Grave Intentions (Darkling Mage 3)

But a woman appeared at the top of the staircase, and as she descended, the word “mundane” and all of its sibling synonyms vanished. She didn’t descend, actually. Float might have been more correct. And not in a metaphoric sense, either, because this woman, clad in a flimsy dressing robe thrown over a silk shift, was literally floating down the stairs, her body suspended a few inches in the air.

If you had told me that slow, seductive jazz played in the background as I gawked at her, I would have believed you. She was a deeply attractive older woman, the kind of lady who might accurately be described as a mother I’d like to – um, follow on social media.

In one hand she held a glass of something clear and brown. She watched me as she sipped, as if sizing me up, her eyes maintaining their searing contact over the rim of her glass. They reminded me of Bastion’s, flecked with the same brutal, unshakeable confidence. Her hair was the same blond. As Sterling and I were to find out, that wasn’t where their similarities ended.

“Mother,” Bastion said, his tone flat, but soft enough to be respectful, though not enough to be affectionate. It’s strange how much you can glean from a single word, if you pay attention.

“Sebastion,” the woman said. There was fondness there, to be sure, but it was hidden behind a thin sheet of ice. “You’ve brought guests.”

Mrs. Brandt said the word in a way that suggested we were welcome, as long as we didn’t leave with our pockets jangling with their expensive silverware.

“You didn’t have to make such a grand entrance,” Bastion said.

Mrs. Brandt held her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “Oh, was it grand?” She turned to me, then Sterling, the same mocking lilt in her voice. “Was I being grand, gentlemen?”

I shook my head, meaning to be polite. Sterling grinned, and drawled. “Oh, yeah. Grand’s one way of putting it.”

The corner of Mrs. Brandt’s lips lifted in a grin. That was a wink she gave Sterling. It must have been. I fought hard not to look Bastion right in the face to see how he was reacting, but out of the corner of my eye I could tell that his skin was going red.

The foyer was silent again. The single, perfect sphere of ice in Mrs. Brandt’s drink clinked as she took another sip. She held the glass at waist level as she floated lower, her feet finally touching the ground. The ice clinked again.

“You haven’t introduced me to your friends, Bastion.”

He scoffed. “I’d hardly call them friends. But whatever. This is my mother, Luella Brandt.” He nodded at Sterling. “This one’s Sterling. That’s all you need to know about him.”

Sterling grinned again, making no effort to hide his fangs. Luella bowed her head and returned a smile of her own.

“And this one’s Dustin. We used to work together at the Lorica.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brandt.”

“Please, call me Luella.” Her eyes widened. “And ‘used to,’ is that what I heard?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was a Hound back when I was still working for them. I have, um, a different employer now.”

Luella threw her head back and guffawed. “You see, Sebastion? There’s life after the Lorica after all.” She gripped her glass in both hands as she sashayed towards me, leaning in conspiratorially. “I tell him that he wastes his potential there, but he never listens,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone in the foyer to hear. Her breath smelled like expensive whiskey, and a hint of cinnamon.

“Mother, please don’t start.”

“Start what?” Luella held her hand against her chest again. The splay of her delicate fingers against the curve of her breastbone made her almost birdlike, and the sentiment of her words innocent. But I could see the hawkish intent in her eyes. “Start another perfectly reasonable discussion about why you’re wasting your life for the Lorica’s sake? That last incident with that Morgana woman was unacceptable, Sebastion, and if you think for one minute – ”

Luella stopped mid-breath, the talon of her finger pointed directly at Bastion’s chest, and she said nothing more. A lot had been at risk in our most recent brush with the mad sorceress named Thea Morgana, once my mentor, once my murderer. My life was in danger, as was Bastion’s, though none of us came closer to mortal peril than Asher. Luella’s lashes fluttered, and she seemed to remember herself. Sterling stood perfectly still. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.

“Not in front of guests, mother,” Bastion said. His voice came out softly, his shoulders hunched. I’d never seen him sad before. I wrenched my gaze away.

“I – apologize, gentlemen. I can get quite carried away when the subject of Sebastion’s father comes up.”

I bit my tongue as hard as I could to avoid stating the obvious. No one had brought him up. But Luella answered anyway.

“He was killed in action working as a Hand for the Lorica. We lost him years ago, but every day I remember him still.”

I didn’t know that about Bastion. I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about him, least of all that we’d both lost a parent.

Luella turned her head, her eyes lingering on the portrait over the mantle. Painted there was a younger version of herself, holding the hand of a preteen Bastion. Behind them, standing proud, was a man I imagined Bastion would look like in thirty years. He was striking, imperious, his hair flecked with gray. Power radiated from his eyes. How a painting can do that, I couldn’t tell you, but I caught Sterling staring as well.

“He was a great man,” Luella murmured. “Strong. Handsome.” She curled her hand into a fist, the ball of ice in her glass clinking as she gritted her teeth. “Vital, and powerful. One of the strongest the Lorica has ever known. He could have been a Scion.”

Scions were the highest ranking of mages in the Lorica, at least that I knew of. I’d only ever met one, Odessa, a Scion who specialized in creating mystical shields. Looking back, Thea might have qualified as a Scion as well. I never bothered to ask