Lucky Rabbit

Preston and Felicity spent that night gathering everything they could without waking the servants. It was determined that Nyssa, the Apparition Preston had assigned to serve his wife and son, would go with Felicity and Pierce. She was much weaker than Nox, but if something happened on the road, she could probably keep them safe, and she was just strong enough to be wound into the spell to create a new Avington House, if and when they got a chance.

The next day, they told Pierce that they were going to play a game of hide and seek. He and his mother were going to leave together, and Preston would follow later and try to find them. After two years apart, the boy barely remembered his father and viewed the stranger now living in his house with suspicion, so he was happy enough to go off with his mother and leave Preston behind. It sent a pang of misery through Preston to see his son watching him so warily, but at least if things went wrong, the boy wouldn’t mourn him for long.

When the time came, Preston led Felicity, Pierce, and three horses off the estate beneath what he thought of as his Shadow Cloak. Few elementalists could have managed to cover so many people and animals, but Nox was strong – almost strong enough to be a Tier Four elemental – and with Nyssa there too, Preston managed it. Nyssa would be weak for a day or so, but Felicity was smart and capable. She would keep them safe until the elemental recovered and they could move more quickly.

Once his family was gone, Preston returned home and sat alone within his empty bedroom. Anyone they told about their plans was at risk, as well as being a possible leak, so they’d claimed that Pierce wasn’t feeling well, and Felicity was taking care of him herself. Preston’s job was to get rid of the food the servants left for his absent wife and child so no one would guess they weren’t there.

The day passed at a crawl, with Preston waiting to hear that someone had found his family wandering the countryside. He believed in Felicity, but couldn’t help but feel like something would go wrong at any moment. Nothing happened except that a few of the servants commented on the silence within Pierce’s room, and said they were glad he at least didn’t have the wracking cough that had been going around lately.

That night, Preston took a sleeping draught, because he would need his energy for the next day.

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The next day, Preston attended court, trying to look as natural as possible, though he felt cold and distant, watching the proceedings as if through the eyes of a stranger. Lawrence looked even worse than Preston remembered. His skin was gray and his eyes sunken. If someone had managed to convince Preston that there was a Bound in the room, he would have guessed it was his cousin. But Bound were definitively dead, and Lawrence’s pulse still beat feebly at his temple and his throat.

The king slumped in his throne, looking like a sickly child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes, something that Preston and Lawrence had actually done when they were small. Preston remembered his cousin’s gap-toothed smile, the royal crown sagging over one ear as his father, King Walter, tossed him into the air. How had that blithe boy become this weak shadow of himself?

But Preston knew, and every time his gaze fell on the woman in the other throne, he felt hatred boil up inside him. Was this what Felicity had felt all along? How had she borne it, seeing the queen grow stronger and stronger even as the king faded? Why hadn’t Lawrence paid attention as his wife’s letters became less frequent and more guarded? Why hadn’t he come home?

Now it was almost too late. Hopefully only almost. Lawrence hadn’t had anyone killed today, hadn’t created any fresh Bound, but he was in an almost manic mood, his fingers shredding the arm of his throne with constant, obsessive scratching. One of his fingernails had broken, and blood stained the grayish fabric, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s it?” Lawrence asked, peevish. “Why did I bother coming here?” He slapped his palm against the padded arm of his chair, causing bits of escaping fluff to explode outward through the hole he’d torn in the fabric.

Everyone in the room froze, desperately trying not to catch their king’s attention. Somewhere in the crowd of nobles, someone gave one hysterical giggle before a slap rang out, silencing them. Lawrence’s gaze sliced in that direction, and Preston cleared his throat.

“My son is ill, and my wife tends him, Your Majesty,” he offered deferentially. “I hoped we might dine together tonight, as we used to do.”

The old Lawrence would have laughed, would have asked if Preston just wanted to avoid becoming ill himself, but this remnant of a man glared, yellowed eyes furious. “So you spend time with your king only when it’s convenient to you?” he demanded.

Preston went down on one knee. He was the only person in the room wearing armor, other than the silent, helmeted guards he now believed were Bound, and his poleyn clanked as it struck the flagstone, echoing in the silent room. At least the blood had been cleaned from the floor.

“I am your servant, my king,” he said, the words ashes in his mouth. “I attend at your pleasure. It’s only that I haven’t spent time alone with my cousin in so long, and I miss him.”

Lawrence stared, then managed a nod. “I will grant it. If we’re done here,” he swept a final look around the vast chamber, “then let us withdraw.” He held out a hand and Cyra took it, helping him to his feet. Without bothering to dismiss the nobles, they left, and Preston followed them.

The next several hours were some of the most terrible of his life. Lawrence called for wine, then had Preston tell him stories of the battlefield, seeming to relish tales where his army overwhelmed their enemies, killing all in their path. Preston himself was an officer, of course, but his job was to scout ahead and create battle plans, then hang back and give orders during the battle itself. He was a tactician, not a true soldier, and tried to win in the most bloodless way possible. Still, he spun tales of gore and violence for his cousin until the other man’s head began to droop.

When it became obvious that Lawrence had fallen asleep before the promised meal, Cyra stood, her face as expressionless as a mask. “You will go now,” she told Preston.

He hesitated. There were guards outside the door, but none in the king and queen’s private sitting room. Could he kill them both before the Bound could stop him? But if he did, he would be dooming everyone in the palace to a terrible death. Without their master, the Bound would go wild, murdering everyone.

No, it was best to leave Lawrence alive, and hope that the king would release his Demons before they drained him to death. Besides… Preston’s gaze lingered on his cousin’s profile, relaxed and somehow more himself in sleep. Preston could kill Cyra, yes, but even now, he didn’t think he could bring himself to snuff out the life of someone who had been a brother to him for most of their lives. Standing, he bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

He made his way back to the hall, nodding to the guards, who didn’t respond, then walked around the corner and vanished. Lawrence would sense Nox, would probably even sense Preston’s Shadow Cloak, but Preston didn’t need magic when he had memories. Reaching past a vase of wilting flowers, he pressed his fingers against a stone that had once been just at the eye level of two nosy boys.

The wall slid open with a soft grinding noise, revealing a passage that was part of a series of tunnels that led out of the castle, ending in the hills beyond the city walls. It took a Dark mage with noble blood to pass through each of the checkpoints along the way, so it was obviously an escape tunnel for some past king or queen who had been less than certain about their continued rule.

The important thing, however, was that this part of it was purely mechanical, so there was no way anyone could detect it by sensing spells or elementals in the walls. It also connected to the royal quarters, and specifically the bedchamber where Lawrence and Cyra slept. Unfortunately, the only way to access it was by getting at least this close to the king and queen’s private quarters, so Preston had first had to be invited into this part of the palace.

As soon as he entered the dark tunnel and closed the door behind him, Preston summoned Nox. The shadowy elemental appeared instantly, and Preston murmured, “You must stay here unless I call you. If they sense your presence, I’m dead.”

Nox’s blurry head swayed forward, and Preston released both his Shadow Cloak and his near-constant, faint connection to Nox. Most of the time, Preston gave the elemental as much of his own magic as he could spare, then took that back when he needed more power himself, but Lawrence had always been a talented mage. If Preston’s cousin sensed the elemental’s power, it was all over.

Creeping through the walls, Preston drew on habits that were nearly two decades old. Turn here, take two paces into empty space, then reach out and find another wall. Follow that one until it turned. The space smelled musty and absolutely no light reached it, making Preston feel like he was walking through black sludge. He missed the Light orb he and Lawrence had used to illuminate their way in their youth.

He couldn’t see when he reached the bedroom, but he knew. Just as Lawrence could have, Preston sensed his cousin’s magic, thick and fibrous, reaching out and away. Without any distractions, Preston could also tell there was another source of Dark magic in the room. It was difficult to sense, like seeing the first light of dawn through heavy curtains, but when it moved, his eyes followed it, even in the absolute darkness.

How long he stood there, he would never know, but finally that extra source of magic moved away, too far to still be in the room with Lawrence. Preston waited only a moment before his hand unerringly pressed against a bulge in the wall. Another door slid open, and Preston stared out into the dimly lit room that had once belonged to King Walter’s wife – and Preston’s aunt – Queen Adelia. Now, the bed was occupied by a shockingly small shape: Lawrence.

There was no time to second-guess himself, so Preston glided forward, just as he had so many times before, only this time he wasn’t gathering intelligence for a mission. No, this time his swift fingers drew aside the edges of Lawrence’s nightshirt, revealing a golden chain that trailed beneath the cloth. Pulling it out, Preston dipped his fingers into the pouch at his own waist, removing a set of snips he’d used more than once to cut away sharp pieces of damaged armor. He tugged the chain up just enough to get the snips around it and cut, then slid the pendant that had been hidden by the king’s clothing out into the open. It fell into his palm, and he froze.

It was strong. Incredibly so. Whatever the thing was, it held more Dark magic than he would have believed could exist in the world. With this, he could crush Lawrence like an insect and take the throne himself. No one would be able to stop him. No one would even be alive to stop him.

He closed his fist around the thing, feeling the sharp edges of a stone dig into his flesh. It was like holding a handful of worms, wriggling and writhing within his grasp, longing to escape. They would help him. They would crush his enemies, kill all who opposed him, and all they asked was-

Preston gasped, his arm trembling as he pushed the terrible thing into the pouch that had held the metal snips. It felt like the skin of his hand peeled away with it, and he clutched the appendage to his chest, wanting to sob with the pain. He had had a hole large enough for a man to shove his arm into blown through his abdomen, but somehow this was worse.

On the bed, Lawrence began to moan. His hands rose and clawed at his throat, the torn fingernail drawing livid red scratches on the pale skin. His eyes flashed open, and they were black, just black – depthless pits that stared straight at Preston. “Thief!” he shrieked, and Preston fled, taking the stone with him.

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