Whispers begin among the crowd, loudly enough that my wolf’s hearing catches the common theme among them.
“She can use runes!”
“Does she have power like Lord Runeandlike her father?”
I hide my smile. I’m nothing like Roman, but I’m sure rumors will start now, and, judging by the increasingly unhappy scowl on Carys’s face, hopefully the rumors will work in my favor.
As I stride toward the royals, I check Roman’s position from beneath my lashes, finding that he has stepped even farther back into the darkness.
Even though I can’t see him clearly, I’m attuned enough to his energy that I sense a thread of satisfaction at the fact that I used rune magic in front of a crowd of elite demons.
By the time I step into place on the other side of Koda, with my demon wolves forming an arc around me in the space on my right-hand side, the crowd has quietened. Crone is once again in the spotlight, even if it still feels like a thousand eyes are on me, examining every inch of my being, from my suit to my hair.
Like her father.
The elite demons’ voices ring in my head. Is my hair the only similarity between us? I don’t know if I’ll ever have an answer to that question.
“As much as we mourn the loss of our fearsome king, Jareth LaGarde,” Crone says, her voice booming, so much louder than should be possible for someone so small, “the time has come to fill the essential role of leader so that we can ensure the Balance remains. None of you are old enough to remember the last time the Balance was damaged, but I remember.” She pauses, surveying the onlookers. “It was catastrophic. Too many deaths, and even worse, the loss of power brought most of us to our knees.”
Her priorities are a little out of whack, but then again, who would expect differently from a demon?
Crone waves her hand toward the royals. “However, with so many fine offspring of Jareth, we will be in good hands once more.” Her gaze moves down the line until she reaches me. “As soon as the weak are separated out.”
I smile broadly, all the while my eyes are saying:Fuck you.
“With that in mind, we must begin the Purification!” Crone’s voice rises, and the crowd cheers.
Crone begins a slow pace in front of the line of royals and when she approaches my end, Ace’s rumble fills the air around me. It’s clear to me that of all the demons here, he has the most animosity toward this ancient bitch.
“Purification is not for the faint of heart,” Crone says, her voice bouncing around the space, moving with each step she takes. Even though she’s facing the crowd, it feels as if her speech is directed at me. “The essence of the power that each royal holds must be drawn out, purified, and then returned to them. But only if they are strong enough can they contain such purified power once it is returned.”
Ace isn’t the only one growling now. My chest rumbles as my wolf rises within me. She doesn’t want anyone touching my essence, especially since I’m a hybrid demon-wolf, and I have no idea what this process will do to my wolf.
Calm,I mentally tell her.We have to do this for our sisters. Roman would have told us if there were any real danger.
He told me that the Purification would be mentally and emotionally challenging, but that I’d be stronger after. I’m sure he would have mentioned if this process was going to harm my wolf…
Dammit.I promised my sisters I’d be wary of Roman, but spending time with him has already made that promise hard to keep. My gaze flicks across to where he has remained in the shadows. Even if I can’t see him, I’d sense his presence in a room with a million demons. I remind myself that until I know more about him, I can’t give him all of my trust. No matter how much I crave him and this connection between us.
I refocus on the ceremony as Crone calls to Arga to step up—the first of the royals to be purified, apparently. The eldest royal stands straight, his huge body towering over Crone, making her look positively frail. His burgundy hair is spiked up as if he ran his hands through it a few times after he washed up, and the smirk on his face gives him a look of arrogance to go with the stance.
“Arga, first son of Jareth, are you ready to purify your soul? Are you ready to fight for your chance to rule Pyra-Mortem?”
Arga’s smirk increases. “As the first born, I am the true heir. The Elimination is only going to reinforce what we already know.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and the damn audience laps it up with clapping and cheers. “I will rule Pyra-Mortem.”
The applause increases, but I’m drawn to the reaction from the other royals. None of them looks upset by his claims, and what’s more, none of them appear to want to challenge him, either. The dynamics of this family aren’t easy to read, but I’ve pieced together at least one truth: Arga rules this group. They don’t go up against him much, if at all, and I can’t know for sure, but I sense that the older siblings would give him the crown if that were an option.
Crone claps her hands together, and the noise dies off once more. “If you’re ready, take my hands,” she tells Arga.
He doesn’t hesitate, even if his smirk has all but vanished.
The moment their palms touch, a bright light bursts up from between them, and it’s only because I’m staring at Arga, wanting to take in everything that happens, that I catch the tightening around his eyes. I don’t read it as an expression of agony, but he’s clearly uncomfortable.
“Arga, first son of Jareth, your power is mine,” Crone calls.
Her head falls back as the light spiraling around them explodes upward. Within seconds, an image appears in the white light, turning it a bright and deep red, similar to the color of Arga’s hair.
From my angle, it takes me a second to recognize what I’m seeing.
