Nothing happens.
Well,fuck.
Five males in dark red robes rush the gate and Eve, Ryc, and Cyran do the same, weapons drawn. This’ll be a quick and losing fight if evenoneof the five is a bloodmancer.
“Stop!” My shouted Malbolge command bursts through Illa Ysarias I step before Ryc, facing the line of dark fae.
They freeze, not expecting their own language.
I havesecondsto give them further pause.
But in order to do that, I have to show Ryc, Eve, and Cyran the truth of the demon they’ve kept in their company. I have to show them who I once was—the demon I wanted to leave in the hells. The one I never wanted to be again.
I have to be her here.
Otherwise we’re going to die.
“You dare approach the eldest daughter of death?” I snarl the question, the language of the hells filling the expansive room with a guttural and punctuated sound. “Where is the reverence I am due? Where is your Patriarch?”
Eyes narrow across the line.
But they do not move.
Who I was… she’s far too easy to find.
I don’t expect to be recognized by Cerwidens. I was never assigned reapings within the blood magic scarred lands.
But surely they recognizeVaelyn. Our traits are similar enough, there’s no mistaking our relation. And beyond that, surely they know what I’ve done.
My pounding heart drums in my ears and I resist the urge to heave a sigh. They have to believe my seemingly wild claim to some small degree, otherwise they’d be through the gate and we’d likely be dead.
“If what you claim is true, our House Patriarch will be honored to receive you,il-akiv,” the male standing in the line’s center says and his sharp eyes rake over me. “But if what you say is a lie, you’ll find death the preferable end.”
The threat isn’t an empty one.
But I return it with an icy smile.
“You will bring him to me, General,” I demand, holding his violet stare, “else find the same Fate as Netharis.”
“First General,” the male corrects in a low snarl.
“The longer I wait, the longer I draw out your death, mortal,” I reply in cool, even tones.
“Zirzol!” a deep voice booms in the dark with the powerful warning. “Standdown. Let me lay eyes upon those who have taken Illa Ysari.”
The line of dark fae breaks, sweeping themselves into two rows. Another male approaches with swift and silent steps. His black and crimson robes swirl about his feet, a long silver braid decorated with black beads and adorned with small creature skulls swings behind him. Dozens of tiny jars tied to his waist along the length of several ropes tinkle with each step, their contents likely rare ritual materials.
As he draws closer, the large House brand inked over the center of his exposed and muscular chest becomes clear—Lord of Blood.
The blood in my veins turns to ice.
Iknowthis mark—I know this House.
I’ve met its Patriarch once before—mere days before I escaped the hells.
This is no random House in Cerwiden.
This is thedominatingHouse.
