Kiss of a Demon King

14

"He'd been just about to say the vow, Lanthe!" Sabine had barely been able to redress she'd been so affected by Rydstrom. "So help me, this had better be the coming of the apocalypse-"

"Yep, fairly much. We're kind of under attack."

"Acutely or chronically?"

Lanthe answered, "Nothing at this exact moment. Of course, something could have come up since I came to the dungeon. In any case, Omort summoned you-I figured you wouldn't want him coming to search for you.

Sabine turned to one of her Inferi. "You. Come here." She'd promised the demon that he could be free to move about the cell and clothed. And she was feel­ing just guilty enough to allow him a pair of pants and some limited freedom.

As the attendant ran off with her instructions, Sabine and Lanthe hastened to court.

"Your eyes are still glowing, Abie. You might want to camouflage that before you see Omort."

Sabine wove a new illusion over her face. "It was ... nice with Rydstrom. Unexpected." A demon lover with eyes tike night-who looked at her as if nothing else existed for him.

"Are you falling for him?"

"Could there be a more doomed relationship? It is ridiculous even to contemplate." His husky voice . . . the way his smooth skin tasted. "He's just so... so good"

"I think that intrigues you," Lanthe said. "He's a male as strong as you, and one you can't defeat."

"Can we talk about this later? Perhaps after you tell me what's happening here?"

"Pravus patrols are returning with reports of small uprisings, increasing in number and intensity. Some of the rage demons even attacked the patrols."

"They've never dared before."

"They know we have their king. And evidently they also know Cadeon has undertaken the quest for the sword. Just like you'd said, it's become a rallying point."

"Can there be anything else?"

"Absolutely! I also heard that Omort has dispatched four fire demons to acquire not just a soothsayer, but the most powerful one in existence."

Sabine said, "Nïx."

The notorious Valkyrie oracle called Nïx the Ever-Knowing, or Nucking Futs Nïx, was rumored to be three thousand years old and exceedingly insane.

But her foretellings, when she deigned to give them, were always accurate.

"It seems she keeps eluding the fire demons," Lanthe said. "Oh! Almost forgot-we've heard word that vam­pires are converging in the forest outside the castle to

take Tornin."

"Lothaire's?" Was that why he'd been studying every­one, because he planned some kind of treachery? "We don't think so. His covenant is still intact." When they reached the grand double doors of the court, a snickering group passed the sisters on their way inside. "What in the hell is going on?"

"They know you haven't been able to seduce him." Her face fell. "The covenant." Actual evidence that she was still a virgin was available for all the world to

see.

Now everybody would be waiting for the tablet to break. The Sorceri males she'd been sexual with-the ones who could never talk her out of her virginity- would think it great fun that she couldn't even give her virtue away to the one she'd supposedly saved it for.

"There are betting pools," Lanthe muttered.

"Betting pools. And what are the odds?"

"You don't want to know. But we could make a mint if you can put a lock on this."

Everyone in the castle knew she was failing in her bid for power. And she was about to enter court-a ruthless jungle of backbiting and betrayals. Not only would this be damaging for her ego, but if she lost face badly enough in the power-worshipping Pravus, her very life could be in jeopardy.

Sabine heard more snickers. Hettiah and her coterie of worthless Sorceri friends strolled past the sisters on their way into court. Their mocking glances made it easy for Sabine to see she would have to strike out.

Lose face, lose life. This was her world. She hadn't gone through the effort of surviving in it this long just to be killed when she was on the cusp of something more. "I'm going to have to fight in there if challenged."

Though she and Lanthe had no battle sorcery, they both were scrappy and had become fair swordswomen. In battle, Sabine used her illusions to make them invis­ible, allowing them to run around the field, decapitat­ing merrily.

It wasn't very valorous, but then, only stupid people held valor over life.

"I know you'll have to," Lanthe said quietly. "And I can't be there with you."

"Hey, don't worry." Sabine held up her gauntlets. "I just had my claws sharpened." She rapped the metal together, and the smooth ringing tone was pleasing to the ear-

Without warning, Lothaire traced in front of them, peering down at them from his towering height.

Sabine raised her hands up to him, ready to draw his nightmares. "I've heard friends of yours plan to visit?"

"I'll trace away before you madden me, sorceress," he said, his words laced with a thick accent. Some said he hailed from Dacia, and had been a true Transylvanian.

Sabine's lips thinned, but she lowered her hands. He hadn't threatened her, and she wasn't supposed to attack Lothaire. Technically, he was part of the New Pravus.

One of the inner circle. His blood was in that tablet that hung on the east wall.

He said, "Just to be clear, I have no friends. And my soldiers are in the bailey downstairs."

"Then who lurks in our forest?" she asked.

"One of the splinter factions breaking away from the Horde since the old vampire king died. My spies indi­cate they'll attack tomorrow night."

Tornin had protections in place-basically a mystickal moat-so the vampires wouldn't be able to trace directly inside. At least, not for long. "What do they want?"

"The well."

The Well of Souls. Armies always sought to control it, because each faction of the Lore had its own legends surrounding it.

The Lykae believed it cured the madness that accom­panied the transformation to werewolf. The vampires believed it allowed them to be daywalkers and to turn human females into vampires for their potential Brides. The House of Witches believed it gave them the abili­ties of all five of their castes.

In truth, Sabine didn't know what the hell it did. Even Omort vowed he didn't. All they knew was that the well's power would be unimaginable-and unlocked only by Sabine's son.

"Who leads the vampires?" Lanthe asked.

"They have no true ruler, because they won't accept a commoner like myself."

The Horde was notorious for following only those born in the royal line. "Yet you lead the ones who've joined the Pravus."

"I might have mentioned to them that the well will resurrect the old Horde king to rule them once more. As soon as the Pravus wins."

Devious vampire. He rose another notch in Sabine's opinion. "What about Kristoff?" He was the old king's nephew and should be the true ruler, being of royal lineage, though not a drinker of living blood.

Lothaire shook his head. "They know he will make them abide by his laws. They have been lawless for so long, they won't be brought to heel that easily. Plus, they like the taste of human flesh." Had he licked his fang for a shot of blood? "This is a mere fraction of the army that will gather. In the next two nights, more will come. Many of them know this land from fighting the mighty demon king in ages past."

Everyone knew the tales of Rydstrom riding out in his fearsome black helmet, beating the Horde back from Tornin. His battles were legendary. "One would think you'd be able to persuade them to leave."

"Would one?"

"Sabine!" Omort yelled from inside. He was glassy-eyed, but when he saw her at the doorway, he seemed to rouse. Then he spied Lanthe beside her. "Be gone, Melanthe!" he ordered. "Back to your tower."

"One day . . ." Lanthe said telepathically, slinking off. "Goodluck."

As Sabine sauntered inside toward the throne, all eyes were on her. When she separated from Lothaire- lest others suspect them of a secret alliance-the vam­pire murmured, "Noted, sorceress."

Once she reached the dais, Omort was fiddling with

his poison ring. Sabine would give anything for the antidote to his morsus. Each poison was individual, and since Omort's was prepared by the Hag in the Basement, she was the only one who could cure Sabine.

But the Hag had entered into a covenant never to surrender the antidote to another. ...

"Cadeon the Kingmaker continues after the sword," Omort said.

In as soothing a tone as she could manage, Sabine said, "Yes, brother, but it could take him years to find the Vessel."

"Cadeon already has her!"

Sabine's lips parted. "Are you saying the Vessel is on her way to Groot?" With a male like him, that female would bear another ultimate evil. The world couldn't withstand another like Omort. "Send fire demons to assassinate her," Sabine said coolly.

"You think I haven't?" Omort yelled, spittle coating his bottom lip.

He disgusted her. Earlier, when Rydstrom had realized she was going to leave him, he'd inhaled deeply, visibly in pain. And then he'd gained control of himself. Who was more powerful, the quiet demon king she kept in chains or the mad sorcerer who could destroy the world but couldn't keep a single castle in order?

Omort snatched up a goblet, dashing it against the wall. "Those demons continue to fail us."

"We'll think of something," Sabine said. "I'll go after her myself if I need to. And I never fail you."

"You are failing me right now! You've been in the demon's cell again and again!" He slammed his fist on the throne arm. "We've been waiting days for some kind of progress-why can't you get him to do this?"

"Was there a time limit to my task?"

Hettiah said, "We've heard word that you go and do nothing but talk."

Once! "Your pet's making sniveling noises again, Omort. Shut-her-up!"

"I think you're not committed to this cause!" Omort snapped. "Perhaps I should withhold the morsus to spur you on."

Sabine's eyes narrowed. The chamber appeared to rock. "You keep threatening me with that, and you will not like the outcome."

"You dare-"

Four fire demons traced in front of the dais, just to her side. The court fell silent in shock.

The demons were beaten, bloody, and handless. Pinned to the shirt collar of one was a folded note stamped with an N in a black wax seal.

Nïx. The Valkyrie had sent them back with their hands lopped off-rendering them powerless.

Omort stormed down the steps to them and ripped the parchment free, tearing it open. As he read, a vein bulged in his forehead. "That bitch! She'll know my wrath and will learn to fear it!" he yelled, crumpling the letter and throwing it away. "I go for her myself!" In an instant, Omort raised his hands and smote the four to ash.

Stepping around the charred remains, Sabine scooped up the note, smoothing the paper to read:

Dear puss,

Is this all you've got? Why don't you strap on your big girl panties and come face me yourself? Unless you fear that the Nixanatar will spank Omort's wittle bottom.

By the way, you've taken one of the most respected leaders in our army. We're going to want him back. Especially since Sabine cant break him.

Bringing it,

Nïx the Ever-Knowing, Soothsayer Without Equal,

General of the New Army of Vertas.

Sabine whistled out a surprised breath. The Valkyrie truly was crazed.

Then she frowned. Can't break him? Again, was there a time limit? Style points?

And what was this Army of Vertas? Sabine had heard rumors that Nïx was placing factions together- the Lykae, the Forbearers, the noble fey, the House of Witches, a mix of Demonarchies, and many more. Had they all struck an alliance?

Perhaps they were using this letter to lure Omort into a trap. Sabine knew the other side had mystickal prisons, entire islands that were inescapable. Could they capture the deathless one?

Sabine stared at the script, her thoughts racing.

"Bring me the rage demon!" Omort commanded. 'I'll send Rydstrom's arms back to the Valkyrie!"

"No!" Sabine cried, her heart in her throat. Omort would butcher him. Rydstrom would regenerate the limbs, but the pain .. . "You will not-"

The sudden hit took her across the face, blood spray­ing out from her mouth over the marble.

Hettiah had attacked her? That cold, pure fury Sabine knew so well swept through her. Then came the bile, the nausea, that could only be allayed with violence. Self-preservation, survival.

A red haze covered her vision; Sabine spat more blood as Hettiah's friends surrounded her.