“No, itwasfun,” Damien admitted, side of his face twitching. Scarcely able to believe it had only been hours ago and not moons, he remembered the blood that had gushed from Cedric’s arm, the hundreds of undead soldiers piling in, and the flush to Amma’s cheeks when he had stolen her away. Nowthat—that had been exceptional. How her body had felt against his, how she had so breathlessly answered him with an eagerness to being taken. And then when the chaos was behind them how she had run her fingers up the back of his neck, how she had told him what he’d done with his blood magic and infernal arcana was wonderful, and the way her blue eyes had sparkled at him in the dark, hungry and full of admiration.
“What’s wrong, son? Did that little Shadowhart prick drug you?”
Damien tugged the corners of his mouth down, eyes flicking to the plate of food and back. “No, Dad, I’m not that stupid.”
“Huh, well I’ve never seen you look so cheery, so I thought—”
“Nevermind. I just needed to explain that I’m off schedule.”
Zagadoth’s eye blinked, waiting. “And?”
How his father was so perceptive from another plane of existence was beyond even Damien’s arcane abilities. “And…I think I might need some advice.”
Zagadoth chuckled, a warm, homey sound that reminded Damien of being very small and safe and made a different kind of ache rise up in his chest.
He pushed whatever that feeling was right off the closest theoretical ledge. “I’m considering something. Something that might be idiotic.” He rolled his shoulders against the bed, arm throbbing from holding up the crystal shard. “We spoke before about calling in assistance from allies, but have you ever worked with someone you shouldn’t have? Formed an alliance with an enemy?”
Zagadoth was quiet a long moment. After telling him he was in the Chthonic Tower, there was no hiding that Damien was speaking about Xander, the son of Birzuma, who Zagadoth famously loathed, and in turn who Damien did as well. The hatred was as inheritable as the infernal powers in his blood. Zagadoth’s brow narrowed, pupil going sharper, and Damien’s grip on the crystal tightened, swallowing. Then the demon lord said, carefully, voice taut. “Yes, I did. Once.”
Damien’s stomach clenched, unable to parse out what was coming next. He tried to inject casualty into his voice, but it only cracked on the words. “And how…uh, how did that go?”
Zagadoth’s piercing gaze softened, and he sighed. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”
Smacked right in the face, Damien cried out and jolted upward, heart racing. Then he swore and grabbed the occlusion crystal shard from where it had bounced across the bed. His weakened grip had dropped the bloody thing right onto his face. Rubbing his nose, he held the crystal up again and squinted at Zagadoth’s eye. “Sorry, Dad, I—”
There was a mumbled, fuzzy sound, and the eye blinked in and out.
“Father?”
“…juice…stronger…”
Damien shook the crystal, but he could feel the magic draining out of it. “Shit, this damn thing’s almost out of arcana.” He listened a moment, but could only hear Zagadoth faintly, though whatever he was saying sounded jovial enough. “Sorry, Dad.” He swiped a hand over the crystal, and the eye was gone.
Damien fell back again. It was inevitable that the crystal would lose most of its ability to connect back with the rest of it in Eirengaard once the shard was taken out of the Infernal Mountains. It also didn’t help that Damien was currently so weak.
“Enough,” he said again to himself, shoving the shard back into its protective satchel and stripping off the rest of his blood stained and uncomfortable clothing before climbing into the bed. He lay there, staring at the ridiculous ceiling mural, arms crossed over his chest, suddenly angry, but with what? Xander? His father? His own dwindling power?
He rolled to his side, the bed chamber’s door in his view as his lids drooped. He imagined passing out into the parlor and knocking softly on Amma’s door, being invited inside, attempting to explain. There were imagined tones of Amma’s voice in his mind, soothing and sweet, because surely she would understand, she would accept things as they were no matter how terrible, because she was soft and compassionate and forgiving and…and she deserved so much more than whatever the fuck he had dragged her into.
CHAPTER 3
MEASURING THE MIGHT OF REEDS
The morning came dull and heavy, the curtained window in Damien’s bed chamber of the Chthonic Tower letting in no light. When he pulled it back there was little to see but a ruddy landscape and a gloomy sky threatening rain. Just how he should have liked it. There was a plunk against the window as the first drop fell. Even better. But Damien’s insides were twisted into knots, and he would bet it had little to nothing to do with the food Xander had provided the night before.
There was a trunk full of clothing at the foot of the bed, all black, thank the basest beasts, and not even ill-fitting, but not entirely his style. The tunic didn’t button or tie all the way up, and the pants were tight and hip hugging, but none of it should have been a surprise when Xander was choosing what they’d wear. Damien bathed quickly and dressed, and then he dragged himself out into the parlor where Kaz had been huddled under a blanket before the arcane fire in the hearth. The imp immediately jumped to attention.
“Master! The shadow imps have been in.” He was hissing and nervous, claws clacking. “They left food. I haven’t touched it for fear of poison, but I would be willing to take the risk for you, and there is a message from thatnasty—”
Damien lifted his hand, hushing the imp as the door to Amma’s chamber cracked open. She stepped out into the room carefully, head bent and eyes flicking away as soon as they landed on his face. Much sleeker than the ball gown she’d worn the night before, Amma was clad in a deep sapphire dress that wrapped around her body and looped over her neck, arms and shoulders bare. The skirt fell to the floor in a clinging, silken wave, and when she took a step, her bare leg peeked out a slit running up from the floor to just shy of her hip. She had her silver dagger strapped to that thigh.Smart girl, he thought, then realized she must have armed herself before going to her parent’s banquet if she had it still. His chest hitched.Bloody brilliant.
Amma tugged the skirt back over her leg, head still bent, gnawing on her lip. She’d pulled her hair into a thick braid over her shoulder, slightly damp, face clean and pink. “Good morning,” she said, voice breathy as she shifted the Lux Codex to cradle it right up against her body.
Fuck me, thought Damien, mouth going dry as he wondered if there were a spell to change himself into a book, just for a moment. And there was yet another complication for the day. “The note,” he said, pulling his eyes away from her.
Kaz scurried over and pressed a piece of parchment into his hand. It was written in an overzealously loopy script, almost impossible to read for its flourishes, but Damien could ascertain from Xander’s too-formal message, that their presences were requested in “the study.” Damien crushed the paper in a fist and sighed, looking back up at Amma. “We’ve been summoned.”
Together, they exited the parlor. A shadow imp was waiting for them, and they followed it silently as it dodged and skittered around the balcony to the stairs, its amorphous body shifting all the while from shady alcove to gloomy corner. Down one winding flight to the next balcony, there was a set of double doors that the wispy creature phased through. The doors opened themselves with a smattering of broken smoke and shadows onto a large chamber.
