“Well, here we are on the eve of our death,” Esta says, scowling across the distance at Arga, who has fallen back onto a curved couch, one female straddling him while two others are stroking more than his ego. “It seems this is another trial, except in this one, Crone requires us to prove our ability to seduce the elites.”
I make a non-committal noise since I don’t intend to do any such thing. “Thank you for your tip about the armor and the dagger,” I say, even though I didn’t end up needing mine. I’m not sure about the wisdom of thanking her, but she didn’t have to warn me.
She inhales a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think anyone expected us to survive.” She tips her head toward the fountain closest to us. “Now they’re all talking about us. I’ll see you on the other side of this latest challenge.”
Pasting a smile onto her face, she glides across the floor, seeming unaffected by the way the elite demons she passes run their hands across her body and murmur her name.
A reckless smile forms on my face. “The only sin I don’t see here is wrath,” I murmur to Roman, whose eyebrows rise. “I think I’ll fix that.”
I gesture to Tyrus. “Bring five of your soldiers and come with me.”
I wait another moment for him to comply—I’m not sure if he will, but apparently, I have enough authority now that he quickly picks five soldiers from the group outside. I catch their expressions of misgiving and don’t miss their fear—I’m sure they think I’m going to feed them to the elites.
Far from it.
“Follow me,” I say while Roman gives me a curious look before allowing me to take the lead.
I head for the remaining fountain on the far side of the room. The demons lounging in the couches around it sit up straighter, watching me with bright eyes. The elites I pass reach out, as if they’ll paw at me like they did with Esta, but I send smoky wisps of my power to curl visibly around my chest and arms and they quickly withdraw. One of them—a black-haired female—isn’t fast enough, taking a sharp breath and sucking her fingers when she gets too close.
As soon as I reach the fountain and the nearest curved lounge beside it, I bark an order at the elites, who are all looking at me like I’m their next meal. “Up!”
“With pleasure,” the nearest female croons. She has orange hair—fake, judging by the black regrowth around her hairline—piled on top of her head. She’s wearing a slinky, amber evening gown with a slit up to her hip that reveals she isn’t wearing underwear beneath. I recognize her from the memories of the worker we met on the street. She’s Giltha, one of Arga’s favorites.
I glare at her while I order the soldiers to take up position on either side of the fountain. “Clear the space,” I say to them. And to the woman: “Unless you’d like to experience your greatest fear, get the fuck out of my face.”
“Ooh, angry,” she croons, running her hand down my arm, sucking in a breath and giving a shiver when my power bites her. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head as she groans. “How exciting.”
She glides past me, inclining her head for the others to follow her, so I can only assume she’s the most powerful among them.
They each trail their fingers across my shoulders, and I struggle not to break their hands as they pass.
Once they’re gone, I take my seat facing the fountain. Because I’m now located at the back of the room, I can keep my enemies well within my sights. While Tyrus stands on my right, Roman takes up position on my far left, where he can see the soldiers and the elites.
When the hush that had fallen over the room ends and the merriment resumes, Tyrus leans toward me. “That was a large risk. The elites could have turned on you.”
There’s a dark part of me that wished they had.
I stare up at him. “Wouldyouhave turned on me?”
“No,” he says. His features ease a little, a glint appearing in his pure-black eyes. “But I like to think I’m smarter than most.”
I give him a nod. “You were my father’s personal guard. It doesn’t surprise me, now that I’ve seen the way you care for the royal family. I’m sure he wouldn’t have chosen to surround himself with anyone disloyal.”
Tyrus stiffens. “My loyalty wasn’t enough to protect him, or Pyra-Mortem, from those who crave more power than they deserve.”
I swallow my response when the lights flicker, the room darkening again. I brace for what might happen next. When the lights brighten, Crone has taken center stage in the middle of the room. She’s holding a tray with five wineglasses on it, each containing what looks like red wine but could just as easily be blood.
Her voice vibrates across the distance. “Now that the final four have taken their seats, it’s time for me to make my pledge.” She lifts her head. “My loyalty to the winner of the final fight.”
She glides toward Arga, who has managed to shove one of the women aside, although he doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on.
“With this offering, I promise to follow and support the King or Queen of Mortem, whomever that might be. I ask that you do not drink until I have served each of you. First for you, Arga.”
When she reaches him, he takes the glass on the far right of the tray and gives her a solemn nod, apparently still lucid despite the amount of drink he’s consumed. “I accept your loyalty.”
He nurses the glass as she glides to Esta, who chooses the cup on the far left. Esta’s voice carries less pain when she speaks, but I’m sure that the drinks the elites have been plying her with have dulled some of her anger. “I accept your loyalty.”
Crone approaches Koda more slowly, her expression pinched.Could this woman look sourer?
