by M. J. Scott
When their eyes met, he smiled at her and mouthed, "I love you," before moving to his place at her side, to walk beside her on her journey.
Epilogue
Sophie stood on the docks at Kingswell one month later, watching Chloe gaze hungrily at the ship currently headed into port.
The ship, bearing the Illvyan flag proudly on the tallest mast was Aristides’s own personal vessel, arriving to carry the emperor home in slightly more luxury than he had arrived.
Chloe would be returning to Illvya with him. She had received his assurance that no one would be pursuing her for any of the matters relating to her husband's crimes.
As she'd never actually been charged with anything, let alone convicted, Aristides couldn't actually grant her a pardon, but he had offered her his word she was safe. Sophie didn't know if Chloe actually needed his protection, but she had seen the joy and relief that had flashed over Chloe's face when Aristides had told her she could return home.
Chloe had barely stopped smiling in the days and weeks that had passed since then, but now, watching the ship easing toward them, her excitement seemed tempered with apprehension.
"Are you sure about this?" Sophie asked. "You can stay."
"I want to go home, Your Majesty," Chloe said, and Sophie hid the instinctive wince that she felt every time someone called her that. Even standing here, with Elarus at her side and a semicircle of grim-faced Red Guards at her back, it still didn't feel real.
"I told you to call me Sophie."
Chloe smiled. "In private, Your Majesty, your wish is my command. Or it will be when we meet again."
"Who knows," Sophie said, aiming for a little levity. Chloe felt like the closest thing she had to a friend here in Anglion, her near-constant companion through the whirl of Eloisa's funeral and the coronation and working with Domina Francis to begin the process of reforming the temple here in Anglion. Not to mention the final preparations for Domina Skey's trial. The woman had so far admitted her part in the attacks on Sophie and Eloisa, so the verdict was a foregone conclusion. But neither Aristides's truth seeker nor Domina Francis had been able to get Domina Skey to name any accomplices. Sophie suspected Domina Skey would be defiant to the grave. Which only left her with more work to do to uncover the truth herself over time.
She shivered and pushed the thought away. She was here for Chloe.
Who was possibly the only person who might understand the conflicted emotions Sophie was trying to navigate as she grappled with her new responsibilities. "Maybe they'll get tired of me here." Sophie summoned a lopsided smile. She couldn't deny that part of her wanted to get on the ship, return to Lumia and the Academe and become just Sophie once more.
But that was a choice no longer hers.
Chloe glanced at her quickly and smiled in return—though her expression was far more genuine than Sophie's. She shook her head, her gaze drawn like a magnet back to the ship that was growing larger by the minute. "I don't think so, Your Majesty. You will win them over in the end."
Sophie hoped Chloe was right. She could use some friends. The ladies-in-waiting, that she once would have named her friends were still distant, reeling from the grief of losing Eloisa and the revelations about the temple. She had to give them time. Perhaps they could be friends again if she gave them that. "I may yet be returning to Illvya sooner than any of us think." The court so far seemed accepting but she knew there would be unrest while she worked for the changes that needed to happen.
"I'm sure Papa and Madame Simsa would be happy to have you back. But you are needed here, Your Majesty."
"I know. There is plenty to do." Rebuilding the faith of a country for a start. And showing them what unbound magic could truly do. Imogene would be returning to Illvya soon, taking her navire and its crew of mages home but Aristides had pledged that, when Sophie judged it to be the right time, he would send more Illvyan mages to help establish new schools of learning in Anglion.
Domina Francis, however, had already sent for Illvyan dominas to help restore order in the temple. Some of them might even be on the ship Chloe couldn't quite take her eyes off. "Your family will be so happy to see you, Chloe," she said gently. "Don't be nervous."
Chloe dragged herself around to face Sophie. "Easier said than done, Your Majesty." She wrapped her arms around herself briefly before she straightened her spine. "So. You are an exile who has returned home. Do you have any words of wisdom to share?"
"Expect things to be strange," Sophie said. "Nothing will be quite as you remember." Chloe had been away from Illvya far longer than Cameron and Sophie had been away from Anglion. Of course, she wasn't returning as an invading queen, but time would have wrought just as difficult a change on everything she remembered—and all the memories she had left behind—as Sophie's coronation had.
"Your father has missed you," Sophie added, thinking of Henri's anger when he'd been told to stay in Illvya before the invasion. "Start from there."
"Good advice," Chloe said. "I have fences to mend, I think. And other matters to pursue." Her face darkened, and for a moment, the red stripes in her hair flared a little brighter to Sophie's eyes. She resisted the urge to touch her own hair, which was beginning to look as varied as Chloe's. The first time she'd met Chloe, she'd been shocked by the clear marks of taboo powers on her body. Now she bore those same marks herself. And Chloe would have other scars of her own to endure when she returned to Illvya. She'd lost a husband there, after all. Left a life behind.
Sophie stayed silent, thinking of her own scars and losses, as Chloe turned yet again to watch the ship, which was starting to slow. It was too large to take a mooring at one of the docks and would remain anchored in deeper waters, with the few remaining ships the emperor had brought with him guarding it.
Aristides’s ship came to as much of a halt as a large ship ever did, and they watched together as the anchors were dropped and a launch lowered from the decks. It started to move toward the docks, making good time.
"Are you sure you don't want to wait for the others?" Sophie asked.
Chloe shook her head. "I'd rather not draw attention to myself. Aristides can have his pomp and ceremony when you farewell him. I would rather not. I've had enough of standing out from the crowd here in Anglion. I want to go home."
"I understand." Sophie had done more strange things than she thought she ever would to find her own way back to Anglion. She hoped that Chloe might find an easier homecoming. "You know that you are always welcome in my house."
"And you in mine, Your Majesty. As I said, I'm sure my father would be happy to have you back at the Academe."
"Perhaps one day. Hopefully no one else will have to endure the same sort of exile that we have, now that things have changed between Anglion and the empire."
Both of them stared at the launch a moment.
"I think there will probably always be those who need to disappear," Chloe said, softly.
Sophie couldn't disagree. She hoped to change Anglion, but it would be slow. And even if she achieved everything she wanted to, there would always be those who were unhappy or in danger. She could make Anglion better, but not perfect. "But hopefully always those who get to return home again also."
The launch had almost reached the dock. She hugged Chloe close, then made herself let go. "Go on," she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful. "Go back to your new old life. I won't keep you any longer."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Chloe said. "And you have your own new old life to get back to as well. One with more pressing demands than my own."
As though on cue, Tok, who had been flying around the dock, annoying the seabirds, wheeled back through the air to land on Sophie's shoulder.
"Queen!" he squawked. It was his latest word, one he seemed to take great delight in.
Chloe laughed, bobbed a curtsy, and then picked up her bag. The porter she'd hired to handle the rest of her trunks—fewer than Sophie would have thought she'd need to move a whole life across an ocean—followed her down the do
ck toward the launch.
Sophie watched her go, but Chloe didn't look back. And she had been right. Sophie did have more pressing demands. She turned away, to face the Red Guard and the man who stood in the middle of their semicircle, guarding her as he always did.
"All right," she said and reached for Cameron's hand. "I believe we have things to do."
"Body and blood, my love. I am yours to command."
"Spoken like a true King Consort."
"Spoken like a man who is deliriously happy to be spending the rest of his life with the queen he loves." Cameron smiled, and she couldn't help smiling back. Her crown was not what she would have chosen given a choice, but Cameron definitely was. Given a thousand lifetimes, she would not change the moments that had made him hers.
So, the queen of Anglion threw her arms around her consort in a very unqueenly fashion and kissed him.
"Body and blood, my love," she whispered eventually. And took his hand.
* * *
THE END
About the Author
M.J Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate and watercolor.
To keep in touch, find out about new releases and other news (and receive an exclusive freebie) sign up to her newsletter. She also writes contemporary romance as Melanie Scott and Emma Douglas.
* * *
You can email her at
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Also by M.J. Scott
Dark romantic fantasy
The Four Arts series
The Shattered Court
The Forbidden Heir
The Half-Light City series
Shadow Kin
Blood Kin
Iron Kin
Fire Kin
Urban fantasy
The Techwitch series
Wicked Games
The Wild Side series
The Day You Went Away*
The Wolf Within
The Dark Side
*A free short story that’s a prequel to The Wolf Within
Excerpt from Shadow Kin
Chapter One
The wards sparked in front of me, faint violet against the dark wooden door with its heavy brass locks, proclaiming the house’s protection. They wouldn’t stop me. No one has yet made the lock or ward to keep me out. Magic cannot detect me, and brick and stone and metal are no barrier.
It’s why I’m good at what I do.
A grandfather clock in the hall chimed two as I stepped into the shadow, entering the place only my kind can walk and passing through the door as though it wasn’t there. Outside came the echoing toll of the cathedral bell, much louder here in Greenglass than in the Night World boroughs I usually frequent.
I’d been told that the one I was to visit lived alone. But I prefer not to believe everything I’m told. After all, I grew up among the Blood and the powers of the Night World, where taking things on faith is a quick way to die.
Besides, bystanders only make things complicated.
But tonight, I sensed I was alone as I moved carefully through the darkened rooms. The house had an elegant simplicity. The floors were polished wood, softened by fine wool rugs, and paintings hung on the unpapered walls. Plants flourished on any spare flat surface, tingeing the air with the scent of growth and life. I hoped someone would save them after my task here was completed. The Fae might deny me the Veiled World, but the part of me that comes from them shares their affinity for green growing things.
Apart from the damp greenness of the plants, there was only one other dominant scent in the air. Human. Male. Warm and spicy.
Alive. Live around the Blood for long enough and you become very aware of the differences between living and dead. No other fresh smell mingled with his. No cats or dogs. Just fading hints of an older female gone for several hours. Likely a cook or housekeeper who didn’t live in.
I paused at the top of the staircase, counting doors carefully. Third on the left. A few more strides. I cocked my head, listening.
There.
Ever so faint, the thump of a human heartbeat. Slow. Even.
Asleep.
Good. Asleep is easier.
I drifted through the bedroom door and paused again. The room was large, walled on one side with floor-to-ceiling windows unblocked by any blind. Expensive, that much glass. Moonlight streamed through the panes, making it easy to see the man lying in the big bed.
I didn’t know what he’d done. I never ask. The blade doesn’t question the direction of the cut. Particularly when the blade belongs to Lucius. Lucius doesn’t like questions.
I let go of the shadow somewhat. I was not yet truly solid, but enough that, if he were to wake, he would see my shape by the bed like the reflection of a dream. Or a nightmare.
The moonlight washed over his face, silvering skin and fading hair to shades of gray, making it hard to tell what he might look like in daylight. Tall, yes. Well formed if the arm and chest bared by the sheet he’d pushed away in sleep matched the rest of him.
Not that it mattered. He’d be beyond caring about his looks in a few minutes. Beyond caring about anything.
The moon made things easier even though, in the shadow, I see well in very little light. Under the silvered glow I saw the details of the room as clearly as if the gas lamps on the walls were alight.
The windows posed little risk. The town house stood separated from its neighbors by narrow strips of garden on each side and a much larger garden at the rear. There was a small chance someone in a neighboring house might see something, but I’d be long gone before they could raise an alarm.
His breath continued to flow, soft and steady, and I moved around the bed, seeking a better angle for the strike as I let myself grow more solid still, so I could grasp the dagger at my hip.
Legend says we kill by reaching into a man’s chest and tearing out his heart. It’s true, we can. I’ve even done it. Once.
At Lucius’ demand and fearing death if I disobeyed.
It wasn’t an act I ever cared to repeat. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, I still shake thinking about the sensation of living flesh torn from its roots beneath my fingers.
So I use a dagger. Just as effective. Dead is dead, after all.
I counted his heartbeats as I silently slid my blade free. He was pretty, this one. A face of interesting angles that looked strong even in sleep. Strong and somehow happy. Generous lips curved up slightly as if he were enjoying a perfect dream.
Not a bad way to die, all things considered.
I unshadowed completely and lifted the dagger, fingers steady on the hilt as he took one last breath.
But even as the blade descended, the room blazed to light around me and a hand snaked out like a lightning bolt and clamped around my wrist.
“Not so fast,” the man said in a calm tone.
I tried to shadow and my heart leaped to my throat as nothing happened.
“Just to clarify,” he said. “Those lamps. Not gas. Sunlight.”
“Sunmage,” I hissed, rearing back as my pulse went into overdrive. How had Lucius left out that little detail? Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Ricco had left it out on purpose when he’d passed on my assignment. He hated me. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to engineer my downfall.
Damn him to the seven bloody night-scalded depths of hell.
The man smiled at me, though there was no amusement in the expression. “Precisely.”
I twisted, desperate to get free. His hand tightened, and pain shot through my wrist and up my arm.
“Drop the dagger.”
I set my teeth and tightened my grip. Never give up your weapon.
“I said, drop it.” The command snapped as he surged out of the bed, pushing me backward
and my arm above my head at a nasty angle.
The pain intensified, like heated wires slicing into my nerves. “Sunmages are supposed to be healers,” I managed to gasp as I struggled and the sunlight—hells-damned sunlight—filled the room, caging me as effectively as iron bars might hold a human.
I swung at him with my free arm, but he blocked the blow, taking its force on his forearm without a wince. He fought far too well for a healer. Who was this man?
“Ever consider that being a healer means being exposed to hundreds of ways to hurt people? Don’t make me hurt you. Put the knife down.”
I swore and flung myself forward, swinging my free hand at his face again. But he moved too, fast and sure, and somehow—damn, he was good—I missed, my hand smacking into the wall. I twisted desperately as the impact sent a shock wave up my arm, but the light dazzled me as I looked directly into one of the lamps.
A split second is all it takes to make a fatal mistake.
Before I could blink, he had pulled me forward and round and I sailed through the air to land facedown on the feather mattress, wind half knocked out of me. My free hand was bent up behind my back, and my other—still holding my dagger—was pinned by his to the pillow.
My heart raced in anger and humiliation and fear as I tried to breathe.
Sunmage.
I was an idiot. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid and careless.
His knee pushed me deeper into the mattress, making it harder still to breathe.
“Normally I don’t get this forward when I haven’t been introduced,” he said, voice warm and low, close to my ear. He still sounded far too calm. A sunmage healer shouldn’t be so sanguine about finding an assassin in his house. Though perhaps he wasn’t quite as calm as he seemed. His heart pounded. “But then again, normally, women I don’t know don’t try to stab me in my bed.”
