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

by Jessica Thorne

  ‘They won’t get the chance.’

  Bastien struggled up, pulling Grace’s unresisting body with him. She was too weak and wrung-out to struggle. ‘We have to get those doors open.’

  As if she sensed the movement, Aurelie turned on them, her eyes ablaze with fury, her hands clenched on the metal of the crown, knuckles white. ‘Now, where were we, Marchant?’

  Grace’s body ached everywhere, the pain of keeping going incredible, but she had to protect Bastien. He might still be the Lord of Thorns but without his magic he was vulnerable, mortal. She pulled free of him, forced herself to stand alone, to defend him as she had promised to do so long ago. Right here, right in this room. ‘Get to the doors, Bastien. Get them open and get out of here.’

  Grace stood between him and the queen who lifted the crown towards her own head.

  ‘Don’t do it Aurelie,’ Grace warned. ‘Celeste is powerful and not to be trusted. You know that as well as I do.’

  Aurelie scowled. ‘You think that bitch scares me? You left her weak. You and the darkness. She told me once I’d wear her blood. Well, I did better than that. I killed her. I bathed in it. I can hear her now, begging me. Trapped inside the crown with the Deep Dark and mine to command. All this is mine. You are mine too, Marchant. I will relish taking you to pieces. And Bastien as well. And all of Rathlynn, all this kingdom. It’s all mine and I will break it to pieces if I so desire.’

  Behind them, Bastien reached the huge double doors and jerked them open. Guards were backed up against them. They almost fell into the throne room on top of him. But they stood firm, blocking him and facing the oncoming horde of Rathlynnese, storming up the main approach.

  Rathlynn, Bastien, everything. All those people. Grace knew she still had a duty. Her Academy might be gone but that didn’t mean her duty did not remain. Nightborn, mageborn or simply a thief of magic like Aurelie, she had vowed to stop them.

  ‘I won’t let you hurt them.’

  ‘Hurt them?’ Aurelie glared at the guards and the citizens of Rathlynn who had come roaring up into the edge of the antechamber, but now stopped, a terrified audience in an uncertain stand-off. That one look told Grace exactly how much Aurelie hated them. She’d never really doubted it but to see it so plainly written on her face was harrowing. ‘I’m going to do so much more than merely hurt them, Marchant. They never accepted me. If they had just obeyed me it all could have been so much easier. But no. They had to be their belligerent, obnoxious, ignorant selves. All I asked was obedience, loyalty. And what did they offer?’

  Grace smiled thinly. Her wretched, pugnacious city somehow always filled her with pride. They had stood up to Aurelie time and again, and here they were now, still fighting. ‘What Rathlynn only ever offers tyrants, Aurelie. Defiance. Did no one warn you about us? We never bow unless we choose to.’

  Aurelie sneered at her, an expression dark and loathsome. ‘Never? Well, you’ll suffer for it now. All of you.’

  Aurelie shoved the crown on her own head, pushing it down, just to be sure it would stay there. Then she inhaled sharply and closed her eyes as the rush of power hit her. Grace knew the sensation all too well now. But Aurelie didn’t hesitate or indulge the feeling. Not for more than a second. Grace didn’t know how she was doing this – a body used to stolen magic, her addiction hollowing her out just enough perhaps, the power or the blood of Celeste Larelwynn saturating her, or else, some echo in her own blood like Rynn and Ellyn… who knew? But somehow the queen held firm with the vast and endless magic that coursed through her.

  Aurelie’s eyes turned black and she threw back her head, but instead of screaming she roared out her joy. ‘This is incredible, Asher. The power. It’s better than any purloined magic, better than anything you’ve ever given me. Divinities… this is the power of a goddess. Yes, this was meant to be mine.’

  A wave of darkness burst from her, a void which struck like a physical blow. It wasn’t the wild rage of the Deep Dark, or the unfocused insanity that Celeste embodied. This was pure malevolence. This was Aurelie. Dark magic consumed the queen. Her hair unravelled from its elegant style, floating like sunlight around her face. When she smiled, Grace saw the echo of Celeste there. But it was so much worse. The people of Rathlynn fell, gasping for air, tearing at their own skin. It didn’t seem to matter who they were – guards and citizens alike, mageborn and quotidian – and Grace tried to stand her ground but the surge of malice swept over her, almost driving her to her knees.

  Bastien shouted her name. He grabbed his discarded sword and charged at Aurelie. But before he reached her, the queen stretched out one elegant hand and he crumpled to the ground, his back arching in torment, his mouth open in a silent scream. His hand convulsed and the Godslayer fell. Aurelie stalked towards him, stood over him and pressed a foot to his throat. She burned with the darkness, embracing it all, making it part of her.

  ‘Will I kill him, Grace?’ she asked. ‘Seems a shame after all these years. He’s so handsome, a perfect specimen of a man. Perhaps I’ll keep him after all. I always wanted him. He was always meant to be mine. He just couldn’t see it. Without magic he’s no threat.’ Her slippered toe flicked his throat and a coil of shadows encircled him, tightening until they formed another collar. She smiled. ‘Just so he knows his place.’ Then she laughed, delighted with herself and her cleverness. The air shivered with that laugh. ‘Asher, that potion of yours, get it for me. We can make him kill her like you promised.’

  Asher had dragged himself towards her. ‘I’m not your dog to order around, Aurelie.’

  ‘You?’ Her voice rippled with spite. She turned on him, releasing Bastien. ‘I don’t think you grasp this situation, this new balance of power. You will do as I tell you, Asher, from now on until I tell you to die. You’ll be whatever I want you to be. Dog.’

  Beneath her, Bastien struggled up, tearing through the shadows. Grace saw the desperation in his eyes. He was using every last ounce of strength he had and Grace knew… just knew… He wouldn’t let them drug him. Wouldn’t let them enslave him, not again. This was his only chance. He grabbed Aurelie’s shoulder, pulled her to him before she knew what was happening. The glow of a sigil flared beneath his hand, the light blinding.

  The queen lashed out. The undirected blast of darkness hurled Bastien away. The marble floor cracked where he landed, breath and consciousness driven from his body by the impact.

  Aurelie gasped, her hands clawing at her neck, but she couldn’t tear the sigil free. She was bound by magic of the simplest and yet most intricate kind, made by a master Atelier. Grace stared, tears starting at her eyes. Zavi’s work. It was unmistakable. It was Zavi’s…

  Where had Bastien got it?

  Aurelie shuddered, unable to dislodge the sigil. All that power swirling inside her and the sigil held her, the gemstone embedded in it blazing with light.

  Her voice was a shriek of panic. ‘What – what have you done? What… get it off me. Get it off!’

  Suddenly she convulsed, too much magic dammed up inside her. Her whole body went rigid and then she bent double, dropping to her knees. She folded in on herself before her spine snapped back with a violent crack. She opened her mouth unnaturally wide and screamed, over and over again, like it would never end. The crown glowed, brighter than a sun on her head. Reasserting its dominance at last, the Deep Dark engulfed her, judging her, finding her wanting, and oh yes, punishing her. Because that was what it did. The Deep Dark exacted its terrible revenge on those who would constrain it. And with it trapped inside her, Aurelie had no escape.

  Her cry cut off abruptly. She fell forward without another sound, a carcass slipping from its hook. She lay there, staring across the marble slabs, twitching, still gasping for breath after breath. Her eyes rolled up in her skull as the crown rolled off her head.

  It made a sound like music on the marble floor, in the ensuing silence, ringing out until it hit a pair of black boots and went still.

  Asher stood there over it, breathing hard as h
e watched his lover’s destruction. His eyes met Grace’s and he snarled. Bending down, he picked up the crown, studied it for a moment and then returned his gaze to her, the only other person still standing.

  ‘You!’ he growled. ‘All you’ve ever done is ruin everything. Every last thing. You miserable nobody.’

  Nobody… Yes, she was a nobody, and proud of it. But she knew that Bastien loved her and she loved him in return. He’d brought her back from the dead. He’d come back from the dead himself for her.

  He couldn’t be dead now. He couldn’t. All her instincts screamed. But he wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? She edged towards Bastien, trying to reach him.

  But she needed to distract Kane, keep him occupied and away from the vulnerable Lord of Thorns.

  ‘All I’ve ever done is protect people, Kane.’

  He drew his sword so slowly, every inch a threat. He cut the air with it a few times as he advanced, mocking her. And suddenly she knew Bastien wasn’t the only person Kane hated enough to kill.

  Grace dived for the Godslayer and he lunged at her. She rolled as her hand seized the hilt and came up to parry a blow which should have taken her head off.

  He was skilled but driven by anger.

  And she was exhausted. This was not a good situation.

  Grace managed to force him back enough to regain her feet, but he was on her again, a fierce series of attacks raining down on her. The Godslayer hummed in her hands, the power of the ancient blade rippling through her. Not what she needed right now, stupid magic swords distracting her. She couldn’t think about that. She could only react, only fight. She blocked it out.

  The clash of blade on blade deafened her. She lunged and twisted aside, but Asher feinted and for a moment she thought he had her. Their bodies slammed together, swords crossed, trapped there.

  Grace reached back with her free hand, grabbed the stiletto from her hair, and rammed it into the side of his neck.

  In the same moment, a spike of agony stabbed her side, deep and deadly, blunt and all the more painful for that. He must have had another knife. She hadn’t seen it but by all the divinities she felt it now. And then she remembered, the crown, with its wickedly sharp points. He had been holding the crown. It went deep, so very deep.

  She twisted away, tearing herself free of his grip. Asher gagged on his own blood, trying to pull at the stiletto protruding grotesquely from his throat. Grace brought the Godslayer swinging in a wide arc, all her remaining strength behind it, all her will, all her desperate need. The starstone in the hilt gleamed brightly, almost blinding her.

  For a moment she thought she’d missed, even though she knew that wasn’t possible. Then Asher Kane toppled, his head landing several feet from his corpse.

  She stayed, swaying on her feet for a moment that seemed like an eternity. Everything was a high-pitched scream, but she couldn’t focus any more. Her vision blurred and she sank to the ground. The fall didn’t hurt. The longest, sharpest point of the crown was still embedded in the soft skin of her side, the fabric of the gown around it sodden with her own blood. It sent a lance of pain through her such as she had never known.

  She found herself staring across the floor at Bastien as he opened his eyes and saw her, his battered face contorting with disbelief. He was alive. Thank all the divinities. The irony of thanking the gods didn’t escape her but when she tried to laugh everything turned to bright agony and white noise. Bastien dragged himself up onto his hands and knees and then tore across the space between them, half animal in his movements, while everything else went grey and slid away around her.

  Chapter 34

  Chaos must have followed. Grace didn’t know. She was lost in misty silence, her mind floating and dreading a return to pain and reality. There was no light, no Maegen, no dreams. Whenever she found herself drifting towards consciousness her mind rebelled, sinking down into quiet oblivion where she was safe. She just wanted it to be over. Was that too much to ask?

  ‘Grace,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t leave me. Please, wake up.’

  Bastien’s voice. It was the only thing that might draw her back. So much of her wanted to stay in this nothingness, to be the nobody Asher Kane had declared her to be.

  But Asher Kane was dead and she was still alive. She hoped.

  ‘Wake up.’

  There were too many voices in her mind. Still there, swirling around like a morass of shadows and spider webs, tangling her thoughts and trying to make her obey. She could ignore them now. All but this one. It overrode them all. She didn’t know who it was or what it was, but she had heard it before.

  She didn’t want to obey. She didn’t want to wake up.

  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She felt them trickle down her face, and Bastien called her name as he tenderly wiped them away.

  He was alive. He was safe. That was all that mattered really. All that mattered to her.

  ‘Wake up, beloved. There’s still work to do. Duty and honour, remember? You swore an oath. You made a promise. You swore to serve the crown. My crown. Grace Marchant, wake up.’

  She opened her eyes to see Bastien sitting beside her, his head in one hand, his eyes closed. The strain showed on his face, in the lines around his eyes and the tightness of his mouth. He hadn’t shaved. He didn’t even look like he had washed. He probably hadn’t left her side.

  ‘Bastien?’ Her voice was a soft rasp and when she tried to move everything hurt. Especially her side. Something in the wound seemed to writhe and twist and she let out her breath in a gasp of pain.

  Bastien almost jumped out of the seat as he heard her. He turned, his hands framing her face for a moment, half rose as if to run and then shouted for Daniel.

  ‘Stay still,’ he told her in a rush. ‘Don’t try to get up. Just… just… Danny! Get the Curer. Now!’

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s… it’s okay. Danny’s coming. He’ll explain everything and…’

  Daniel would explain everything? Why not Bastien? What was going on?

  But the Curer came first, followed by three healers.

  ‘Your majesty,’ they chorused as they bowed.

  Bastien winced and retreated to let them tend Grace. There was some prodding and poking and they peeled back thick dressings on her side. She felt like a lump of meat but she didn’t have the strength to argue. Then they turned to Bastien, ignoring her.

  ‘There’s improvement to the fever, and of course consciousness itself is a good sign. The wound in her side is still infected. I’ve tried to purge it by means magical and quotidian but—’

  ‘I am right here, you know,’ Grace growled at him.

  The Curer looked over his shoulder at her and his face turned a funny shade of grey. He turned around and peered a little too deeply into her eyes, studying them. ‘As you say, Marshal.’

  ‘Marshal?’ She glared at Bastien.

  He had the grace to look guilty. ‘I had to do something. They’re writing songs about you.’

  ‘About both of you,’ Daniel said from the doorway. He looked tired but unscathed. ‘Mostly it’s Misha’s fault. I tried to get him to stop. He said it was too good an opportunity to pass up.’

  Bastien shook his head and turned back to the Curer. ‘You can give me an update out here, and let the marshal see her captain.’

  He hustled them outside and closed the door, leaving Grace and Daniel alone.

  ‘Captain?’ she said. Daniel shrugged. He wasn’t any more convinced by the title than she had been when she had it bestowed on her by a king. ‘Report.’

  Daniel made a face at her. ‘I’m fine, thanks for asking, Grace. So is Misha. All good. Ellyn took a few knocks in the taking of the palace but to be honest I think she had the time of her life. I almost killed her but we made up. Good times. Once things settled down here, and you were safe, she went back to Kurt’s bar to see if she’d lost Rynn to the girls there forever.’

  Her own laugh took Grace by surprise. It was
also a mistake because the pain in her side turned white-hot. Daniel held her hand in a grip like iron, his face all concern. He grabbed one of the glasses on the bedside table and helped her drink. It smelled of chamomile, but packed much more of a punch. The pain ebbed, but it didn’t go away entirely.

  When she could breathe again, she waved him away with it. Too much of that and she’d never think clearly again.

  ‘Danny, tell me what happened.’

  He sat down with her, and took both her hands, holding them tightly.

  ‘We almost lost you. Several times. The wound is infected and it’s virulent, but they’re containing it. They think maybe there’s a shard of the crown left inside you but they can’t get it out. You’ve been unconscious for days.’

  Days. That was why Bastien looked so wretched then.

  Daniel went on. ‘When Bastien and Ellyn came after us, word went through the city that he was intent on sacrificing himself to save Rathlynn. Which was… well, it was one interpretation, wasn’t it? It sparked something, riots to begin with, and then Kurt turned it into something else. He’s good at that, you know?’

  ‘Manipulating people?’

  He almost looked hurt. ‘Encouraging them. He led an assault on the palace, Grace. You’ve never seen anything like it. A popular uprising against Aurelie, and in support of the Lord of Thorns. My reprobate brother. There’s a turn-up. Don’t know what our mum would say. To be honest none but the most devoted to Aurelie put up much of a fight. They held the way to the throne room until… well, you know better than I do what happened in there.’

  She did. Some of it at least. Enough.

  ‘And afterwards? What happened to Aurelie?’

  ‘She isn’t dead. She isn’t exactly… well, sane either. They’ve locked her up in Celeste’s tower in the Temple. Probably safest. I don’t know what they’ll do with her though. But Kane’s dead. You might remember that.’

  Grace barked out another pained laugh. It was worth it. ‘I remember. What’s happening politically?’