“Very nice.” Amma tipped her head appreciatively, only noting then the set of knoggelvi trotting behind the massive skeletal centaur. “You found them too?” she squealed and ran to the creatures, their leathery skin no longer hidden under an illusion, and rubbed their long, toothy snouts, receiving nuzzles in return.
“Yeah, we did, and imagine our surprise when they weren’tactually horses.” Laurel laughed, but it quickly died away. “Oh, um, who’s this then?”
Amma recognized the look Laurel was giving Diana and could practically see the half-elf’s mind working out just how she might pretend to faint to be caught by her. “That’s Damien’smother, Diana.”
Laurel stiffened but still bit her lip. “So, where’s Sir Scary-Surname then?”
Amma gestured vaguely all around.
“Shit.” Laurel slapped her hands together. “Okay, what’s the plan? All the beasties don’t seem to care about us moving around the city, I think because of the creepy not-horses and Stitches, I haveallmy poisons on me, and Perry just memorized a new spell for punching holes in things.”
“It’s only supposed to make digging a garden easier,” whispered Perry, though he straightened under Laurel’s offer of help.
“These are your allies?” asked Diana, crossing her arms, clearly dubious.
Amma nodded as she felt a pricking at the back of her eyes. It would be too dangerous to allow them to aid her, but she also knew they would not accept that as an answer, and after a last, long look at the liathau statues and a deepening of her hatred of the crown, the lot of them were headed to the castle proper.
The entry was barred by more shadows, ones the imps could safely traverse, but when Amma broke through with her staff, the others could not seem to follow. She was privately relieved when Laurel and Perry were pushed backward by the hazy mist of noxscura, though troubled that Diana too could not break through.
The priestess went for her sword, but as soon as it was even partially unsheathed, the infernals all around turned on her, gnashing teeth and bearing claws. Amma threw herself over thewoman to try and block the divine aura, and she just as quickly stuffed the sword back into its scabbard.
“I can cut through them,” Diana insisted.
“Not all of them.” Amma assessed the hazy wall only she could cross then back to the others. “I will do what I can from inside, but there is something to be done out here as well. Lady Winnifred Solonedy of Buckhead is somewhere in Eirengaard. She’s been suspicious of the crown for a while and may have information, and, I hate to say this, but I think we’re going to need someone with some noble standing to vouch for us after all of this is over.” Amma was proud of how sure her voice sounded, managing not to mention the help would only be needed if they survived.
Diana’s steely eyes roved up to the castle’s spires, anger there, but defeat as well. “You need us to find this woman? I can conjure—” Her brow went narrow. “Well, perhaps I canconvince.” The priestess went to a small flock of pigeons that could only be infernal and knelt near them. Red eyes turned on her, watching, and the woman held out a hand. One with faded plumage relented to the priestess. “I can send messages with doves,” she told them, sighing but resigned. “If one of you knows this Lady Solonedy, we can follow our winged friend here, if she cooperates.”
Amma’s heart tugged, thinking of Corben. Damien had called the magic to summon him divine—how had neither of them realized it was a gift from his mother? “Yes, do that, Laurel knows her,” Amma said, voice cracking. “And one last thing. Vanders?” In her outstretched hands, the vaxin appeared in a poof of fur. His paws were curled beneath his chin, and he peered up at her, so tiny. “Take care of them for me,” she said, giving him a kiss and handing him off to Laurel.
With only the imps gathered around her, Amma crossed through the barrier and into Eirengaard Keep. The silence in thecastle’s antechamber was even greater than in the city. Like in the catacombs, a sense of dread shrouded the room, shining eyes peeking out from the shadows. The silvery light inside her staff guided her, flickering flames in enchanted sconces dim and high on the castle walls.
Then there came a scuffing, a noise like claws on tile floors, and Amma’s stomach twisted. Abject horror burst into her memory at the sound, fear flooding her veins, telling her to run, but her legs were leaden and held her to the spot.
From a connecting chamber, they came, an entire pack skidding around the corner, fangs bared, ears back, snouts wet. Long-bodied and low to the ground, the queen’s band of miniature, herding hounds barreled toward Amma. She could feel their teeth in her all over again, biting and swarming. She had only been a child, just wanting to play, but the dogs were out for blood. They’d gotten a taste for her then, and they apparently hadn’t forgotten.
Even the infernal creatures hid in the shadows from the snarling, snapping pack. Clutching her staff, Amma froze. But at her feet, the imps were prepared, and arcana sizzled around them.
Well, the imps had been half prepared. Only having been in existence for a night, they were not entirely ready to transform, bodies morphing strangely. Kaz took on his dog form from his head to his torso, big bulbous eyes and huge, pointy ears, but his bottom half remained firmly imp. Katz, who Amma had never seen transform, did so with a little more gusto, his canine appearance a bit more believable if his ears were so long that they trailed on the ground and he had so much extra skin that it fell into his eyes. Quaz, of course, became a ginger cat instead but retained his wings.
None of this, however, impeded them from defending Amma. The imps-turned-domesticated-creatures charged, andthe entire pack swerved. The imps gave chase, and many taloned paws scurried away over the tile, the terrifying noise fading into the distance of the keep.
When her heartbeat finally slowed, Amma glanced about, truly alone then. She had felt small many times in her life, vulnerable, helpless, weak. The antechamber of Eirengaard Keep would have been dwarfing if even the others had been with her, but alone, she stared up at the doors to the throne room, hulking slabs of wood at least twenty feet high, wondering how she could even open them all by herself.
But a shut door had never stood in Ammalie Avington’s way, and she simply placed her hand upon it and asked.
The throne room was laid out before her, cloaked in the ruddy light that the eclipse insisted upon casting through the massive windows at its back. It was an imposing, monumental place, meant to inspire awe, perhaps fear, but Amma was interested only in the figure atop the throne. Damien was seated there, alone, solemn, yet even surrounded by that which intended to dwarf, he was imposing.
The carpeting muffled Amma’s steps as she drew nearer, staff swallowing itself up from her hand. The things in the shadows did not move to swarm her, only watch as she continued. Damien didn’t move, but she could hear his voice, a quiet rumble, punctuated now and again with silence or a scoff. There was no one to be speaking to, it had to be himself, but then she wasn’t terribly surprised. There had been so much talk of vessels and containment, it would have been a bigger shock for this to have not happened.
Amma reached the stairs to the dais but still hadn’t drawn his eye. She stood for a moment on the platform below, gazing upward. If she were to turn back, now would be the moment, but really, that had never been an option, and she began up the second set of stairs.
A cat hopped down from Damien’s lap, and she was hopeful for a moment that perhaps he was not possessed, that he had only been speaking to the creature, but then his eyes snapped to her, and they were dark.
“Damien?”
He was shaking his head, sitting up slowly from his slouched position, not happy to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice a whisper, desperate.
She said nothing because it was obvious; she was there for him. She reached the throne’s level and went to stand just before it, a spot no one was ever meant to take up, never so close to a king.
