As soon as these cultists see Maven, they also bow. When another of them emerges from a big tent behind the massive wooden stake, there’s no mistaking that he must be Orlando Coates. His eyes light up with unnatural obsession as soon as he sees my muse.
The middle-aged caster with slightly graying hair immediately drops to his knees, pressing animal-blood-covered hands over his heart as he gawks at her. “Daughter of Syntyche! You are so beautiful, I could die.”
“Please do,” she mutters without missing a beat, making me grin. Her attention moves to the wooden stake. “Who are you sacrificing?”
“Only a creature that will please your dark appetite,” he promises.
He snaps his fingers at some of his nearby followers, who rush quickly into one of the tents. A moment later, they pull out a changeling. At first, it’s in its true changeling form, horns and all. It hisses and struggles against its many bindings while they drag it toward the stake.
But as it draws closer, the skin of the Nether creature rapidly morphs and ripples, changing until the changeling now resembles a blue-haired young woman who leers at my keeper.
I don’t miss that both Maven and Crane glance from the creature to a spot where no one stands and back again, almost as if they are drawing comparisons to something I cannot see. A ghost, perhaps.
My suspicion is confirmed when Crane telepathically muses,This changeling must have seen her before she died. In the Nether, perhaps.
So she was a tribute sent to Amadeus by the Frosts after all,Maven agrees.
“Veriba pateris thui da’tib!”the blue-haired falsity snarls even as it’s dragged toward the stake.
I understand none of it, but Crane speaks through the bond.That is Nether tongue. It’s saying it has a message from her ‘father.’
“Enough, enough. Take it to the stake so that its life may be a suitable offering,” Coates orders, snapping his fingers more quickly when the changeling continues to shriek.
I know how much my muse dislikes changelings, but she’s studying this one curiously. “No. Let it speak first.”
The cultists glance at their leader, who looks unsure but orders them to halt. The changeling again fixes Maven with a cold, inhuman glare that makes me fantasize about ripping each of its horns off and stuffing them down its gullet.
“Imperrat teb pateris, ut retheas ad illum, recipiet semel dedit. Cavo, mon’neth gemas, telum,”the creature hisses.
Translation,Frost demands through the bond.
Crane doesn’t hesitate as he glares at the changeling.It said, ‘Your father orders you to return to him, else he will take that which he once gifted you. Heed this warning or weep, scourge.’
This creature is threatening my muse?
“Before we kill it, let’s harvest its vocal cords as a memento of the stupidest shit we’ve ever heard,” I suggest to my quintet, already stepping toward the changeling.
The others agree immediately as Coates looks hopefully at Maven. “Indeed! Would you prefer the honor of reaping its life yourself?”
“No. We’re not killing it,” Maven adds, making me sigh wistfully. She looks at the cultists again. “Give the changeling to my matches.”
Crane gives her a curious look, speaking through the bond.What do you have in mind,ima sangfluir?
It’s not a full plan yet, but this changeling might be useful. Everett, is there somewhere in the castle where we can hold it until later?
He nods.The dungeons.
Those are cushy training rooms now,Decimus points out.
No, I turned them into dungeons again while you were a feral beast,Frost explains.Dungeons are way more useful than training rooms when the world is being conquered.
The cultists shove the tied-up changeling toward us, and Decimus holds on to the struggling creature easily as Maven turns back to Orlando Coates. I dislike the way his beady eyes are so fixated on my keeper. I hope he says something we don’t like so I can tear those eyeballs out to keep him from looking at my muse ever again.
“Then, oh great demigoddess, who shall we sacrifice to earn your approval?” Coates asks, clasping his hands together like a plea as he remains on his knees.
“No one. Stand up.” Maven looks at all the other cultists. “Everyone, get up.”
They obey at once, and Coates takes a few steps closer as his gaze remains affixed to my keeper’s beautiful face. I’m clearly not the only one his avid attention is rubbing the wrongway, because both Frost and Decimus step in front of Maven, brushing elbows so she’s hidden behind them.
