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

by Jessica Thorne

  Rynn hovered over him, her long hair wet, her eyes bright and triumphant. She looked beautiful. Alive. Had she waded in there to pull him out?

  ‘That’s it!’ she said, ecstatic. ‘Breathe, come on. Breathe again.’

  He tried to oblige. Divinities, it hurt.

  ‘Give him a moment. He’s still healing. He had that knife so far inside him I thought it would still be there.’

  Ellyn… Ellyn was alive too.

  ‘Where’s Grace?’ he asked, his voice a cracked and scraping thing.

  Rynn’s face fell, just a little. She was still trying to look positive but she was not one of life’s actors.

  ‘Honestly?’ Ellyn said, helping him sit, her cautious touch still not managing to make it painless. ‘We don’t know. We were buried in the rockfall when she brought the whole place down. Thought we’d had it.’

  ‘Are we trapped in here?’

  That would be perfect, wouldn’t it? Bring him back from the brink of death and then leave him trapped in a cave forever.

  ‘Not trapped, no. We can dig our way out, I’m sure of it. There’s a weak point over there, just shift a few rocks and we’ll be out. But we… we couldn’t leave you.’

  ‘I assure you, you could have.’ The water was glowing. It hadn’t been doing that before… Bastien clearly wasn’t dead, now. But… he’d been somewhere else… He stared at the water. ‘Did I do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rynn said as if it was a wonder. ‘Bastien… you threw yourself between the Hollow King and Ellyn. You saved her. You sacrificed yourself.’

  Again. He’d sacrificed himself for a Larelwynn again. He gave a defeated groan and Ellyn patted him on the shoulder. It wasn’t comforting but Ellyn wasn’t a comforting sort of person.

  ‘Leave it, Rynn,’ she whispered. She clearly felt as uncomfortable about that aspect of it all as he did.

  ‘We used the water to bring you back. That’s the Maegen, isn’t it? I thought… I thought if it was some sort of alchemical reaction it would heal you, if it still wanted you here. The texts from the time of the Magewar say that it seems to have some sort of conscious will of its own.’ Rynn threw her hair back over her shoulder and smiled, the light of it illuminating her face. ‘Look at it. It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Beautiful!’

  It was what he’d seen. In the dream or hallucination with Lucien, when he’d been knocked out during the storm. Blood in the Maegen, and a sacrifice…

  He’d thought the vision meant he’d kill Grace. He was such a fool. The Hollow King had tricked him. He was the sacrifice all along.

  A conscious will of its own, Rynn said. Was that what he had been talking to? Not Lucien, not Grace, but the Maegen itself.

  Do this for me and you will be free. She’ll set you free.

  Was that really true? Or another lie? Another trick to make him keep going, to use him to bring order to the chaos magic created?

  He didn’t know. But the Maegen had brought him back for a reason. That reason might as well be Grace Marchant.

  He couldn’t fail her again.

  ‘Where’s the way out?’ he asked.

  ‘We were hoping you could help with that,’ Rynn said. ‘The tunnel we came in through is buried. Back there, I think. Can’t you just…?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know.’ Ellyn waved her hands vaguely at it. ‘Use magic. Move it.’

  He waved his hands back at her. ‘Just like that?’

  The glare would have curdled milk. ‘You know what I mean, Bastien Larelwynn.’

  ‘My full name,’ he murmured at her, a smile he didn’t know he could still form tugging at his lips. ‘I must be in trouble. All right, I’ll just…’ and he waved his hands, for good measure. If she wanted a show he’d—

  But nothing happened.

  No power, no sense of light inside him, no magic. Nothing.

  He had never felt so empty in his life.

  They stared at him, waiting. Bastien swallowed hard, and tried again, but even as he reached for the power inside him, for the Maegen which had always been at his beck and call, there was nothing. Not even the emptiness of the Deep Dark. Nothing at all.

  ‘I… I can’t.’

  Ellyn frowned. Rynn’s face fell. ‘Bastien! Your magic? It’s gone?’

  ‘I don’t… I don’t know.’ That was a lie. He knew. He just didn’t want it to be true. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to face it, to be honest. ‘Yes. It seems my magic has gone.’

  What did that mean? How had it even happened? His death again at the hands of the Hollow King or his resurrection in the Maegen? Something else? He didn’t know. And his heart hammered at his chest in panic. He’d been mageborn for so long. What was he now?

  ‘Right,’ said Ellyn, resigned. Faced with the facts, she just got on with things. That was Ellyn through and through. Divinities, he admired that. ‘Better fall back to the first plan and dig our way out then, hadn’t we? Get stuck in, you two. I’m not doing all the work.’

  ‘But…’ Rynn looked frantic, her lower lip trembling. She gazed at Bastien, devastated.

  ‘Look, Princess,’ Ellyn told her firmly. ‘It’s the only way. Get to work. Or none of us are getting out of here. Understand?’

  It was a tone of command that did not brook any argument. He knew it well. She’d learned it from the woman he loved.

  Bastien closed his eyes. Grace was still somewhere out there. He had to find her. But first they had to get out.

  It wasn’t as easy as Ellyn had made it sound. But then, she probably knew that. It was a way to make them work, to get them motivated. As if dying trapped in here wasn’t motivation enough. Entombed…

  Had Grace been buried as well? He recalled the power surging around him as he lost consciousness in the water, the wild rage, the despair… had that been Grace?

  Three times dead, twice entombed. What had happened to her?

  Eventually they cleared a gap wide enough for Rynn to wriggle through. It took them a few minutes more before Ellyn followed and Bastien went last, out into sunlight and the open air.

  Lara’s body was lying near the remaining packs, and she was the only one there. Still breathing, barely, she stared at the sky overhead, the trail of blood telling Bastien she must have dragged herself away from the place she had fallen. It also told him that they were far too late to help.

  ‘Took you long enough,’ she whispered.

  Bastien dropped to his knees and tried to lift her into a more comfortable position. ‘Lara… what happened?’

  ‘Jehane betrayed us. I set the horses loose, before they… Asher took them… Grace, Daniel and Misha… back to Rathlynn. You have to stop them…’

  He nodded.

  Lara let out a long breath. ‘Knew I’d go like this. Something like this. Stabbed in the back. Little bastard…’ She tried to laugh, and blood came from her mouth. She spat it out, heaving in an agonising breath. ‘Find Grace. You can save her. Your magic…’

  Bastien closed his eyes. How did he tell her? How did he confess that now, the one time he needed his powers, they were gone? Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away.

  But when he looked down again, Lara was dead.

  ‘What do we do?’ Ellyn asked.

  He wanted to say that they should bury her, give her the passage to the afterlife she deserved. Pray for her and send her soul on its way. He wanted to say so many things.

  ‘We head to Rathlynn,’ he said. ‘We go and rescue our squad. We’ll have to find the horses and… gather weapons, find help and… and I don’t know what else.’

  ‘Right,’ Ellyn said decisively. She held out a hand to him. He laid Lara down on the ground as gently as he could and let Ellyn pull him to his feet. Her grip was strong, unwavering. ‘We’ll do what we always do. We’ll improvise.’

  Chapter 30

  Grace had expected a cell. But this wasn’t a cell, at least not the way she knew cells. She’d once thought Bastien’s rooms in his tower were more l
uxurious than anywhere she had ever been, and they probably were. She’d first made love to him here, held him close the night before Marius died. The night before everything fell apart.

  Now it was their prison. And Aurelie’s cruel joke, no doubt.

  At least Daniel and Misha had not been taken from her. She wondered if it was an oversight. Perhaps Aurelie didn’t even notice them. Daniel didn’t have any magic and Misha was collared with linked sigils, just as she was. What could they do?

  Grace sat on the bed and instantly regretted it.

  Daniel was the first to move the moment the door locked behind them, opening the windows, checking the walls and even the floor. Grace watched him. There was no way out. She knew that. Some long-ago Larelwynn prince had designed this tower with Bastien in mind. They would never have risked his escape. The Lord of Thorns was kept on a very tight, if mostly invisible, leash.

  He had been. Now he was dead. She’d seen it herself, felt it. She might keep believing that at any moment the door would open and in he’d walk, barking orders or brooding. But he wouldn’t. Never again.

  ‘No way out,’ Daniel said.

  ‘You should be resting,’ Misha told him. ‘You’re hurt.’

  The guards had really done a number on him. When they’d been captured, and again when he’d mouthed off to them on the way up here. They might be able to control Grace and Misha with sigils and collars, but not Daniel. So his treatment had been old-school. And vicious.

  It was also a warning to her. Of what they could do to the people she loved.

  ‘There’s a bath through there,’ she told them. ‘He probably has running water and a medical kit. Knowing him. Bastien was—’ The name caught in her throat even as she said it. ‘He was always prepared.’

  ‘Grace, I—’ Daniel began but stopped abruptly. She looked up at him and the expression he wore was one of such pity that she had to look away. He knew how she felt. He had to know. He also knew they couldn’t say it. Not out loud. Not if she was to keep going.

  ‘Go clean up and make sure there’s no permanent damage,’ she said. ‘Take advantage of this while you can. I don’t know what they’re playing at but I don’t expect our surroundings will be this fancy for long.’

  Daniel and Misha closed the door behind them and she heard their hushed, urgent voices from the other side of it. Discussing her, no doubt. Grace sat perfectly still, forcing herself to inhale, reminding her heart to keep beating, letting the air out in a rush. It took every scrap of strength she still had to kick off her boots. Then she lay down on the bed. Curling up on her side, she pulled the luxurious covers around her shivering body. She stared at the ring on her finger, the golden ring, marked with the pattern of thorns. His ring. Closing her eyes she tried to breathe in whatever faint traces of him might remain there.

  But there was nothing. It had been months since they hastily left this room together. His clothes were still in the wardrobe. His belongings still on the shelves and the table. But she knew Bastien was gone.

  The tears that finally came burned against her skin. They dropped onto the fabric cradling her, glowing softly, and she stared at them until that weird, swirling light faded. She tried to draw on that inner magic but the moment she did the collar tightened, going cold against her skin. The sigils burned with icy fire and she had to force herself to calmness. The warrant did nothing. Nothing at all.

  Think, she told herself in her firmest Academy voice. It almost sounded like her old teacher and commander, Craine. Stop panicking and think, Marchant.

  Bastien had been able to break free of his collar eventually, burning through the sigils one at a time. She tried to focus, tried to grab the magic inside her and direct it on just one sigil at a time. The pain was incredible, leaving her breathless and blind. She took another gulp of air, gritted her teeth and tried again.

  The door to the tower room opened with a burst of violence and noise, jarring her awake. She hadn’t been aware she’d slept but she must have.

  ‘I thought you’d have at least washed.’ Asher’s voice was the last thing she wanted to hear. ‘You’ve got an audience with the queen, Marchant. Get up. Put this on.’

  He flung a pile of fabric at her. Black, beautiful, embroidered with golden thread she suspected was made of real gold. It bore intricate patterns of roses. Grace had to catch it before it hit her in the face. She stared at it. No way had it been made for her. For Rynn maybe, but not her.

  ‘Yeah. Not going to happen,’ she told him.

  Asher gestured to the guards. ‘They can hose you down and dress you. I doubt you’d enjoy it though.’

  As if he’d already invited them to have a go, the guards started forwards, but at the same time Daniel emerged from the bathroom. He took one look and lost his mind, barrelling forwards.

  ‘Danny, no,’ Grace yelled.

  He was going to get himself killed. Whether they meant to or not. Misha came to the same conclusion and opened his mouth, trying to draw on his magic, but he’d forgotten about the collar. His cry of pain brought him to his knees and Daniel faltered, his face drained of blood. And the fist that smashed into his stomach sent him down beside his lover.

  ‘Enough,’ Grace said, leaping to face the guards. She grabbed the nearest one before he could lay another blow on her friend, shoving him back. ‘I’ll do it. Just… leave them alone.’

  The guards retreated, a bit belligerently, but at the same time she saw something in their eyes that looked suspiciously like wariness. Her reputation preceded her.

  ‘You have an hour,’ Asher told her. He jerked his head towards Daniel and Misha. ‘They can be your handmaidens. And if I’m not happy, they’ll know about it.’

  Then he was gone and the door was locked again. Grace looked at the dress, still gripped in her fist. It trailed in the dust and she’d managed to stand on it. Great.

  ‘What is it?’ Daniel asked. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘A new form of torture, I suppose,’ she told him. ‘Come on. Bastien must have left some weapons stashed away somewhere in all his junk. I have to wash.’

  ‘He said an hour,’ Misha reminded her, picking himself up, the shadow of pain still clinging to his face.

  ‘Oh, I don’t need an hour. But I would kill for a sharp knife to tuck away under this thing. Find one for me.’

  There wasn’t time for her to grieve and wallow in defeat. She knew that now. If she did she was going to get them killed like everyone else. Magic prickled under her skin, ran tantalising fingers down her spine. The warrant was cold and still. The sigils burned their icy fire against her flesh.

  And until then, she was going to have to play whatever sick game Asher Kane had in mind.

  The gown was beautiful, there was no denying it. It cradled her body as if it had actually been made for her. The black and gold made her hair a fire trailing behind her, once she’d washed it and Misha had helped her dry and brush it out.

  And Daniel had been industrious. The little trove of weapons he’d uncovered wasn’t much – Bastien had relied on his magic – but there were three knives balanced enough for throwing which she hid about herself, a sword which she didn’t have a hope of hiding anywhere, and a stiletto blade which she used to pin her hair once Misha had twisted it up on the back of her head. The collar was almost like jewellery, if you didn’t know its real purpose. And of course she still wore the warrant on its gold chain. She held it now, turned it over in her hand and then let it fall against her chest, its weight a comforting reassurance. It shouldn’t have been, given the corruption clinging to it. But it linked her to Bastien. Or to his ghost perhaps. Somehow.

  She wore the ring as well. She’d toyed with the idea of taking it off. It was bound to infuriate Aurelie. When she realised that she’d die rather than part with it, however, she decided against it. Infuriating Aurelie would be worth it.

  ‘What do I do with this?’ Daniel asked, holding the sword. It was a beautiful piece, exactly the sword a prince would own. P
robably not the most practical weapon. Grace wondered if it had been a present. It looked like it cost a fortune.

  ‘Keep it,’ she said. ‘Hide it. If you get a chance, use it.’

  She didn’t look like an Academy officer any more. Grace knew, from the way she was dressed, and the fact she wasn’t already dead or rotting in the deepest pit in the dungeon, that Asher was planning something. He craved power.

  Anger and fear, powerful and wild, fed the nightborn, fed the Deep Dark, and made it stronger. She could feel it seething inside her. It whispered a thousand promises of what it would do to Asher Kane once it was free and she was almost inclined to agree.

  She had some plans of her own for him. Not only for Asher Kane. For all of them. The Deep Dark picked through her thoughts and purred in approval. And when she braved another attempt at the linked sigils collaring her, she felt its power added to her own.

  She just had to keep Daniel and Misha safe. That was all that mattered. Once she was certain of that…

  Asher leered at her when he returned. She let him, staring at the wall behind him, right at the point where the sword would hit if she impaled him this very instant.

  ‘Better,’ he said, as if it pained him to pay her a compliment. The thought left her with the urge to peel her own skin off. ‘But first, stop where you are, arms out. Search her.’

  Jehane stepped into the room behind him, and she narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t move. The temptation to ram her fist into his face full force wasn’t easy to ignore. She hadn’t seen eye to eye with Lara Kellen, but she owed her loyalty at least. For the sake of Craine’s memory if nothing else.

  Shadows coiled around her and this time she didn’t struggle. What was the point? She knew she couldn’t escape him. He’d proved that more than once.

  ‘Sorry, Grace,’ he said softly. ‘But you know how it is.’

  ‘When you’re a backstabbing bastard? No, I don’t.’

  He didn’t linger as he searched her, all professionalism. He removed the knives, from the one she’d strapped to her thigh to the one down her cleavage. Frankly she would have been insulted if he hadn’t found them, like he wasn’t even trying.