by Bec McMaster
Whore. That made him flinch. Ianthe had heard that word before. Her insistence on using a sheath, her lack of experience in the bedchamber... Perhaps a pregnancy had made her wary of such consequences.
"I've never heard her speak of a daughter." The careful way Cross said it wasn't a no.
"You suspect it though?"
Cross vanished the penny with a snap of his fist. "She buys dolls sometimes, and books. She likes children's books, especially fairy tales and frivolous stories featuring princesses, castles, and knights in shining armor. That kind of drivel. Once a month, she used to take two days off to visit someone, somewhere outside of London's outskirts. I've never asked about it."
That blasted bear beside her bed. That was why she kept it.
A daughter. A daughter conceived when she was seventeen. All of the pieces of the puzzle were slowly fitting together. You were the first man that I lay with...
No. No, this couldn't be happening. Lucien's nerves felt raw, and he pressed his face to his palms, breathing through his fingers. Jesus Christ. Did he have a child that he'd never known about?
If so, then where was she? What had happened? Had someone—Morgana—threatened to tell the world about the child? Or had she taken her?
"Are you all right?" Cross asked.
No. No, I'm not. After all, five and twelve equaled seventeen, which was when she'd admitted that she'd lain with him. Lucien gave a swift nod, however. There were limits to what he would share, and he needed to find Ianthe to hear it confirmed from her own mouth before he would let himself believe this.
"Well, I've shared mine," Cross reminded him.
Time to share his. Lucien barely managed to pull himself back together. "You know that we were searching for something that was stolen from the Prime's manor?"
A nod.
"I think I know who the thief is. What I didn't know was why." Their eyes met. "I think you just answered the 'why' for me. None of it made any sense, but if someone had taken her daughter—"
The color drained out of Cross's face. "You need to speak to the Prime about your concerns."
Like hell. "And betray her?"
"If this is true, boy, then she's in more danger than either of us would like to consider."
"I'll consider it." A strange ringing sensation echoed in his ears, a certain dizziness, as if the floor had been swept out from under him by this realization. He'd thought himself alone in the world. What if he was not?
And why hadn't she told him?
That one, at least, was easy to answer: You did promise her vengeance after all...
"At least think about it. Let me know how matters advance. Ianthe is dear to me. I should not care to see her hurt, so if you need help..."
"I'll let you know. I just need to confirm my suspicions." And work out if there truly was a little girl out there somewhere who bore his blood.
* * *
THE DOOR OPENED.
Eleanor barely had the strength to roll onto her side. Her hair tugged, so matted with dried blood that it had adhered to the pillow. She winced.
"If you want... another turn at me," she whispered, her lips cracked and her tongue clinging to the roof of her dry mouth, "then I'm afraid... I might not be able to oblige."
She didn't think she owned the fortitude to survive another questioning. The last time, she'd blacked out before she gave in, so focused on protecting the man she loved, that she'd bitten clean through her lip.
Light burned her sensitive eyes as someone set a lantern down in front of her. Eleanor moaned and tilted her face into the faded pillow to protect them.
"Water?" a male voice asked.
Water. Eleanor's eyes sprung open and she reached out, her entire body trembling. The stranger had to help hold her upright as he set the glass to her lips. Her arms were still red and bloody from the barbwire lash of sorcery that they'd inflicted upon her.
Then she realized who was kneeling in front of her. "Sebastian." Eleanor's gaze darted to the locked door, then back. Surely Morgana wouldn't have dared let her son in to see Eleanor?
"How did you know who I was?" Sebastian asked. "You recognized me."
Did he not know? Eleanor searched his eyes, but there was nothing but deadness there. "You are your father's mirror."
That made him stir. Sebastian poured her another glass of water, as if his actions could hide the flash of curiosity and uncertainty she saw in his eyes. "And you are his lover?"
Eleanor managed a weak smile that split her lip again. "Yes." It was the easiest answer. How did one explain that one man could be the other half of you? "You do not know how pleased he would be to know of you. He thought... we all thought you were dead."
Sebastian handed her the glass. "Why would he think me dead?"
"Your mother left a note for him, claiming that she'd used poison to remove you from her body. There was no reason not to believe her, as there were remains, as well."
"And why would he be pleased to know otherwise?"
"W-what do you mean? Drake's your father. You do not know how much he grieved for what he thought your mother had done. He's always born the guilt of it—that if he hadn't pushed through the divorce, Morgana might have stayed her hand."
Sebastian considered her for a long moment. "They're very pretty words. Were you practicing them?"
Eleanor sat up and regretted it. Her ribs were still tender. "I know why you feel such a thing. After all, I knew your mother; we did our apprenticeships together. Not everyone sees the world the way Morgana does—as if people are an enemy to be suppressed before they can cause her harm. I know she was most likely not a kindly woman. Your father, however... all he has ever wanted is to be a father, and yet he's never had the chance. You would be a gift to him."
There was nothing in his face to indicate her words had struck a nerve. It bothered her.
"You have two half-brothers, did you know that?" A bold move, but Eleanor wanted him to feel something; she needed to see if there was any part of his father inside him, or if he was merely his mother's puppet.
Sebastian's chin lifted in surprise, but that emotion was short-lived. "Do I?"
"Though you are the only one who was born within the grounds of marriage."
"Bastards then. Who?"
"The youngest is Adrian Bishop, a talented sorcerer, and the eldest is Lucien Devereaux, Lord Rathbourne—"
"Rathbourne? If you seek to turn me to my father's arms, then you've made a grave mistake. I know he put that bastard into Bedlam. You think my father sounds any better than my mother?"
"Rathbourne summoned a demon," Eleanor said. "He's lucky he wasn't executed. Bedlam was the only alternative the Order's Council would accept." Setting the water down, she rested her arms on her knees. "And now he's out. Rathbourne's trying to help your father find the Blade of Altarrh."
Sebastian glanced sideways. Reaching out, Eleanor extended her fingers toward the collar that gleamed at his throat. Before she could reach it, hard fingers locked around her wrist.
"Don't," Sebastian said.
"Do you want to know why I was visiting Tremayne's estate?" she asked.
"You'd tell me, when you deny that information to my mother or Tremayne, even when they're flogging you?"
"I think I can trust you. I don't think you'll want your mother to know the answer to that question any more than I do."
"And I think you like to gamble, Mrs. Ross."
Eleanor smiled. "I'm very good at it. I'm also very good at understanding who a person is."
"Then you know me better than my own mother does." It was said with a faint sneer. "Or think you do."
"Possibly." She pulled at his grip, and he let her go. "Your father received a poorly written letter from a young woman asking for his help. She'd recently met a young male sorcerer who was collared. She offered to help the Prime with a certain conspiracy, if Drake pledged to locate and emancipate this young man. There was no way that Drake could get to her on Tremayne's estate, so I came
instead."
There was his emotion, quickly suppressed in a flash of dark eyes. Sebastian stood, turning away from her and lacing his hands behind his back. All those years apart, and yet he echoed his father's posture, a sign of severe emotional turmoil. It gave her some sign of hope that there was more of his father in him than his mother.
Eleanor's voice fell to a whisper. "I think you know who that young lady is."
"Tremayne will kill her if he knows she betrayed him." His nostrils flared as he turned back to her. "And she doesn't even know what manner of man she lives with! Bloody hell, what was she thinking?"
"I presume Miss Sinclair was thinking about you and how your situation was more dire than hers."
For the first time, Sebastian looked startled, and younger than he seemed. That alone told her more than anything he'd said.
Nobody had ever cared more for him than for their own selves.
Eleanor's heart ached. This wouldn't be easy for either father or son. This son was scarred so deeply she could only see the surface of it, and he would not give his trust lightly. If only she could do something to help them, but right now, her predicament was worse than either. She was helpless. All Eleanor had was this one conversation to make a difference. "I won't say anything to your mother or to Tremayne, however I cannot say that they won't figure it out."
"I'm to marry Miss Sinclair within the hour. Tremayne wished for her to remain at his estate, but perhaps... I could make my mother see that it would suit her more to have Miss Sinclair here, beneath her nose. Morgana might push the matter."
"If you could do so, then perhaps Miss Sinclair might not be at risk."
"My mother is involved; there is still a chance she might be harmed, but at least here, I can keep an eye on her."
"Can you stop your mother from hurting her?" Eleanor didn't like the idea of giving that woman any chance at the innocent young girl.
"No, I cannot." Sebastian's lips twisted wryly. "And I do not dare. The only chance I have of protecting Miss Sinclair is to ensure that my mother believes she means nothing to me. I am very good at being cruel." He hesitated though, as if the very idea of it seemed to destroy some hope he'd owned. "My mother plans to kill you. She means it."
Eleanor drew back with a gasp.
"If you will not tell them what they want, then she sees no reason to keep her rival alive."
"Rival?"
"You have what she's always wanted."
Eleanor looked down. "Your father's heart."
"His respect, his trust... She cannot even understand how you could have done it."
"The problem is, Morgana always thought that respect and love can be manipulated or bought. She does not realize that love itself means that one cares just as much for the object of your heart as one does for oneself. If not more so."
Sebastian stayed silent for a long moment. "Perhaps you understand her better than I thought. I cannot get you out. I cannot help you."
Eleanor nodded, though the shock of it was twisting through her veins and wreaking havoc on her heart. It was not unexpected, but she couldn't stop thinking of Drake. Of how she'd never see him again... That was the true regret, right there. He'd be devastated, blaming himself for letting her go on this mission in the first place. Tears pricked at Eleanor's eyes, but as Sebastian turned to leave, she knew there was one last gift she could give to the man she loved. "Sebastian?"
"Yes?"
"I know there's no hope for me, but if something ever happens to you, and you have no other chance of escape, then go to your father. I know Drake would risk his own life to rescue you, no matter what the odds against him were."
"He's got you wrapped around his little finger, doesn't he?" That smile was bitter. "Why would I do that? After all, raising a demon would be the least of my sins. There is no saving me, Mrs. Ross. I've known that for a very long time. The only thing I can do is hope to take that bitch with me when my ship starts to sink."
And then Sebastian was gone, with a faintly respectful nod in her direction.
CHAPTER 19
A NOTHER FRUITLESS day of searching. Ianthe was so frustrated that she wanted to scream. No luck, no matter where she turned. Now that she knew whom she faced, if she could find Morgana...
Then what?
Kill her, whispered a deep, dark instinct. Get my daughter back.
But finding her wasn't as easy as it seemed. Nobody on the dark side of sorcerous society knew anything about Morgana's whereabouts, and Ianthe had spent countless hours casting small location spells. It wasn't her forte, but at least she had Louisa's hair to use as a focus, much good it had done her.
Cursing under her breath, she turned to pace, and that was when she saw the letter propped on her pillow.
Her breath felt like it had been punched out of her. No.
It was the same piece of parchment as those that had previously been delivered, and she knew what this one would say. It was finally time to deliver the Blade. Finally time to get her daughter back.
If she could trust the kidnappers.
Night was falling and Lucien had vowed to be along in a minute, after he'd refreshed himself. She'd barely have a moment to herself to read it. She had to act quickly.
Snatching it up, Ianthe tore the seam with her fingernail, then hesitated. She felt ill. "Please," she whispered to herself. "Please let my daughter be safe." And then she steeled her nerves and opened it.
TONIGHT AT 12PM. Highgate Cemetery. Look for Roslyn Hayes's grave. Come alone and bring the Blade. I need not emphasize the importance of the alone directive. If you betray us, the girl dies.
BY THE TIME she lowered the letter, a hot tear was sliding down her cheek. Emotion welled, threatening to consume her, but Ianthe crumpled the letter in her fist and threw it in the fire. She needed to act, to keep moving, or else she feared she'd fall apart.
Damn it. How was she going to get rid of Lucien? How was she going to get Louisa back without giving over the Blade? What would happen if Morgana did get her hands on it?
For she knew, deep in her heart that there were some risks she would not take. Louisa was the most precious thing in the world to her. There was not even a question about what she'd do if her choice came down to her daughter or the relic.
Think, damn it.
If only she had more time. If only she had an ally, one she could trust. Three days wasn't enough to know Lucien's intent. Sometimes when he looked at her, she saw something soften in his eyes, but could she trust that? Or did she simply want to trust it? He was the one who'd professed his intended revenge upon her only yesterday. It might have been a jest to him, but could she be certain?
I don't know. I'm so tired, and I can't think...
He would be here at any moment. That spurred her into action. Ianthe uncapped the brandy decanter in the corner, knowing Lucien's fondness for the spirit. It was only a matter of a moment to pour them both a glass and then take a small vial from the case under her bed. A few drops added to Lucien's drink would bring sweet oblivion to its drinker. The second she did it, she hesitated, staring at the amber liquid. Good God, what was she doing?
As if she'd summoned the devil by thinking of him, a sharp rap sounded at her door.
Her heart a lead weight in her chest, Ianthe shoved the brandy back in its place. "Come in."
The door opened, and there he was.
Tall, handsome, devastatingly dangerous... Hard edges rode Lucien's expression as though he was distracted, but when he saw her, heat flared in his eyes. He turned his body toward hers, as though drawn to her. Ianthe's heart started to race. Everything within her wanted to stride into his arms and drown herself in the nearness of him, to throw herself upon his mercy.
Please, please, can you help me?
Lucien frowned, almost as if he'd heard her. "No luck today?"
"N-none." Could she trust him? He'd told her of his scars that morning, opening himself up to her and revealing something that haunted him. But they both admitted there w
ere secrets between them.
Lucien studied her. "We need to talk."
A hard lump formed in her throat. "I agree."
Tugging his collar open with a sigh, he made short work of his cravat. For the first time, Ianthe had the sensation he was hesitating, which was a rather unsettling feeling. Rathbourne had always been emphatically confident in his manner. It was only recently that she'd seen any hints of vulnerability. Even when facing down a barrage of imps with nothing more than his own physicality, he'd not flinched.
Her. He was nervous about her. Or more particularly, the forthcoming conversation.
That made two of them.
"We have been dancing around each other for days," Lucien said, discarding the cravat. "Yet I have felt as though we were growing closer."
"As have I." It was barely a whisper.
"I had hoped you would open yourself up to me."
"Lucien—"
He held up a hand. "I understand why you haven't. We did not commence this agreement on very good terms. Hell, I practically threatened to destroy you." With a sigh, he stepped closer. Every inch of his expression hardened with intensity. "I need to know the truth, Ianthe. I need you to trust me. I promise I won't betray that trust."
Heart in her throat, she stared at him. What was he saying?
"And perhaps, the best way to go about that is to give you my trust." Their palms met by his design. Lucien's gaze dropped as his fingers splayed against hers, holding them spread, and then he shifted, those long, elegant fingers slipping between hers.
Ianthe could not look away from him, from the beautiful golden halo of his eyes. So haunted. So hungry. Not for sex, but for intimacy. He opened to her in that moment, the bond itching beneath her skin, daring her to open up to him in response.
