Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (41 page)

He wouldn't forgive himself if it ended with Ianthe hurt.

"I love you!"

Shock welled up through him. His feet wouldn't move, but his head turned, drawn inexorably toward her. "
What
?" The words felt like they were torn from him.

And there she was, standing at the end of the hallway, with her fists clenched and her pulse pounding in her throat. Stubborn, passionate Ianthe, with her heart on her sleeve. He could shatter it, for it was as fragile as glass, and then she'd let him go, and she'd be safe... But his own chest ached with longing. Something there would break along with hers.

Ianthe's expression turned stubborn. "I love you, you fool, and I will not let you go. I will not release you from this bond! If you won't fight with me, then I will fight
for
you. You need me." Her voice cracked. "And I need you."

"I can't." This was the only thing he couldn't fight against. For how long had he ached to hear those words?

"You don't know that," she shot back, taking a step toward him. "This is a knee-jerk reaction because you're scared, and I understand that." Stepping closer now, she reached up to cup his cheek. "Don't throw away everything we have, because of fear. We don't know that the demon
can
overtake you. It's been a year, Lucien. Why hasn't it tried? What is it waiting for? Don't you think it would have taken its shot while you were starved and tormented in Bedlam? Weak? And now you have me, and I am
not
going to share you with some creature from a hell dimension."

He turned his face away, but she didn't back down. Cupping his face in both hands, she forced him to meet her gaze. "I love you, you fool. And it scares the hell out of me, but I believe that together we can face just about anything this world can throw at us."

"Ianthe—"

Reaching up, she slid his arms around his neck. That warm body pressed against his, her cheek brushing against his jaw. He was smothered in a cloud of lilac perfume. Drenched in her heat and her touch, he had the feeling that he was no longer alone in this.

"We will do whatever needs to be done," she whispered as his arms hesitantly curled around her waist. "Of all of us, Drake knows the most about Greater Demons and their reach. He can look into whether this has ever happened before, but for now, you are safe. It cannot reach you, or touch you here, and if it does, then I'm your Anchor. I won't let it drag you under."

How insane, to think that but a few days ago they'd been at war. Lucien shut his eyes and buried his face in her hair. "You're a fool," he whispered gruffly. "You should be running from me and this bond. I–I will release you—"

"I don't wish it, and neither do you, if you would only stop and be honest with yourself for once."

Lucien buried his face in her hair and squeezed her tight, because, if he
was
being honest with himself, he did want her. And Louisa. Forever.

"Of course, you do," she retorted, and for some insane reason, he couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"You're insane," he rasped.

"Trust me. We can defeat this."

Lucien caught her face in his hands and drew her mouth up to his in a punishing kiss.
Brave, stubborn Ianthe.
What would he do without her?

"
Y
OU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY
," Ianthe said, pouring herself a cup of tea and trying to stop her hands from shaking after that little revelation. Lucien had just left to arm himself, and they needed to get moving, but she could feel Drake watching her. "Spit it out. Do you think I'm wrong to hold him to our bond?"

"No." Drake leaned back in his chair, looking tired. "I think you're possibly the only thing that could hold him together through this."

She took a mouthful of tepid tea and frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Demons cannot force a human to do anything; it has something to do with that inner strength of will that shields us at our very core. We naturally resist intrusions to our very sense of self. So they toy with emotions, Ianthe. Fear, loneliness, and lack of hope all give the creature a path to slowly chisel away at. Once a man gives up hope, he hasn't the means to fight the creature, but Lucien's feelings for you are powerful. That gives him strength."

"Will it be enough?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

Ianthe set the cup down. Silence weighed heavy in the room. "You do know that I'm sorry." And now she wasn't speaking about Lucien.

"There is nothing to forgive."

"I gave them the Blade, Drake! It could bring you down, and you know it, and—"

A hand pressed gently over hers. "There is nothing to forgive," he repeated in a quiet, firm voice and squeezed her fingers.

Tears sprang into her eyes, her throat thickening. "You have always been too good to me."

"Your greatest problem, Ianthe, is the fact that you don't believe yourself worthy of kindness. You are more than worthy. In fact, you should demand it. Sometimes I should like to take your father by the throat and beat him bloody for what he's done to you."

"He's not my father," she whispered, feeling it for the first time in her veins. "You are. You always have been. If you'll have me."

With a choked sound, Drake drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her forehead. "I could not be prouder to call myself thus."

Ianthe rested her forehead against his shoulder. All her life she'd felt like she was an abomination. No matter what she did, she was always wrong, and the guilt of all of her choices had been a silent condemnation of her own making. It was Grant Martin's voice that she heard in her head still, telling her she had lost the blade and cost poor Eleanor whatever torment she was suffering at the moment.

She could listen to Grant Martin's voice forever, if she let herself, but it was Drake's words, Drake's love for her that pushed her to see that to do so would only be a lie. She was tired of lies. She was tired of guilt.

She deserved better for herself.

"I will help you get Eleanor back." A weight had lifted from her shoulders. Purpose descended, cool, crystal, and decisive. "I promise you, we will get both her and the Blade back. Then we shall make Morgana rue the day she stepped foot in our lives. But first," she said, standing and brushing the wrinkles from her skirts, "I must make sure my daughter is well, and then I will check on my Shield."

Drake's lips curled in a faint smile. "That's the first time you've called her that." He was happy for her, despite his own problems. "It's about time you realized you are the best thing that ever happened to Louisa. Now go and be her mother."

"I will," she promised, looking him directly in the eye, "on one condition."

"Oh?"

"The next time you look your stubborn son in the eye, you need to promise that you'll set aside your own sense of guilt too."

CHAPTER 26

C 
LEO HAD never thought herself a violent woman, but she was considering poison as she sat and sipped her tea the following morning with Morgana.
You are in bed with a monster.
The words kept repeating in her mind. Poison would be too kind.

"You look... tired, my dear. Sebastian's been kind to you?" Morgana seemed exuberant this morning. She kept humming under her breath.

"Quite." Until she knew the full extent of the situation she had found herself in, Cleo didn't dare be too rude.

"You know," Morgana stirred her tea, then tapped her teaspoon on the top of it before setting it aside with a clink, "you and I could become friends."

That did it. Cleo couldn't contain her bitter laugh. "Friends?"

"It is better to be friends than to be enemies," her mother-in-law said.

"You mean, I would live longer if I professed to be your ally." It was one thing to be polite to a viper, quite another to listen to this drivel.

The following silence was pointed. Morgana set her teacup down, judging by the rattle of the saucer. "I have no such intentions toward you, my dear. Indeed, you are a very valuable little—"

"And now you sound like my father."

"I wonder what he'd think of this little display of viciousness from his precious daughter, hmm?"

"He'd probably mouth something meaningful to you, pat you on the hand, and then come to ask me precisely how to bring you down." Cleo bit into a biscuit. She was through with being helpless. "You are two of a kind, after all."

Morgana actually laughed. "Well, perhaps you aren't the little fool I mistook you for after all. He doesn't see it, does he?"

"Who?"

"Your father. He thinks you his obedient little pet. Do you know what I think?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"I think... that there's a reason Eleanor Ross was creeping about your father's estate," Morgana's voice dripped with satisfaction. "I'm fairly certain I know what that reason was, but your poor, dear father doesn't have a clue."

"Eleanor Ross?" Cleo repeated in a horrified voice. Then added quickly, "Who is Eleanor Ross?"

"Oh, nobody of importance. Not for much longer anyway. Would you like another cup of tea?"

What had happened to Mrs. Ross? How had Morgana gotten her hands on her? No doubt that was precisely what she was meant to ask. The question had been baited. "No, thank you," Cleo said quietly. "I find I've had quite enough."

Silverware clinked. "Clever
and
careful. I'll have to watch you very closely. Indeed, it's a shame we cannot be friends. I admire clever young women."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Oh, now you're making me wonder what my son's been whispering over the pillow—"

"It wasn't... He didn't..." And then Cleo stopped, realizing that she'd walked into Morgana's trap. Very well. It wasn't as if the woman wouldn't have checked the sheets. Still, she had to recover somehow. "He's... a monster." It made her feel ill to say it, but she had no doubt Morgana would believe this lie—for Sebastian did.

"Most men are," Morgana replied with little sympathy. "That's why you cannot trust them. They believe it their right to control the world and do as they wish with their womenfolk. Even when they make you believe them to be kind, there is always that ugly beast within that can turn on you at any moment. Don't ever trust a man, my dear. Learn to use them instead."

Cleo didn't know what to say. There'd been bitterness there toward the end. "You speak of your divorce?"

"Ah, my noble husband Drake." Definitely bitterness. "A thousand promises that he made me, all of them broken."

"I thought you were involved in the poisoning of his nephew?"

"Do you know it's the one time in my life that I haven't actually been guilty of what was accused? There is irony for you." Morgana set her teacup down. "Of everything else, yes, I did it all. But... I believed Drake when he told me he would love me forever. I actually forgot, for a moment, what men were like. Let's put it down to the misguided hope of youth." Her voice roughened. "I never made that mistake again. And would you think me so foolish as to kill Drake's heir? The trail led back to me as neatly as a line of breadcrumbs. I am many things, but not a fool."

"Then who do you think did it?"

"Lady Rathbourne, I'd probably guess. She wanted my husband, but he wouldn't stray, not unless he had cause."

Cleo tilted her head. Did she dare believe the woman? "Last night I felt the collar that you have put on your son."

"He's a man," Morgana replied. "He even looks so very much like his father. How could I trust him?"

"So you leashed him instead. A self-fulfilling prophecy by the sound of it, and I would know."

There was a long moment of silence. "What did Eleanor Ross tell you?"

"I thought we were speaking of your son, and I still do not know who this Eleanor Ross is."

Morgana's smile echoed in her voice. "Well, let's play along then. Eleanor Ross is my ex-husband's mistress. Goodness, perhaps
she
murdered Drake's nephew and blamed it on me? She always did tag along at Drake's heels like a puppy. What did you tell them?"

"Them?"

"The Prime and Mrs Ross."

"How would I know the Prime?" Cleo asked. "My father's kept me locked away at his estate for all these years. I cannot see. It's not as though I've been making secret assignations with someone. How could I have even contacted the Prime or Mrs. Ross?"

"How indeed? Do you know it's always the innocent-seeming ones you have to watch? Or so I've always believed. So be it. Perhaps I'll ask Mrs. Ross?" The older woman patted Cleo's cheek. "You would be wise to—"

The second Morgana touched her, a vision sunk its hooks deep into her. Cleo dropped her teacup, distantly registering the sensation as it burned its way across her lap. She cried out, but her eyes were wide open behind her blindfold.

A dark-haired woman lay in a small dark room, her face dirty and her clothes ragged. She looked up as the barred cell door opened and then dragged herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she did. Another woman entered, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She knelt, just out of reach of Mrs. Ross's shackles, her green eyes slightly tilted and still beautiful, despite the signs of age weathering her pale skin. Her smile, however, was vicious. "So be it then. If Drake wants your bloody heart, then he can have it. In a box."

Then the vision shifted. A guillotine descended. Blood splashed against stone walls, and crows took off into stormy skies. The storm clouds swirled and swirled, circling Morgana as she tilted her face toward the sky. They were so thick and threatening, and they swallowed her whole.

Cleo sucked in a sharp lungful of air, clutching at the tablecloth as the vision left her. Porcelain smashed and cutlery chimed on the flagstones. Her heart was thundering in her chest.

"What did you see?" asked a sharp voice near her ear.

She couldn't breathe. She hadn't even felt the vision coming. Cleo shook her head and tried to regain her decorum.

Morgana fussed around her, fetching her a cup of water. It was almost laughable.

"Your own actions will destroy you," Cleo whispered, dragging the napkin off the table and patting at her scalded lap. "This is the beginning of the end for you. So perhaps
you
would be wise to be careful of just precisely who you threaten. If you kill Mrs. Ross, I will let you walk your path. I will let you fall. Indeed, you will never know if I steer you clear of it or give you a push in the wrong direction. You have been warned."