“I put in a decade of work into the Obsidian Widow Maker—it’s got sentience and bloodlust and an edge so sharp you could shave Percy’s mustache with it.” She gestured with her fork to a man with about three hairs on his upper lip and none anywhere else. “But the idiot who found the damned thing went and madefriendswith it. That knight was supposed to die, Bloodthorne, a very painful and slow, soul-sucking death so that his sorrowful essence would be added to the steel and then the next nincompoop who came along and picked up the Widow Maker would have an even worse time of it, but no! The two of them are out gallivanting around to this day. It’s like you can’t keep these heroic imbeciles down!”
Amma squeaked out half a laugh before a sweet, red berry was promptly shoved into her mouth. Damien held the fruit there while he offered up a few sympathetic words to the woman and then quickly maneuvered them away.
Amma might have complained if the fruit hadn’t tasted so good, and, really, the villains were much more skilled at whining than she could ever hope to be. A man called Norasthmus covered in full body armor was telling Damien about a minor slight he had incurred. “So, do you know what I did?” he asked in a tinny voice from behind his metal mask.
“You gave them the plague?” Damien guessed, corner of his mouth ticking up.
“I gave them the plague!”
As Norasthmus laughed, the hollow sounds echoing as he threw his head back, Damien turned to her and whispered, “It’s always the plague,” to which she chuckled, and he nudged her like that wasn’t what he expected to elicit despite grinning himself.
Norasthmus dipped his head back down as the two plastered on somber expressions. “But, you know, it’s the strangest thing: they don't even care. I mean, they did care for about a fortnight, but now they act as if it’s too much of a bother to take any additional precautions. It wasn’t even a difficult plague to fight off, it just took getting bitten by these fuzzy, little creatures called vaxins who have antivenom in their saliva, but there was a whole campaign against them for one reason or another. Some of them thoughtImade the vaxins, others thought the vaxins were from a rival kingdom, and a good chunk of the villagers don’t even believe the vaxins exist! I mean, look, they do!” He held up a gauntlet-covered hand, there was a puff of smoke, and an almost perfectly round rodent with two massive black eyes and even rounder ears appeared.
Amma gasped, shoving Damien’s goblet at him to take and instinctively reached out. The vaxin jumped right into her hands. “Oh, look at him, he’s precious,” Amma squealed, scratching between its ears and making its long foot thump against her palm. “And his venom’s an antidote? Laurel would love him. Oh, Damien, can I—” She clamped her mouth shut when she saw the look he was already giving her.
“Your concubine fancies herself an animal tamer?”
Amma grinned awkwardly and nodded, and Damien gave her a withering look. “She does possess the required skills, amongst others.”
“Have that one then—we’ve got thousands. Half of the villagers act as though it’s a human right to lose a limb insteadof getting a quick nibble from one of these things and exorcising the evil from the land. At this point, I’d welcome an exorcising really, it’s all getting quite boring watching them fight one another rather than me.” Norasthmus sighed then, a heavy, tinny sound.
And then the vaxin disappeared from Amma’s hands in a poof of brown fur.
“They do that,” said Norasthmus. “It’ll come back when it feels like it.”
Damien excused them, whispering in her ear that she was lucky The Plague Bringer was so generous. She noted the upward tick to his lips. Each time she accidentally—or not so accidentally—defied him, his apprehension and sour mood seemed to lessen.
“Maybe you’re the lucky one,” she whispered back, “having such a cute concubine who can get away with anything.”
He scowled, but she could see he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek before he broke into a grin as he quickly ushered her into another hall.
The chamber they entered was filled with long tables, though no one was eating at them. Instead, they were covered with tattered banners depicting words in Key or Chthonic, crudely painted images of potions and weapons, and littered with objects presumably for sale by the merchants seated behind them.
“If you see anything you want, it’s yours,” he said into her ear, his hand shifting down to her low back as they walked through the hall. “The bill will be sent to Aszath Koth and someone there will take care of it.”
Her eyes passed over ornate scrolls, books, and a rack of ethereally glowing jewelry that gave her a vague sense of nausea. “I don’t need anything.”
“I didn’t say need, I saidwant. And as pleased as I am tohave you wrapped in only a thin layer of silk, I imagine you would prefer something that covers a bit more of this.” His hand slid down and pinched her backside.
Amma jumped, but Damien only smirked and used his hands to instead inspect a bottle filled with brilliantly green liquid that turned deep blue when he shook it.
“What’s it going to cost me?” she asked, voice low, following him.
“Nothing. As I said, Aszath Koth will pay, so you may have anything you like.” The next table was covered in cages filled with orange-skinned lizards, the stink about it so thick it could practically be seen. One burped, and a puff of sulfuric smoke wafted out. “Well, preferably things that aren’t alive—that vaxin’s enough.”
Amma eyed a display of sharp things that could be tucked away. She took a careful step toward them, running a finger along the edge of the table. She’d crushed her crossbow, her dagger had been stolen, and the knives there were making her nostalgic for the safety of a weapon strapped to her thigh. Then she noted the prices, and though she never had a good sense of the worth of gold, the numbers made her recoil right into Damien.
The blood mage, however, kept her in place between him and the table. He reached over her shoulder and picked up a dagger, unsheathing it to reveal a blade carved with filigree so that it appeared to be lace turned to steel by way of arcana. He tested the sharp edge on a finger, and it drew quick blood. “Beautiful, delicate, sharp,”—he turned it over, and the blade caught the blue lights in the hall—“it’s your perfect match.”
She shook her head but was entranced by its curve and point. “By Sestoth, it’s even silver, isn’t it?”
“Well, that makes it an easy choice. Room seven.” He handed it off to the merchant, then guided her on. “You’ll need a holster,yes?”
“Oh, Damien, I can’t—you can’t.”
“I can do whatever I want, Amma; I’m a dark lord, and this is Yvlcon.”
She swallowed, clasping hands in front of her. “Fine, but I’m not doing anypostern-gatestuff to reciprocate.”
