Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  Sincuore’s throat bobbed. “No.”

  “Prince Raadi El-Amin?”

  “No.”

  Jon grimaced. “Was your employer working alone?”

  “No.”

  Brennan cocked his head. “The Grand Divinus.”

  Sincuore dropped his gaze.

  “Yes or no,” Brennan pressed, drawing Sincuore closer and closer to the blade once more, pressing the tip into his flesh, drawing blood—

  Jon pulled Faithkeeper away. The Grand Divinus.

  Why else hadn’t Magehold’s army arrived to restore order during the siege? Had it conveniently been “just after” he, Rielle, Brennan, Leigh, the Black Rose, and the Order had already done the job?

  Was this why the Grand Divinus refused to send aid now?

  But why? What reason would the Grand Divinus have had to wipe out all the Faralles? They’d been nothing but compliant when it came to the Divinity.

  Brennan bared his teeth. “You’re just going to let him—”

  “Leave him be. He’ll stand trial in Courdeval.” And he had the answers he needed tonight. Or at least enough of them. The key to the cell door could stay in his pocket. For now.

  Brennan struck Sincuore into the bars once more, hard, then threw him back upon the stone. “I’ll see you dead, Captain of the Rats.”

  No answer.

  Brennan spat upon the stone, then joined Jon on the way out.

  “Did he lie about anything?” Jon asked. With his werewolf senses, Brennan could tell the truth from lies, or so Rielle had claimed.

  “No,” Brennan snapped. “You think it was really the Grand Divinus? Why bother with the Faralles? No offense,” Brennan said quietly, just before they reached the door.

  They exited, passing the young guard, and entered the stairwell with Raoul and Florian.

  “I intend to find out,” Jon replied. This single fact could bring down the Divinity entirely, disband the Towers, put mages under the dominion of their respective countries’ rulers. “If it’s true, our prayers will be answered.”

  “Good luck proving it.” Brennan shrugged, jogging up the stairs. “We should have just killed him.”

  “We got some answers,” Jon said, “but Courdeval’s inquisitors have ways of loosening his tongue further.”

  Brennan eyed him peripherally. “You’ve changed. I like it.”

  Like it or not, there were necessities he couldn’t turn away from. He wouldn’t compromise on the cornerstones of who he was, but he wouldn’t cripple the kingdom with immovable rigidity, either. At least not for his remaining time.

  He still had to choose a successor.

  Chapter 7

  It was a strange thing to wake up without Brennan beside her. She’d grown accustomed to the sultry heat of him next to her, like sleeping by the fire, and of his strong arm around her, holding her close, holding her safe. His warm breath on her head, that low, rolling sound he always made as he stirred awake. The way she could wriggle into him, press the whole of her back against his hot, solid body, and make that embrace of his curl tighter.

  But this morning it was Olivia, softly snoring even as the sun rose. Olivia had said they were leaving today, and then it would be time to face the Divinity.

  There was no way she was giving up being a mage. She’d worked too hard to earn her mastery, thrived on missions too well to turn away now. If Kieran wanted to throw her out of the Tower, he could go right ahead. But that wouldn’t be the end of it. Not until she contacted Magehold.

  Marko had come to awaken your sister. She would have had her éveil and served the world, served the Most High. On Khar’shil, Shadow had alleged it had been the Divinity, not pirates, who’d planned the attack on Laurentine.

  Liam hadn’t believed it, and she wasn’t sure herself. There would have to be more evidence than the word of a homicidal mercenary mage-captain to prove such a claim against the Divinity.

  Until then, she still planned to earn the magister’s mantle. The Magisterium was still the most powerful and influential body of mages on earth, where international policy could be set to save thousands. To end piracy on the Shining Sea altogether. And maybe even use the position of magister to investigate Shadow’s dubious claims.

  A door closed softly in the hallway. Probably Jon heading out to the practice yard, keeping to his routine.

  Olivia blinked her eyes half-open sluggishly, inhaled, and chuckled softly. “Are you watching me sleep?” she slurred, closing her eyes once more.

  “Mm-hmm. That’s what happens when I barely get to see you. I need to work harder to memorize your face.”

  Another laugh. “Make sure you memorize my good side.”

  “Which one’s that?” Rielle ducked before Olivia could swat her with a pillow.

  They got out of bed and prepared for the day while Jon’s servants packed up his things and Olivia’s.

  After writing to Kieran and finishing her review of Laurentine’s defenses—and hiring of a new steward, she and Brennan would probably leave in a couple days, too, traveling fast on horseback in a small group.

  Outside, in the castle’s inner bailey, she held Brennan’s hand as the royal host prepared to leave. Olivia gave her a hug, threatened Brennan with a thrashing if he misbehaved, then took to a carriage while the grooms led out Jon’s white destrier. He followed in full armor but for his helm, flexing his fingers and their knuckle-dusters. The shadows under his eyes had faded with a good night’s rest, and he looked to be well this morning.

  “Thank you,” she said to him, bowing, “for saving my people. I am in your debt.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up, his Shining Sea eyes glimmering as he inclined his head. “There is no debt. Thank you for your hospitality.” He mounted his horse and glanced at them once more, pulling the reins tight. “Will I see you both at the coronation?”

  She grinned. Of course—

  “We’ll be there, Your Majesty,” Brennan replied, “assuming someone clears the road of beasts for us.”

  A low laugh rumbled in Jon’s throat. “A blade’s job is never done.” His gaze moved from Brennan to her, and his face softened, dulled, for the briefest of moments before he gave her a final slow nod, smiled politely, and departed.

  For a long while, she just stood there, holding Brennan’s hand tightly in hers, watching as the last of the soldiers exited with the prison carriages—including Sincuore, for trial—through the gates. Children chased after them cheerily, and Brennan watched them as they laughed and played, his smile wistful… fatherly. He wanted to be chasing after his own laughing children.

  She tried to watch with him, but a knot tightened in her belly, and she shuddered. Not now. Not yet.

  The last sounds of clinking armor and clopping hooves faded. Her feet stayed firmly planted, didn’t follow. Wouldn’t.

  He gave her hand a yank until she fell against him with a yelp, and then he wrapped her in his arms, where she belonged.

  She’d missed this last night, how perfectly she fit into him, the flow of familiarity and comfort sweeping through her body like a warm caress. A warm caress that, against his firm muscle, heated.

  She tucked her head under his chin, relishing his heat, his hold, him. That hold slid down to her hand, and with a devilish grin, he headed inside with her.

  When there was no one in the foyer, she pushed him up against the wall, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him, claimed his hot lips, sought out his tongue while she pressed into his hard body, inhaling his spice. She hadn’t forgotten their moment in the stairwell last night. Far from it.

  Laughing between kisses, he held her close, taking her mouth playfully at first, then with a growing hunger that became urgency as he spun her and molded his body to hers. Breathlessly, she leaned into him, against his hardness, his fire—and Divine, it was the strongest, darkest magic that infiltrated her body from his, a rush into her that flowed into every corner of her being with a rising heat, a will that would not be denied, that moved her
in ancient, primal ways. He hissed into her mouth, taking hold of her hips, his firm touch sliding to grip her backside before lifting her up, flush against his core.

  “Please,” she breathed against his lips, locking her legs around him. “Make me yours, Brennan,” she whispered.

  Something like a frustrated growl vibrated low in his throat. “All in good time, bride.”

  A snarl rolling in his chest, he set her down, amber eyed, then smoothed her hair in a fluid movement and held her to him, his back to the stairs.

  “What—”

  He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “So help me Nox, if it’s another messenger, I’m going to—”

  Hurried steps came to a halt. “My lady—” a maid stammered, then swallowed.

  Rielle looked around Brennan, still clutched in his hold, and laid eyes on a pale maidservant, her blue eyes stark against her blanched skin. “Yes?”

  The maid inclined her head and held out parchment with a trembling hand. “This just arrived from Magehold, my lady.”

  Magehold. The word shuddered through her core like a bolt of lightning.

  She accepted the message.

  “By your leave, my lady.” With a bow, the maid departed.

  It wasn’t until the paper fluttered loudly that she realized her own hand was shaking. Answers. This was it.

  With a slow exhale, Brennan cradled her head against his chest.

  Brennan rubbed her back gently. “Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I promise.”

  When he promised everything would be all right, it felt like the truth. Like she could close her eyes and breathe deeply and stride into the future of her life without fear, always knowing he was there should she falter, should some shadow attempt to cast its darkness over her. He wouldn’t let her down, let her hurt, let her fail.

  He pulled away only to raise her chin and kiss her softly. “Come. Let’s find out what Magehold wants of you.”

  Tucking her arm around his, he led her upstairs and to the lord’s apartment, where her household had moved her things since Jon had left.

  They crossed the antechamber and the study, and in the bedchamber, Brennan led her to one of the armchairs by the fire and lowered her into it. He pulled another nearer and sat, eyeing the message in her hand.

  A part of her needed to know—right away—what her fate would be. But another part, a larger part, wanted never to know, and couldn’t bear to crack open the Grand Divinus’s wax seal.

  Divine, the Grand Divinus herself had sent it?

  She shivered, shook her head, and covering her face, held out the message to Brennan.

  This was either the next step in her career, or the end of it.

  The paper wisped from between her fingers, and then the telltale crack of wax and crinkle of unfolding paper followed.

  “To the distinguished Master Mage Favrielle Amadour Lothaire, Champion of Courdeval,” Brennan read in a wooden tone.

  Distinguished. It couldn’t be so bad if the Grand Divinus used distinguished. Unless it was ironically. She winced.

  “You have been bestowed the great honor of an invitation to participate in the Magister Trials at Magehold, to begin the 16th of Floreal,” Brennan continued. “The victor will be granted the title of Magister and a single boon. I trust we shall see you then. Regards, Eleftheria II.”

  Divine. She thought she’d spoken the oath aloud, but only a tremulous hiss emerged. “Test for magister.”

  With a sigh, he tossed the message on the low table before him. “An invitation you can ignore completely.”

  Ignore? She shook her head and lunged for the message. Could it really be—

  But as she read, it only confirmed what she’d heard. “Test for magister…”

  Brennan leaned back in the chair and sprawled out. “You don’t need the Divinity anymore.” When she didn’t reply, he continued, “You’re about to become the Marquise of Laurentine and Tregarde, Baroness of Calterre, and a Marcel. You’ll have plenty of power and influence, and more than enough to do. This test is the last thing you need. Refuse the invitation.”

  She stared at him. He couldn’t possibly be serious. “You know this is what I’ve worked toward for almost ten years.”

  He shrugged. “And we’ve been betrothed far longer than that. Trust me, you’ll have plenty to do. You won’t even have time for the Divinity.”

  For years, the magister’s mantle had been all she’d wanted. Mastery of her magic, membership in the Magisterium, access to the Grand Divinus herself, and a chance to stop the piracy that had killed her family.

  A single boon…

  She could ask the Grand Divinus to end piracy on the Shining Sea. The Divinity could dedicate more resources to coastal settlements and maybe merchant ships.

  Just how stupid are you, Favrielle? Shadow’s words rang in her head. You didn’t think it strange that “pirates” attacked and didn’t kill anyone? Not even as a show of force?

  She clutched the paper tight in her hand. Shadow had claimed that her husband had come to awaken Dominique, that it was all the Divinity’s scheme.

  If that was true, the only people who could confirm would be the Hensarin. If there was any record, it would be in the Archives at Magehold, a place she’d never had access to, never even had an excuse to be near to…

  The chance to end piracy. Access to the Archives. “I won’t refuse.”

  “Why not? Weren't you staying with the Divinity to keep me from”—he paused, sliding an amused gaze her way—“enforcing the marriage contract?”

  Oh, that. It seemed like ages ago. She smiled. "Partially, yes. Obviously that doesn't matter anymore." She reached out and stroked his hand lightly, playing softly across his skin. “But that wasn’t the only reason, and you know it. I wanted to learn all there was to know about my magic, controlling it, mastering it—”

  “You have.”

  “You know pirates invaded Laurentine. I also thought I could work to prevent such attacks, as part of the Magisterium—”

  He took her hand, rubbed the garnet ring with his thumb. “You can be far more influential once we’re married. And someday the Duchess of Maerleth Tainn.”

  She blinked slowly. There was power in land and title, but that wasn’t everything either. “There's also what Shadow told me.” She swallowed. “That the Divinity is responsible for what happened to Laurentine.”

  With a crease etched between his eyebrows, he tapped a finger on his bicep as he stared into the fire. “You want to look into what she told you.”

  A darkness passed over his face.

  After that day on Khar’shil, she’d told Brennan everything. “Why shouldn’t I? We have an invitation to go to Magehold, and once we’re there, the Archives are just another door. All the secret records will be there, even for black operations, in the Archives.”

  He glared at her.

  If what Shadow had said of the Divinity was true, then its dark dealings had to be brought to light, its power stripped, every victim made whole, or as whole as could be made.

  “I want to go for everyone else who doesn’t know why their loved ones were killed, and for those who might be hunted by the Divinity in the future.”

  Brennan slapped a palm against the armrest. “They’re not your responsibility.”

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t help them. “But Laurentine is. If I pass the test, I’ll get a boon from the Grand Divinus. I could end piracy on the Shining Sea. That’ll help Laurentine, and every other coastal city, town, and village, and so many more. And once I’m part of the Magisterium, I could fix how the Divinity operates from within.”

  He heaved a sigh. “And you want to stick your finger in Jon’s eye.”

  After he’d rejected her help? Maybe a little.

  “That would be a bonus.” He exhaled lengthily.

  “I’m going,” she said. “Are you coming with me or not?”

  He held her gaze. “Where you go, I go.”
/>
  Good. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted, at least he’d support her in her choice.

  “But you're conveniently forgetting that if you’re caught infiltrating the Archives, the Grand Divinus will lock you up.”

  With the entry to the Divinity’s secret Archives being through the tightly guarded Hensar, there had always been rumors about what wonders were inside—priceless treasures, relics, artifacts, private documents and letters between the most powerful people in the world’s history.

  But the most valuable items in the Archives were also the most mundane: records. Leigh had told her the Archives contained meticulous records of every order ever given—both public and private—by any Grand Divinus. Continuity of history for each new Grand Divinus, with access only to the highest ranks—the elites among the Hensarin, those chosen by the Grand Divinus, and the Grand Divinus herself.

  Records like those for a black operation to attack Laurentine and compel Dominique’s éveil.

  Others had surely tried to infiltrate the Archives… but she had an advantage they wouldn’t have had.

  She grinned. “They’d lock me up, but… Brennan,” she asked, turning to face him, “how good a thief are you?”

  His eyes widened briefly before he crossed his arms. He’d stolen her from House Hazael. He’d infiltrated Courdeval during the siege. Could he find a way into the Archives?

  Could she ask him to?

  “Thief?” He arched a brow.

  She folded the note. “What if I had a daring werewolf fiancé who could stealthily move about Magehold in my stead and learn the truth of the matter while I participate in the trials?”

  He huffed. “Is that all?”

  Her grin widened. He was immune to magic, could turn into a wolf, and was stronger, faster, and more perceptive than a human. If he agreed, they’d have answers.

  “Wherever you go, bride, you bring trouble on your arm,” he said with a sigh and a smug smile.

  “Oh, is that your new nickname?”

  “Trying to ply me with your feminine wiles?”

  “Why, is it working?”

  He laughed. “Not even close,” he whispered, and she gasped. “You see, I’d agreed before you even asked.” A grin teased his mouth. “I mean, who can resist a good eye-poking?”