I hooked a finger under her chin and lifted Darthy’s gaze to mine. “Stay certain.”
I leaned forward and kissed her lips, shooting a breath of black smoke into her.
To the orchestra of her yelps and shrieks, I set my forearm atop Carmine’s again. He’d already healed, and though his gaze burned into my face at first, he gradually focused on our path.
We walked on.
Out of the banquet hall.
Back to my prison in his personal chambers.
I hated every part of this, but none of this act was for me, really.
5
I sat on the leather couch and stared at the painting of the monster and his reflection that I hated, though I didn’t see it at all this morning. My thoughts were on the person who was locked up miles under my feet in the stony peak. My sister was withering away in a dungeon.
Since I’d discovered the truth, my mind had conjured every nightmare of how she might have been treated in that time.My twin.Locked in a demon dungeon for five years.
Carmine had done that to her, knowing what Tempest meant to me. When he’d confessed to murdering my family, he had purposefully omitted that part. If Carmine had wanted to earn my favor again, releasing Tempest was the perfect way to do so, and yet he’d never done that either.
What did he plan to do with her? Why must she be locked away?
This was when my magus side tried to make sense of everything using magus rules. Maguskind believed in the mother, a higher power who delivered our power and pulled the strings on a universal level. I believed in her still, and I also wished that she’d mated me to an accountant, or perhaps matedmy mother to an accountant. Then my family would still be alive, and Tempest wouldn’t be in a dungeon.
Every moment I sat on this couch was a betrayal to my twin, mother, and grandmother. There had to be a way back into Tiers, but two hours in this spot hadn’t revealed that, other than the idea to use the mating ritual against Carmine.
Except that would be againstmyselftoo. There were reasons that I didn’t wish to tie more strongly to him.
Tempest, I could really use you right now.
Was that the answer? I needed Tempest.
If I could access my sister’s demon, then she could guide me with that weaving magic she had always used to form her convoluted plans. I had intuition, yes, but only in the moment.
Beyond buttering Carmine up, I had nothing. Nothing to force his hand, and begging for it wouldn’t work either.
Without her magus side, could Tempest still weave her magic in the series of knots and braids that helped her decipher everything? Only the demon part of her remained, and I couldn’t guess what state she was in. I could only imagine having my magus ripped away. Did a person exist after that?
I dragged a hand over my face and dropped it as the door opened.
Gratia.
“Syera, are you prepared for battle?” she asked.
The first time I’d heard that question, my mouth had dried. After several weeks here at sixteen, I’d realized that was the demon version of “How are you?”. The question could be an insult when insinuating a demonwasn’tprepared for battle. To be unprepared for battle was about the worst thing a demon could be.
Carmine’s sister had asked the question in a pleasant enough manner just now. While I could still see her burning dislike, I could also see any number of other aspects I’d been too youngto notice about her. I saw the grace she’d been trained to have. I saw her power and privilege in her slight smirk. I saw intelligence and cunning as she scanned the room, and I saw uncertainty too. Buried deeper—nearly as deeply as my sister was buried underfoot. Gratia didn’t know what my presence meant. She didn’t know what my presence meant for her brother, nor her family. She didn’t know who I was any longer, and what might’ve happened to make me that way.
To Gratia, those unanswered questions had made her uncertain indeed.
Gratia, I’d put together after leaving this prison, lived and served to protect her family. She was the loyal sister of a demon king. If he was protected, then she and any family or mate she gained one day, would be protected too. He was her survival, and in true demon fashion, she would help to ensure that remained the case always.
Carmine’s sister did not like what I was making her feel. Oddly, Gratia must have liked the sixteen-year-old version of me much more.
For me now, liking her was neither here nor there. I noted that she was like her mother, but less abrasive—by her mother’s design. One came at you with a poisoned dagger, and the other came at you with a poisoned smile.
Gratia smiled as if on cue. “Has a nismus got your tongue?”
