keeps in business?’

  ‘Kurt? By cheating everyone and everything going.’

  Daniel gave a brief, bitter laugh. ‘You always thought the worst of him, didn’t you? He gets mageborn out of Rathlynn. The Larks, Grace. It’s so bloody obvious. I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve sent to him over the years. Misha too. Misha gave me the idea. He started it.’

  ‘Misha Harper? Your boyfriend?’

  ‘He wasn’t… I mean, he is now. I mean, I hope he is. I… I mean…’

  This was getting her nowhere. ‘Mageborn? Any of them? The ones we hunted, the ones who killed or controlled others… the ones who…’

  ‘No! Not the dangerous ones, I promise. But the others. Like Katy Frewen and Styl Greysen, remember? The ones who were being exploited and used. The kids from the docks and… The ones who wouldn’t be safe here… People like them.’ He nodded after the now vanished group.

  ‘I’m going to need to have words with Kurt,’ she said. ‘And this Misha character, leading you astray.’

  ‘It isn’t really astray if it’s the right thing to do, Grace.’

  She hated it when he was right.

  The bells were still ringing, louder now, and clearer, the sound reverberating over the city. There was a mild air of panic to the place, a hum of danger and the threat of chaos. As if something might boil over at any moment.

  It didn’t take long until Ellyn spotted someone she knew. While Grace waited with Bastien and Daniel, the little Valenti Islander waved as if she hadn’t a care in the world and chatted to the stallholder, buying a bag of sweet steamed buns while she did so.

  Then she was back, handing out the pastries, her expression sombre.

  ‘Eat them. They’ve just put the price up. All the prices are going to go up. The king is dead, the succession is up for grabs and the word is our boy here is the killer.’

  Of course it was. Who better to blame than the monster from beneath the palace, the Lord of Thorns, the man who had run away from the bedside of the dying king.

  ‘No one spoke for him?’ Daniel asked, and Grace was sure he was genuinely surprised.

  ‘A few did.’ She glanced at Bastien, who was holding his bun like it was some kind of strange foreign object. Shock, Grace thought abstractly. Or trauma. Or grief… Perhaps all of them tangled together with guilt and magic.

  Ellyn pointed up towards the hill and the palace walls which were just visible from where they were, the bells still ringing out, the statues lining the way, all graced with his face or something like it. And beyond the statues, above yellow stone walls curved inwards to the gate, above the bright blue tiles set with golden lions, the rising sun illuminated a small group of bodies impaled on spikes jutting from the barbican above the gates. The stomachs had been opened and guts spilled out like vines. The heads were missing because they’d dip them in pitch and mount them on spikes for later. It was the Tlachtlyan way. Made them last longer.

  Bastien stared for the longest moment and slowly crushed the bun in his hand.

  ‘Simona.’ He whispered her name, as if he couldn’t bear to say it any louder. ‘And Lyssa. And…’ he almost choked and then seemed to recover. The next words came out in a rush. ‘They were my friends. All of them.’

  The air trembled around him like a summer storm, the magic in him, even depleted, enraged and in agony over what he was seeing. They couldn’t keep standing there staring, not with the whole market gathering around them. But he couldn’t seem to move either. Everyone who cared about him. Everyone but her…

  Ellyn spoke first. ‘Sorry, your highness.’

  ‘Bastien,’ he replied absently and turned away. He wasn’t forgetting the dead, Grace knew that, but he was filing it away, compartmentalising it to survive. ‘The less we use titles the better from here on in.’

  He was right, of course. There were probably hundreds of Bastiens in Rathlynn. Only one Lord of Thorns.

  ‘Is there a warrant out for his arrest?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Worse, a reward. We’ve got to get out of this city and fast. I’m half-tempted to turn you in myself for the amount of gold they’re offering.’

  A reward meant anyone could try their luck if they recognised him. They needed to move fast. The Academy wasn’t far, especially not using the back alleys and lanes Grace knew.

  ‘Stay close,’ she told him, even though she knew she didn’t have to. ‘Keep your head down and keep up.’

  There was no one on guard duty at the door. That was the first thing that set her nerves on edge. There was always someone on guard duty, even if it was only a couple of recruits. That was Craine’s way and it was unchanging.

  Daniel came to a halt, uncertain. He noticed it too. The whole place was too quiet. It was past mid-morning, almost lunch. The Academy ought to have been a hive of activity.

  But it was silent. Still.

  Grace had to force herself to keep walking forwards. As she got nearer, she drew her sword and heard the others follow suit. She didn’t think Bastien had a weapon other than magic but she hoped it would be enough. Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong.

  ‘Report,’ she called out, in as casual a voice as she could.

  No one answered.

  Shit.

  She gave a brief hand signal to the others who fanned out on either side of her, flanking Bastien.

  And then she smelled it.

  ‘Divinities, no.’ The rush of panic was more than she could control. The same stench, the same sickly sweet stench that had lingered after that Gore wherever he killed. She knew that smell.

  It had cost her Kai. It wasn’t going to cost her everyone else as well.

  ‘Bastard,’ she spat as she entered the marshalling square and knew it was too late. A Gore had been here, all right, more than one. And a Flint, a Shade, a Brawn… And others. Not ones born with their abilities perhaps, but just as powerful despite that. Powerful and wildly unstable. Without the limitations of a collar, or any real understanding of what they were doing.

  The bodies were twisted, burned, broken. Some had the pallor of drowning victims, the blue lips, their skin and hair still wet, lying in pud
dles. Some were charred beyond recognition and still more had been unravelled from inside. Some looked to have choked to death, or died from fright. Some had simply been torn apart. People she had known all her life. People she had hardly known at all. Not one of them was mageborn.

  The sound of retching made her turn, and Ellyn bent double, throwing up the mangled remains of the bun she’d managed to wolf down earlier. Daniel looked grim and terrible. Bastien’s face was white with rage, his eyes so very dark, a study in contrasts.

  ‘Any survivors?’ Grace asked and her voice came out grating against her tight throat.

  ‘It’s a massacre,’ Daniel replied. ‘Whoever did this—’

  ‘We know who did this,’ she snapped. Mother Miranda, the queen, Lord Asher Kane… one of them anyway, all of them. ‘Find Craine. She’s got to be all right. She has to be here somewhere.’

  They followed a trail of blood and scattered bodies, not Academy these ones. Royal Guards and others out of uniform. They’d tried to take on Craine. Maybe they’d thought a crippled commander wouldn’t be a challenge. They’d learned differently.

  Craine was in her office. And true to form, hard as nails, she wasn’t dead. Not quite yet.

  She’d propped herself up at her desk, somehow, and she was peppered with wounds. Some might have been recoverable from, if it hadn’t been for the dozen that should have already killed her.

  ‘’Bout time you got here,’ she rasped as Grace crashed through the open door.

  ‘Craine?’

  She tried to push herself up in the chair but didn’t have the strength. ‘They knew you were coming here. Simona…’

  ‘She told them?’

  Craine tried to smile. ‘I doubt she had a lot of choice. Not when they cut off her head and pulled her thoughts out of her brain.’

  ‘We saw the body. She’s dead.’

  ‘Tends to happen when you do that.’

  ‘But her plan, her escape…’

  ‘I’m not sure she had a plan for her own escape. Just yours… and his…’ Her eyes focused past Grace’s shoulder and the looming sense of Bastien filled Grace’s senses. ‘Hello, your majesty.’

  ‘I’m not…’ he started but his voice trailed off. For a moment he was silent and then he sighed. ‘I can help. With the pain.’

  Not to heal her. She was too far gone for that. Not that she would have let him.

  ‘I’m sure you can. In a moment then. In a moment. I need to talk to Captain Marchant first.’ She reached out.

  Grace wrapped her own hand around her commander’s. Blood covered it up to the wrist. It was slick and warm against her skin. The other hand she held pressed into her stomach, the wound there staining everything crimson and black.

  ‘Tell me,’ Grace said. ‘Tell me whatever you can.’

  ‘You can’t leave by the gates. That was Simona’s plan. They’ll look for you overland. The quickest way to his stronghold… don’t go that way now.’

  ‘We won’t. I’ll find another—’

  ‘Danny can sort that. Can’t you, Danny? Larks’ Path, wasn’t it?’

  Grace heard his voice from behind them, a small sob of despair. And then he found some strength to force out the words. ‘I can. I will, I swear it.’

  ‘And Ellyn… where is Ellyn?’

  ‘Guarding the way in. She’s… she’s just…’

  ‘I’ll get her,’ Daniel offered.

  ‘No,’ Craine replied before he could take off. ‘No, leave it. She doesn’t need to see this… Our mageborn… they took our mageborn. Those they could. We tried to hold ground. Took down some of them. But the other cadets… Don’t… don’t go down to the baths.’ Her voice broke off and she swallowed hard, three or four times, choking. Daniel scrambled forward trying to reach her water jug which he lifted to her mouth. He cradled her head as he helped her drink. It helped, a little. But nothing was really going to help her now. ‘Just leave. Be strong. And remember what you can do, Grace, what you can take. Remember your loyalties. And don’t lose heart.’

  ‘Where are the others?’ Grace asked. ‘Everyone can’t have been here. Everyone can’t be dead.’

  Craine tried to shake her head but choked on blood as she did so. ‘Not all. Some turned on us. Some were… were with them. They took the mageborn, the ones who couldn’t fight back. Marched them off.’

  Grace didn’t ask where. She glanced at the pained and horrified expression on Bastien’s face and she didn’t have to.

  ‘We can find them,’ she whispered. ‘We can—’

  Craine’s grip tightened abruptly, vice-like and terrible. The action brought Grace’s attention back to her blood-smeared face, her ice-blue eyes, the glare that brooked no dissent.

  ‘That would be just. And it would be honourable. But it isn’t the time for those things. Not any more. Later perhaps… you’ll know when. Lara will find you. I know she will. She’ll be angry too. Tell her… tell her…’ Craine choked, then swallowed hard, a gasp of pain cutting her off. ‘Tell her I regret nothing. You get your king to safety. Otherwise… otherwise all is lost. Understand?’

  What could she do but nod? What choice did she have?

  Craine pulled her hand free of Grace’s, briefly patted her cheek like a fond maiden aunt and fixed her arctic gaze on Bastien. ‘If you would, your majesty?’

  As far as Grace knew there was not a shred of magic in Craine. Never had been, never would be. But Bastien took her hand, and knelt beside her. The pulse of something passed through the air, through their touch, and the lines of pain on the older woman’s face eased suddenly.

  ‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘I see it now. I chose well. That’s good.’

  And then she closed her eyes.

  Carefully, almost reverently, Bastien put her hand on the desk. For all the world it might have looked like she’d had just closed her eyes to contemplate her work… if you ignored the blood, and the broken crutches. If you closed your eyes to the devastation around her.

  Craine was at her desk in the Academy, doing her duty to the last.

  They couldn’t let her death be in vain.

  Ellyn found the bodies in the baths, the water turned red, the walls and ceiling dripping where it had surged up to take those not already dead. All the quotidian cadets, scattered across the now tranquil surface like flotsam and jetsam. Too many of them, too young, far too young. There hadn’t been time to pass on Craine’s warning and Ellyn had gone looking for survivors while they found the commander. She hadn’t found a single living soul. She told them between sobs when they found her sitting in the corridor leading down there, her knees drawn up to her chest, her long white-blonde hair wet and bloodstained.

  ‘I couldn’t do anything to help. I was too late.’

  Daniel gathered her up in his arms. ‘We were all too late.’

  ‘The commander?’ Ellyn asked.

  ‘She’s dead.’ The words came out with a bite of sharp reality and Grace instantly regretted it. ‘We have to leave before the Royal Guard do another sweep looking for us here. If they know we were meant to come here, they know they missed us the first time—’

  ‘They know,’ Bastien interrupted.

  Overhead, they heard horses’ hooves, the courtyard filling with the shouts and cries of a mounted group. Orders being yelled, directions handed out.

  ‘Fuck,’ Grace said. ‘Time’s up. We have to get out of here. Weapons check.’

  Ellyn was strapping a belt full of throwing knives and sigils around her waist. Tears still clung to her eyes. Daniel had found another sword from somewhere and slung it over his back. Grace nodded as he handed her more sigils, all designed to clip to her belt, and her baldric. They glowed when she touched them.

  ‘But we don’t have a plan,’ Bastien said, looking at her helplessly. ‘Simona told them.’ She handed him a sword belt and waited until he finally moved to strap it across his back. It suited him.

  ‘Then we do what we always do. We improvise. Danny, take point. You know the
way best.’

  ‘Wasn’t that the only way in?’ the Lord of Thorns asked, still bewildered by her cold efficiency. She wanted to explain that it was the only way to get through this, that if she stopped to feel any of this she’d be unable to continue. That seeing Craine like that had broken something inside her, something that might never recover. She couldn’t feel anything now because there was just too much. There wasn’t time.

  ‘The Academy Gates?’ Daniel gave a brief bitter laugh. ‘For formal occasions, sure. You have the Rats’ Path from the palace but we have the Cadet’s Path to the bars. Ellyn?’

  Ellyn shook herself back into a form of an Academy officer, even if no Academy of any worth existed any more. Divinities, Grace loved them. More than she could ever say out loud. They were her strength.

  ‘Which way?’ Bastien asked.

  ‘Up,’ said Ellyn. ‘When in doubt, we go up.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The terracotta roof tiles slid and skittered underfoot. The wind whipped fiercely around them, blowing his black hair into his eyes, and Bastien, determined not to let the three Academy officers see how much heights bothered him, balled his fists up so tight that his nails dug painfully into his palms. He lived in a tower on top of a palace on top of a mountain, for the divinities’ sakes. He walked along paths and ramparts a hundred times higher than this every day.

  Of course the ramparts tended not to move beneath his feet or be so old and ill-cared for that they might give way under him at any second.

  Up ahead, Grace moved, light-footed as a cat, following Daniel, and he was aware that Ellyn stayed cautiously behind him all the time. Ready to catch him if he fell, no doubt. Which he was certain he could do at any second.