“Surely you understand my hesitation,” I say in Malbolge.
“I would question the truth of who you are if you didn’t hesitate,” he returns in Malbolge with a grin. Switching to common tongue with fluid ease, he says, “The Ferry Gate you need sits there.”
He lifts a long, slender finger and points to my left.
Tracing the direction, I peer over my shoulder.
“The gate beside the gatehouse entrance,” Cenviri says and my eyes fall upon it. “Unlike this gate, it will only require the blood ofonecapable of sitting upon the throne.”
My brows raise as I turn my sight forward.
“Cal Anore is a mirror of Illa Ysari,” Cenviri says and I seek the parallel gate through the darkness behind him.
But the amassed crowd makes it difficult to see. Dozens of dark fae and humans watch our every movement with sharp stares and listen to our words with keen ears. Intent on ignoring them, I study the black arches barely visible against the dark walls and shrouding shadow.
Several lie active, opened… providing glimpses into colorful lands beneath a night sky, or into darkened rooms with dim red light. But the one leading to the archives remains dark, unopened, stealing the opportunity to verify the necromancer’s words.
“I know better than to ask what it is you’re searching for,” he says, a smile curling his lips. “But once you find it, I ask you to find me here.”
“I could find what I need and leave,” I counter.
“You could,” Cenviri relents. “But I’ve the feeling you’ll have questions of your own.”
Cenviri snaps his fingers twice and a burst of hellfire swirls beside him. As the crimson flames die, a full-figured female remains. Towering over Cenviri by at least a foot, her ruby red skin gleams in the low light of Cal Anore.
A pair of black pools I used to know lock against my stare and a full-lipped smile curls her lips, revealinglong, demonic fangs. Behind her, a pair of folded leathery wings darker than a starless night tighten against her bared shoulders.
“Druka…” Ryc’s chest against my back stops me from reeling backward, but it doesn’t stop the barrage of memories flooding me.
“Hey there, moonbeam,” Druka purrs in a low, seductive roll. “It’s been a while.”
The voluptuous demon drags her eyes to Eve and they spark with genuine excitement.
“I told you dreams come true, pet,” she muses, arching a brow. “Make sure Ves returns here, to Cenviri, when she’s done. That’s an order.”
?????????????
The rickety wooden table tremors beneath Eve’s assault as she slams her curled fists against it. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. Empty, discarded glasses rattle, one falling onto its side. With a quick swipe, I catch it before it rolls over the edge and shatters.
Setting it upright, I sigh.
While we’re deep within the archives, well out of sight and earshot of the gatehouse, and Eve is welcome to let her thoughts and curses fly, I don’t want her leaving destruction in the process. I’m not interested in learning the temperament boundaries of the old magic constructs inhabiting the place.
Ryc and Cyran remain behind, at the foot of the active Ferry Gate, to ensure dark fae dare not step into Illa Ysari. Cenviri lingers with them, and I can just imagine the conversations the three of them are having.
Cyran’s cold stare comes to mind.
Well, perhaps only Ryc and Cenviri then.
“An order?” Eve asks, her incredulous tone jarring me out of my thoughts.
Her surprise… it’s warranted.
I can’t say I expected any of this either.
Drukaexistingin the living realm has left me in a strange haze of apprehension and bewilderment. I didn’t think it possible. And if it is… why aren’t there more demons seeking escape?
“Monthsof nothing and we find herhereand her first thought is to give me anorder?” Her darkened stare pins against mine.
