Mageborn: An absolutely gripping fantasy novel (The Hollow King Book 1)

by Jessica Thorne

  ‘Divinities be with the king.’ Every voice there echoed the words as the royal party left, the king visibly aided by his attendants. ‘Long may he reign.’

  Grace stood in the middle of a storm about to explode, with a golden pendant hanging around her neck, and beside her, the mageborn prince bound to obey her.

  And all she could think of was how was she supposed to do her job now?

  ‘Captain?’ someone whispered. Bastien, she realised. It was Bastien. ‘Captain? We should leave.’

  Captain. She was a captain now.

  Could he do that?

  Of course he could. He was the king.

  Just like he could order her to protect Bastien. Just like he could make Bastien – but that had been magic. She knew it. The king had used magic.

  ‘Grace,’ Bastien said more urgently. It seemed to snap her out of whatever enchantment had its claws into her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We have to go. I can explain.’

  She gave him a glare, the hottest, most furious one she had in her arsenal. ‘Oh I very much doubt that but I’m willing to hear you try.’

  Walking at a brisk pace through the halls and corridors while courtiers whirled around her, trying to engage her in conversation, was not something Grace had ever expected to have to do. Bastien followed, silent and dour. Not one of them tried to engage him.

  Grace almost made it to the grand staircase before he said a word.

  ‘Captain Marchant.’ His voice sounded different. So different. Gentle, soft, broken…

  ‘That explanation?’

  ‘He’s trying… I think he’s trying to protect me.’

  Keep him alive…

  Well of course the king was trying to protect his cousin. He had as much as told her to do it. Commanded her. Bribed her with a promotion. But why her? Why did he have to pick on her? There were any number of Royal Guards, trained bodyguards, people far more qualified than she was.

  ‘This makes no sense.’

  She lifted the medallion from her chest. It was small, no bigger than a coin, but much thicker. The king’s coin. Solid gold. Enough to get her knifed even in the less shady parts of Rathlynn.

  Bastien’s voice came out in a rush. ‘I need to talk to him.’ So much for helping her. But he was better off here. Safer. While she sorted out this mess with Craine.

  ‘You do that. I need to get back to the Academy.’

  Not to mention that she needed to tell her commander about her sudden rise in rank. Just as well he hadn’t made her a commander too, meaning she’d outrank Craine herself. She could picture how awkward that conversation would be. The one ahead of her was bad enough.

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘In the meantime what?’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Divinities, orders. He wanted orders. Magical compulsion or whatever. She didn’t know. What did it matter? How would she go about ordering a prince around?

  ‘Just… just stay out of trouble. You’ll be safe here, won’t you? It’s a palace. You’re a prince. Just… If you need me you know where I am. I’ll come back tomorrow.’

  She stalked away, heading for the doors and a last taste of freedom.

  Chapter Eight

  Watching her go was the hardest thing he had ever experienced. It shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t matter in the slightest. He ought to be relieved.

  But as Grace walked away, Bastien felt the tug of some ethereal connection dragging at him, trying to draw him after her. The spell, he presumed. Marius’s spell and the warrant, which was an older magic by far. That had to be it. The fact that it felt like the power of the Maegen calling him was something he tried to push away from his conscious mind.

  He didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  He wanted to throw up.

  ‘That was unexpected,’ Asher said, approaching from down the corridor. He wasn’t in uniform. Perhaps it was his day off. Bastien glanced at his childhood friend. ‘Is she meant to just leave you like that? If she was one of my captains I’d—’

  The thought of it made something dark and terrible flare up inside him. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider what he said. ‘She’s not,’ Bastien snapped. ‘Yours, I mean.’

  Asher raised his eyebrows but otherwise kept his face as smooth and polished as a statue. The consummate courtier, that was Asher Kane. He’d learned from generations of his family. There was no one better. But he still had to get a dig in when it came to Bastien. He always would.

  ‘And now you are hers.’ A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his expressive lips. ‘Her charge, I mean. Is she meant to abandon you like that?’

  Asher clearly couldn’t resist it. He always did love to tease. He was never going to let this go, of that Bastien was sure.

  ‘I suppose she thinks I’m safe here. Is there something you wanted?’

  ‘A drink, I think. Come on Bastien, let’s go and see if we can dent your family wine cellar.’

  Why not? He and Asher hadn’t been able to just slip away and drink like friends in months. They’d barely been able to talk. There was always a function or a duty, there was always the queen and her various courtiers. There was always something.

  And the spectre of Hanna hanging over them all the time.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. Still cautious, still afraid that somehow this wasn’t real.

  Asher grinned then. ‘Bet you pass out first.’

  Fifteen years ago they had been inseparable. And then he’d fallen in love with Hanna, Asher’s sister. Both families had encouraged it.

  Except for Bastien’s own sister, Celeste.

  No, Celeste had not been pleased at all.

  They’d told him he tried to stop her, but the fall down the stairs had robbed his memories from him. And his own sister, who loved to sing and dance barefoot, who told tall tales of gods and monsters, had been sent away to the Temple to serve. Where she couldn’t hurt anyone again. They couldn’t stop the rumours though. And Hanna was still gone.

  After the funeral, Asher hadn’t spoken to him in years. No more than the necessary politeness to a prince of the realm, the deference owed, the perfunctory and distant courtesy bred into him by generations of duty. He’d joined the army, volunteered for ambassadorial missions, anything to get away. It was only when he took up his duties here with the Royal Guards that they had started to repair a friendship. Less than three years.

  It would be good to just spend some time together, somewhere quiet. Away from the court, and difficult newly minted captains who confused him more than he could say.

  ‘Aren’t you on duty?’

  ‘Not until the morning.’

  ‘And the hangover won’t be a problem?’

  ‘What hangover? You can magic it away, can’t you?’

  He laughed. They used to do that. All the time. ‘No.’

  ‘What good are you then?’

  By the time Bastien thought of a good enough answer to that they were installed in a corner of the cellars, three bottles of wine down and talking about something else entirely.

  And that was when the summons came. It was almost the hour of Vigil, long after midnight. No one else should have been awake except the night watch.

  The page had raced down to the cellar and now stood in front of them, amid the empty bottles scattered on the floor, terrified and appalled. The prince and the general, drunk as lords, sitting on upturned barrels, draining another bottle… how must they have looked to him? And then he said the worst thing Bastien could imagine: Aurelie wanted to see them. Both of them. Right away.

  The urgency in the summons made him careless. He just agreed and followed Asher. As they reached the private quarters assigned to Aurelie, Asher stopped him and pulled a small silver hip flask from his belt.

  ‘Liquid courage,’ he said with a grin. ‘Knock it back.’

  He did and instantly regretted it. The liquor was sweet and strong. It burned down his throat and set a fi
re in his stomach. There was something eerily familiar about it. As if he had tasted it before. In another life.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, that’s one we brought in from the far south of Barranth. Costs a fortune. Enjoy it. I’ll send you a bottle. They aren’t as big as the ones we already finished though so be warned.’

  Be warned? Any more of the stuff and he wouldn’t be able to feel his legs any longer. Let alone deal with Aurelie. Bastien made a mental note not to be too generous with his own measures of it if the bottle actually arrived. The doors opened and music spilled out around him. The room beyond was the queen’s private sitting room. It was empty, apart from a man playing a mandolin by the window, his eyes somewhat glazed, and a delicately patterned cream leather collar around his neck. A Lyric. He didn’t pay any attention to the open door, but looked in adoration at the slender, golden-haired woman who lay back on the velvet-covered chaise.

  ‘Oh there you are!’ Aurelie beckoned them in, ignoring the musician. ‘Come in and close the door.’

  ‘Your serene majesty,’ said Asher. ‘You honour us. Your every wish is our pleasure. Isn’t that right, Bastien?’

  He was teasing. He had to be. Talking to her like that. But the queen just laughed, delighted with the statement.

  Aurelie pushed herself up from her seat, languid and fluid as a dancer. She was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful in the greater kingdoms, or so everyone said. And married to his cousin. Everything about her was elegant, polished, the epitome of style and refinement…

  But why, when he looked at her flowing hair, her elegant form and her exquisite face, did he picture instead a scrappy red-head in battered leather?

  He shook his head and the world seemed to pulse and spin around him. The drink in his stomach swirled and boiled.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  Aurelie took both his hands, but he could barely feel it. His skin felt numb and his senses twisted. When she drew him forward he followed, dazed and bewildered.

  ‘We haven’t talked in too long, Bastien,’ she murmured, her musical voice playing on his ears. He couldn’t find any words right now. ‘Not just you and I. Alone.’ Aurelie glanced at Asher as Bastien sat down on the chaise she had just vacated. ‘Did he drink it? All of it?’

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. But nothing worked. What was she saying? It didn’t make sense.

  ‘I see you tested it on the Lyric first,’ Asher replied. He didn’t look happy about whatever she had done.

  Aurelie gave him an arch look. ‘I had to make sure it wouldn’t do any permanent harm, didn’t I? Marius would never forgive me.’

  And she laughed. She actually laughed.

  Asher didn’t. He grabbed the musician by the arm, jerking him from his seat, the music jarring off-key. The man just smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him, full on the lips. For a moment Asher did nothing. Then he pulled back, a cruel smile on his face.

  ‘Maybe he has some uses.’

  ‘You can take him off my hands,’ Aurelie told him. ‘For a while. I might want him back. Later.’

  Asher glanced down at Bastien. There was no trace of friendship left on his face. Nothing. Not even the lie. ‘Really?’

  ‘Waste not, want not,’ she replied. ‘Don’t mark him. I like him. He’s pretty.’

  ‘You like musicians too much.’

  ‘I like to be a muse, don’t I, my darling?’ She trailed her hands over the mandolin player’s bare back and the man arched to meet her touch.

  ‘He won’t even remember you in the morning, Aurelie. That’s what it does. It might make them willing but it wipes away the memories. They’ve used it for generations, the Larelwynns. And they guard it closely. It was not exactly easy to get hold of. If the marshal knew…’

  She laughed, waving him away. ‘Well, that’s just what makes it so special. Isn’t it? It’s new every time.’

  ‘My queen,’ the musician murmured. ‘My beloved.’

  She teased him a little longer. Then shoved him back into Asher’s arms. ‘Now you go and be nice to Lord Kane. Show him how much we value him.’

  ‘Aurelie…’ There was a warning tone in Asher’s voice. Even Bastien could recognise that. Even though he didn’t recognise much else at the moment. The seat was soft and the room was warm. His mind was swimming in some kind of syrup. He needed air. He needed to get out of there.

  Bastien tried to lever himself off the chair but his legs were like lead. ‘I should… I should go…’

  Aurelie peeled herself away from her lover… or lovers… and peered at Bastien. ‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere,’ she said. ‘You didn’t give him enough, Asher. Poor Bastien. Close your eyes, my Lord of Thorns. I’ll get to you in a moment. It’ll get there eventually. It always does.’

  He didn’t want to. Didn’t mean to. But the world turned hazy and vague. The warm golden light of the Maegen spilled in through the cracks in the edges of his consciousness. He was lost, drowning in it. It had never felt so strong, or… or he had never felt so weak. So vulnerable to it.

  He slipped into the light, and into the darkness beneath it.

  His body ached, longed. He floated in the pool of the Maegen, swallowed whole by it, his world subsumed in its light. It flowed through him and enveloped him. He breathed it in, and it drank him down.

  Floating, lost, he reached out for her, for the lover who had always been here for him, to help him, comfort him, hold him. Arms encircled him, and her body pressed close. Her mouth searched for his, kissing, teasing. Desire and need swept through him, terrible, insatiable yearning.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he heard her say. ‘I’m here. I will take care of you. Of everything. You don’t need to remember. Let go, sweetheart. Let me be the one to command now.’ A cool glass lifted to his mouth, replacing her lips, her kisses. The liquid inside was treacly and honeyed. ‘Drink it, Bastien. Drink it and forget. You know you want to. Just a little more. It’ll help.’

  The light shimmered and broke. He saw shadows moving up from beneath him, hungry, cruel.

  This was wrong. He knew it. He could feel it. But somehow he couldn’t break free. He sank deeper and deeper. The Maegen swallowed him down, and his memories began to bleed away.

  ‘Bastien?’ a different voice, blurred by concern, sleep and exhaustion.

  Her hands were calloused and firm, strong. Not the soft, pampered hands that touched him now. Her hands held weapons, were weapons. And her hair… her hair was the colour of fire. She was fire.

  ‘Grace…’

  Panic made him push back, staggering to his feet. The world was distorted and glowing, the light of the Maegen everywhere, winnowing through everything. What he was seeing was only half real. The light squirmed against him, or maybe that was the woman he peeled off himself, pushing her back from him.

  ‘What… what are you doing?’ Aurelie’s seductive tones transformed to anger and alarm. ‘Stop. I command you to stop. Asher! Asher!’

  The door crashed open and the light blazed beyond it. Asher was a silhouette of shadow, a hole in the world.

  ‘Run,’ Grace whispered, from somewhere deep inside his consciousness, deep within the light of the Maegen. He was sure now. It was Grace. He knew her voice and he needed to find her. The Maegen tugged at him but he struggled free. He didn’t want to give in, not like this. Not to… Aurelie… it was Aurelie. Not Grace.

  He had to find her. He needed her.

  ‘If you need me you know where I am.’ That was what she had said.

  He saw a room, a narrow, bare room, with a simple bed and a tiny window overlooking an alleyway. He saw her lying there, her hair like scarlet flames spilling over a pillow. She shifted fitfully, her brow furrowing as his dream touched hers. As the Maegen reached out for her, she reached for him.

  He needed help. She was too far away, in the Academy, across the city.

  Simona… Simona would know what to do, how to get there…

  ‘Bastien, f
ind her.’ He heard Grace’s voice as clearly as if she was beside him. ‘Find Simona and come here. Come to where it’s safe.’

  He threw himself forwards, out of the door, down the hallway beyond, heedless of the shouts of alarm, the angry curses. Asher followed him, the general, Aurelie’s man, not his friend. Perhaps he never had been. He knew he needed to leave, that he couldn’t stay there. He had to find Grace. Not… not… the other woman… the other…

  More memories bled away as he hauled himself forwards, clinging to the wall. People folded out of his way, expressing shock and alarm, but he pushed himself onwards. Let them stare. He was a monster. But he needed people around him, the more the better. Because as long as he was in public, in a crowd, they couldn’t come and take him back to that room. They couldn’t… Asher and Aurelie… They…

  What had they been doing?

  There was music. There was a man playing music. There was a drink that burned like fire inside him. There was light…

  Voices he knew.

  ‘He won’t remember. Not now. Just leave him. Come away…’ The voices were hushed, conspiratorial. They stopped following him. He carried on. He’d make it if he had to crawl and that was starting to feel like a distinct possibility.

  He finally fell into Simona’s office, heart pounding as if it would burst, chest contracting, his body drenched with sweat.

  The marshal surged out of her chair, eyes wide. ‘Your highness, what happened?’

  He barely managed to hold himself up against the doorframe, his legs sagging beneath him, his shoulders heaving as he forced the words out.

  ‘Please, Simona. I have to go to the Academy. To Grace.’

  ‘Grace? Grace Marchant?’

  ‘Please… please…’

  He’d never begged for anything in his life. Not that he could remember. But…

  There was so much he couldn’t remember. Years of his life. All his childhood…

  He won’t remember. Not now. Just leave him.

  And they were right. He couldn’t remember. Not really. Scattered images. A girl… a woman… lying on a bed, bathed in golden light even though it was night time. Her red hair spilling around her like blood. Her face, her hands, her voice…