Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Power exploded through the walls of the house, flattening the rose bushes someone had lovingly tended.
Ianthe threw herself at Lucien, flinging her gauntleted fist up in front of them. Her wards invoked themselves a split second before a wave of force smashed into the pair of them, sending them cartwheeling across the manicured lawns.
When she came to, she was breathing heavily into Lucien's coat with his arms curled around her. Her entire body ached, like some enormous hand had just reached out and swatted her.
All along the street, porches tumbled from their frames and tiles slid from rooves. Startled heads popped out of door and windows to see what was going on.
"Are you all right?" Lucien demanded. She could feel his concern along the bond between them.
"Ouch." She winced in reply. "What on earth was that?"
Lucien helped her to sit up. "Expression."
Of the group, only Drake was on his feet, staggering with his hands outspread as he dispersed the ripples of pure power and grounded them back into the earth. The ground stopped shaking and silence fell, as if everything nearby had felt it. A squirrel shot past, fleeing for the undergrowth.
Adrian Bishop helped Lady Eberhardt to her feet, and the woman looked spitting mad as she pulled her skirts down over her stockinged legs. The stone lion she'd brought with her butted his head against her.
"This," said Lady Eberhardt, throwing Drake a concerned look, "this is not good. Who could draw so much power? If Morgana has that on her side, then she might be well-nigh undefeatable."
If Lady Eberhardt sounded worried... Ianthe looked to Lucien.
"It's Morgana's son," Lucien said, helping her to her feet. He nodded toward Drake. "It's my brother, this Sebastian."
"Three brothers," Lady Eberhardt muttered. "Three relics. This isn't going to end well."
Drake gasped, lowering his hands as the last of the sorcery melted away.
"Brother?" Bishop asked, shooting Lucien a hard look.
"Surprise. There are three of us." Lucien shrugged. "It's always the youngest of the family who throws the biggest tantrums. Or so I've heard." Then he paused. "Or are you the youngest? I never did quite work out where you fit in the family."
"Bishop's the youngest," Lady Eberhardt said. "His mother helped console Drake following the divorce."
Bishop ignored the pair of them. "That was not a tantrum." One of his Sicarii blades formed in his hands.
"Oh, he can get louder if he wants," Lucien replied. "Nearly buried us beneath half of Highgrove Cemetery last night."
"Stop it," Ianthe said, seeing the flash of pain on Drake's face. "And put that away," she told Bishop. "You are not killing your brother."
Bishop and Lucien traded glances that seemed to echo each other. Despite the physical differences between them, the resemblance was almost uncanny in that instant.
"How do you plan to stop him?" Bishop asked. With a flick of his fingers, the knife vanished into thin air.
Ianthe crossed to Drake's side, seeing the worry in his eyes. "Can you deflect Sebastian's power? Can you stop him from tearing the city apart?"
"Maybe," he said.
"If you had help?"
Drake considered it, then looked toward Lucien. "If someone offered up their well of power, I might be able to contain him, or disperse his sorcery if it flares again."
"It's going to flare," Lady Eberhardt said. "I can feel it building again."
"You're potentially the strongest here," Drake said, looking directly at Lucien.
Ianthe held her breath.
"And I can barely manage to tie my own shoelaces with sorcery at the moment," Lucien said bitterly. He looked down at his feet with a frown, then sighed and slowly stretched out his hand. "Take what you need. Use me as your wellspring."
A flood of heat and pride filled her. The man she'd first encountered—the bitter, vengeful duke—was slowly vanishing, leaving behind a man who weighed his sense of duty against his feelings of hate and did the right thing.
Ianthe's heart clenched in her chest and her lungs seized.
This was a man she could both admire and respect.
As if sensing it, Lucien looked toward her sharply.
"Thank you," she mouthed.
"I would not be careless with such an offer," Drake said, crossing to take his son's hand. As their palms clasped, a shudder went through Lucien and through their bond; Ianthe felt something settle over him and take hold.
"We have company," Lady Eberhardt called, turning to face the back garden.
A barrage of rampaging imps spilled out of the greenery like a flock of howling monkeys.
They were followed by a tall figure in a black velvet coat with a froth of white lace at his throat.
Two other sorcerers made their presence known, settling in behind him.
"Tremayne," Lady Eberhardt spat.
"Eberhardt," Tremayne replied. His eyes narrowed as he settled his hands around the hilt of an ebony cane, but he was smiling. "Fancy seeing all of you here."
"Told you it was a trap," Lucien murmured.
But Ianthe wasn't so certain.
"Well, it looks like someone's been dabbling in areas he shouldn't have been," Lady Eberhardt said, stepping forward.
"I was fairly certain you couldn't so much as ignite a fart in a teakettle with your sorcery restricted, Tremayne.
What did it cost you to overcome the Council's restrictions? Your soul?"
"Oh, Agatha, I always thought you said I didn't have one." Tremayne traced a circle on the lawn with the tip of his cane, pouring power through it. "But let's just say... I have friends in high places these days."
"Low places, Tremayne. Not high. And I wouldn't trust a demon as far as I could throw him. He'll eat you alive. Eventually."
"You never did have the guts to reach for power."
"I prefer good, decent common sense." Lady Eberhardt grunted and used her finger to chisel a line in the turf with a lance of pure fire.
"I must admit that hearing rumors about the Relics Infernal and then finding you involved is rather disappointing.
I grow weary of always being right about people. "
Ianthe took a few steps backward. Nobody wanted to be caught between the conflagration of whatever was about to be thrown in this vicinity. "Do you need help?" she called, eyeing the imps. Lady Eberhardt's lion was pacing in front of her, keeping them at bay, but they were starting to grow bolder.
"I've got this," Lady Eberhardt called, pushing up the black chiffon of her sleeves and facing the horde of imps.
"Bishop, you can stay right here, you can.
Drake, perhaps you'd better go see to that raging storm that's about to erupt inside.
I can feel all of my neck hairs rising again. Quite gives an old woman the chills."
"Stay here with Lady Eberhardt," Lucien insisted.
Ianthe frowned, catching at his sleeve. "I don't think that wise."
Lucien clasped her cheek, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead. "I need to stay with my father." His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes intense. "And I cannot protect you, not with my attention split."
"I'm not quite certain when it was that I needed protection," she replied tartly.
"You're Louisa's mother," he replied. "You should take care of yourself for that reason alone, if not for the fact that you're also my Anchor."
Anchor.
Her heart twisted. He would not say anymore.
She knew it. Clenching her pride tightly in hand, she nodded, then took hold of his lapels.
"And you're her father. Be careful." And then she reached up on her tiptoes, before her courage failed, and pressed a kiss to his mouth.
"You're also the man I love. Be careful of my heart, Lucien Devereaux.
I've only just given it to you, and it's quite precious to me. "
His eyes were wide, startled, as though he couldn't get used to such confessions. "Ianthe."
Biting her lip, Ianthe stepped back. A violent explosion rocked the garden as Bishop flung a wall of shadow toward Tremayne in retaliation for the explosion.
"Go," she mouthed, then turned her attention back to the fight.
It didn't matter if he didn't feel the same way.
He had given her enough of herself back.
She felt more certain of herself than she ever had.
The lion roared as it leapt toward an imp, its marble teeth crunching into the creature's bronze throat and slamming it to the ground. Lady Eberhardt's hands were moving in eerie patterns, scarlet battle globes circling her as Tremayne flung a set of his own.
Ianthe snatched power into her body, fairly humming with it.
The gauntlet tightened around her wrist as she activated it, and she flung a punch of pure power from its metal knuckles toward Tremayne's blue battle globes.
The force as they met rocked her back, her skirts streaming behind her in the wind.
Blue lightning spewed over the garden, earthing itself in sizzling spots on the lawn.
Lady Eberhardt turned black eyes directly upon Ianthe, as Lucien and Drake strode toward the front door, snatching at her sleeve. "You'd better watch your young lad's back, my dear. I did a reading this morning."
"What did it say?" Ianthe demanded, flinging another wave of power toward a pair of imps. It knocked them into the roses, and one hissed at her, crouching low behind a shrub.
"Staying behind's all very noble, but you're not the one in danger, my dear."
"Lucien?"
Lady Eberhardt's eyes flickered to Lucien, then back again. "Just watch his back. You need to be by his side. I'll keep an eye on this brother, and Drake can handle the last." Her voice softened for Ianthe's ears alone. "The brothers are the key. Three relics, three brothers, three sacrifices."
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I saw two brothers enter that building," Lady Eberhardt replied. "Only one of them comes out whole."
"Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you say something?"