Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1)

by Bec McMaster

  A third son.

  The son that Morgana had allegedly aborted, and the very same child that Drake mourned year after year.

  A pistol cocked with an audible click, breaking the stalemate, and then Lucien stepped out of the darkness, aiming it directly between Sebastian's eyes. "Release the child," he said in a dark, smoky voice.

  "Lucien?" she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

  He seemed wrong, somehow. Thin and hazy.

  "You treacherous bitch," Morgana snarled, and then everything happened in the space of an instant. Morgana flung her arms out, a trio of battle globes springing into fluorescent green life in front of her, the men at her side began chanting, and Lucien's pistol fired with a sharp crack that somehow sounded on the other edge of the clearing.

  The first battle globe struck Lucien, and a shower of sparks detonated in the clearing, bright enough to sear the eyes. He vanished.

  "Lucien!" Ianthe screamed, flinging a wave of pure force at Morgana.

  No time to think about the consequences. Everybody was off balance. Ianthe seized her chance and launched herself forward, unleashing another torrent of crude power in the woman's direction. The copper bracelet on her wrist flared white-hot as her wards activated and deflected something that Morgana had flung at her. Then she was crashing into Sebastian, carrying him to the ground in a flurry of skirts.

  "Run!" she screamed at Louisa.

  Her little girl hesitated for a moment, then took off into the darkness. The flash of her white petticoats was the last thing Ianthe saw before the woodlands swallowed her up. Lucien? Where was Lucien? What had happened to him? He'd simply vanished.

  The warm body beneath hers jerked, and Ianthe pushed herself upright, her corset straining and her hands covered in blood. Blood from his shirt, where the bullet had struck. Sebastian looked shocked, gasping a little, and it was difficult to steel herself against the pain in his eyes when he looked so much like Drake.

  But she had other matters to worry about. Her daughter. Her Shield, who had followed her here, completely unprotected except for the wards in his matching copper bracelet, and weakened by the drug. Hell, what had Lucien been thinking?

  Her mind blanked for a second, but then cleared as an image of Louisa sprang to mind. Nothing else mattered.

  Nothing. Not Lucien. Not Drake. Not herself. Not even the consequences of her actions. She had to find her daughter before it was too late.

  Rolling to her feet, Ianthe ran into the woods. There was no sign of Luc in the clearing, which could mean anything. Morgana and her trio of sorcerers were gaining their feet after some assault and sorcery flashed like the Northern Aurora over their Wards. It couldn't be Lucien. This was delicate, dangerous magic that tasted somewhat like burned cinnamon and was wielded with the expertise of a whiplash. Which meant that someone else was here.

  Had to be an ally, but who?

  "Louisa?" she whispered.

  An owl cooed. Behind her, someone yelled, "Spread out! They have to be here somewhere!"

  "Louisa?" She stumbled blindly forward.

  A crack sounded nearby, someone crashing through the undergrowth. A little girl cried out, causing a stab straight through Ianthe’s heart. She grabbed her skirts and darted in that direction. The moon was a thin sliver through the trees, casting just enough light to see by.

  A flash of white. Lou. She turned in that direction, but a shadow jolted out of the trees and picked Louisa up. Sebastian.

  By gods, she would—

  A man stepped out of the shadows between her and Sebastian, his white teeth flashing in a smile. "Well, now. Miss Martin, I presume." White mage globes sprang to life in the cup of his hands. "I've been dying to meet you."

  "And you are?" Ianthe took a step toward him, calling forth her own mage globes. They crackled with brilliant red, reminding him that she wasn't messing around. It was the most difficult globe to control, and required the most power. Ianthe peered over his shoulder, seeing her daughter kicking and yelling at Sebastian.

  "Easy now, luv." The stranger darted a look at her globes. "We don't have to be enemies."

  "Unfortunately, you're standing between me and my daughter. That means you chose your side long ago."

  "Lorenzo, wait," someone barked, and then a second man caged her in. He wasn't mucking about. His globes burned the same fiery red as her own, lighting up the clearing. Stronger than this Lorenzo, perhaps, but his control wasn't complete. His globes wobbled on their axis as they spun, hinting at power, but not finesse.

  "Oh, good," Ianthe spat. "I should hate to slaughter an apprentice, but you..."

  With a single word, she sent her globes spinning toward each man. Eyes widening, Lorenzo threw himself aside, and she plucked her globe back toward her with a delicate flex of her hand. It spun in circles around her, spitting sparks of red lightning.

  "Shit." Lorenzo's white globes evaporated, and he scrambled behind a tree.

  One down... These idiots knew not whom they were facing. Morgana might give her pause—Sebastian certainly did—but she was both an adept of the sixth level and the Prime's right hand. She'd been facing adversaries like this for the past five years, and coming out on top.

  She sent her globe spinning toward the stronger sorcerer, and his remaining globe turned to match it. With barely a sneer, Ianthe flung a wave of force at him. Both mage globes rippled as it passed, his eyes widened, and then he was flung backward into a tree, his head cracking sharply. Distraction always was the greatest weapon.

  Slumping onto the ground, he croaked something at her, and his mage globes exploded with a faint popping sound.

  "Amateurs," she muttered, striding after Sebastian. He was the real threat.

  "Ianthe!" Lucien yelled.

  "Over here!" She lashed out with her remaining mage globe, and sent it crashing at Lorenzo's feet as he made another brief appearance.

  Cursing, Lorenzo scrambled backward on his hands, then rolled out of the way, his coattails fluttering as he dashed behind a tombstone. Ianthe flung another globe and marble shattered as it struck. Another popped into being and hit the next gravestone as the sorcerer darted behind them. Fine dust powdered the air.

  "If I see you again," she called, "I'll have you delivered to the Prime in chains!"

  Turning, she strode right into a wave of force that knocked her off her feet. Ianthe cracked her head as she went down, landing on the grass on someone's grave. Bloody hell. She pressed her fingertips to her temple, and they came away bloody.

  "Mama!"

  "Louisa," she breathed, and grabbed hold of the headstone to haul herself to her feet.

  Louisa reached for her over Sebastian's shoulder, as if she could somehow grasp Ianthe's hand.

  Mama. The first time she'd ever heard the words from her daughter's mouth. White-hot rage quivered within her, an inferno of fury, fear, and need.

  Staggering, with blood dripping down her face, Ianthe went after him. Power lashed within her, and the air turned cold as she drew in as much energy as she could hold.

  There was a hot numbness in her head, just behind her right eye, as if a needle had slid straight into her brain. A warning sign. Ianthe hesitated. She had no clear shot at Sebastian. There was nothing she could do to him without hurting her daughter.

  An explosion of gold sparks went up to her left. Remy? What on earth was he doing here? That was one of his stage tricks.

  Shouts arose, someone rampaging through the cemetery in that direction. Remy's laughter sounded like a gleeful cackle as he led some sort of diversion. Heart in her throat, Ianthe threw one last mage globe, shattering the right wing off an angel just in front of Sebastian.

  He froze.

  "Don't move," she snapped.

  Sebastian faced her slowly, backlit by the moon. He held Louisa carefully in his arms. "You don't want to do this, Miss Martin."

  "Try me." She advanced a step, another pair of mage globes springing to life and circling her head. I have been blackmailed, thr
eatened, and assaulted. I've had barely any sleep in the past week. And you bastards took my daughter and killed her parents. I have had enough.

  "Give me back my daughter," she said, stepping forward with her hands raised warily, fingers crooked just so as she wove strands of sorcery through the air.

  "Can't," Sebastian gasped, "even if I wanted to."

  He sank to his knees, teeth ground together, his hands quivering in the air as he let go of Louisa. One hand curled in the little girl's skirt, as if to hold her there, until, one by one, his fingers unclenched.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Heart in her throat, Ianthe took a step closer, watching him warily. "Lou, come to me, please."

  "Run," Sebastian whispered to Louisa as his eyes bled to black.

  With a squeal, Louisa darted toward her, hitting Ianthe around the waist. Ianthe dragged the little girl into her arms, straining under the weight. "Oh, God," she whispered, sliding a shaking hand through Louisa's hair. "You're here. You're really here."

  "Don't hurt him," Louisa replied, looking over her shoulder at the stranger on his knees. "He's the nice one."

  Can't promise that. "Don't make a move, and I won't retaliate," she called.

  Sebastian sucked air into his lungs, his nostrils flaring with pain. "Run, you stupid bitch. She's coming, and then I might not have a choice."

  Morgana. Ianthe went cold.

  There was that pressure system lurking on the edge of her awareness. She was not the only one drawing in huge amounts of power right now. It sucked at her skirts, at her skin, and she could see the heat shimmer in the air as energy leeched off her, spiraling toward the man on his knees. Cold pricked at her, gooseflesh springing into being all down her arms. "What on earth—?"

  Her breath fogged in the air in front of her.

  Sebastian shuddered.

  "Destroy them," Morgana commanded, stepping forward out of the mists, emerald light gleaming from the jeweled ring at her finger. Her face looked skeletal in the eerie light, but intensely focused on her son.

  Sebastian sank his head into his hands, his teeth a gleaming rictus of pain. He screamed, body flinching, as if something moved beneath his skin.

  "Do it!" Morgana howled.

  Sebastian screamed again, slumping forward onto his hands as if giving up.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking up at her.

  The world grew still. A silent bubble surrounded Ianthe, leaving her frozen in time, curling her arms around her daughter. Louisa's heart thumped once against her chest, thud-thump... Silent seconds ticked by. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe... The world was a vacuum...

  Thud-thump. That was her heart this time. And then time rushed back in upon her, sending her lurching forward as a ringing sound screeched in her ears.

  A body hit her.

  Hard.

  Ianthe tumbled onto her back, cracking her head on something sharp as Lucien took her to the ground, covering both her and Louisa with his body. The power she'd been holding bled out of her, like water leaking from a bladder, and then the world flared white. Blinding her. Obliterating her senses as an enormous outburst of Expression punched outwards from a central point, like the rippled aftermath of a stone plunging into water. The surge of it washed overhead, slicing straight through tombstones and shearing them in half. Her hair tore itself free and whipped in the wind of the explosion, only the hard, male body pressing over her protecting her from the backlash.

  Clothes smoked and burned. Lucien screamed in her ear, and her own hands blistered from magic-burn where they gripped his shoulders. The ground shook beneath them like a bucking horse, and it was all she could do to hold onto him and Louisa through the maelstrom.

  “Open up to me.” That was Drake's voice in her mind, and a familiar trickle of sensation burned in thin gold streamers along her skin.

  Ianthe opened herself to him. The bond between Master and Apprentice soared to life within her, a bond that would lie dormant until needed.

  Without thinking, Ianthe gave herself over to it, and a new conscience winked into her overcrowded head. Drake would be able to see through her eyes and help her direct her power as best needed.

  Energy danced through her effortlessly, and somehow she wove her sorcery into a shining shield that sprung into being around the three of them. The tear of power stopped ripping at her skin, her clothes, her hair... Lucien collapsed over the top of them, panting as if he'd run a race.

  Then Drake used her to wield her sorcery in ways she'd never imagined. She could feel him dispersing the blaze of raw matter that had erupted from Sebastian. Not confronting it, but letting it flow through her as he grounded it. Ianthe became nothing but a conduit, an observer, marveling at the delicacy of the weaves Drake wove.

  Morgana launched forward, grabbing her son and dragging him to his feet, as if sensing the Prime's presence. She pushed Sebastian toward the trees, and they vanished, his power cutting off so abruptly that Ianthe's skin tingled.

  It was over.

  It was finally, blessedly over.

  “Who was he?” Drake asked.

  “He's your son,” she sent back, slumping onto the ground beneath her lover and her daughter. “He's the child that Morgana claimed to have destroyed.”

  Shock severed the connection. Ianthe could suddenly feel her body again, heavy as a stone. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell into blessed, peaceful darkness.

  * * *

  "IS SHE ALIVE?" Remington demanded.

  Lucien swallowed hard, lowering his fingers to the pulse beneath Ianthe's jaw. Please, please... There it was. He nodded with relief, kneeling in the grass beside her. His back was blistered where sorcery had burned directly through his coat, and the scent of burned hair made him gag. "Yes. Something happened. I could feel some other presence in her mind."

  "Drake," Remington replied. "There's not many people who could do what she just did."

  "I'll get her home." Leaning down, Lucien curled his arms gently beneath her and drew her carefully into his arms. Ianthe seemed so small, so light. There was more weight in her skirts than her body it seemed, and it shocked him, for she was such a powerful, confident woman when awake. It didn't seem right.

  "Hello there, Louisa," Remington said, kneeling in front of the little girl who clung to Ianthe's skirts. "I'm your aunt's employer, Remington, and this is—"

  "Lucien Rathbourne. A... friend of your aunt's," Lucien interrupted. Louisa. His child. Jesus. Their eyes met—hers the same peculiar shade as his own—and Louisa turned into Remington's arms almost bashfully. She slid another long sideways glance at him, as if she sensed something strange about him.

  "I'll take Louisa," Remington told him, and their eyes met. Remington saw her eyes too.

  Watching Ianthe crumple beneath that blow had struck Lucien like an icy dagger to the heart. He hadn't been able to protect them, nor was he close enough to divert the blow or ward them. The only thing he could do was knock her beneath the flood of raw power and hope that they survived.

  Too late. Too slow. Too weak. There was nothing he could have done in that moment, not the way he was, and frustration seared through his veins.

  A year ago, he could have protected her. A year ago, his own power could have matched Morgana's, and he might have been able to defeat her. But he was not that man. And as much as he tried to pretend to himself that he would regain his strength, he didn't have the time.

  If you hadn't been so arrogant, you could have seen her Healer yesterday. He could have helped you heal yourself. You might have been able to do something, anything, if you had your power.

  Lifting her close against his chest, Lucien breathed in Ianthe's light perfume, reassuring himself that she was whole. He could feel her consciousness beginning to come to the surface through their bond. She would be all right, hopefully. No. He would make certain she was.

  There's a reason most sorcerers choose not to bond, my lad. An old friend had once told him that.

  W
hat a bloody mess.

  CHAPTER 22

  C LEO HAD thought that the marriage would change things.

  She was wrong.

  A horribly unforgivable state for someone with the ability to see glimpses of the future, but there it was.

  The ceremony in itself was quite nice, though brief, and had more of the air of a transaction than a joining of two people forever. Indeed, Cleo thought her new husband might even be a stranger, someone she'd never met before, for the coldness of his voice and the amount of attention Sebastian gave her. She tried to take his arm in the nave, for she was well outside of her usual boundaries in the church, but Sebastian passed her off to her father without breaking his stride and said he'd join her later that afternoon.

  He was off to see if his new boots had arrived.

  Her trunks were removed to the house he leased with his mother, and without further ado, Cleo was handed up into the hackney that would take her there.

  Alone.

  She hadn't left Tremayne Manor since her father had first put the blindfold on her.

  When Cleo arrived, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gibbons, gave her a brief tour of the house, then escorted her to her room. "Dinner will be sent up in an hour or two, ma'am."

  "Do you think I could take a turn in the garden?" Cleo asked.

  There was a slight hesitation. "I think it wise if you rest this afternoon and stay in your room. I'll send a maid up to help you with your gown."

  The door closed, and Cleo turned, frustration lancing through her. Curious about her new circumstances, she explored the room, a task that took her all of five minutes. Only the door on the far side of her chambers refused to budge when she tried it: locked, apparently.

  "Where the master stays," Mrs. Gibbons had said earlier and coughed discreetly.

  It took Cleo all of a minute to pick the lock with a hairpin.

  Sebastian's chambers were cooler than her own, but there was nothing personal in the room, beyond piles of books, stacked haphazardly, to tell her about the kind of man she was married to. Cleo touched the old leather-bound spines, but she couldn't even see what type of books he read.