Nightborn: Totally addictive fantasy fiction (The Hollow King Book 2)

by Jessica Thorne

  Ellyn was all that mattered.

  Grace stared at the black rocks coming closer. The waves were growing choppier, the punt rocking in an unpleasant way. She hated water, always had and always would.

  Focus on the rocks, she told herself. Focus on dry land. And make sure you get there.

  ‘Ready?’ Daniel said.

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she told him. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Danny.’

  ‘I’ll be here. Just don’t be late.’

  She perched on the edge of the punt and jumped. The rocks came up hard and cold under her, slick from the water. She skidded forward and caught herself before she could slide back into the sea. Jehane’s jump didn’t go quite as smoothly. He came down neatly enough, but didn’t get his balance right and stumbled backwards, arms going wide. Grace grabbed the front of his leather jerkin, pulling him to safety.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  At least he was polite. ‘Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get going.’

  He spun a web of shadows around them both. A useful skill, she decided. Even with the chill effects of his magic surrounding her, Grace had to admire it. But she’d seen other Shades and what they could do. Just because this one appeared to be on her side, it didn’t make it easier.

  They’d solved the first problem of getting to the island, but they still had to get inside the prison. The main gate faced the jetty, but there was a side gate too and they skirted the shoreline until they reached it. Locked, of course, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who had picked up tricks from Kurt and his friends. She pulled out the lock picks and set to work, listening intently until she heard the click that told her they were in.

  She pushed the door open a crack and Jehane’s shadows slid inside, masking their entry. He shook his head and Grace understood. No one on the other side. They were relying on the impenetrable nature of the prison. She wondered how few guards were actually here. The fewer the better.

  Jehane went in first and Grace followed. ‘The shadows will hide us,’ he assured her, his voice no more than a breath. ‘But noise will betray us. As will bodies, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. Do you?’

  He laughed that soft, melodious laugh. It was almost likeable. His dark humour called to something in her. Things they’d done, things they’d seen, in service to the crown. ‘Let’s go.’

  The cells on the upper floors were home to the more affluent prisoners, but they weren’t about to keep someone like Ellyn up there. Ellyn was an example, a message to Bastien. So was the attack on Grace and Daniel. The Dowager wanted to isolate him, use him and control him. They were the leverage. None of them were safe.

  And Grace didn’t trust her to keep her word. Not in the slightest.

  The hallway was dank and miserable. It led to a central observation room with others leading off it like the spokes of a wheel. In the middle, two men sat in unstable chairs, playing cards on a desk. A spiral staircase led both up and down. Grace was about to signal their next move when Jehane slipped by her, shadows billowing around him. The guards didn’t even see him coming. In a moment, he was on the nearest, grabbing his head and slamming it down on the table.

  The other one scrambled away, opening his mouth in a scream, but Grace was already there. She kicked the back of his knees, bringing him down and putting him in a headlock before he could make a sound. He struggled weakly, gasping for breath.

  Jehane let the guard he’d taken out slump in the chair. At least he hadn’t killed him outright. When he pulled the knife, Grace shook her head, stopping him.

  ‘If he wakes up he’ll raise the alarm,’ Jehane pointed out.

  ‘We’d better get this done before he wakes up then, hadn’t we?’ She shook the guard she held. A boy really. Probably no more than seventeen. She could bet they gave him every shit job in the place. Right now he was crying, great silent sobs as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. She gave him another, meaningful shake and then let him go. He fell to his hands and knees.

  ‘Please… please don’t hurt me,’ he stammered.

  ‘Maybe you should do what I want then. Help us out. We’re looking for someone. Her name’s Ellyn. Ellyn de Bruyn.’

  ‘That one? She’s a psychopath. We can’t even feed her without someone getting hurt.’

  Yeah, that sounded like Ellyn. ‘So you take me to her and I’ll relieve you of the job. Sound good?’

  ‘Y-yes? She’s in the pit. The bottom, underground. Isolation.’ It sounded charming.

  ‘Good boy. Come on then.’

  Grace didn’t wait for the boy’s answer, heading down the stairs with Jehane hauling him after them. It was even darker on the next floor, and things only got worse the lower she went. Sometimes she heard cries, sobs, or the ravings of people who had been there far too long. She couldn’t save them. She didn’t know if she’d want to.

  When she finally found Ellyn, it was in the darkest hole left in the place. It was damp and freezing. No one would survive here for too long. Ellyn huddled in the dank recesses of the cell, her wrists and ankles in chains. There were bruises up the side of her face, layers of them. They vanished down underneath her torn shirt, all along her neck and shoulder. She looked up as they approached, glaring through her long, tangled hair like she would kill them the moment she got loose. Which, knowing Ellyn as Grace did, she probably would.

  ‘I… I have the key…’ the boy said, desperately trying to get it in the lock. Finally managing it, he turned it and jerked open the door to the cell. Jehane pushed him inside.

  Ellyn eyed them all but she didn’t move. For a moment Grace thought she was drugged or that she’d lost her mind already.

  ‘Get up,’ the boy told her. ‘They’ve come for you. Get the fuck up.’ He grabbed her chains, hauling her to her feet.

  Grace gave a snarl of anger and started forwards. The guard took one look at her and basically flung Ellyn at her, an offering or a shield.

  Ellyn fell into Grace’s arms, wretched and weak, stinking. She clung to her for a moment, staring in disbelief. ‘Grace?’ she groaned, her voice broken and hoarse. ‘Took you long enough.’

  Grace tried to smooth her hair back from her face and Ellyn winced as she touched her. ‘Dear goddess, what did they do to you?’

  ‘You should have seen the other guys,’ she said, almost falling over.

  ‘Jehane? Take her.’

  He stepped in and took her in strong arms. ‘It’s okay. We’ve got you now.’

  ‘To be fair, mate, I don’t know who the fuck you are,’ she replied. ‘But that little shit in there is lucky I don’t make him sing soprano. So watch the hands.’

  Grace turned, staring at the boy, her face a mask of fury. The darkness around her bled into her veins. She could feel the emptiness, that void inside her glorying in her rage, stoking it. Her fire might be gone but she could still feel it kindling in her blood.

  ‘No one raped her,’ the boy said, as if that made it all right. ‘No one could get close enough.’

  Grace waited a moment until he went silent again, aware what he’d just admitted. They’d tried. Of course they’d tried. Then she closed the cage door on him. The keys were still there, waiting. She turned them.

  The stench of terror came off him in a wave.

  ‘Wait, you can’t leave me down here. No one comes down here for days. Please. Don’t – don’t do this. Don’t leave me here!’

  Grace leaned against the door, listening, and the void inside her surged with pleasure. Fear. Fear was good. She wanted him afraid. She wanted him to suffer.

  ‘Do you know what else is in the dark?’ she asked.

  At the sound of her voice, he went silent. She waited. After a moment his voice came in a kind of sob. ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘Monsters. Jehane, show him.’

  He smiled. It wasn’t his pleasant smile this time. She didn’t know what shapes the shadows took that Jehane sent flooding in there, but the guard’s screams echoed after them as they he
lped Ellyn up the stairs and between them carried her back the way they’d come.

  Chapter 11

  There were so many ships in the lagoon and the Grand Harbour. So many little lights twinkling on the dark water, like stars in the sky. One of them held Grace, and Bastien fancied he could almost sense her out there. Somewhere.

  Even if he didn’t know exactly which ship it was.

  But instead of being with Grace, making ready to sail away, here he was, in a little antechamber overlooking the lagoon, waiting for Lara so they could slip away into the night as the Carnaefal celebrations pitched headlong into their final day. Then he would finally rejoin Grace and leave the Valenti Islands far behind them.

  Lara had gone to request an audience with the Dowager so Bastien could tell her that he was leaving rather than marry the girl. And it was taking far too long.

  When the door opened, however, it was not Lady Kellen. It was Rynn, holding a glass of a deep red wine.

  ‘I wondered where you were,’ she said by way of an explanation.

  ‘Rynn…’ How did he tell her? He hadn’t expected to see her at all, not really. He knew he wouldn’t be breaking her heart. She was a princess, raised to marry where she was told, to be courteous to a visiting dignitary. She was doing her duty.

  She swallowed hard, blinking in the face of his darkest look. ‘Yes?’ Offering him the wine, which he took with a brief thank you, she closed the door behind her.

  Suddenly, the situation seemed awkward and uncomfortable. ‘Shouldn’t… shouldn’t you have an escort or…’

  ‘Why? To protect my honour?’ She gave him a shy smile. She flirted artfully but he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You’re going to be my husband. I don’t think it matters now.’ She indicated the wine. ‘Aren’t you going to drink it?’

  He’d expected a curt dismissal from the Dowager, not a young woman trying to salvage this disastrous betrothal plan.

  ‘Rynn, I have to explain… I can’t… I can’t marry you. I’m leaving Iliz. I can’t stay here.’

  She just stared at him, her face unreadable. ‘They told me.’

  He set the glass down on the side table and his eyes flicked to the young woman, suspicion making him pause. She looked paler than usual. When she thought he wasn’t looking she knotted her slender hands together, trying to stop them trembling.

  ‘Please understand.’

  She drew in a breath.

  ‘What is there to understand, my Lord of Thorns?’ she whispered. ‘You chose another over me. It’s… it’s never happened before.’

  When the door opened behind Rynn, the last remaining bit of colour drained from her skin and she turned away from him. Bastien hoped for a moment, for one desperate moment, that it was Lara this time.

  But it wasn’t. Asher Kane stood there, with four Valenti guards.

  The Dowager followed. Still clad in black, like a skeleton, her eyes cold as stones. Bastien took an involuntary step back. He bumped into the table, knocking the wine everywhere. The glass smashed by his feet. Where was Lara? What was going on?

  ‘Did he drink it?’ the Dowager asked. Her emotionless gaze took in the broken glass and the liquid pooling on the floor, dripping down the legs of the table. Then she dragged it back to Rynn’s stricken face. ‘No. You couldn’t even manage that. Well, no matter. General Kane, if you will.’

  Asher shook his head ruefully and took out a silver hip flask.

  ‘Finally learned not to drink everything that’s handed to you, Bastien?’

  The guards seized him, too many to resist. He was too shocked to protest as they shoved him down onto his knees, holding him there. One gripped a fistful of his hair and forced his face upwards. Another gripped his jaw, yanking it open.

  ‘No,’ Rynn tried. ‘You’ll hurt him. Please—’

  The Dowager slapped her across the face, a sharp sound in so quiet a room. Even the guards holding Bastien stiffened in alarm. But no one moved to help her.

  ‘Silence yourself, you useless child,’ the old woman snarled.

  Asher ignored them. All his attention was fixed on Bastien, his smile infernal. He walked forward, opened the flask and emptied the contents into Bastien’s open mouth. It all happened so quickly that the stab of magic rising within Bastien was too little, too late.

  Bastien choked on the burning liquid, tried to spit it out, tried not to drink… but Asher placed his hand over his mouth and nose and it was too late. The liquid scorched all the way down Bastien’s throat as if he was swallowing molten silver.

  He knew the taste, knew it far too well, sweet and sickly, burning down his oesophagus. He choked, his eyes blurring with helplessness.

  Rynn backed for the door, her arms around her chest, tears covering her marked face.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere, Princess,’ Asher warned in a threatening tone. ‘You’re still needed here.’

  The Dowager glared at her and Rynn fell still, standing there like a startled doe.

  The guards released Bastien and he sank forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, his head swimming. The sensation of drowning in the syrupy substance turned his vision golden and glowing. He couldn’t focus on anything. The world was zooming in and out, like he was looking through the eyes of hummingbirds from the far south. Bits of his mind crumbled away like cracked eggshell.

  ‘When I suggest a deal, Bastien Larelwynn, no one backs out,’ the Dowager said. ‘That throne of yours will be Rynn’s. And you will obey. General Kane, begin.’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Bastien managed to say. ‘The accords…’

  ‘The others will never know. You’ll agree to marry my granddaughter and do so with joy. Your sister’s idea. And she was there when those wretched Larelwynn accords were signed protecting you and your line.’

  Celeste? Of course it was Celeste.

  Asher laughed. ‘Celeste was most insistent. She wants you and a Larelwynn. Old magic, she said. Blood magic. And now we have you both. The Valenti have been most accommodating. Family, and all that.’

  Someone laughed softly, a hissing, whispering sound. The Dowager, Bastien realised.

  Flailing about wildly with his mind, Bastien tried to draw on his powers, some way to defend himself, to stop this. To stop him.

  ‘You won’t use your magic,’ Asher said in a voice that shook its way through him. Something shuddered in the depths of him and just like that the constant contact he had with his magic was gone. ‘You’ll do exactly what you’re told. Understand?’

  Bastien couldn’t help himself. He bowed his head, not because he wanted to submit. He didn’t have the strength to hold it up any more. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep hold of himself. He was drowning. And Asher had bound his magic, the only thing that could save him.

  Asher knelt down beside him. ‘Now, this is what’s going to happen, my old friend. It’s all very simple. Listen carefully. Aurelie should have been specific the last time. She should have made sure you drank the whole lot and had very clear instructions and we would never have had any of that unpleasantness. So listen to me now, and listen carefully, because this is how it’s going to be. Tomorrow you’re going to marry that beautiful girl. She’s the love of your life. She’s all you have ever wanted. You worship the ground she walks on and you would never do anything to hurt her, understand? Then the two of you are going to come back to Rathlynn where we’ll sort out this misunderstanding with Aurelie. She’ll become the Dowager Queen and Rynn will take the throne beside you.’ Rynn visibly shrank to avoid his look, but her grandmother grabbed her arm in a clawlike grip, holding her firm.

  ‘You will watch this, girl,’ she said, her tone sharp and bitter. ‘You will learn and understand.’

  For what? In case she had to drug him herself in future? In Rathlynn, with Asher in power, Rynn wouldn’t stand a chance. She would have no choice but to do whatever he wanted. Asher and Celeste… Bastien wouldn’t wish them on anyone. But where did Aurelie figure in this plan? Did she even
know they were going to replace her?

  Asher slapped his face, getting his drifting attention back to the threat at hand. ‘Pay attention, your majesty.’ Every word dripped mockery. ‘I’m your trusted advisor. Everything I tell you, everything I suggest, that’s what you’re going to do, understand?’

  This couldn’t be happening. He could feel everything slipping away, his life, his memories, his magic. He was losing himself. He was losing…

  ‘Grace,’ he said hoarsely.

  Asher laughed. ‘You won’t even know her. Not that I expect her to just give up. I’m counting on her determination. But she’s no one to you from this moment on. In fact, the next time you set eyes on Grace Marchant, the moment you hear her voice, the first opportunity you get—’ He grabbed Bastien’s chin and jerked it up so he had to look into Asher’s hateful face. ‘You’re going to kill her for me and then you’ll take the warrant. It’s mine, Bastien. She’s a thief. Kill her and give the warrant to me. I’m your marshal from now on.’

  ‘No,’ Bastien whispered. But he didn’t even know what he was saying no to.

  ‘Oh yes. Welcome back, my Lord of Thorns. It’s time to go home. And look at the prize you’ll be bringing with you. Beautiful, cultured and so very rich, the perfect match. It was a most profitable trip.’

  Asher jerked Bastien’s head around to look at Rynn. She looked as if for the first time she truly understood the nightmare that she had stumbled into, that by helping Asher she was his accomplice and his pawn. That she, too, was in his power. The Dowager just stood there, entirely complicit in this.

  Asher licked his lips. His grip on Bastien’s jaw turned bruising. ‘I’ll look forward to entertaining her myself. As will your sister, I’m sure.’

  The world turned to shifting golden light and coiling black shadows. Bastien couldn’t hold on any longer. He crashed to the floor and everything went dark.