Chapter 12
Sunrise over the city of Rathlynn should have been beautiful. Aurelie knew that. Everyone told her it was. She hadn’t watched it before. Not really. Not even when she had stayed up all night drinking and revelling. The sea, the red tiles, and the creamy walls, pale and washed-out at first then flowing with reflected light, surging into colour as the sun crept over the horizon. The long shadows of the statues, visible below her on the Royal Promenade leading from the Temple and its wide square and up the hill to the gates of the palace.
But all those statues had Marius’s face. Or Bastien’s. Or something in between. Every statue watched her with the same disappointed expression.
No child of hers would look at her that way. He wouldn’t have those features. She rubbed her flat stomach and sighed.
Shame wasn’t something to which she was accustomed. Tlachtlyan royalty did not feel shame. Or guilt. They acted and they dealt with the consequences. They bent the world to their will.
Her family had taught her that, from the time she could first listen to their stories, from the cradle. They had taught her well and she had been a dutiful student. When they told her she was coming here, to marry Marius the Larelwynn king, she had nodded, agreed and never thought twice about it. She hadn’t wondered if there was someone else for her, if she would find true love or even a handsome prince. She’d done her duty.
Part of it, anyway. She hadn’t been able to provide him with an heir. Not her fault, of course. It was never her fault.
Especially not now.
She stood in the window and gazed as the sun spread golden light over her kingdom. Hers. She deserved this. Marius had tried to be a good husband, she knew that. He had been kind but not interested in her. How could he be? He wasn’t interested in women at all. That hadn’t bothered her either. It wasn’t something to be frowned upon like it was down in Barranth, where they forbade men to be with men and women with women. And Bastien, bloody stubborn stupid Bastien, was too brainwashed and loyal to do anything that might have been in any way useful. She had tried so hard.
And all for nothing.
No one would believe any child of hers was a Larelwynn. No one. And if she killed anyone who dared to say it out loud, it would be a bloodbath.
It wouldn’t be her first.
So many of the mageborn had died. And they kept dying. In the city, in her dungeons… They’d die rather than submit to her, something they had proved time and again. The ones she had managed to imprison wouldn’t give up their powers, and torture just broke them to pieces instead of making them comply. Some killed themselves, or each other. They refused to cooperate. The whole bloody kingdom defied her.
Those who had fled were called Larks. But there were others, determined to stay and make a stand against her. They called themselves Thorns, of course. The thorns in her side. Just like Bastien.
Celeste might make a scene, but she was as trapped as Aurelie. She couldn’t leave the Temple and she had no power now. Bastien had seen to that. She was hopeless, a crazed psychopath playing her own game and running down the clock on her usefulness.
‘Your majesty?’ Her most recent lover came out of her bedchamber, his black hair tousled, his brown eyes blurred with sleep. Last night Aurelie had thought he had a look of Bastien about him. Now she couldn’t see it any more. He was a pale comparison. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Come back to bed. I can help with that.’
She sighed again. Goddess, he was predictable – irritating and so sure of himself. It never ceased to grate. Men were all the same. Even Asher. Sometimes she thought it was a shame she needed him so much. She didn’t have anyone else.
Not here, anyway. That would have to change. It was good she had sent Asher to Valenti. Well, not so much sent as accepted his going. She had the strangest feeling he had manipulated her. Again. And she hated that.
‘Later. I have things to attend to.’
‘What things?’ A barb in his voice caught her attention. This one didn’t like being dismissed. Too bad. He was a petulant child. She hadn’t even bothered to learn his name. Why would she? She wouldn’t have him back. He’d be lucky if he left here alive. Let him boast about screwing the queen and she’d have him castrated before she gutted him herself.
‘None of your business,’ she snapped at him and left him standing there.
He wouldn’t follow. She knew that. Not if he had any survival instinct at all. Perhaps he’d slink out or perhaps he’d stay. He was pretty enough, she supposed, her march through the palace taking some of the edge off her temper. And he had been skilled. More than most. If he was still here when she was finished, maybe she wouldn’t throw him out after all. Perhaps with a lover like him her child might even look the part.
Guards fell in around her as she swept down the corridor, past tapestries of all those ancient Larelwynns, all those dead and gone ancestors of her late husband, and Bastien. Bastien everywhere. Wherever she went. It was always going to be this way. Aurelie kept her eyes fixed ahead, ignoring them all. This wasn’t what she wanted to see. This wasn’t a time for regret.
This was a time for strength.
Down and down she went, her clothes chosen for this moment, her hair left long like a glory, her face fresh and angelic. And yet the path she went was anything but.
The dungeons lay deep inside the palace complex, buried in the hill above Rathlynn. No one escaped from this place. No one. She’d make sure they all knew it: mageborn and quotidian alike, if they crossed her, they’d rot in here for the rest of their days.
The nagging voices that said she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t rule, that she would still be defied at every turn, needed to be quashed completely. She couldn’t listen to them any longer. They sounded like Celeste. They sounded like Asher. You need us, they seemed to say. Without us you’re nothing. Well, she’d show them. She needed to act. And this was the first step.
The warden stood to attention as Aurelie entered and her guards fell in around her. The commander of the Royal Guard stood with him, resplendent in his gleaming uniform.
‘Your majesty,’ he said with a low bow. The rest of them followed suit. Maybe she should get him to give Asher some lessons.
‘Is he here?’
‘Yes, ma’am. We took him coming out of Eastferry by way of Jewellers’ Alley. Right where our informant told us he would be.’
‘Just him?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Just him. He was alone. His arrogance knows no bounds. But we’ve put him in his place.’
She graced the commander with a smile. Obedience was always to be encouraged. Perhaps she would reward it as well. Perhaps.
‘Show me. I want to see him.’
‘He’s dangerous, ma’am.’
‘Then you will obviously need to protect me, Commander,’ she purred.
He stared past her head, clearly uncomfortable. Asher was his superior and he knew – as they all knew – about their relationship.
‘This way, ma’am,’ he said, in as careful and deferential tone as possible.
The cell was completely dark and it stank like something had died in there. Which, on reflection, something probably had. And something probably would again. When they opened the door, the pool of light spilled inside, revealing a man on his knees. Chains held him there, arms behind him, heavy black iron around his wrists and ankles. A bag-like hood covered his head.
He didn’t have the grace to look defeated though. Oh no, not him. She nodded to the commander and he pulled off the hood so she could look him in the face.
Scruffy black hair fell over his dark brow, and deep brown eyes looked up at her with a murderous glare. The defiant line of his mouth just irked her.
There would be no begging, no pleading, not from him.
But he would break eventually. She’d see to that. If he didn’t she’d give him to Celeste. She’d make him scream.
‘Parry,’ she said in pretty tones
. ‘What a pleasure to see you here.’
‘The pleasure is all yours then,’ he replied with an impudent grin. There was no ‘ma’am’ or ‘your majesty’ from him. Nothing of the sort. Not from Kurt Parry.
The word was he fancied himself as the king of Eastferry, ruler of that parasitic dungheap infesting her city. Reports said he had even defied Bastien, standing up to him and claiming Eastferry as his own.
Everything about Kurt Parry disgusted her.
Not to mention the way he looked at her. Like he’d chew her up and spit her out. She could have him flogged for that. Traitor, usurper, criminal… there were so many reasons.
But right now she wanted information.
‘What were you doing in Valenti, Mr Parry?’
The reports sent to her said he’d met with Marchant and others; not Bastien himself perhaps but still. It was damning enough. She’d get the rest out of him eventually. She’d take her time. He was the scum of Rathlynn. She should have hauled him in here months ago to teach him a lesson.
‘You can call me Kurt, love,’ he said. ‘Everyone else does. And as for Valenti? Never been there. Like the food though. Hear Iliz is good for a party. Much like you, I’m told.’
He grinned again. Aurelie glanced at the commander who took the hint instantly. The punch he threw hurled Parry over, his face smacking off the stone slabs. Guards hauled him up again. He spat blood onto the floor at her feet and smiled at her again, his teeth very white against the scarlet in his mouth.
‘Going to be a long day then, love, is it?’
She narrowed her eyes in warning. ‘You can make it shorter.’
Lewd savage that he was, he trailed his gaze up and down her body. ‘Oh no, love. I can go for hours.’
Love? How dare he call her love? And in that tone. Well, she had another thing in store for him and love was the least of it.
She could have him tortured, of course. She’d enjoy it. But she had a far more effective way of dealing with him.
‘Enough, we’ll see what Celeste makes of you then.’
‘Celeste Larelwynn? Isn’t she crazy?’
More than crazy. Raving. Dangerous. Psychotic. But Aurelie could use that.
‘I suppose your little brother told you about that. And she was so fond of him. She wanted him as her pet. Celeste is insane, yes. Almost entirely. She does like to play with the pets we give her. Like the harper your brother sold his friends down the river for. Oh, the things she did to him… She’ll love you. She might even keep you as a replacement for the two of them.’ She leaned in closer, even though the guards all stiffened in alarm as she did. She didn’t care. She wanted Parry afraid. She wanted all of them afraid. For her. Of her. It really didn’t matter which. She was going to make such an example of this one. ‘Oh, Parry, the things she’ll do to you. And as for your precious brother and his friends … just wait until you see what I’m going to do to them.’
He huffed out a laugh, like he didn’t believe her. Oh, to have the arrogance of a man like him.
‘Haven’t you seen the mageborn lately? I heard you have a few still stashed away down here. Or have you killed them all yet? We’ve got a problem in Rathlynn, Aurelie. Perhaps all over the kingdom and beyond. They’re losing control. Like, really losing control. Perhaps Celeste’s crazy is catching. Mad black eyes, stronger than ever, batshit behaviour that’d have even a hardened bastard like me sending for help. They’re powerful, too. Like something out of the old stories. They call them nightborn.’
She knew. She’d read the reports. The ones in the cells down here who had changed… well, they’d had to put them down immediately and burn the bodies. Not even the other mageborn had tried to help them. But she didn’t want to give Parry the satisfaction of knowing that.
‘Enough,’ she said, his nonsense trying her patience. ‘Just take him to the Temple and let him deal with Celeste for a while.’
She waited, relishing the sight of the guards dragging him out of the room, before she followed. Her foot hit something metal on the ground and she stared at it. A black bolt like the iron of the chains.
And then all the seven hells broke loose. She didn’t know how it happened or what he did, but suddenly Parry was free, and those chains holding him had become weapons in his hands. Four guards were on the ground, bleeding or dead, and the commander had pulled a sword and was pursuing him down the narrow corridor.
Aurelie’s own guards closed in around her, blocking her view, which only made her more enraged. She shoved by them and ran after the sound of the melee, heedless of danger. He wouldn’t dare. He simply wouldn’t dare.
But Kurt Parry was gone.
It was only later that they found the vault beneath them had been broken into and no one really had any idea what had been taken. Her lover, who’d looked so much like Bastien Larelwynn she now saw him for the lure he had obviously always been, was gone as well. And the cells below that were empty. All the mageborn, including the last of the Academy cadets who still resisted her, who refused to bow and serve her, to lend her their many talents. They were gone, every last one of them.
That was when Aurelie realised Kurt Parry had somehow played her. And then she really knew fury.
Chapter 13
Ellyn sat by the narrow window of the cabin, overlooking the lagoon. A soft blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and she stared off into the distance at the morning sun on the water. She had barely spoken since they arrived back here and Grace was starting to worry. Misha played his harp, a sweet lullaby which Grace hoped would soothe her, but Ellyn hardly appeared to notice him. His magic wound around her, healing, comforting. Grace felt it trembling on the air, enchantment weaving itself around her friend, and for once she didn’t mind. She trusted the harper, she realised. She’d underestimated him too many times.
The old stories about Lyrics said they could bring the birds to sing with them, heal with their song and make the sun shine on the darkest day. They could change moods, heal broken hearts and broken minds. There was a darker side in those stories too, of course. During the Magewar they had brought down castle walls and driven whole battalions insane. But that was long ago, wasn’t it? Stories grew with time and maybe the Lyrics of today enjoyed building up their reputations. No one had seen one do anything so terrible since the fall of Thorndale, and Lucien Larelwynn’s pact with the Hollow King.
Maybe those Lyrics had been nightborn. Until Bastien had confirmed they weren’t just stories to frighten children, she’d thought that hollow was as bad as it could get.
Misha took a moment to notice Grace’s presence but as soon as he did, his fingers fell still on the strings.
‘Can you give us a minute?’ Grace asked. Misha smiled and picked up his harp, leaving the two of them alone. Ellyn didn’t react to that either.
Grace sat down on the end of her bunk. ‘Want to tell me what happened?’
Ellyn shrugged but didn’t look at her. ‘They grabbed me off the edge of the canal. Must have been waiting for us.’
‘Why you?’
‘Why not me?’ she snapped suddenly. It wasn’t like her, not the anger nor the depression. Not like Ellyn at all. Maybe it was trauma. Grace wasn’t sure. ‘I’m Valenti, I guess. Less chance of an international incident. If they took you, Bastien would have dismantled the whole of Iliz to find you, brick by brick. ‘
The guilt almost choked Grace. She couldn’t tell Ellyn that the Valenti had tried that as well. It would diminish what happened to Ellyn somehow. ‘We… we looked for you…’
‘I know. And found me.’
Grace got up and crossed to her, meaning to sit beside her, but Ellyn flinched so she sat on the end of the window seat, perched awkwardly just within reach.
‘What did they do to you?’
She lifted her hand to her face. ‘This? I tried to escape. I kept trying. They didn’t like it. Nothing worse though. I mean, not for want of trying. I suppose I was lucky.’
‘Are you sure? You’d tell me,
wouldn’t you?’ The boy in the prison had implied that they hadn’t managed to do anything but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lying.
Ellyn laughed humourlessly. ‘I’d tell you. Sure. Also they would be missing vital body parts. I promise.’
That sounded more like her friend. The taut wires of Grace’s shoulders relaxed a little.
‘Talk to me, Ellyn. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s being back here. That family, this life… I never realised when my mother spoke about it how… how real it was. The sense of oppression. The manipulation. They toy with lives. Did I ever tell you about my mother and my aunt, how they got to Rathlynn? They fled here because my father and his family tried to stand against the Dowager. When the king died. She killed every relation of mine who didn’t flee, who didn’t drop everything and run. She’s grown even more powerful since then. Her spider webs are everywhere. Everywhere. Her spies, those she blackmails, the noble families she’s brought under her control… All her own family – that pretty little Rynn included, I’m sure – she uses them like tools. And when they took me to that place… I thought this is it. They’re finally going to finish the job. The de Valens will have finally killed all of us.’ She shook her head, sniffed loudly, and brought her arm up across her eyes, wiping away tears. Grace stared. Ellyn never cried. Never. ‘And it wasn’t even about me, was it? It was about Bastien.’
Grace sighed and leaned in, wrapping her arms around her friend. This time Ellyn didn’t fight her or pull away. She leaned in too.
‘That’s royalty for you,’ Grace said at last. ‘It’s always about Bastien.’
Ellyn heaved in a breath, let it out slowly and relaxed into Grace’s embrace. ‘I can’t stay here, Grace.’
‘None of us can. Time to move on before the Dowager gets her claws in any further. Bastien wants to go to Thorndale.’
Grace didn’t want to tell her why. The warrant felt very cold against her skin. And heavy. What would it do to her if they didn’t make it to Thorndale? If the Deep Dark took her, what would it make her do?
Nightborn: Totally addictive fantasy fiction (The Hollow King Book 2) Page 10
