Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (30 page)

"Do you know," she told her ducks, "I am beginning to grow very tired of people who think they know what is best for me."

The ducks did what ducks do best, and clamored for more crumbs. There were no allies here. Cleo gave them what they wanted, the greedy beasts, then turned toward the folly.

She couldn't help but feel haunted by what had happened there, though she stubbornly refused to touch her lips. It hadn't even been much of a kiss, after all, for she'd given it a lot of thought since it had happened, and had come to the conclusion that his kisses were all well and good, but a little more enthusiasm would have been appreciated. The next time he kissed her, Sebastian had better give it a damn good shot, or else she was not going to marry him.

Cleo sighed. That was a farce. She was going to marry him, no matter what. Firstly, she wanted out from under her father's overprotective wing, and secondly, she had to do something to help Sebastian remove this collar and escape his mother. Murdering his mother was not going to help Sebastian's troubled mind.

Cleo took one step up into the folly, then froze at the rustle of fabric. She wasn't alone. He'd come back. Hope soared through her chest, and just as she was about to call out his name, she caught a hint of perfume.

It was a woman, one who liked spicier scents, which led her to think the woman was older. Most debutantes wore floral perfumes, something that hinted at innocence.

"Hello? I know there's someone there."

Silk shifted. It had a particularly sleek rustle, which meant her visitor was most likely upper class, possibly nobility or a rich merchant's wife. "Apologies," the voice was smoky and richly toned. "I did not mean to startle you."

Well, that was twice in as many days.

Cleo couldn't sense any harm coming her way. Indeed, the day had been rather prediction-free, but she certainly wasn't going to take risks.

"I am here on official Order business," the woman said. "I was sent by the Prime, with orders that you are to keep quiet, even from your father." And for the first time the other woman faltered. "I-I have an official document requesting your help, but I wasn't aware that you wouldn't be able to see it."

A directive from the Prime. Cleo's pulse leapt. "Can you give it to me?"

The letter was pressed into her hand. The woman tried to help direct her toward the seat, and Cleo let her, just to add to the impression that she was helpless. People underestimated blind girls, and she was quite content to allow that.

Psychometry was not a particular talent of hers, but she had learned how to do it somewhat crudely. The document had been written by a man. She sensed that he was full of thoughts when he wrote it and that a great deal of trouble rode on his shoulders, but nothing else.

Could she trust this woman, this directive? Cleo opened herself up to the inner world and received a brief flash of Vision; a golden spark rising to defeat a roiling cloud of darkness, only this time, it was joined by another.

Well, that settled it.

"Who are you?" Cleo asked. "Be aware that I will be able to sense the truth in your words."

The woman hesitated.

"I don't have to help you," Cleo reminded her. "Indeed, perhaps I need assurances that I can trust
you
."

"My name is Eleanor Ross, and if your father knew I was here, he would have me killed. He denied my earlier request of visiting you. I had to sneak over the wall."

That troubled her, for Cleo had thought her father a great many things, but not a murderer. Yet the woman was speaking the truth—as she believed it. "I won't tell him. You mentioned the Prime. What does he want?"

"He received a warning that there was a young sorcerer collared and bound to another's will. His name is Sebastian Montcalm."

"What are his intentions toward the young man?"

"He wants to help him," Eleanor replied. "No sorcerer should have his will enslaved."

Cleo tilted her head, as if listening. "That's not the entire truth. Though it is part of it, I think."

"I have a small talent for psychometry. I used it to divine where the letter had come from and received some disturbing suggestions of a plot against the Prime."

"I see. May I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Why would you think that my father would kill you if he knew you were here? I had not thought him a violent man. A bitter man, yes, but not murderous."

"Your father..." Eleanor chose her words carefully, "has been responsible for at least one death. That's why he was exiled here, never to leave the grounds of his manor. It is thought that he is responsible for several others, however, there has never been enough proof to persecute him."

"He used sorcery to kill?" It shocked her.

"Yes."

"Then why was he not executed? That is a capital crime among our Order."

"He gave crucial information against an uprising against the Prime, on the grounds that he would be spared. In return, his sorcery was bound by the Order, until he is severely limited in what he can do. He can practice certain feats, but only those which an adept of the Second Tier can practice."

That would not sit well with him.

Cleo pressed her lips together. She was not a traitor, and though she didn't love her father, she wanted to. Or perhaps she wanted him to love her. But she had a duty to do what was right, and if her father was playing with another plane of existence and she knew about it, then she would be somewhat responsible for the deaths to come. "My father is going to summon a demon, I think. I overheard him perfecting his Words of Power. A demon would be able to remove his limitations, would it not?"

"It would do a great deal more than that. Could you see if your father
will
do this ritual? Could you see if—"

"He wears a warded crystal around his neck, which prevents me from seeing his future." Something that had always made her wonder. What did her father have to hide? "But I know that he's formed an alliance with a woman named Morgana. She—"

"
Morgana
?"

Cleo paused. "Yes. Do you know her?"

"Unfortunately, I've had the pleasure." Eleanor's voice was clipped. "I need to tell Drake what I've learned. This gives us even less time to prepare. Thank you. I will come again."

Cleo hesitated. "I wrote the letter."

"I know."

"If the Prime holds true, then I will work with him. I will help him stop my father, but there are several conditions I must place. He must help Sebastian free of his collar and his mother. No matter what happens or what he does under her influence, Sebastian is not to be harmed and neither am I."

"And your father?"

It hurt to say this: "If my father summons a Greater Demon, then he breaks the law. He becomes... dangerous and unpredictable, for if he does it once, then what would he not stoop to the next time? If he summons a demon, then it is upon the Prime to do what must be done, as according to our laws. I would... I would mourn my father, but he makes his choices, therefore he earns their consequences."

"You are a brave young woman."

"I don't know if I'm doing the right thing." Cleo bowed her head. "I hope that I am doing the right thing."

"If it feels like a hard choice," Eleanor replied, "then you probably are. Let that guide you, no matter what happens in the future. I'll return, when I have more information. Is this the safest place to see you?"

"It's the only time I'm not watched, however I'm supposed to be getting married this afternoon. There's been no mention of where I am to live."

"May I take a hair?"

Cleo nodded, and something sharp plucked at her head.

"With this I'll find you. If I'm not back within two days, then be very, very careful of what you do next. I wouldn't mention this visit to those who guard you; they are your father's employees, not yours."

"Oh, I worked that out when I was nine."

E
LEANOR HURRIED
through the trees that surrounded the walled garden at the back of Tremayne's estate. Demons. Good God, it was true. She needed to warn Drake.

"Hello there, Eleanor," a male voice called.

Eleanor froze briefly before turning around. Dark figures slipped out from behind trees, all of them hooded. One, two, three, four... A branch crackled beneath a booted heel behind her, and she spun, finding another man, a taller man whose face she knew.

"Tremayne." She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "You look well."

Lord Tremayne slipped off his gloves, one finger at a time. He'd aged since the last time she'd seen him, but those dark eyes were just as hard, and the smile on his fleshy lips was still unattractive. "Did you truly think that I would not have the estate warded? Granted, I cannot produce a ward these days strong enough to protect it or keep my enemies out, but I can certainly conjure one that tells me when little birds are slipping about, trying to go unnoticed."

Her gaze flickered to the men stalking nearer, then back to him. "You never used to own so much finesse."

"Yes, well. I have strong friends these days. They've been teaching me how to master myself."

"So I hear. I wouldn't have thought to call them 'friends,' however... After all, didn't the former duchess steal the Relics Infernal out from beneath your nose years ago when you thought yourself allies?" Eleanor began to slowly siphon little bits of energy, drawing in her will. Her heart pounded faster.
Foolish to have come here alone...

Tremayne grunted. "Let us just say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"And you want what Drake has, more than you want vengeance against Morgana."

"I want what that bastard
stole
from me."

"And then...?" She had to keep stalling him until she had enough power.

"Then?"

"Oh, please. Let us not pretend that you have any altruistic or forgiving qualities, Tremayne. Does the former duchess know that she must watch her back once you've defeated Drake?"

His gaze flickered to the left, which was unusual. "Nonsense. My alliance with Morgana will never be at risk."

Nobody was fooling anybody here. Eleanor raised a hand, flaming balls of energy erupting to life within her palms at a single word and searing her eyes as her mage globes formed. "Well, let us not waste time. I've learned a few things too, Tremayne."

Hurling one of them, she cast wards into place with her other, and—

An enormous wave of energy sent her tumbling, head over heels, her forehead smashing into a tree. Her sorcery flickered out, and for a moment, the world was black. Then she blinked through it, seeing a pair of men step toward her... No, it was only one, but her vision... What had just happened? Surely Tremayne wasn't strong enough to evaporate her wards like that and fling a solid burst of power at her?

"Very good, Sebastian." Tremayne sounded like a proud tutor.

Sebastian? Her skin grew cold. This was the collared one, the man who Cleo had asked her to save, a man who had just used Expression.

The man in front of her slipped his dark hood back from his face, and Eleanor's jaw dropped.

"
Drake
?" She was seeing things. He looked too young, though the dark hair was the same, and his eyes too, and... No, no, his skin was darker than Drake's, and there was a faint cleft in his chin. The resemblance was uncanny, it was...

And then she knew.

All those years of grieving, the pain she saw in Drake's eyes every June when the anniversary of his son's death grew near... The blood drained out of her face. That lying bitch.

"Afraid not, Eleanor." Tremayne stepped forward and dug a boot between her ribs.

She cried out, tumbling into the leaves. Movement swung out of the corner of her vision, and she wrenched her arms up to protect her face, but the next blow didn't land. Instead Tremayne gave a muffled '
umph
.'

Eleanor looked up.

"She's down," the cold, hard voice sounded nothing like Drake. The stranger who wore his youthful face had a hand pressed flat against Tremayne's chest. "You don't need to kick her."

"Oh, boy, you know nothing." That dark smile turned toward her, and the gloating look in Tremayne's face turned her stomach. "She's already dead. But first... we need to find out exactly what she thinks she's doing here and how much the Prime knows."

CHAPTER 18

^'
T  
rust is an ambiguous matter.'
– Old proverb

"
TELL ME about the servants again." Lucien sank into the banked seat at the restaurant. He still didn't quite know what to make of his revelation that he was possibly sharing a table with the thief, only that he needed to know more.

Or more particularly, why.

Logic said he ought to betray her to the Prime. The relic was far too dangerous to have in the wrong hands, but the other part of him, the part that knew the sensation of love whenever Ianthe spoke of the Prime, told him to wait. This game wasn't played out yet. None of this made any sense, least of all why Ianthe would betray a man she adored. He'd merely uncovered a trick hand.

Besides, he had no sense of loyalty to the Prime. If he owed anyone his loyalty, it
might
possibly be her. With a scowl, Lucien broke off one of the small lilac flowers that sat on the vase on their table, toying with the wooden stem. The color reminded him of her eyes, but the petals were far too delicate and easy to crush. That was not Ianthe. Or at least, he prayed it was not.

"The servants?" Ianthe paused with a forkful of roast squab by her mouth. So far, she'd been eating mechanically, her mind a million miles away. "What servants?"

"The Prime's servants," he replied, reaching across the table to cup her hand beneath his as her gaze drifted to the window again. "I know you can't name any of them who might be our thief, but we're making no progress here." A full morning of fruitless searching stretched behind them, in which they'd traversed half the hotels in this part of the city. Morgana might have been staying at the Windsor at one stage, but she was long gone now.