Page 81 of Soulbound

"Try me, my gel." Lady E's voice cracked like a whip lash.

"I saw a man who claimed to be Quentin Farshaw in Balthazar's Labyrinth. He said he was part of some collective that watched over England's safety. He gave me the book, and he told me the black queen can be found somewhere in my past, and she has divination gifts."

Lady E merely waved a dismissive hand. "Meddling bloody Travelers."

"You know of them?" she said incredulously.

"I'm a Triad Councilor," Lady E said haughtily. "There's not very much that goes on within the Order that I'm not aware of." Thoughts swirled in her dark eyes and she looked at Cleo with a very disconcerting look. "Hmm."

"What?"

"You think you have a sister out there somewhere?" Lady E asked. "You think she might be the black queen."

Cleo's shoulders slumped. "It's the only answer I can come up with. In my dream, there was only one woman in that room and she is confirmed dead, by you. But was the child that was conceived me? Or was it a sibling? If I'm looking for the black queen, then it makes sense. A child with the same gifts I have. A child...." She looked down into her lap. A sister.

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No," she said, meeting the old woman's eyes. "And I don't intend to. Not until.... Not until I know more about it."

"Good," Lady E said, pouring them both another cup of tea. "I would keep what you have learned very close to your chest. And keep scrying. Sometimes Visions aren't quite what they seem."

* * *

Later that night, after another fruitless day of searching, Sebastian sat in the window seat, reading by the light of a small mage globe that burned above him. It was the journal, the one he wouldn't let Cleo look at. Frost gleamed on the window, though she didn't think he was aware of the cause of it.

But she was.

She was.

"We missed you at dinner," Cleo murmured, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb as she returned from scrubbing her teeth. "How does your reading go?"

He closed the book with a gentleness that belied his expression. She'd learned to recognize the gentleness as a mask. When he was emotionally conflicted, he became quieter, and yet colder. His movements became very, very careful, as if he'd burst out once upon a time and hurt someone or something, and knew better now what he was capable of.

"As expected. Morgana blames everyone but herself. I can't see what Lady E hopes for me to learn."

Then why are you so absorbed in it?

She didn't say it though. Instead her eyes took a small tour of the room.

A bottle of brandy on the vanity. A sticky-rimmed glass on the floor beside his seat. And her husband, moving with such precise, gliding movements as if he were locked down so firmly that merely moving required a conscious level of control others didn't bother with.

She knew not to touch him when he was like this. This was the man who'd faced his mother with icy rages, the man who locked his heart away and guarded it with cruel words and dangerous smiles.

Perhaps the journal meant nothing to him, as he claimed, but she didn't think so. It was cutting him to pieces, and the only method he had of surviving was to fall back into old habits.

Cleo took a deep breath. Let me in. Please let me in. She wanted to hold him so badly, even as she knew he wouldn't accept such a thing. Not tonight. I hate to see you hurting.

"I don't think she would have insisted upon it unless she thought there was some value within it."

He snorted. "Lady E probably finds it amusing."

"To torture you?" Cleo arched a brow. "Well, you're in a mood tonight."

He looked up, and sighed. "Sorry. It gets to me. What could I possibly learn about my mother I don't already know? I pity her in some ways, yes. She was beaten and raped by her uncle for years. But...."

She saw the conflict in his eyes. If Morgana had suffered so, then why had she not protected him from the same horror? Had she hated her son enough that she didn't care? How could a woman who'd been through such a thing then turn that same abuse upon her own child?

"She wasn't worthy of you," Cleo said. "The fault lies in her, not you."