by Bec McMaster
Wonderful. A lesson in sorcery in the bargain. Sebastian limped forward, holding his staff low. Control. Right. He swung tightly, and Bishop swept the blow aside, returning a fierce set of feints that almost clipped Sebastian about the ears.
Gold sparks rained across the timber floors as their staves met. Again. Sebastian could feel the power humming through his veins as he fought to keep control over his sorcery. There was an exhilaration to this, something purely physical that kept his mind from thinking too much.
"You want to beat her, don't you?"
Morgana. Sebastian countered the next blow, and shoved his brother back with pure strength. Yes.
This time the only warning he had was the dark flash of Bishop's black eyes, and then he swept low and nearly took Sebastian's feet out from under him. Sebastian leapt over the staff at the last minute. Definitely working up a sweat now. His shirt clung loosely to his body in patches.
"When she comes at you, she works to make you lose control, doesn't she?" Bishop asked. "Using words, actions, threats... whatever it takes to emotionally compromise you. Your mother knows she can't beat you if it comes to strength of sorcery alone, so she refused to teach you how to control it. And if you face her again—with my training—then she knows what your weaknesses are."
Block. Blow. Block. Sebastian grunted as Bishop's staff disengaged in a brief feint and rapped him under the ribs on the other side.
Sebastian glared at him. Prick.
"Learn how to keep your head when all you want to do is take off mine."
This time Sebastian managed to block the next blow. Bishop swung his staff around his head, sidestepping around him, clearly looking for weaknesses.
"Good." Bishop nodded at him. "You're thinking now. Thinking requires control. It requires watching and planning, and using the other person's moves against them. It also requires understanding their weaknesses."
This time he drove the end of his staff straight under Sebastian's defense, and just below his sternum.
With an explosion of air from his lungs, Sebastian landed flat on his back on the floor, and slid at least four feet, fetching up near a set of iron-gray skirts. An explosion of white appeared behind his eyes as the pain drove through him like an iron spike shoved into his lungs.
The staff vanished from his hands. The room vanished. All that remained was the ache in his chest as he curled around himself, and the urge to vomit.
A faint clucking sound echoed in the room. Lady Eberhardt rolled her eyes and stepped over him. "Really, Adrian? A duel?"
"He doesn't have time to be coddled," Bishop shot back, his staff vanishing too. "The next time Morgana comes at him, it's not going to help him if he can knot a rope with his mind. No. He needs protection—and a means to attack. If he can control his will when under pressure, then she just might not kill him."
"Didn't know... you cared," Sebastian gasped. This half brother of his had intended to kill him, before Verity—Bishop's wife—insisted there had to be another way of controlling the threat of his enormous powers.
Bishop offered him a hand.
He never could quite decipher this brother's expressions, but there was a faint twitch of Bishop's brow as he hauled Sebastian to his feet. "You're the key to getting my father back from the demon. Or at least, that's what your wife keeps telling everyone."
Of course.
Sebastian bent over and rested his hands on his thighs. Hell. Everything hurt. But most of all, the mention of his wife shattered any gains he'd made that day.
The soul-bond between he and Cleo was growing steadily weaker every day—through lack of consummation, Sebastian guessed. But he could still feel her there, a little heated knot in the back of his mind.
If he focused, he could sometimes see through her eyes, or hear what she was thinking, but for some mysterious reason, today that knot was walled off.
It felt like pressing his hands against a glass pane, and trying to feel her heat through it.
She'd learned to lock him out, the same thing he'd done to her several weeks ago, when he didn't want her knowing what was going through his mind. It was somewhat jarring to realize how much he'd come to rely upon the bond with her in such a short time.
"What's going on?" Bishop asked Lady Eberhardt.
Lady E straightened Bishop's collar, an almost maternal gesture that drew Sebastian back into the dark recesses of the past.
He brushed away the memory of his own mother doing that to him as a little boy. Before she betrayed him.
"Ianthe's called a meeting. She has information on how to deal with the demon, and apparently, an old ally who just might be able to help us," Lady Eberhardt said.
The demon. Sebastian flinched and turned around, locking his wrists behind his back in order to stretch. He didn't know his father. All Drake had ever been was a name his mother cursed. He'd been raised to be a weapon against his father, the former Prime of the Order of the Dawn Star—a group of sorcerers who'd cast his mother out of their ranks years ago. He'd spent years poisoned by her lies, certain Drake saw him as only a threat.
And instead the man had sacrificed himself to save Sebastian from a demon's clutches.
It unnerved him. Why? Guilt harassed him, but the uncertainty was what kept him awake of nights. Why would his father do that? Sebastian was nothing to him. They'd only spoken once or twice, on a mental plane his father created.
And he'd worked with his mother to betray the man; to blackmail his apprentice, kidnap his granddaughter, and force Drake to yield his position as Prime.
Of course, he hadn't had much bloody choice in the matter. Morgana had put a sclavus collar upon him when he was thirteen, and used the control ring that accompanied it to force him to her will.
He was bloody lucky Bishop had decided against killing him—though he knew his brother had spared him only because he needed Sebastian's power to confront the demon that wore Drake's body.
"Finally," Bishop said. "It's about time we had something to work toward. It's been a month since that creature took my father as a vessel, and so far there's been no sign of it. It's up to something. It has to be. But we've found no trace of it."
"It will be out there somewhere." Distaste soured the old woman's voice. Sebastian looked up sharply, and Lady E's lip curled. "But that, I think, is something Ianthe needs to speak to you both about."
"Agatha—"
"Tut, tut." She poked Bishop's sweaty shirt. "You're dripping all over the place. The pair of you need to freshen up, and then we can take the carriage to the Earl of Rathbourne's house. Ianthe's holding the meeting there, and I'm not going to breathe a word about her intentions until then, so you might as well stop wasting your breath."
Bishop exchanged a look with Sebastian that was so long-suffering he almost felt a sense of kinship with the bastard.
Almost.
But there was one smile-suffocating fact about the Earl of Rathbourne that Lady Eberhardt hadn't mentioned, though she locked that gimlet gaze upon Sebastian as if she could sense where his thoughts were going.
"Yes," she said, lacing both hands on her cane. "It's time you strapped on your breeches, Sebastian, and confronted your wife."
Cleo. His mouth went dry. He didn't think he was ready for this.
But then, when would he ever be?
* * *
Cleo stared out over the gardens of the Earl of Rathbourne's manor, tilting her face to the meager sunshine. It had rained earlier that morning, and the gardens were lightly dewed. Snowdrops poked their heads through some of the half-melted snow, and lush fir needles shed their winter mantle.
Color saturated the world around her.
Sunlight stained her eyelids.
And thank goodness, it no longer hurt her so badly to look upon the gardens, which had always been her one great love.
The first week after she lost the blindfold she'd worn since she was five had been the worst. It had been a month now. The headaches no longer plagued her so badly, and sun
light was no longer a spear through her raw eyes. She couldn't stay out here for very long—she was still growing used to using her neglected eyesight—but every day was a little better.
A shiver trembled over her skin, and Cleo looked down in shock. It felt almost like one of her Foresight visions was forthcoming, but that was impossible. Her first prediction had been that she would lose her Visions the day she gained her sight back, and so far she'd been correct. All she had left were her dreams, and her Premonition, which was marching down her skin like little ants in steel shoes.
It felt like a storm brewing on the horizon.
Like the tickle of a feather down her spine.
What on earth—?
Cleo's breath caught as she finally realized what had been bothering her all along. The tiny little knot in her mind—which she associated as the soul-bond she shared with the husband who refused to have anything to do with her—was pulsing.
Sebastian is coming.
Of course. The meeting wasn't for another two hours, but it was clear Bishop and Sebastian were arriving early.
A thrill ran through her. Cleo hurried into the house, capturing a hint of her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were red from the chill, and oh, heavens, she was wearing her worst gown, and—
Ianthe lifted her head from where she'd been patiently reading a book to her daughter, Louisa. Her voice trailed off. "What is it?"
"Sebastian." The word came out breathlessly, so Cleo cleared her throat and tried to explain. "I can feel him coming in this direction."
The other occupant of the room, Eleanor Ross, looked up sharply. Eleanor had been Drake's lover before the demon possessed him, and she'd been waiting impatiently for any word of the demon. "Already? The meeting's not for another two hours."
"Sebastian's coming?" Louisa looked up in delight, her dark plaits swinging. "Oh, that's wonderful! We can take tea with him." She seemed to remember where she was now. "I mean, may we, Mother?"
And all of a sudden Cleo realized what this meant.
This would be the first time Sebastian had set foot under the same roof as the woman whose daughter he'd helped kidnap. Louisa had been a pawn Sebastian's mother, Morgana, used to force Ianthe to betray her master. Sebastian had been Louisa's ally at the time, protecting her from his mother's wrath, but Ianthe wouldn't have forgotten her blackmail ordeal.
No, to Ianthe, Sebastian was the reason she'd betrayed the man she loved as a father, and then he'd been the reason that man offered himself up as a vessel to the demon.
Damn him. His imminent arrival set her all at sea. "I could meet him at the gate perhaps, and—"
"It's fine." Ianthe closed the book, her violet-blue eyes shining with a Prime's cool strength of will. "I called for the meeting. I knew I would see him. Besides...." She brushed Louisa's hair, not quite able to keep all her disapproval off her expression. "Lou thinks he's her friend, and that he protected her when his mother kidnapped her. Lou, why don't we sojourn to the garden? I know you would like to see Sebastian, but Cleo's his wife. I'm certain she would like a moment or two alone with him, and perhaps he can come visit you in the garden when he's done?"
Would he even want to see her? Cleo froze. She'd sent him over a dozen letters in the past month and tried to see him twice, but he was either "not at home" or "under the weather."
"Coming, Eleanor?" Ianthe asked.
Cleo was no fool. What he was, was avoiding her. Her heart pounded.
Why could she be so brave when she was facing down a creature from the mirror, but tremble at the thought of seeing him again? She wanted to see him. She'd stared wistfully at her ceiling every day for a month, cursing him under her breath for tying her in knots like this. But now the moment was here....
Eleanor limped toward her, leaning heavily on the cane she now used. "Just remember... the boy's been through a great deal, but that's no excuse to treat you poorly."
"I wouldn't let him anyway," she said crossly.
Eleanor smiled. "Good luck."
Ianthe and Louisa had vanished, and Eleanor followed them out, her cane tapping on the tiles. Cleo hastily tidied her hair in the mirror. Then there came a sharp rapping at the door. She hurried out onto the top of the stairs.
The door opened, and the butler announced his guests in a monotonous drone Cleo ignored, searching for faces, her heart thundering behind her ribs—Mr. Bishop, Lady Eberhardt, and—
And there he was.
Sebastian.
Her husband.
After weeks of not even a letter to ask how she was.
A month in which he'd refused to see her when she tried to call upon him, to help him, to scratch this uncertain itch within her that seemed to be their bond.
Days of Lady Eberhardt patting her hand and telling her to be patient, that Sebastian was learning to master his emotions, and he would come round, and—
Their eyes met.
The shock of his beauty was an instant slap in the face. Black hair the color of a raven's wing was brushed back off his temples, and his eyes were like molten quicksilver. Her gaze strayed to that full mouth, and the masculine cleft in his chin. She'd never seen him before their marriage, though she'd heard the maids whispering about how handsome he was. With her blindfold on, all he'd ever been to her was a voice, a warm body, someone kind, who'd seemed to yearn for her gentle nature.
Someone who'd once stroked her hair in the middle of the night, in the bed they both shared, and whispered that he couldn't touch her. That he did not dare.
That she'd married a monster.
And she'd given her heart to him in that second, only to have him dash it at her feet with a flagrant lack of regard the second he was free of his mother.
Cleo, the girl who'd never feared to face a single dragon in her life, couldn't stand there a single second longer.
Grabbing her skirts, she turned and fled.
Chapter 4
SEBASTIAN'S BREATH PUNCHED out of him for a second time that day.
Cleo was nothing but a whirl of blue skirts, her long blonde hair braided messily, and her eyes—
Her eyes were pretty and brown and filled with hurt. He couldn't really recall seeing them before. He took a step after her, his hand reached out as if to somehow catch her, before he realized what he was doing.
Two sets of eyes locked on him. Sebastian found it difficult to swallow. He lowered his hand. "My apologies. Perhaps—"
"Get after the gel." Lady Eberhardt snorted. "This can wait. Judging from the expression on her face, your wife won't."
It’s better this way. He couldn't hurt her like this—and he knew, from nights spent stroking his psychic senses against that golden knot in his mind, that he had. Sebastian's weight shifted. No matter what he told himself, the desire to go to her warred with common sense.
He'd forgotten how beautiful she was.
"This is the one time I'm inclined to agree with Agatha," Bishop said, tugging off his gloves. There was a marriage ring on his finger, barely a week old, and seven others to denote his rank in the Order. "Recent experience has taught me never to take your wife's feelings for granted."
"I thought I was supposed to be learning to control my emotions?"
Bishop cocked a brow. "Is your meeting with Cleo going to upset them?"
Seeing her, talking to her was going to do more than that. It was going to obliterate any scrap of control he owned.
"Go," Bishop repeated gently, his dark gaze taking in the answer that was no doubt showing on Sebastian's face. "Bottling up your emotions isn't healthy either."
Sebastian ground his teeth together. "I don't want to disappoint her." That wasn't the entire truth.
I don't want to hurt her.
I don't want... to see her disappointment in me. To see the hopeful way she looks at me fade.
Which it would.
It was only a matter of time.
And yet, putting off this conversation was cowardly. She deserved better.
Sebas
tian gritted his teeth and strode after her, his heart kicking in his chest like a mule.
Finding her wasn't difficult. Their soul-bond led him straight to her. Though unconsummated, it seemed to have strengthened even in the brief seconds since they'd come face-to-face.
And it had been fading. It had.
Or was he only fooling himself?
Cleo stared at the small duck pond in the gardens out back, her shoulders ramrod straight. She was much smaller than he. Light to his darkness. Hope to his bleakness.
And in that moment he could remember what she'd looked like the night of their marriage, when she'd tended to his bullet wound wearing only a flimsy nightgown, and asked him not to be cruel to her. She could tolerate disinterest or his lack of affection, but not cruelty, she'd claimed.
She'd lied.
A month of forcing himself to stay away from her had hurt her more than he'd imagined.
"Cleo," he began, his voice a stark whisper. Mother of night, a part of him wanted to linger in this moment, to drink her in. But everything else inside him withered and died. He would only destroy her.
"My apologies," she said, clearing her throat and glancing back over her shoulder at him. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have prepared myself better. I didn't.... I meant to...."
"Avoid me?" he asked.
Her soulful gaze locked with his. "I thought that was my line?"
He stared at her, taking in every inch of her heart-shaped face, and the storm of emotions crossing it, hungry in a way he'd not been aware of. A surge of need swept through him. Something he'd never felt before.
He wanted to kiss her.
No, he wanted to do more than that, and the second he thought it, fear and distaste overrode him, and his fingers curled into a fist.
Cleo was the purest young woman he'd ever met. He'd only taint her. She deserved better. And strike him blind, but all he could picture was the day they'd first met, when she'd leaned up on the balustrade of a garden folly, and pointed to the lake behind him and said, "Look!"
