Page 18 of Soulbound
"There's more," Cleo announced into the sudden silence. She licked dry lips, turning to Sebastian. "You and I are the key to bringing Drake back. I don't know how. I don't know why. But I saw us. Together. And it was quite clear that if we... if we stray from each other's side... then we'll fall."
She wasn't about to mention Quentin Farshaw, or his ludicrous claim Sebastian was both the cause and the key to overthrowing the black queen. Nobody needed to know about that. His brothers, Lucien and Bishop, had only just begun to accept him and consider him less of a threat than they once had.
Sebastian looked up slowly, his face expressionless. "As you wish."
And she didn't know if he believed her, or if he thought she wanted to somehow keep him by her side.
A knock sounded on the door.
All heads turned, and a handsome gentleman somewhere in his thirties appeared, tugging off his gloves. Taller than most of the others—apart from Sebastian—he stood with a certain belief in himself that was attractive, though the dark hair and eyes certainly helped.
"Am I late?" he asked.
Clearly she had an uncomfortable fondness for dark hair, she thought, her gaze flickering to Sebastian, then back to the stranger. One glimpse of her husband's face, however, broke the spell the newcomer cast. No man was more handsome than her husband, and that wasn't mere pride speaking, but a simple truth. Sometimes she almost thought she was growing used to it. Indeed, it had been easier when she was blindfolded, for then she wasn't prone to breaking into blushes whenever she looked at him.
"Remy." Relief broke in Ianthe's voice, and she went to his side, pressing a fond kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for coming."
"Still not going to return to the theatre?" The stranger quirked a dark brow as he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.
"She had a better offer," Lucien replied dryly, resting one hand on the mantle.
The two men locked eyes, and the newcomer smiled faintly. "A shame. You always did own the stage, my dear." He examined Ianthe's face. "Though I must admit your new role suits you too. Prime of the Order? Aren't we moving up in the world."
"I sometimes wish I hadn't," Ianthe replied sadly, and Cleo knew she was thinking of the loss of her mentor, Drake, who had been the previous Prime.
"We'll get him back," the stranger said. "Now, what's all this I hear about relics?"
Ianthe swiftly introduced him to the group. Cleo had heard her mention Remington Cross, the Great Magician, but she'd thought him merely an old friend of Ianthe's. He wasn't of the Order, though there was a strange aura about the man. Power of some sort. Not sorcery, as she knew it, but he exuded an exotic sort of danger that made her a little wary.
"The Chalice," he noted, sinking into Ianthe's abandoned chair as if he belonged there. "Haven't seen that in an age."
"You've seen it?" This from Bishop.
Lady Eberhardt snorted, and she and Mr. Cross exchanged glances. Cross leaned forward, turning the Chalice so he could see the runes carved into it. "I helped create it," he said. "Or not completely. I had no role in the crafting of such weapons, but when Drake began to speak of creating something like this, he came to me to understand how to go about it."
"Remington collects rare items of magical properties," Ianthe explained. "He's the lead expert in any sort of magical relic, which is why I asked him to join us."
"You should have kept your mouth shut," Lady Eberhardt said.
Something darkened in Mr. Cross's eyes. "A set of relics to bind and control a demon? It seemed a prudent precaution, what with sorcerers over the years summoning them through from the Shadow Dimensions, with only a warded circle to contain them."
"How did they make the relics?" Cleo asked, for she'd always wondered. Her father, Lord Tremayne, had worked with Drake and his ex-wife, Morgana, to create the set.
"The Blade was forged from the iron of a fallen star," Mr. Cross replied. "The Chalice, as you can see is carved from ivory, and the Wand was cut from whale bone, and carved with runes. By themselves they are merely objects of the physical world, inscribed with powerful runes. The reason they're so dangerous, however, is because they were also formed within the dream plane—that realm that sits side-by-side with our world, and with the Shadow Dimensions. A demon can walk the dream-plane if it wills, though it cannot break through into our world. So the relics needed to be forged in both planes—physical and astral—in order to be able to kill it—"
"That's enough," Lady Eberhardt snapped. "There's no need to be spreading such information around. Once was enough."
"Where are the rest of the Relics Infernal?" Cross asked. "Where are the Wand and the Blade of Altarrh?"
"Morgana has the Blade," Bishop said. "We thought she'd destroyed it, however, she was using her illusion arts to make us believe the kitchen knife she held was the Blade."
"And the Wand was stolen by her over a year ago, unbeknownst to the Order," Ianthe said softly.
"I know where it is," Sebastian said.
The focus of the room shifted to him.
"Or I know who it was given to," he continued, looking coolly unperturbed. "Morgana needed a place to stay, and a means to find allies when she first arrived in London last year. There are few places in the city where no Order sorcerers dare trespass, and it is one of them. But she had to trade something of value in order for safe passage, and when she left she felt the Wand would be safe there, until she had use of it again."
