Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (47 page)

No such luck in diverting her apprentice. "Lucien said you weren't breathing."

"A great deal happened at once, I believe. He probably overstated the gravity of the situation." Ianthe met Drake's dark gaze over the top of Thea's head, and he nodded, just faintly. Louisa's hand curled tightly in hers. There was no fooling her daughter. Not if she'd sensed it.

"Lou, would you like to learn sorcery with Drake?" Ianthe asked, setting both girls beside her, their backs to her pillows.

"Do I have to live with him?" Louisa asked, suddenly fearful.

"No. No, not yet. You're to live with me."
And Lucien.
But she suddenly wasn't certain of that answer. She could sense him somewhere within the house, but when she reached out—

Ianthe winced. Her head was pounding. The entire world seemed washed in too much light, too much sensation. Was this how Lucien had felt?

"There is plenty of time," Drake said, reaching behind Louisa's ear and producing a penny, of all things.

"That's sleight of hand." Ianthe rolled her eyes. "Not sorcery."

Louisa giggled as Drake vanished the penny then held both hands up, as if to dispute her.

"And it gives me leave to visit every week," he said. "To see how my granddaughter is doing. We can have her lessons then."

No doubt he intended to keep a close eye on all of them.

Ianthe sighed. "Two young ladies threatening to set my house on fire. Whatever am I to do?"

The jesting continued, but Thea held herself somewhat absent. Ianthe reached out to squeeze the young lady's hand, to try and chase away the shadows in her apprentice's eyes, as Drake tried to show Louisa his penny trick.

"I will never use Expression again." Thea's promise was raw.

It ached that this lesson had been so brutal.

"I am glad to hear it." Ianthe paused. "We shall take it slowly. I'm certain Louisa will need someone to help her adjust to all of this. It has been a trying experience for all, but mostly her. She will need you."

"You want me to stay?"

"Oh, Thea. That was never in any doubt." But she realized, looking at the girl, that it had been. Just not in Ianthe's mind. Had she ever been so young herself?

Her smile faded. Of course she had. "I tell you what, why not let us make this formal? I shall draft a document to take you on legally as my ward. I must do so for Louisa; you might as well become sisters in truth."

Thea swallowed hard. "Thank you."

As she hugged the girl, Ianthe caught Drake's eyes over the top of Thea's dark hair. He nodded, just once, but it was nice to know she was finally mastering the art of being Thea's tutor. There was so much more to it than spell craft, wards, and lessons.

"Girls, I promised you could see Ianthe when she was awake. Now, perhaps it's time to let her rest? It's been a strenuous couple of days. Maybe you could scurry down to the kitchens and see if you can get her something to eat?"

"Kisses first," Ianthe said, dragging Lou into her arms. The little girl clung to her, and Ianthe breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. "
I missed you
," she whispered, "and I promise we are going to have a lot of catching up to do once I've gotten my feet back under me."

Then she snagged Thea into the embrace, kissed her on the forehead, and told them to hurry and fetch her some breakfast, as she was now ravenous.

The door closed behind the two.

Ianthe swallowed. "I still feel like I don't know what to do. It terrifies me sometimes."

Drake crossed to the fireplace to give the coals there a poke. "That feeling never goes away, Ianthe. I think it's part of being a parent."

He wasn't saying something. "How is Eleanor?"

"Lucien's wound wasn't bleeding like Eleanor's was, strangely enough. We used the Chalice to heal her stab wound, but... the doctors believe she's suffered an apoplectic seizure. She cannot speak. She can barely feed herself, or dress herself, but she's there. I know she's there. I see her in those eyes when she looks at me, as if she wants me so desperately to understand her." He fell silent, toying with the hilt of the poker. "They think Ellie would do better if I committed her to a treatment facility."

"Oh, Drake," Ianthe whispered. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to keep her here. I will look after her myself. I owe her nothing less. She... she only went into danger in order to protect me."

"And the Order?"

Drake turned toward her, face implacable. "I cannot remain Prime. I cannot split my attention between the Order's needs and my own anymore, and I'll be damned if, for once in my life, I don't give the right priority to those who need me, to my family. I intend to resign."

Ianthe's eyebrows arched. That was unheard of, but then, what man
would
resign from a position of such power?

"But what about Morgana? What about Tremayne? The Relics?"

"Morgana is dead. The house collapsed and she never emerged. Some of my men are excavating as we speak, but I expect that thorn in my side to have been buried. Tremayne, however, remains a problem. The second the tides of the battle turned against him, he commanded his remaining imps to overrun Agatha and Bishop, and then he fled. Bishop intends to hunt him down. The Relics? Well, Bishop still has the Chalice that Agatha gave to him, and the Blade was destroyed in the conflict. I'll set him to hunting for the Wand too. Morgana shall have hidden it somewhere, I presume."

She knew him too well. His bland recital hid something that he didn't want to discuss. Too bad. That was part of having this little ragtag family of theirs. "And Sebastian?"

Drake's gaze slid to the window, staring at nothing. "No sign of him. I suspect we will find him once the excavation has been completed."

"Oh, Drake, I'm so sorry."

"I knew it was too good to be true. I'd grieved for him for so long, that when I realized he was still alive..." His stiff, proud shoulders wilted slightly. "I–I couldn't save them all. I couldn't get to him in time, and Morgana... she stabbed him with the Blade. He would have bled out." He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself. "So you're asking the wrong person what it's like to be a parent. I'm the failure, Ianthe. Not you."

"You were never a failure, Drake. Not to me."

He smiled at her, but it was empty. "Thank you. And now that you've seen straight through me, I must return the favor. You haven't asked about Lucien."

How well they knew each other. "You told me he had bonded me. I assumed he was all right." She thought about it, feeling that faint psychic touch against her. "No. I know he's all right. Limping slightly and favoring his right foot, but the wound in his side seems perfectly whole."

"Do you wish to see him?"

Yes
. Always yes. Lucien had become her entire life, filling her world with him. She couldn't wait to settle into an ordinary life with him and watch him love their daughter, and hopefully one day, herself. "Tell him I'll meet him in the orangery. Just let me dress first."

L
UCIEN PACED
on the tiled floor, tapping his hat against his thigh. A little quiver plucked at the bond that he would wear forever, like fingers rippling over cellists' stings, and he turned, his breath catching at the sight of her.

Ianthe took a hesitant step inside the orangery, dark circles still shadowing her eyes. Her skin was pale against the lavender skirts she wore, but he thought, in that moment, that he'd never seen her so beautiful. Perhaps the near loss of her only served to emphasize how precious she'd become.

They stared at each other for a long moment; then she breathed out a faint laugh that barely hid a tremble. "I must look a sight."

"You do," he said hoarsely. "You look beautiful."

Faint color flickered over her cheeks. "I told Drake that I agreed to the bond," Ianthe blurted. "I know it wasn't what you wanted, but thank—"

He took that final step toward her and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. Dragging her against him, he stole her words with his mouth.

Ianthe gasped, and then her hands locked in his collar.

A kiss to steal his senses, to sign his fate. It terrified him to think of how close he'd come to losing this forever. Kissing her had become more than a pleasure, but a sign of intimacy, a sign of surrender... That foolish bet sprang to mind. How arrogant it seemed now. A play of power between them, when they'd both been wary. He gave her that power now, gave it wholly and without doubt, surrendering everything that he was into her hands. One of them broke the kiss—him or her, he wasn't certain—and they stood against the wall, panting.

"We cannot break this bond," she whispered, still holding onto his collar.

"Do you wish to?"

Ianthe looked up, her heart in her eyes. "No. But y-you—"

"I have no regrets, Ianthe." His thumb stroked her cheek. "I want you to know that. I consider myself the luckiest man alive right now. I love you."

Ianthe looked up shyly from beneath her sable lashes. It ached that he could see the pleased sense of shock in her, as if nobody had ever told her such a thing. At least there was no doubt. She trusted him, believed in the words he was telling her, and he knew then that he would have to keep telling her such a thing over and over until she forgot all of the times she had been told she was not worthy of such.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice firming. "And I'm going to marry you. We can be a family—you, me, and Louisa."

"And Thea."

"And Thea. I had nothing, nobody. That's the truth of it. My life was dust, Ianthe, until I met you."

"The first time? When I came to arrest you." She tried to make light of it, and he realized she was still a little uncomfortable with this outpouring of emotion.

"The first time," he corrected, "when you walked into that grotto, gowned in white silk with a filigreed mask hiding those beautiful eyes. That was the beginning of us. You stole my breath. I just never realized that you stole my heart too. I mean to have all of your nights, Ianthe, and I shall give you my days. All of my days. And all of my heart." His voice roughened. "I didn't… I didn't realize how much you meant to me until you collapsed. I suspected, of course, but that moment... Nothing in my life has ever meant as much to me as you do. As Louisa does. I want you to know that."

Ianthe swallowed. "I hardly know what to say."

"Say you believe it. Say you deserve it."

Those violet eyes met his. She was hesitant. "I believe it. I deserve it. And I love you too, Lucien. I never dared admit that until yesterday, because I was frightened that it could be taken away from me."

"Nothing can take it away from us. We live together, and eventually, we shall die together, our breaths as one. Come here." He leaned down to kiss her. It was the sweetest sensation in the world, feeling her heart beating in time with his own. The kiss drifted on for long minutes, a slow and steady exploration, as if they had all the time in the world.

"To forever then," Ianthe said breathlessly when she finally drew back.

"All our days and nights," he agreed.

And for the first time in her life, Ianthe believed in such a promise—he could feel it light her up within, soaking through their Soul-bond and filling him with it too.

Forever.

EPILOGUE

M 
ORGANA COUGHED the ash from her lungs and then quivered, lying still for a moment to catch her breath—and her bearings. Something weighed her down, and the world was blackness and rubble. Every inch of her hurt, as though poison raced through her veins, scalding her from the inside out. And... and she couldn't seem to feel her toes. No, not just her toes. Her entire lower half was nothing more than numbness.

Her own son had betrayed her, and the girl, Cleo, had something to do with it. Drake had won, or no, not quite... She'd had one last hand to deal, and it was a winning hand, but where... Patting around, her heart erupted into panic. Where was the Blade? Where was her trump card?

Morgana scrabbled beneath her smoking skirts and found the hilt of the Blade there. Relief flooded through her. Her smile was a thing of vengeance. They thought they had beaten her, but she still had the relic, and now they would presume themselves safe.

After all, when one's greatest gift was Illusion, sleight of hand was but a mere trick. Sebastian's power might be brutal, but the kitchen knife that she'd wielded last night had borne the brunt of it, not the Blade hidden in her skirts. All she'd had to do was make sure the ensuing explosion felt powerful enough to hint at the destruction of a Relic Infernal.

Still, she wasn't certain how she was going to manage to get out of here.

She tried to move her legs, and... nothing.

A new fear enveloped her.

No. Not this. This would
not
be her price to pay, it would not be.

She fought long and hard, straining to force her weakened body to obey. The heavy beam across the middle of her back had no give to it, and the exertion left her panting, clutching hopelessly at the treasure in her hand, a treasure that was ultimately worthless if she couldn't force herself to escape this physical trap.

Her magic was useless, drained in the encounter.

Her body was useless.

"Damn you," Morgana cried, her forehead resting against the timber floors and a hot tear scalding her cheek. "You fucking useless piece of flesh. You bleeding little whore." Her uncle's favorite words to use against her, and she used them now to inspire that inner rage that always burned, but even her own innate fury could give her no release. "Get up!"

The door opened with a creak.

Morgana froze.

A pair of men's heeled shoes came into view and a tall shape materialized, wearing a long black cloak with a hood. His face was somewhat obscured, and she blinked away her tears, trying desperately to make him out.

The ominous click of the heels came closer. Morgana's breath caught in her chest, but it didn't matter. She was helpless.

That was when she saw his face, that bland marionette mask beneath the hood with spells of Illusion carved into the papier–mâché. Her eye wanted to follow the runes that burned with a brassy gleam, but she forced herself to meet his eyes, ignoring the flicker of an image—a young, handsome man—that the spell suggested to her weakened mind.