Page 10 of Soulbound
The black queen. She hesitated, and then told Ianthe everything, including the sighting of Morgana in the Labyrinth.
"Who is the black queen?" Ianthe asked, when she'd finished.
"Two sides of the same coin," she replied gruffly. "Which I'm taking to mean she has divination talents. She's connected to Sebastian somehow. Perhaps... an old lover. I don't know. I do know the demon's been courting her for a long time. The mirror said she hadn't decided whether she wanted to commit to the Light or to the Black Arts yet."
"The only one who might know is...."
"Sebastian," Cleo whispered, for none of it made any sense.
Her vision had always shown him at the center of the storm. His uncontrollable powers set it off. Didn't they? But if Sebastian was the one who brought London to its knees, then how was he the key to saving it?
Ianthe's dark brow quirked, as she took in the glass all over the room. "I know you two have had your differences for the past month, but I think it's time we summoned your husband here."
Differences? Cleo looked away. He'd practically abandoned her after the loss of his father to the demon. But they didn't have time for hurt feelings. "Agreed."
Chapter 3
'There are three types of bonds a sorcerer can use; a wellspring bond, where one sorcerer can hand over power—and control—to another; the bond between Anchor and Shield, which is somewhat more reciprocal; and a soul-bond, that rare bond that can be created between lovers, allowing them true connection. Forever.'
* * *
—Lady Eberhardt's transcription on Soul-bond's
* * *
"CONCENTRATE," ADRIAN BISHOP snapped, rapping Sebastian's knuckles with his humming quarterstaff. "You don't have time to be woolgathering. Or your mother will rip your throat out the next time she comes for you."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, and he shook his fingers as his staff vanished into nothingness between them. Sometimes he could really grow to hate this half brother of his.
"My mother would have to find me first." Gathering his brewing power, he forced himself to visualize the staff of raw energy in order to reform it. "And if you're resorting to using that bitch's name in an attempt to trick me into an emotional reaction, then you're not going to win."
"Oh?" Bishop arched a mocking brow as Sebastian's attempt to reform his own quarterstaff flickered... and failed. "Are you certain of that?"
It wasn't his mother, Morgana, who was plaguing him.
"Certain."
"Where's your head today then? For it's certainly not focused here."
There was no way in hell he was going to answer that.
"My head's in the game," Sebastian said coldly, facing his half brother with empty hands. "There's nothing I want more than to learn to control my sorcery, so I can bring my mother to heel."
"Truly?" Bishop stalked a slow circle around him. "You've been making so much progress in controlling your power. But today.... One would almost think some emotion was plaguing you, making you revert to Expression. You can't even form your staff right now, can you?"
"Like this?" Holding his hands out, Sebastian forced himself to imagine a glowing staff of pure energy in his hands, and breathed out the power word he'd chosen to form raw energy into sorcerous matter. Bishop had been teaching him to harness his will, rather than rely on the emotional energy of Expression.
Expression could be dangerous, especially when you could tear a house into pieces at a single angry thought. It was better this way, learning to rely on repetitive rituals, power words, and meditation to work sorcery. Safer. But he still fell into old habits whenever his temper roused.
Bishop stalked him in a slow circle, a faint smile curling his lips when the glowing staff sprang into being, flickering hazily before Sebastian reinforced it with pure willpower.
"Like that, yes. Now let's see what you can do with it." Twirling his hands, Bishop manipulated his own staff.
Both staves cracked together with an electric hum. Physically, Sebastian was larger than his half brother, and slightly stronger. But Bishop moved like a predatory leopard, with a careful calculating grace. Every move he made seemed to have been carefully mapped out in an advance campaign Sebastian only ever discovered, when it was too late. Sebastian felt Bishop's quarterstaff yield infinitesimally, and took the opportunity it presented.
Crack. A wild swing. Another.
Bishop leaned back, his spine bending to an extraordinary degree as Sebastian's staff swept over him.
