by Bec McMaster
"It is never wise to make an enemy of me." Morgana sounded less certain than she had been though.
Cleo reached for the teapot and poured herself a fresh cup in the midst of the carnage. Her hands were still shaking, but her voice was measured. "I have never had an enemy," she mused. "I wonder who will win, the one who sees the future, or the one who clings to the past?"
* * *
CLEO FOUND Sebastian in the garden. She still didn't know what to think about his confession last night, but she had no one else to help her. "Your mother is going to kill Eleanor Ross."
A pair of clippers snicked together neatly. "I know."
"Well, are you not going to do something about it?"
"What should I do?" he asked, snipping at another stem. Roses, she thought, from the heady scent of them. "Storm Mrs. Ross's prison? Murder my mother? I'd like to, but there's the unfortunate matter of the collar..."
"Well, we have to do something!"
"There is no 'we'."
"You're the only one I have," she shot back, her voice thick with emotion, "and I'm the only one you have. If we're not in this together, then what's the point?"
Bees buzzed as he hesitated before saying, "Careful. My mother's watching from the window. She looks vexed." He moved on, snipping at something else. "What did you say to her?"
"We had a lovely little conversation over tea, full of threats and bloodied promises. This is a pit of vipers, is it not?" Cleo rubbed her fingers together in thought, then ripped her chin up when she heard his swift intake of breath. "Oh, goodness. I didn't mean you."
"It's the truth," Sebastian replied, his voice muffled as he turned away from her.
"No, it's not." She followed the sound of his footsteps across the lawn hesitantly. "Would you stop pacing, please? I'm afraid I'm going to fall face first into the roses."
He stopped and Cleo almost walked into him before realizing.
"You cannot pretend this isn't going to happen. You cannot run away from it. We have to do something. This is my fault, Bastian. I sent a letter to the Prime—"
"I know. You bloody little fool. You should have stayed out of this mess."
"I wanted to help you," she cried. "And I didn't stay out of it, and now an innocent woman is going to die because of me!" Then her mind registered what he'd said. "How did you know I contacted the Prime?"
Sebastian swore under his breath. "Listen, this is not your fault. Mrs. Ross told me about—"
"She told you? You've seen her?"
"Yes." His answer was abrupt.
"She's here, isn't she?" Cleo's heart started pounding, jacking into her throat. Premonition tingled yes along her arms.
A hand grabbed her wrist and warm breath washed over her face. The scent of him was lush with earth, roses, and sweat, all things she'd never thought to associate with her elegant husband. "You are not going to do a thing about it. Morgana will kill you, Cleo. If you know nothing else, then know this: My mother is dangerous. She has the Blade of Altarrh in hand as of last night, and she won't hesitate to use it."
It was the first time he'd touched her voluntarily. The physical impact of it stole her breath. "The Blade of Altarrh?" Why did that name sound familiar? She couldn't quite place it. "A part of me will die if they kill Mrs. Ross. A little part of me will never forgive myself. Please. Please help me."
He turned away, blowing out a breath in frustration. "Fucking roses." The clipper's hit the lawn and clattered.
"You say you're a monster," Cleo said. "I know you're not a monster, but if you pretend this isn't happening, then what do you become? Every little shadow darkens your soul. You'll become something I don't think you want to be."
"And what do you suggest I do?" Sebastian snarled. "I cannot break the wards on the cellar. It's too complicated for my magic, and my mother will know I did it. She'll take me down with sorcery before I can even lift a finger."
"I don't want you to be hurt."
"That's the problem." Fabric rustled as he paced. "She won't hurt me, Cleo. She'll come after someone I care about, and she'll do it while I watch and cannot react."
Her heart became an odd pitter-patter in her chest. "And who do you care about?" She was met with another one of his silences. It told her everything she was afraid to hope for. "Oh," she said. "Oh. I'm not afraid."
"You should be." Bleak, hopeless words. "And now that she's seen this entire little encounter, I'm going to have to tell some pretty convincing lies."
Cleo caught his wrist. "Wait." Her mind raced. "Knock me over."
"What?"
"And look angry."
"I'm not going to—"
"Yes, you are," she whispered. "Or I will."
"Bloody hell." He shook her off. "I'll do something for Mrs. Ross. I promise. Don't you attempt anything. Now, there's a rake behind you. I'm sorry." Then his shoulder hit hers in a heavy thud of heated flesh, and he pushed past her as if toward the house.
Cleo's foot caught on the rake and she went down, tumbling to her bottom on the grass. She stayed there, in her puddle of skirts, hot emotion lodging in her chest. What a horrible mess she'd found herself in, but the oddest sensation was that of relief. Sebastian was going to help her. She had an ally in this mess, and he had a chance at redemption, if he dared to do this.
When tears flushed through her eyes, she let them soak her blindfold as she buried her face in her hands.
* * *
HE COULDN'T GET near the Prime; his mother had eyes watching the Duke far too closely. And he couldn't rescue Mrs. Ross himself. Such an act would only earn him untold punishment, and if Morgana realized how much his wife had gotten beneath his skin, then she'd know exactly how to cut at him.
There was only one hope.
So Sebastian wrote a letter, using a scrap of Louisa's hair that he'd kept, to prove who it came from, and then waited for his chance to deliver it.
CHAPTER 27
"I T'S GOT TO be a trap," Lucien said.
"I know," Ianthe replied, her skirts swishing around her ankles as she paced. They'd been halfway to the door when the letter arrived, care of some young street urchin. "I know! But Eleanor... If she's hurt, then Drake will be devastated. And the address leads to Knightsbridge, which is where Thea said she tracked Noah Guthrie to."
Lucien rubbed at his face. "Why would someone tell us just how many sorcerers Morgana has at her beck and call? Or give us her address? You don't find that conveniently suspicious?"
"I do, but then I think perhaps Thea and I aren't the only ones who were unwilling to help her. What if she has her claws in someone else?"
True. "Where's the Prime?"
"He's fetching the carriage and reinforcements." Ianthe rubbed the lock of Louisa's hair that had fallen from the envelope. "We're going to need them if Morgana has this many sorcerers on her side."
* * *
"YOU WANT me to do what?" Remington asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at Ianthe.
"There's no one else I would trust more to guard my daughter and my ward," Ianthe told him, slipping the warded metal gauntlet over her wrist and wriggling her fingers. Magic tingled across her skin from the charms laid into the cold steel. She would need every advantage she would get, and she wouldn't need to concentrate very much in order to activate the gauntlet's inset wards. Only direct a trickle of sorcery through it.
"I'm not quite certain what that says of me, that you see me more as nursemaid than a warrior."
"I see you as someone I trust with something more important than my own heart," Ianthe replied, leaning up on her toes to kiss Remington's cheek. "I have to go. Drake has few enough allies as it is, and someone needs to guard Lucien's back. Be kind to Thea, please. She's had a rough week."
"Haven't we all?" Remington drawled, but he looked quietly pleased with her statement.
That said, Ianthe turned to the armchair in the corner. Louisa held Thea's hand, her pretty amber eyes troubled.
"I shall be back as soon as I
can," Ianthe promised. "Thea is going to take care of you, and so is Remington. Nobody shall get past the two of them, I promise. You'll be safe as houses."
"I don't want you to go." Louisa lowered her head, her eyes shining.
Ianthe hesitated. She knelt down, taking Louisa's hands in hers. Her heart felt like it was going to tear in two. "Louisa—"
"I'll go," Thea blurted instead.
"What?"
"This is partly my fault," Thea insisted, hurt flashing in those hazel eyes. "I should never have delivered those letters! I should make amends."
"You can barely unknot a rope with your mind!" Ianthe protested. "No, you're not going. It's too dangerous for you!"
"But—"
"She's right," Lucien said softly, stepping forward into the room. All eyes turned to him, but he went to Louisa, kneeling down so that he could take her small hands in his. "I know you've been through an ordeal, Louisa, and you're scared that if your mother goes away, she won't come back. Is that true?"
Louisa nodded.
"Ianthe has to go," he said, squeezing her little fingers. "Morgana is very dangerous, more so now she has the Blade, and there are not enough of us to stop her if Ianthe stays. If I could, I would shoulder her burden and do her duty as well as mine." His eyes darkened. "But I cannot. I am not strong enough, not at this time, to stop Morgana before she comes after us. I will promise you this though: I will bring your mother back to you."
Louisa bit her lip and whispered, "Okay."
"Good girl." He stroked her cheek, then caught Thea's gaze. "You have amends to make, you say? Then this is your task. Look after Louisa and help her wait for us. We should be back before sunset. Once this is done, your penance is over. You have no more debt to Ianthe, do you understand?"
Thea nodded too, slipping her hand inside Louisa's.
"She hurt my mama and papa," Louisa said.
"Yes." Ianthe stroked her face and the smooth baby-fine cheek. "Yes, she did. And I will make her pay for that."
"Are you going to hurt her?"
"I am going to make Morgana wish she'd never set eyes on either of us."
Louisa took a long time to think it over. "Good." A single tear slid down her cheek, but Ianthe kissed it away.
"When I get back, you are going to come and live with me and your father. We can show him how to take tea with Hilary and Sir Egmont. Would you like that?" She held her breath for a moment.
A mixture of happiness and nervousness lit over the little girl's face, as though she did not dare dream it would happen. "Yes. Yes, please."
A little girl, so like herself. A little girl who feared to believe in her dreams. Ianthe pressed their foreheads together, cupping Louisa's nape with her hand. If Lucien had only just begun to teach her to hope that the dream could come true, then she would in turn teach Louisa the truth too. "I'll be back for you. I'll read you your favorite story tonight, before you go to bed."
Louisa smiled shyly. "Goodbye, Mama."
It was the second time Louisa had called her that. Ianthe's heart broke in her chest, and it took every ounce of her willpower to walk toward the door. It felt wrong to leave her daughter behind when she was walking into danger, but there was no choice. Not only did she have amends to make, but if they did not remove Morgana as a threat now, before the other woman grew too powerful, then the danger only escalated. Morgana had two of the Relics Infernal. She only needed one more to topple Drake, and there was no way Ianthe could protect Louisa from the other woman if Drake fell and Morgana came to power. No doubt the other woman would demand a reckoning from her, as Ianthe had not exactly obeyed the letter of Morgana's demands last night.
The world would not be a safe place for any of them if they did not act now.
Still, she paused by the door and waved back, blowing Thea and Louisa a kiss each. Lucien's hand was steady at her back as he guided her through the door, shutting it behind them.
"You're a very brave woman," he murmured.
"Don't. Please," she choked out. "Or I think I may cry."
CHAPTER 28
"WELL, WELL," Morgana said, swinging a lantern into the small cell and pushing back her hood with a pale, slender hand. Her smile was dangerous. "You should see the sunset, Eleanor. It's beautiful and full of portent." Setting the lantern on the table, she turned and drew a slim, elegant knife from her sleeve. "Today is going to be a very good day."
Eleanor gasped, her barely-healed lip splitting open again. The Blade of Altarrh. She could almost feel the malevolent haze emanating from it. "How did you get that?" What had happened to Drake? Was he injured?
No. She forced herself to calm. No. Morgana's smile was only that of a gloating Madonna. The woman wouldn't have been able to contain herself if Drake was hurt or cast down. She would have been crowing from the rooftops.
"I have my means," Morgana taunted. "It is always simply about finding the right point to apply pressure. Everyone has something they won't risk, whether it's a secret or someone important to them."
"Even you?"
Morgana's smile faded. "People are weaknesses you cannot afford, and there is no secret I feel shame in keeping. No, Eleanor, I'm the exemption to the rule."
Gathering her dignity, Eleanor dragged herself to her feet, the chains rattling across the floor. "I think you're lying to yourself."
"Oh? Do tell."
"I think you've always wanted someone to belong to you, but you cannot fathom how to keep them loyal, because you don't understand loyalty. All you know is betrayal."
Those green eyes narrowed. "Learned from the day I began walking, I assure you, and nobody has ever dealt me otherwise. That's not a weakness, Eleanor."
"Isn't it? Then why do you still crave it? Look at you." She let her pity show. "Your own son despises you. Drake turned from you. No man will have you. And you want them to belong to you so desperately that the misery of losing them has turned you into this. A bitter old woman with no true power, no true friends, or allies, or—"
"Stop!" Morgana hissed, lunging forward with the blade drawn. "Don't you dare pity me!"
The blade stopped an inch from Eleanor's throat. She stared into the other woman's eyes, refusing to be cowed. Go ahead. Eleanor tipped her chin up. She was no longer that pale young girl who stammered and apologized to the other young female apprentices, as if her poor birth was her own fault. Drake had taught her the value of her worth, and if this bitch was going to kill her, then Eleanor would meet her death with grace and dignity.
Morgana's lip curled back from her teeth, and she pulled the knife away.
"You," Morgana spat, "pathetic Eleanor Whitby, a girl taken directly from the orphanage, with a minor talent in psychometry, if at all... You always looked beyond your station, Eleanor, nosing around the tutors as if that could make up for your lack of breeding and talent. Gods, it makes me ill to even think of you in his bed. Why would he choose you? You're nothing. You've always been nothing."
A spark of rage unfurled in her breast, but Eleanor held her head high. "It doesn't matter what you say or do to me, Morgana, you will never win. Even in death, Drake's heart belongs to me, and mine to him."
A dangerous glitter filled the other woman's eyes. "So be it then. If Drake wants your bloody heart, then he can have it. In a box. Henri! Phillippe!"
Two heavy-set men shouldered inside the cell. Morgana gestured them into place with a swift cut of her hand. "Take her wrists and pin her down."
They moved to grab her, and Eleanor fought. It was no use. Without access to her power—carefully blocked by the warded bracelet around her wrist—she was as weak as anyone else.
Morgana grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the stone wall. "How dare you think you could replace me? How dare you think that you" —the knife dug into Eleanor's breastbone— "pathetic, little bitch that you are, could ever be half the woman that I am."
Power gathered along the Blade. Eleanor felt it growing, even as the point cut into her skin. She cried out, twistin
g her face away, but there was no hope. No relief from the slow, inexorable push of hot iron into her flesh. Eleanor screamed.
"What are you doing?"
The room was suddenly freezing. Sebastian stood in the doorway, his eyes raking over the scene. Power gleamed over his skin, giving him such vitality that he almost glowed. Eleanor slumped, breathing hard, as Morgana turned to face him.
"This is none of your business. Go back to your roses." There was a faint sneer to Morgana's voice, and she turned back to her task, as if dismissing him.
"No."
Morgana shoved away from Eleanor, leaving her gasping as blood trickled from the cut beneath her breastbone. The woman turned to face her son, power lashing along the Blade as she pointed it at him. "Don't you dare defy me, especially not after that debacle last night, where you almost cost me this!" Morgana held up the relic. "Now get out of here. I've had enough of you for the day!"
His cold gray gaze flickered toward Eleanor, then back to his mother. "No," he said again, slowly, as if making up his mind. "I cannot let you do this. I will not."
As if to emphasize the words, Sebastian straightened, his fingers curled faintly at his sides with flickers of lightning-coated power dancing over them. Just a hint of a threat, but one made dangerous by the weight of power that could be felt within him.
It felt like everyone in the room held their breath.
Eleanor didn't hope to escape this, but in saving her, was he risking himself?
Morgana seemed shocked. "What do you mean, 'you cannot let me do this'? Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do?"
"Unfortunately, I'm the only one with the power to stop you. That's who I am, Mother."
"Power?" Morgana took a step toward him, and Eleanor could feel Morgana gathering her own sorcery. "Have I taught you nothing? Power is not strength, not when one is inept in wielding it with finesse." She lashed out, the ring on her finger sparking as some type of sorcery was channeled through it. "Just a taste, my dear."
