Nightborn: Totally addictive fantasy fiction (The Hollow King Book 2)
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Nightborn
Totally addictive fantasy fiction
Jessica Thorne
Books by Jessica Thorne
The Hollow King series
Mageborn
Nightborn
The Queen’s Wing series
The Queen’s Wing
The Stone’s Heart
Available in Audio
The Hollow King series
Mageborn (Available in the UK and the US)
The Queen’s Wing series
The Queen’s Wing (Available in the UK and the US)
The Stone’s Heart (Available in the UK and the US)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
The Queen’s Wing
Hear More From Jessica
Books by Jessica Thorne
A Letter from Jessica
The Stone’s Heart
Mageborn
To my always hero
Prologue
The Prince and the Guardsman
Once upon a time a terrible plague known as the nightborn descended on the kingdom. Their magic was wild and dangerous, and nothing could control them. But legend had it there was a cure. So the three princes of the kingdom determined to go on a quest to find that cure.
The eldest prince – handsome, tall and fair – took the finest company from the army with him. They rode to the far south of the kingdom, where they searched the lakes, the rivers and the streams, but they couldn’t find the cure. The nightborn surrounded them and drowned them all.
The second prince – broad, strong and tanned – took a hand-picked hunting party with him. They rode to the far west of the kingdom, where they searched the forests, the trees and the undergrowth, but they couldn’t find the cure. The nightborn surrounded them and tore them limb from limb.
The third prince – slender, quick-witted and dark – took only one faithful guardsman with him. The two rode to the far north of the kingdom where they heard tell of the stronghold of the Hollow King, the god of the mageborn. Surely there, they could find a cure.
In the valley of roses the nightborn surrounded them and would have burned them. The prince fell from his panicked horse, but the guardsman pulled the prince up onto his mount with him. He was faster than the flames which consumed all the flowers around them, leaving only the thorns behind. They galloped through the valley, hacking their way through the deadly brambles and barbs until they reached an ancient palace of black stone.
The prince loved his guardsman well. He knew he owed him his life. He bid him stay at the entrance and not set foot inside lest the Hollow King demand something of him in payment for the cure. But the guardsman loved his prince in return, and loyalty was written on his soul. When the prince did not return from the hall of the Hollow King, the guardsman could stand it no longer. He made his way down the dark tunnel that led into the bowels of the earth, where even the Hollow King hid from the nightborn.
The first thing he met on the way was the Deep Dark. It seized him in its midnight grip.
‘Do not venture into the hall of our brother,’ the Deep Dark told him. ‘He will demand more than you are willing to pay.’
‘I am willing to pay whatever the Hollow King demands, if only my prince goes free with the cure,’ the guardsman said in reply, and with a growl the Deep Dark let him pass.
The next thing he met was the Little Goddess, wearing her gleaming black crown. She drew him into her soft embrace. ‘Do not venture into the hall of my brother,’ she told him. ‘He will demand more than you are willing to pay.’
‘I am willing to pay whatever the Hollow King demands, if only my prince goes free with the cure,’ the guardsman said in reply, and with a sigh the Little Goddess let him pass.
Finally he stepped into the cavern where the throne of the Hollow King stood overlooking the glowing pool of the Maegen, the source of all magic. Its golden light danced on the cave roof and revealed his prince and the Hollow King.
The prince saw his guardsman and wept, for he loved him with all his heart. He had made a pact with the Hollow King which would give them the means to cure the plague and restore the nightborn. But every pact requires a sacrifice.
‘Why did you not stay where I told you to?’ the prince cried in dismay.
‘I could not leave you,’ said the ever-loyal guardsman.
‘Your prince has given his word,’ said the Hollow King as he drew his knife, a blade so wickedly sharp that it could cut through light itself. ‘But I will give you a chance. One of you must die. You must choose. Are you willing to die for him?’
Without hesitation the guardsman bared his throat to the Hollow King.
‘I am willing to pay whatever the Hollow King demands, if only my prince goes free with the cure,’ he said in reply. ‘It is my honour to serve.’
And so, while the prince was free to leave, the Hollow King took the life of the guardsman and never let him go.
Chapter 1
The setting sun turned the sea golden. Grace leaned on the balcony of the house on Iliz, feeling the gentle heat of the evening settle around her. It was warm on the Valenti Islands, warmer by far than it would be in Rathlynn at this time of year. The breeze carried the scent of open water. The soft song of the lapping waves of the lagoon filled the air, marrying with the cries of seabirds, their white forms gathered below on the water, or circling overhead.
The peace was a lie. She knew that. None of them really understood peace anyway. They knew pain and struggle, danger and murder, and they knew suffering. This peace, no matter how blissful it was, wouldn’t last. Three months had slipped through her fingers already. Each day with him was a blessing, but she still could not relax.
Rest was an alien concept to an Academy officer, especially Grace Marchant.
Down in the central courtyard, where water from the little fountain danced and glittered in the golden fading light, the harper played a mournful tune of home, loss, and regret. A song as old as the kingdom of Larelwynn.
Grace knew all about regret. And loss.
The building made a pretty picture, she thought. The white marble glowed, the filigree that decorated it delicate as spun sugar. It would never survive even a basic assault. It was a palace. Or at least it would have been, once upon a time. They called it a mansion here because it wasn’t big enough for the Valenti to consider it a palace these days. Now it was a refuge.
Her refuge.
His.
Strong arms encircled her, his scent and his presence wrapping around her moments before. Bastien kissed her neck, murmuring softly as he did so, his lips warm, his wo
rds those of a lover. She’d never thought to have a lover like him. A king, even if he was one in exile. A god, even if he was one who had given up his power.
‘Come back inside,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t go out this evening. Let the others do it.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’
‘Are you sure?’
She shrugged and leaned against him. ‘Are you worried?’
‘Worried,’ he laughed softly. ‘I’m worried about who you might run into. And what you might do to them.’
‘I don’t hurt people.’ Much. But she smiled as she said it.
‘Grace…’
‘I’ll be careful. I promise.’ She turned in his arms and kissed him before he could argue any more. It was fun to argue with him. But making up was even better.
Bastien sighed and rested his forehead against hers. ‘I have to go to these meetings, people from the court here, some from home, people who could help us. I’d come if I could.’
She kissed him again, lingering on his lips and teasing him a little. She loved doing that. Her hand strayed up his chest, brushing over the golden torc which rested against his collar bones, and then up so she could press her palm against his high cheekbone. He was beautiful. Beautiful to her. Strong, dark, golden, made of honour and duty… Her Bastien.
‘I’ll be back in no time. And you’re safer here.’
‘Are Ellyn and Daniel going with you?’
‘Yes, of course. That was the deal, right?’
Bastien’s late cousin, King Marius, had shown more foresight than she could ever have predicted in secreting funds here before his death, intended for the Lord of Thorns. The Valenti had offered them safe harbour, and any number of international treaties protected Bastien. Marius Larelwynn had made plans within plans and she loved him for it.
Marius’s primary intention had been for them to go to Thorndale, to the palace of the Hollow King, where all this had begun. Perhaps the late king had thought it would bring some kind of closure to Bastien. Some sort of release. But they were safe here. As safe as they would be anywhere. Safer than Rathlynn anyway. Which wasn’t hard.
They had discussed it, but Bastien had been dismissive. ‘There’s no need, my love. Not yet. It will be dangerous, especially travelling through Larelwynn land, so close to the Tlachtlyan border.’
She knew he wasn’t afraid. At least, not for himself. But the kingdom held so many painful memories for him. Presumably, Thorndale did as well, although he hadn’t shared them. He needed time, that was all.
Misha’s voice rose from the courtyard, marrying with his tune, strong and clear, threaded with his magic. He was a Lyric, a mageborn able to make magic with music, but Misha was naturally talented too, dedicated to his art and something of a scholar. Valenti Islanders did love their music, and people were already talking about him. His voice, his music, his repertoire.
‘To spill my blood on the cold hard ground,’ he sang. ‘Three times dead, twice entombed.’
‘Divinities, give us a break,’ Ellyn yelled. ‘If you don’t play something more cheerful, I’ll drown you in the canal, Misha. And Danny’ll let me.’
The tune stalled.
‘No, he won’t,’ the harper laughed.
‘Yes, I bloody will,’ Daniel replied. ‘We talked about this. Happy songs, Misha. Now.’
At least they didn’t sound on edge. Not the way Grace felt. Here, every day.
The Valenti Islands were different from Rathlynn. There was a freedom that was denied the mageborn back home. Despite this, she couldn’t find comfort here. She had not been made for palaces and peace.
Bastien wanted to go back, too. Rathlynn was his home, his kingdom, and he had left people behind. The guilt was eating him up inside. His sister might be insane, and might hate him with every fibre of her being. The new queen, Aurelie, might want to control him and make him her mindless slave. But still… his home and his people, especially the mageborn people, called to him.
Grace reached out, ruffling his jet-black hair. It fell over his dark brown eyes and, when he closed them, his thick lashes brushed the skin below.
‘I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.’
‘Stay safe, love,’ he whispered.
A shimmer of warmth slid up her spine, a fire inside her that blossomed at his touch. His gift to her, making her inner magic strong and sure, something she could rely on for the first time in her memory. She’d spent so many years without her magic, a Flint without the ability to conjure fire. She didn’t even remember the trauma of its theft but now, with Bastien, the magic was back and it made her stronger than ever. Instincts and reflexes that had always been quick and sharp were now truly magical.
‘You too,’ she told him. She slipped away from him with a smile.
‘I’ll pick you out something pretty to wear for the Dowager’s Carnaefal ball tomorrow night,’ he called after her.
‘Well, you can try. If you can get me into it.’
‘What if I promise to get you out of it too, Grace?’
He would, too. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she made her way down to the side entrance to their new home. Misha was still singing – a much merrier tune this time – and Daniel and Ellyn were waiting for her at the door, dressed as she was in leather armour without markings. Nondescript. Designed to blend in with the night.
Something pretty, indeed, she thought. Did he know her at all?
‘Ready?’ she asked.
Her squad just nodded.
Ellyn took charge of the little punt. She’d been born to this, she’d told them once. Born to the water, the little canals and a life spent only half on land. All that time in Rathlynn hadn’t changed her so very much. She’d taken to it again immediately, even though she couldn’t have been much more than a child when she’d left here.
‘We came from Desima, one of the northern islands, not here. But we… we visited the court when we came to Iliz for Carnaefal.’
‘What were you doing in the court?’ asked Daniel.
Ellyn ignored the question. ‘My family used to rent a house down by the Temple plaza. It’s where the best parties are. Not as nice as our fancy mansion now, but nice, you know? It had a garden.’
Grace noticed the quick change of subject but she didn’t say anything. If Ellyn didn’t want to share her past, that wasn’t any of her business. They were holed up here because the Larelwynn name still counted for something in the Valenti court. There had been a couple of marriages years back. A little bit of Larelwynn blood, barely a drop at this stage. But it was blood all the same. That was what Bastien had said.
Blood meant more to the nobility than anything else. More than honour, more than gold. And Larelwynn blood most of all. Even here.
The punt moved silently through the water, and they sat in the base, cloaked and quiet while Ellyn manoeuvred them down the canals towards the port. There was a party in one of the nearby mansions, music and light spilling everywhere, but they slipped through the shadows, ignored and out of sight. Entering the Lower Divi Io canal other boats joined them, jostling along against each other. Shouts and laughter rang out around them but they pressed on.
‘Carnaefal makes everyone insane,’ Ellyn muttered. ‘End of winter and all that… It’ll go on for days yet. There won’t be a barrel left unemptied.’
She’d pulled her hood right over her head, casting her face into shadow. Grace gazed up at her, and said nothing. She didn’t look like herself. More like a ghost of herself. A harbinger of death.
‘Are we late? I think we’re late,’ Daniel replied. They both sounded nervous.
‘We aren’t late.’ Grace stared ahead. ‘It’s fine. Just keep going. Don’t rush.’
The Grand Harbour opened up before them, a thousand other narrow canals spreading out like a great spider web across the city, linking all the little plazas and buildings by water as well as the cobbled streets. They travelled more by boat here than foot. The harbour itself was more
elaborate by far than the twin ports of Belport and Adensport at home. But Valenti was a naval nation, with trade routes that put Rathlynn to shame. And Iliz was the centre of it all, its beating heart. People at home liked to say the Valenti had water in their veins. They meant it as an insult. But that wasn’t true. There was more to them than met the eye. You only had to know Ellyn to know that.
The sounds and smells of the harbour reminded Grace of home. Rathlynn reeked, far worse than the canals here, and it was much more dangerous, especially around Eastferry or Belport. The dark alleys of Iliz were a stroll down a poorly lit laneway by comparison. Try strolling in Rathlynn at night and someone would have the boots off your feet. All the same, Grace missed it, the feeling like a knife in the heart.
Although it was risky to go back, one day, she knew, they would have to. Face Aurelie and Asher Kane, face Celeste, face all the people they had left behind. Some of the mageborn had made it out of Aurelie’s clutches, but by no means all.
Grace still heard stories. Tales of mageborn rounded up and locked away. Living in hiding. Killed or driven insane. Queen Aurelie and Asher Kane, her lover and the commander in chief of her Royal Guards, were still trying to use them, to harness their magic and enslave them. And they had left others behind, too. Others who didn’t have magic, to make them targets or serve as weapons. Just people. People who had no one left to stand up for them.