‘No, I won’t—’ I began.
Something hit me hard from behind, and the room went black.
31. Sebastian
Murky cold.
Formless. Underwater.
Forever lost.
I would never wake. But I didn’t mind. It felt peaceful here; deep inside the other place where the dark thing always lurked. We had switched places, the two of us. The dark thing wore my skin, and I huddled where it used to hide, way down in the marrow of my bones. I would remain here.
And it would live in my place.
But something prevented me. There was a presence, and I sensed it, like a thick cord, wrapped around my chest. It refused to release me; it dragged me upward through the muddy waters. I struggled. Let me go.
Just let me stay.
I felt emotions that weren’t my own, churning into other things in my head. There were words, strung together nonsensically. Bits and pieces. I knew the voice behind them.
It belonged to Josephine.
She was the rope, yanking me from this place. I clung to it frantically, desperate for escape. My body rose higher. There were lights, images I couldn’t make out. But I was nearing the top.
The dark thing battled. It tasted freedom, and it screamed for more. But I held tight to the rope, focusing only on Josephine and the scent of exotic flowers and spices. I passed the dark thing by. It lashed at me. But it was too late. I was out of its reach.
I surfaced.
‘She’ll be fine, Quentin,’ said a voice. ‘She’s a resilient girl.’
My body felt frigid, but not from the inside. I was lying on something cold and smooth. Not the floor of the room where I’d found … Katie. I remembered Katie, wide-eyed and staring at me in complete horror. And there was Matthias. And Anya. I fought them both.
I remembered it all, but vaguely, like snatches of a memory where people look like fuzzy blobs and the events are muddled. I felt the effects of Vitamin D coursing through my blood, keeping my body immobilized. I worked at prying my eyes open. They only budged a slit, but it was enough for me to get a hazy view of the scene in front of me.
Two men stood over something I couldn’t see. One man wore black. His angular face and tall form I knew at once. Quentin Marks. The other man’s white scar was clearly visible in the golden glow of the room. My lip twitched as my warning senses awakened and Augustine’s stench filled my nostrils.
Quentin sighed. ‘Resilient or not, I don’t think knocking out my fiancé is a healthy way to begin this new stage in our relationship.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. ‘I’m not sure she’ll forgive me for that one.’
I hadn’t imagined Josephine’s scent. She was here in the room, on the floor in front of me! I strained to move, but my muscles refused to respond.
‘You still think Josephine is going to consider you?’ questioned Augustine, his voice laced with sarcasm. ‘I don’t mean to pry, of course, but it didn’t sound like you two were getting along very well.’
A soundless growl formed in my throat.
‘She’ll come around,’ Quentin replied. ‘Josephine might be stubborn, but she’s smart. She’ll do what’s best for the clan.’
‘The future Queen,’ said Augustine, musingly. ‘Thalia made an interesting choice, picking my niece. Had you not told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. But, my sister was never one for convention.’ He laughed, a short, snide burst. ‘That wretched cow. And to think, she promised me the throne, when the time came for her to step down.’
‘You?’ Quentin sounded baffled. ‘That’s not possible.’
Augustine’s head snapped up, his eyes dangerous. ‘Because I’m marimé? A punishment handed down by the Council, at the Queen’s command.’ His face contorted, stretching the scar. ‘The throne should’ve been mine to begin with. I am the eldest. When our father grew too old to manage the kumpania, he appointed Thalia.’
‘Why?’ questioned the Marksman.
I took slow, clarifying breaths – curiosity the only thing keeping my protective instincts in check. I kept my slit eyes fixed on Augustine while he rolled his own eyes towards the ceiling, seemingly more annoyed than anything.
‘Because I’m only half Romany,’ he replied, his tone sharp as cut glass. ‘My mother was from the Old Clans. It was a short-lived first marriage for my father, but I’m sure you can understand the complications I represented. Our people severed all ties with the Old Clans long ago. Keeping with that tradition, our father didn’t think having someone of shared blood sitting on the Outcast throne would be beneficial for our kumpania.’
‘Then Nicolas is the only full-blooded male heir.’
‘Your intelligence astounds me,’ Augustine replied.
I saw Quentin’s fist clench at his side. ‘Why didn’t he challenge Thalia?’
‘Nicolas didn’t want to give up his precious Circe and the freedom it has provided the Romany clan over the years. But your observation is correct. Since he is a son, and the throne passes first to sons before daughters, Nicolas had to formally renounce the throne and any possible claim to it in the future. Which he did in a private ceremony.’
The pieces of Josephine’s deep secret suddenly locked into place. She was the heir to prevent Augustine from getting his chance at the throne. I watched with growing anger as Augustine brushed off the sleeves of his dark shirt in the leisurely manner of one who knows he’s superior.
‘The Queen is sick,’ said Augustine. He nodded at Quentin’s surprised look. ‘She’s been battling her illness for almost five years, unknown to the majority of the kumpania. And, poor thing, she had no husband and no children – no one to follow after her. You can see her dilemma. If she died, the throne would pass out of Romany hands for the first time since the Sundering. Her pride could not allow that to happen. I saw her illness as my opportunity. I returned from my exile in Europe and proposed a solution to her: when the time came that she could no longer perform her duties, Thalia would lift my marimé status and announce me as her choice.’
‘So she’d rather a traitor take the throne than an outsider,’ said Quentin.
‘Blood ties run thick,’ he replied. ‘She looked at the matter in the long term. She weighed the odds. I’m not a young man. My years as king would be numbered. But I promised her I would take a wife and ensure that a Romany would always be on the throne.’
Quentin’s brow furrowed. ‘What about your father?’
‘Oh, he never knew,’ said Augustine. ‘He passed away quite suddenly.’
I could tell the look on his face meant that there was more to that part of the story than he was telling. Quentin obviously thought the same thing. He pursed his lips together, choosing not to delve farther.
‘I was content to wait at first,’ continued Augustine. ‘I knew this would not be something that would happen immediately. During that time, I was able to go abroad and continue my research and study of shadowen lore. But when I began to hear rumors that the Queen might publically announce her successor, I returned at once.’
‘But she hasn’t named anyone.’
‘How observant,’ said Augustine suddenly, bitterness ripening in his voice; his expression no longer amused. ‘Five years I waited, believing that at any time, my darling sister would call me back from my exile in Europe. What I didn’t know was that she had betrayed me – chosen my niece instead.’ Augustine’s lip curled up into his scar. ‘I have you to thank for that piece of information.’
‘It wasn’t the easiest secret to acquire,’ Quentin replied.
Fury reddened Augustine’s face as he spun away from my view. ‘I hadn’t even considered it,’ he uttered, almost to himself. ‘With Nicolas abdicating the throne, I assumed that would extend to his children as well. I did not know the law as much as I thought.’
‘Guess not,’ said Quentin, sounding pleased.
When Augustine crossed my line of sight again, the anger had melted from him countenance. His imperious manner was back. ‘Our
law is vast, but it is also resolute. You are aware that only adult Outcasts are eligible for the throne.’
‘Yes,’ said Quentin, eyeing him with barely contained hostility.
‘According to Roma custom, Josephine needs a husband to be considered an adult,’ Augustine commented. ‘And I do believe my niece is well beyond the age for acceptable marriage proposals.’
‘She’s been … difficult,’ said Quentin, darkening. ‘She wanted to put off any official engagement until she’d turned eighteen. I thought we’d come to an agreement, but afterwards, she insisted we wait until after graduation from her gadje schooling institutions. And then, after she met that gargoyle, she wouldn’t even talk about it. Especially after …’
‘After they were bonded?’
My heart skittered between my ribs.
Quentin’s whole body went rigid. ‘She said it had nothing to do with us, but I knew, the moment he set foot in our camp. The way she looked at that abomination, that demon spawn. It makes me sick.’
‘Well, those problems will no longer be an issue for you, Quentin. Your service to me has been appreciated, and your reward is the Outcast throne, through Josephine. And I give you my blessings. Once, being king was my desire as well, but I have different aspirations now. The Outcast throne is a small thing, compared with my goals.’
‘I’m quite content with these small goals.’
Augustine chuckled. ‘Yes, Quentin. With you as Josephine’s husband, I’m sure the kumpania will be in excellent hands.’
‘And the sooner we’re rid of this gargoyle, the better.’
Augustine walked out of my limited sightline. ‘Oh no, I disagree. He’s everything to my plans at the moment. But, as I told you before, you needn’t worry yourself with Sebastian Grey once we’ve met with the Sobrasi.’
Quentin gave a huffing laugh. ‘Are you sure you didn’t just nail your coffin shut with them? After what this demon did—’
‘Yes, he did put a kink in things with his behavior in front of the Sobrasi, not to mention making a mess of the Court. If you’d been able to get two more shots in, as I hoped, then we would most likely not be here right now. But, all is well. We weren’t quite ready for that. Things have worked out.’
‘Meaning?’
Augustine moved back to Quentin and clasped his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about that. Just make sure your man – Kennick, wasn’t it? – is back in time, and that he has Corsi with him.’
Augustine had to be talking about Hugo. I pushed with all my strength to move. My wings quivered slightly.
‘He will,’ said Quentin in a sharp, cutting tone.
Augustine looked down. ‘Now, why don’t you take your unwilling fiancée and find her some suitable accommodations? And some aspirin. I think she’ll have quite the headache when she awakes.’
I tried one last time, willing strength into my arms.
‘Josephine …’
I pushed myself up on my elbows. They both whirled around with shocked expressions. I clutched the edge of what I saw now was a table in the middle of an arched room. The edges of my vision darkened. I bared my teeth in one long hiss. My arms gave way and I collapsed. My body refused to move again.
‘There was enough Vitamin D in that syringe to turn three groties to stone,’ remarked Augustine, sounding impressed. ‘Yes, I’d say it’s definitely time.’
Quentin growled. ‘He just won’t give up.’
‘Indeed,’ Augustine replied. ‘A quality I’m looking forward to exploiting.’ He stepped back. ‘Now, if you’ll just take Josephine … oh, I suppose you can’t, can you? Not with the broken shoulder and all.’
‘He’ll pay for that,’ snapped Quentin.
‘Looks to me as though it’s the gargoyle who has done the paying back,’ said Augustine with a snide laugh. ‘But not to worry.’ He bent down, disappearing momentarily from my view. When he rose, he had Josephine in his arms. My heart petrified at the sight of her, not even two yards away from me. Her hair had mostly fallen from her ponytail, and dirt stained one cheek. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly.
It was like a terrible dance – she and I revolving around each other, so near, yet miles apart. I felt tendrils of our bond, weak but holding. Instincts flared inside me, to protect her, to throw myself between her and Quentin. I forced my eyes open to their full extent. They burned hot in their sockets.
Quentin seemed to sense my unblinking stare. He turned and met my gaze. I studied him, feeling the blood boil in my veins, and I allowed every fierce emotion I had to pour freely through my glare. There was an instant shift in his expression, a colossal effort to remain stoically cold.
‘Come Quentin,’ said Augustine.
‘Are you sure the beast is immobile?’ asked the Marksmen, his voice carefully constructed to match his expression.
‘For now,’ said Augustine, shifting Josephine’s weight in his arms. ‘But we shouldn’t waste time. After you, Quentin.’ The banished Gypsy nodded in the direction of the door. Quentin tore his gaze from mine and left without another word. Augustine passed in front of me, making absolutely sure I could see Josephine in his grasp. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Sebastian. I won’t be long.’
*
I wasn’t sure how many minutes I lay frozen in the unfamiliar room, but finally, I felt the loosening of muscles, starting at my neck and continuing down my back, out to the edges of my wings. Still, I didn’t make any attempt to move. I took in a breath through my nose, filtering smells.
Quentin and Josephine’s scents had grown cold, along with most of the other Marksmen who’d been in their company. But Augustine’s pungent odor went straight to my core, along with the icy chill and scorched scent brought on by Marksmen – but only two this time, not the larger number from before. The sounds of shoes on stone reached my gargoyle hearing, mingled with the hum of oil lanterns burning around me.
I pushed myself up and the black cloak, which had been thrown over me, tangled up in my wings. I tossed it aside and threw my legs over the slab of wood at the same time. I’d been lying on a large rectangular communion table. I clutched my shoulder. It burned like acid.
I placed my feet on the floor, but before I could go any farther, the two Marksmen I’d smelled appeared in the doorway. They aimed small crossbows at me, half the size of Quentin’s bow, but the arrows cocked and ready to fly were just as intimidating. Augustine came in next, and he smiled brightly as he saw me.
‘Good morning,’ said Augustine. ‘Or, I should say, evening.’ He gaze roamed over me, scrutinizing every detail. ‘How are we feeling?’
‘I think you can see for yourself.’
My head felt decently clear, but my voice still carried the growling twinge that accompanied my surges of adrenaline and instinct. Augustine noted it as well; his smile turned thin.
‘All of this would’ve been over by now, had you not made such a foolish attempt to escape,’ he said evenly. ‘The Sobrasi did, at least, receive a taste of what you’re capable of, which worked favorably for me, even if I was forced to postpone the remainder of our demonstration. No matter. This will work just as well.’
I rose on shaking legs and grasped the corner of the table for support. My wings expanded, helping regain my balance. I took a step towards him, but the Marksmen were on me at once, their crossbows bringing me up short.
‘Where’s Josephine?’ I growled.
‘She’s fine,’ he replied. ‘She’s with Quentin.’
A snarl welled inside my throat. The Marksmen tensed and held their crossbows even closer. But Augustine wasn’t fazed. He sauntered with a slow, arrogant pace to the far corner of the room, past a long pew lined with a faded red cushion. He stopped at a small table, pulled out one of the stools and sat down, propping his elbows in front of him.
It was then that I noticed the variety of items on the table: Vials of tattoo ink. A cordless gun. A bottle of rubbing alcohol and a box of wipes. I jerked my head up, meeting Augustine’s smug gaze.<
br />
‘I’ve already got a brand,’ I said through clenched teeth. I pressed my hand to my manacled wrist. ‘Don’t need any more, thanks.’
‘Oh, this isn’t for you.’
Augustine rolled up one of his sleeves, and then the other. Dozens of tattoos covered his arms in intricate detail. I studied them with a sinking sensation in my chest. The tattoos were of shadow creatures, each black-and-gray design forming unique shapes in various degrees of hideousness.
‘Haven’t you wondered how I controlled my chimeras, Sebastian?’ he said as he turned his arms towards the glow of the lantern light, showing them off. ‘I worked for many years, studying how best to master the grotesques. Because they aren’t guardians, they don’t have charges. But I’ve found a way, a rather ingenious reverse order of things. I use the urn’s prah in these tattoos. When a grotesque is injected with the same batch of prah, it creates a type of bond between us. Nothing like the beautiful bond between guardian and charge.’ He spoke with such sarcasm that it twisted his face. ‘But rather like a dog and its master.
‘An arrow shot from a safe distance is usually all it requires to subjugate a grotesque. Chimeras require a much more involved process, which I’ve not completely mastered. But I’ve had success enough for what was required.’
I touched the arrow wound on my shoulder. He watched me steadily as he continued.
‘I knew I must begin by burning the humanity out of you, small portions at a time. I was too eager with my own gargoyles and experimented too quickly, yielding unfavorable results. I’ve used modest amounts, monitoring you as I’ve done so.’ He frowned disappointedly. ‘You didn’t change, at least, not in the way Anya and the others did. So I realized I needed a larger dose, one that would release slowly and more effectively.’
‘You hollowed out the Marksmen arrows.’
‘Figured that out, did you?’ Augustine chuckled. ‘Yes, Quentin was more than willing to give up his weapons to my cause. I did not anticipate you would break free so easily. We had two more arrows lined up for you, but you didn’t give that poor boy a chance, breaking his arm and all that. Quite a pity.’
Midnight Page 25