by Bec McMaster
"Against?" Ianthe whispered.
"Expression." The word was a dry whisper.
"So he encouraged you to use Expression repeatedly," Lucien said, then sighed and scraped a hand over his face.
"There w-was to be an initiation." The girl's face paled. "We all swore by our blood that we would never betray our circle, and Noah said that Eliza, one of my friends, had betrayed her oaths and told her Master. He said she h-had to b-be... punished..." The girl dissolved in tears again. "He said we had to do it. It was only supposed to be a demonstration, but something... something happened. Eliza stopped breathing. I don't know why. I don't know how—"
"I should have guessed." Bloody hell. "You've been distracted and out of sorts for nearly a month, when you were doing so well beforehand. I didn't understand why you'd slid backward with your control, but guilt would do it. Fear. All of those emotions eating away at you." Ianthe shook her head, then dragged the girl into her arms. "You didn't hurt Eliza. There is no magic in this world that could make her die from breaking a blood oath. You were tricked. Most likely it was poison, or some expert sorcery you couldn't detect. I know the Sicarii can wield a stiletto-sharp whip of magic that can kill at a distance and leave you none the wiser. He probably did it himself, so he'd get what he wanted. A group of young, inexperienced sorcerers that he could blackmail."
Thea sobbed.
"Thea, sweetie." Ianthe leaned back to brush the girl's hair out of her wet face. "Can you tell me where this Noah Guthrie met with you?"
Thea wiped her face. "I can do better than that. I followed him one day. We—he and I... We were..." Her gaze dropped, as if she were ashamed. "And I thought he might have been out walking with someone else, so I followed him back to a house, and there was an older lady there. He called her Morgana, and she asked about me, asked if I was doing what she wanted me to do. I'm so sorry, Miss Martin. I knew in that moment that he never cared about me. I knew I was in trouble."
"I see." She wanted to get her hands on Noah Guthrie and wring his bloody neck. Toying with a young girl's emotions like this was both cowardly and cruel. "The address Thea?"
"I don't know where it is precisely, I can't remember, but it was in the eastern end of Knightsbridge. A pretty stone house with rose gardens all around it. I didn't think to note the precise address."
Ianthe released the breath she'd been holding. "Thank you, Thea. It's a start."
CHAPTER 25
DRAKE ARRIVED barely ten minutes later. Ianthe had gone to check on Louisa, so Lucien stalled his father's words and led him to the conservatory where he'd first taken tea with Ianthe. It seemed a lifetime since that meeting. How much things had changed.
"How is she?" Drake demanded the second the door had shut. He looked like he'd aged a decade overnight.
"Preparing herself for battle," Lucien replied. "Upset, of course, but holding herself together. I would not care to be Morgana when she gets her hands upon her."
"And she has... her daughter with her?"
"Our daughter," Lucien said softly. There was no surprise in his father's eyes. "You knew."
Drake sighed. "Not at first. Several years ago, Ianthe saw you in the street and turned white as a ghost. She pointed you out to me as Louisa's father, and I realized then that the girl was of my blood."
Lucien strolled toward the orange tree, examining it, but seeing none of it. "Ianthe told me you were the one who insisted that she work with me to recover the blade."
"Yes."
"She thinks you did it to free me from Bedlam and help restore me to the Order's good graces, plus of course, there's the fact that you could be certain I wasn't involved, incarcerated as I was. And if you're that good at pulling strings, one can imagine that you might possibly have meant to set us on a collision course with each other." This time he looked up.
Drake eyed him steadily. "Ianthe needed to confront her past."
"One could say the same for me."
"One could."
"I dislike being pushed and pulled about."
With a sigh, Drake dragged out one of the wrought iron chairs and sank into it. "I know you think the very worst of me, but the truth is the decision killed three birds with one stone. It wasn't as though I was sitting there rubbing my hands together like some Machiavellian villain in some penny dreadful. I had few resources, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I haven't particularly given it a great deal more thought, considering events, but sometimes you take a gamble."
"With people's lives?"
"Yes," Drake snapped, "with people's lives. That's what a position of power means. It's not a privilege; it's a responsibility. If you want to take this up with me at a later time, pray do so, but to be honest, Lucien, I've got a great deal on my mind."
"Considering your ex-wife wants you dead and now has the means to do so."
A flash of something—pain?—shadowed his father's brow. Then the man wiped his face free of expression. "If Morgana wanted to cut my heart out with that Blade, then I would offer myself up willingly, if I could trust her to make a deal and uphold her end of it." He swallowed. "She has Eleanor, Lucien. I know that means nothing to you, but to me, Eleanor is everything. If I could trade myself for her, I would without a second's doubt."
That dark head bowed with weariness. "I am what this position has forced me to become, but don't think for one second that it's easy to make these decisions. I made a choice to let Eleanor do something risky, and now she is paying for it. I don't even know if she's still alive... I feel the weight of that decision, as I do all of the others. It will haunt me until the day I die, but I am Prime. Either I make those decisions, or I sit and twiddle my thumbs while my enemies cut my feet out from under me, including all of those allied with me."
Damn it. How could he hate this man in this moment, when Lucien knew exactly how he'd feel if Morgana had her hands on Ianthe?
Drake lifted a weary head. "May I ask, did my gamble pay off?"
"Yes," Lucien said tightly, "it did. I'm going to marry her."
"And restore some of Louisa's respectability and Ianthe's good name? That's very noble of you."
They stared at each other.
"Ah," Drake said, his eyes softening. "So it's like that, is it?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." Drake pushed to his feet, as though he could see straight through him. He leaned heavily on his cane. "I knew you wouldn't hurt her, Lucien. You always owned a soft spot for those who had need and those in dire circumstances."
As if he had any inkling of the son he'd seeded or his personality. Lucien snorted and looked away.
"Do you think that I didn't care? Do you think I just turned my back on you for all those years? I always had someone watching over you. Your governess, then your tutor, and finally, your sorcery Master. Rathbourne either didn't care or he didn't know. All of them delivered frequent reports on how you were as a boy and the type of man you were growing to be. Through their words, I watched as you scored your first run at cricket, or that time you broke your arm protecting your friend from those bullies at Eton. I was there when your powers finally came in, and it gave me great pleasure to know that you had a talent for both of your parent's gifts, wards and divination—"
Lucien cut him off with a sharp slash of his hand. He couldn't hear this. He wouldn't. "The truth is, you might have watched over me, or you might not have, who knows? But the fact is, you weren't there. All you were to me was a stranger. Now I hear tales of prophecies explaining why you couldn't be in my life, and I find I have two brothers, two more men who mean nothing to me. They, and you, feel like a memory I can't quite grasp, some detail right on the tip of my tongue... But ultimately, it doesn't matter."
"Then why are you here?" Drake asked in a tired voice. Hurt shone in his eyes, but Lucien turned away, refusing to see it.
Hell, he knew what it felt like. There was a gaping chasm in his chest, as if his heart had been ripped out years ago. He didn't want to
see the echo of it in his sire's eyes, or he feared the carefully leashed emotions inside him would come bubbling out in a spew of vile words and anger. Would his own daughter think the same when she discovered he was her father? For that's where Ianthe was right now, breaking the news to her. He would have been there himself, but a part of him was outright terrified that Louisa would hate him.
"I am here because a dangerous relic has been placed in the hands of a madwoman," Lucien replied, nostrils flaring as he fought to contain harsher words. "I am here because at the moment, I am nothing more than a burden to Ianthe, rather than an ally." Pausing by the windows, he stared out over the city sprawl. Reticence loomed in his chest, but the truth had struck him last night, and though he'd fought with this decision all morning, he had found no other answer to his dilemma. Pride was only costing him—and Ianthe. "Last night exacerbated a problem I've been dealing with. Ever since the demon's assault, I've been... highly sensitized." Lucien swallowed hard, looking down at his curled fists. Exposing such a weakness felt like cutting out his heart all over again. "I cannot utilize my power. I cannot protect Ianthe against her enemies, and I can't do anything to protect my own child if I am like this. I–I don't know if I will ever be able to use my power again. Not fully."
His words fell into a chasm of silence.
"Then why ask me for help?"
"Ianthe said you might be able to help me. Your talent lies within wards, but it's rumored that you understand sorcery and the barriers a mind can put up against it."
Something brushed against his trouser leg, the same cat who'd been toying with Ianthe's skirts the first morning. Luc picked it up, feeling the warm purr against his chest. He still couldn't look at his father.
"The question isn't: can I help you? The question is more along the lines of: will you let me? I need to explore your aura, and that requires a great deal of trust. You need to open yourself up to a psychic probe."
Ash couldn't have tasted dryer in his mouth, but he didn't feel the Prime would ask this of him if it weren't necessary. "I'll try." He had Louisa and Ianthe to think of.
"You'll also need to describe the assault in full. I need to understand what happened so I can perhaps treat the barriers your unconscious mind has put in place. From the sounds of it, there was trauma involved, and perhaps your mind associates your power with pain. Now, every time you try to channel your power, some part of you remembers what happens. It's like forcing yourself to touch a hot frying pan after you've already burnt yourself badly. You could be subconsciously stopping yourself from performing sorcerous works. The mind is a powerful tool, and when sorcery comes from your will, your conscious mind, then it is like fighting yourself every time you try to wield it.
"It's also not the sort of thing that can be dealt with in a single afternoon either, Lucien. This will require frequent visits and meditation to reroute the way your mind thinks when it comes to sorcery. If you've subconsciously allied sorcery with pain, then it's going to take a great deal of effort to retrain yourself."
These were words he understood. It was far easier to deal with fact, rather than emotion. Emotion had beaten him bloody over the past twelve hours. "Then I'm going to be of no use this afternoon?"
"It is unlikely that you will regain your abilities within the space of a day," Drake said carefully.
There it was. The truth. "I can't sit by and watch her walk into danger."
"Then don't," Drake replied. "Let me examine you. There's a possibility you could act as someone else's wellspring, if you're not mentally scarred too badly."
"Wellspring?" A cold trickle traced his spine. Lord Rathbourne had wanted him to act as wellspring to him a year ago—to give his own power up to the man, to use as Lord Rathbourne desired. Look how well that had gone.
"I'm sure you trust Ianthe," Drake replied. "She could do it, if you allow it."
Lucien licked dry lips. Every muscle in his abdomen tightened, as though anticipating a blow. Bloody hell. Anything but this... But then, how else could he be of use?
Squeezing his eyes shut, he didn't want to accept that fact. But he trusted her, didn't he?
After all, had she not placed her own trust in his hands by giving him the truth? How easy it was, when you were the one asking for trust, not the one giving it. "How do we do this then?"
The Prime turned the weight of those silver eyes upon him. "You will need your Anchor."
* * *
IT STARTED with a faint tracing probe that lit along his nerves like ants marching a hot trail over his skin. Lucien's muscles locked tight, but he forced himself to remain still on the daybed, trying not to instinctively shove against that tentative touch.
"It cannot hurt you," Drake murmured, the words sounding as though they came from a distance.
A warm hand slid into his, and a familiar perfume caused him to turn his head slightly to the side. "I'm here," Ianthe murmured. "You're safe. Your father and I are both here."
Confusion reigned. He danced between both memory and the present. The words 'Your father' brought to mind Lord Rathbourne's face. Lucien shook his head. "No. No." That was the day he'd learned the truth and his entire world had split apart.
"Take me back to that day, Lucien," Drake murmured. "It cannot hurt you, not now. Take me back to that moment when I sent the demon back to its master."
Fire. Pain. Betrayal. They all lashed through him, leaving him twisting on the daybed. He relived it. Fought against the demon, throwing all of his power at it and feeling it burn him up from within...
"Begone!" he screamed, and the demon flinched as he turned his will upon it.
Then a smile stretched over its lips. “For the moment, perhapsss... But one day soon we shall have a reckoning.”
Seconds later, it vanished, and he was left lying on the floor of Rathbourne's house, panting, with his skin on fire.
Lucien sat up with a scream, pain lancing through his skull as he jolted free of the memory. There were warm hands on him, two sets of them, and the pain instantly lessened as Drake's power washed over him.
Gasping, he held onto Ianthe's shoulders. "I didn't remember it saying such a thing. It told me that one day it would be back to take its revenge upon me."
Both of them were silent.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, turning his gaze upon the Prime, who looked just as troubled.
The Prime shook his head, "Nothing's—"
"Don't lie to me!"
Lucien could feel the truth through the bond he shared with Ianthe. He may not know the man, but she did, and she knew when something was bothering the Prime.
"You said you banished the demon, but..."
"But?" His voice was tight.
"I don't think you did."
The words were a blow. No. No. It couldn't be free. It would have come after him, surely. No demon had ever submitted freely to the yokes of servitude. Only dark rituals and immense sacrifices could raise one, but in every story he'd ever heard, they'd all turned on their Master's the second they had a chance.
And this demon... it had had its chances.
"It's moving freely about on our plane?" Ianthe demanded, horror in her voice. "Surely we would know. We'd have heard news, or there would have been massacres, or... something. A demon cannot hide its presence for long. It would need to fuel itself with blood."
Drake hesitated. "I think you managed to force it to retreat to its plane, but I don't think you entirely shut the gates to it. There's something in your head, and it's not me or Ianthe. There's a bond there, as if something is tied to you. Plunging you into a trance awoke it. I could feel an alien presence, a strong, alien presence, staring back at me."
Like the day he'd been at Lady Eberhardt's and peered into her Shadows of Night. Lucien's blood went cold.
"That's not all you meant to say," Ianthe whispered. "I can see it in your face."
Fear pounded in his chest. Lucien couldn't deal with the demon again. He just couldn't. He'd barely survived the first time, a
nd he was but a shell of that man.
"You're not a shell," Ianthe whispered absently, patting his hand. Her eyes never left the Prime's face, as if she didn't even realize what she'd just said, but both he and Drake shot her a hard gaze each.
Then they turned that look on each other.
"Can it hurt me? Can it... return?" Lucien demanded. "You owe me the answer to that, if nothing else."
"I don't know." Drake raked a hand through his hair. "Lucien, I think you are a gateway for the demon now. It hasn't quite worked out how to get back, but I fear, given enough time, that it will. I've managed to repair some of the damage its psychic assault caused, and I've warded your mind against it, so it cannot see through your eyes, or whatever it's doing in there, but there's no guarantee it cannot break free."
"Then what should I do?" he choked out. "Kill myself? Or—"
"Don't be ridiculous," his father snapped. "Who knows what your death would bring about? A summoning ritual needs some sort of sacrifice to even bring a demon through; perhaps your death would be the sacrifice it requires to manifest again? Maybe that's what it's waiting for? Then it has a nice, freshly delivered body to inhabit, already flush with power."
Lucien shoved to his feet. "I cannot live with this in my head!"
"Lucien." Ianthe stood, in a swirl of violet skirts, and caught his sleeve. He could feel her reaching out to him through the bond they shared, and that small hand stroking his sleeve was enough to settle his racing heartbeat a fraction. "You're not alone."