Page 132 of Shadowbound

"I would have you wield a weapon against him that is of his own making."

Morgana frowned.

The demon leaned closer, its breath scalding her ear. "Sebastian is the key. Wield him. Break him. Use him. And destroy the father."

In the end, there was no choice. "You have a deal," Morgana whispered. "But how do I control Sebastian?" The ring had burned through her finger, taking the flesh with it and leaving the stump cauterized.

The demon smiled. "Oh, I have an idea about that."

This dream was new.

Cleo sat at a small table in a room with no walls, a room of infinite dimensions. The black and white checkerboard of floor tiles seemed to stretch into the distance where mist obscured it, and the ceiling was made of the evening sky with the rosy taint of sunset darkening to midnight from one end to the other. Stars and constellations gleamed, and yet, seemed somewhat watchful.

She looked down. She could see her hands, which meant no blindfold, and she knew, in a deep part of herself that she was both awake and yet not awake.

"Your move," said a hollow voice across from her, and she realized there was a cloaked figure sitting there, draped in midnight silk. It could have been man or woman, she wasn't certain. At this moment, it seemed difficult to even guess if it was human.

"My move?" There was a chessboard between them with intricately carved figures. If she looked closely, she could see the faces on the white figures were people who she knew from previous visions: Miss Martin, Lucien, the Prime, and two others she didn't know—a young man as bishop and an older lady as one of the knights. The White Queen had a blindfold on, and she was guarded by Sebastian, whose face was rendered above the White King.

Clearly the board was meant to represent the battle between the Prime and his enemies, but she hadn't expected to be the one making the moves.

"Of course you make the moves," the entity opposite her intoned. "You're the one who can see the future."

"But these aren't pawns. This isn't a game."

"It's always a game. What you mean is that each move has a consequence you don't want to pay. Now make your move."

Her hands began sweating in her gloves. The Black Queen wore Morgana's face, and the Black King was her father. Both of the Black Knights had circled the White King and were threatening one of her pawns. She couldn't see who it represented, but she knew she had to save it.

Reaching out, she hovered over Sebastian. A little tingle of wrongness echoed over her skin. It was instinctive to reach for him, but she trusted her senses. Slowly raking her hand over her pieces, she felt a little quiver against her prescience, a tingle that echoed over her skin.

Cleo swallowed hard and moved her bishop.

"Interesting move." The entity wore a smile. He—and it was definitely a he now—crooked a finger, and his black bishop slid toward hers, stopping directly in front of it.

The black bishop was a woman, one glancing over her shoulder, even as she hid something within her waistcoat. She wore men's attire with tightly fitted breeches, but her figure was most certainly feminine, and her hair was knotted into a crown of plaits. The only abnormalities were the shackles at her wrists.

"Who is she?" Cleo asked.

"You shall discover her identity soon enough." The entity bowed his head to her. "Until we meet again, Cassandra."

The world spun, the room vanishing around her, and then—

With a gasp, Cleo sat bolt upright in her bed. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and the familiar rustle of the linen bindings over her eyes reminded her of where she was—safely nestled in a bed at the inn that Sebastian had removed her to before he'd retired to his own adjoining room. He was hurt, his senses obliterated by the backlash of power, his hands torn and ruined, and his wound newly healed, but he wouldn't allow her to see to him, the fool. Whatever she'd done to him at the house had disturbed him.

With a sigh, Cleo lay back down, drawing her covers up around her chin. What on earth had that dream meant? It belonged not to the realm of precognition or foretelling, but had felt as if it had truly been real.

Something moved, a slow creak, as a floorboard shifted beneath a stealthy foot.

Cleo froze.

"Hello? Is anybody there?"

Skirts swished, and then a hand clapped over her mouth as she tried to scream. "Surprise," Morgana whispered in her ear. "I think you should come with me and be quiet about it. I wouldn't want to have to cut my own son down when he sleeps so heavily in the next room, his mind and body battered by exhaustion." The hand pressed firmly over her mouth as Morgana leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't make a sound, or I'll kill him, I swear. Do you understand?"

The hand over her mouth lightened until only a silencing finger pressed against her lips. Cleo thought about her options, her heart hammering in her chest. Sebastian was injured. She'd almost had to carry him up the stairs herself, his power bleeding all over her and every step earning a wince from him. He was in no state of mind to deal with an intruder, even one without power.

And she had the suspicion she was not going to be harmed. Morgana wanted something from her.

Cleo nodded.

"Good," her kidnapper gloated. "Now come with me."

"White Queen in check," whispered the entity, in her mind.