Shadow's Claim

Chapter 25

For the last several days, Bettina had been particularly unmotivated to work.

The first couple of nights after her close encounter with Daciano on the grandstand, she’d wandered her rooms after the evening’s battles, aimlessly pacing, her appetite gone. For endless hours, she’d fretted over Cas in the ring—and replayed her three interludes with Daciano.

But then, fearing Patroness’s displeasure, the deadline looming, she’d powered through and now had much to show for her efforts.

She’d sketched diagrams of every moving part and cut each individual mold, getting closer to the fabrication stage. So what materials will I use?

She thought of her great and powerful Patroness, with all her fiery red hair. Rose gold. Of course.

Picking up a diamond file, she began to smooth the edges of the last mold. With a project this intricate and complex, the parts had to be exact, with machinelike precision.

She could have requested an extension on this deadline, but it helped to keep her mind occupied as the tournament dragged on.

Night after night, she’d flinched with each hit Cas took and sagged with each bout he won; she’d fretted as Goürlav handily advanced, without so much as a single injury.

Night after night, she’d wondered why the vampire had made no move to speak to her since he’d pleasured her in the mist.

He had appeared, killed quietly and efficiently, then vanished.

In his bout against the remaining Ajatar, he’d walked through flames, his outline illuminated—no panic, just pure will as he’d made his kill, collecting one head, then the other.

Against the Volar demon, he’d demonstrated just as little emotion. With his face expressionless and his eyes that impassive green, Daciano had winged the creature, then taken its head effortlessly.

Many of the Abaddonae were speculating that he was a turned human, a Forbearer. Some of them believed he must be the oldest Forbearer ever turned, considering his strength and his control with tracing.

Most had deemed him chillingly cold.

If she had a gold piece for every time Cas had muttered, “Bastard’s got ice in his veins” . . .

But Bettina thrilled to watch him fight. As someone interested in mechanical precision, she could appreciate his daring but methodical style.

A killing machine.

Yet she’d also seen him as no one else had—his grim face alight with pride, his eyes dancing. . . .

Even if she could deny that she’d missed him, she couldn’t deny that her body hungered for more of what he’d given her.

Her only exchanges with him? After each of his matches, he’d given her a bow in acknowledgment, then he’d leveled that penetrating gaze on her.

Recalling how his irises changed as he beheld her—forest green flooding black—made her shiver even now.

She could imagine his look said: I’m fighting for you. Soon you’ll be mine.

It made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

Others had started to remark on the way he looked at her, nicknaming him the Prince of Obsessions. Bettina Abaddon—an object of obsession?

She couldn’t quite buy it either.

Besides, if he was so obsessed, then why had he made no move to contact her? Salem had mentioned that he was never in his tent during the day. Where would the vampire go if barred from Dacia?

She’d noticed that his clothing was often in disarray, as if he’d traced into the ring directly from another fight. He would have mud splashed across his pants or a ripped shirttail. Once he’d had snow on his boots and a spray of crimson on his sleeve.

What? Did he have a part-time job or something?

Maybe he’d simply tired of the chase. She replayed his parting words continually. Lest you lose a male who’ll desire only you . . .

The idea of losing him brought on a wave of sadness. Which made no sense; if she loved one male, how could she feel things for another?

Admittedly, things were strained between her and Cas. The more he tried to be on his best boyfriendly behavior, the more distance seemed to yawn between them.

Whenever he remained at an endless banquet with her—instead of running off with his rowdy friends—he could be the picture of attentiveness. Until he inevitably slipped up with a longing gaze at the exit, or a buxom serving wench distracted his attention.

Then he’d look guilty, like he was inwardly berating himself. Which made her feel guilty for dragging him into this. Would he forever gaze at other females, wondering if that one might be the one? Would he forever imagine attempting other demonesses to find his fated mate?

She wasn’t eaten alive with jealousy like before—not after all the things she’d done with Daciano. No, she was more contemplative about Cas’s insistence that another female would be his. What if he’d been right?

What if I’ve been . . . wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a matter of their different stations or his insecurity over his birth. Maybe it hadn’t been a matter of his sown oats.

She and Cas had never been ill at ease with each other before. At times she feared they were trying to wedge their relationship into a mold that would never fit.

Speaking of which . . . She glanced down at the mold she’d been filing, gawking at the pile of shavings. Ruined. She chucked it into the wastebasket, then squeezed her forehead with frustration.

Everything was changing, her life altered by this tournament in unforeseeable ways. And possibly for nothing.

Raum had visited today with some startling news—

“Honey, I’m home!” Salem called out, returning from his daily duties: spying. Entering the workroom, he occupied a length of chain on the backboard. “Damn, chit, maybe you want to file the shavings down too?”

She glared. “I’m preoccupied, okay?”

“And I’m holding me palms up in surrender—but it’s fake. ’Cause I never surrender. So how much longer till you finish?”

“I’ll complete fabrication before the round tonight, attaching the palm grip to the four top rings. Basically everything but the spring mechanism and the sneak blade. When I get back, I’ll do that and then etch the rings. You can send word that she’ll have it tomorrow.”

Which was an important step. Bettina straightened her arms, clutching the edge of the workbench. Because if Goürlav wins, I’ll be seeking asylum in Patroness’s kingdom.

Of course, without her medallion, Bettina couldn’t exactly escape her new husband’s clutches.

They still had no idea how to defeat the primordial, and there were only three rounds left—including tonight’s lady’s choice round. She’d secretly been hoping that this round would afford her the opportunity to take out the primordial herself.

“What’s going on out in Rune?” she asked Salem.

“Commerce,” Salem said in an impressed tone. “Lots and lots of commerce. Your backwater kingdom is now a hot tourist destination.”

As the final battles neared, fans of all stripes—sometimes literally—had arrived on the plane, filling inns and eateries. Young Loreans were camped out around the Iron Ring, playing music and building bonfires.

“And whatever Morgana’s got going on down in the ring is drawing folks by the droves.”

The sorceress had commandeered the arena for the entire day and night, hosting opening acts before tonight’s round. “Any scoop on the competitors?” Their number had been cut down to just six. Most possessed the ability to trace. Four of them were demons—including the primordial. “Maybe you have news about Goürlav?” she added hopefully.

“He’s here less and less during the day,” Salem answered. “I got nothing. Even the spies I’m spying on who are spying on other spies got nothing.”

Salem had reported that intrigues, subterfuge, and cheating were rampant.

“Do you have any idea what tonight’s round will entail?” All Bettina knew was that the remaining six would dwindle to three.

“I just shook me head. Wiv Morgana, expect the unexpected, yeah?”

“Maybe I’m supposed to decide which competitors will fight each other.”

“Or maybe you just snap your fingers and take out three.” Salem made a snapping sound. “Including Goürlav.”

“I’d been hoping the same. What about the rest of the competitors?”

“I spent the morning as the ceiling in the warlocks’ tent. Found out that the hobbies of Those Best Forgotten include long walks on the beach and sacrificing nymphs on altars. I mean, who’d want to hurt a nymph? That’s like kicking a rainbow in the nuts. And they’re doing things to that wolf . . . well, let’s just say they’re shy of humane.”

Salem had already told her how those handlers baited the poor creature before his rounds, bringing his ferocity to the fore.

“Why can’t he rein in his beast?” She knew his kind spent years learning to control the wolf within, always fearing that it’d take over.

“It’s not a rollicking good time of a story.” When she waved him on, Salem said, “The male was . . . human. The warlocks turned him to serve them. Apparently, they do that kind of thing a lot.”

A turned Lykae would have no chance of mastering the new beast inside him, not for years—if ever. Until then, you’d have a brutal killer on your hands, which was why so few were ever transformed. “So the warlocks just wind him up and let him go?”

She could imagine Salem nodding.

An added bonus? Besides being the strongest Lore species, the Lykae also happened to have unfailing fighting instincts. “Does the wolf have any idea what happened to him?”

“Dunno. Depends on how long ago he was turned. He might have flashes of lucidity. We better hope for one of those flashes if he goes up against Goürlav. Those Lykae claws would spill some serious Child Terrors. Can you imagine—”

“I don’t want to imagine! This is happening under my watch. Most outsiders believe I rule. But I’d never condone the slavery of that wolf. I’d never condone anything that might bring Child Terrors to Rune!” With snappish movements, she began cleaning up the slivers.

“No argument here,” Salem said in a consoling tone. “By the way, I happened to stop by the leech’s again. Actually found him inside.”

She briefly stilled. “And?” she asked as if she couldn’t care less.

“You don’t sound interested. It’s nothing. Shouldn’t have bothered you wiv—”

“Fine! Just tell me about him.”

“I found him sitting in his darkened tent, mindlessly sharpening his sword as he stared at a crystal on his desk. His fangs were sharp, eyes black as pitch. The furs on his pallet were shredded. Not exactly the behavior of a cold and rational sort. He looked like he was about to—oh, how do I put this?—go out and fuck shit up. Take me word for it, still waters run deep wiv that one. And when the cold ones go, they go big.”

Daciano had neared the limits of his control with her, but he’d always pulled back. So what had affected him so much?

Salem said, “Did you know there are Abaddonae who have started backing that leech?”

“Over one of their own? Or another breed of demon?”

“Hell, I can almost see it myself. Almost. He’s kept it in his pants, thereby keeping you safe from a stoning. Hat tip to the vamp on that one—’cause you sure as hell weren’t barring the gates to your lady garden.” Over her outraged sounds, he continued, “He fights like no other, and you fancied him.”

“I did not!”

“Fuck knots don’t lie, chit.”

“But I love Cas.”

“Know that I’m rolling my eyes right now.” At her glower, he said, “Of course you love him! In a certain way. You were two orphans that hit it off and bonded. He was your only friend in this entire kingdom. Pair that uncommon tie wiv his uncommon good looks, and any female’s judgment would get cloudy. Trust me on this—I used to leave chits addlepated whenever I walked by.”

“You were uncommonly good-looking?”

“Hotter ’n Beckham wiv a better body.”

That got her to raise a brow.

“In any case, you’re young—too young to know what love is.”

Exactly what Daciano had said. “How old are you, then?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Old as air. And probably still too young to know what love is. Though there was this one. Almost thought she was me kindred.”

A phantom’s mate.

“It ended bad though—”

The outer exit to her spire whooshed open. Bettina frowned in Salem’s direction, imagined them sharing a questioning look.

Morgana called, “Freakling!”

Bettina and Salem hurried to the sitting room. “What is it?”

“We need to talk about Raum at once.”

This was weird. Earlier Raum had visited—to talk about Morgana.

“Hello, hot-and-bothered,” Salem said to Morgana. Al-low, hot-n-bovvered.

The sorceress’s gaze found Salem’s vicinity. “Phantom, is that you?” Her imperious stance softened as she fluffed her hair. Bettina had never seen her godmother like this.

“Here in the flesh. So to speak,” he added. “What’s doin’, trix?”

“Oh, with me?” She examined her costume claws. “Just been supervising today’s Morganapalooza. I put together some opening acts down in the ring. They’re quite popular.” Her demeanor was boastful, her words laced with an I’m-kind-of-a-big-deal undertone.

“Opening acts? Like what?”

“Kobold tossing, ghoul cage fights. And the Morganza of them all: a nymph floor show.”

What’s a floor show?

Salem seemed to know—the air blurred around him, signaling his eagerness. He hastily said, “I should go do a patrol, you know, down ’round the ring-al area. For security purposes. For the good of the kingdom. I’ll let you two talk.” And then he was gone.

Morgana gazed after him and sighed. Then she turned to Bettina with a hard look. “Pour the wine.”

They took their glasses out onto the balcony. Feeling safe with the sorceress, Bettina only gazed upward once. “Okay, tell me. What’s a floor show?”

“Did you never see Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

At Bettina’s blank look, Morgana’s lips parted. “R.H.P.S.? I’ve been remiss with you. I can see that now.” To the sky, she murmured, “Eleara, forgive me.” To Bettina, she said, “Floor show: noun, nightclub acts that include singing and dancing. For my purposes, they are sexy acts. Or sex acts. I can’t remember which package I ordered.”

“I see.” No wonder Salem blazed.

“Now, I must depart soon to change for my referee duties, but this couldn’t wait. I don’t want to mince words”—as if she ever did—“but I don’t believe your godfather has located the fiends who attacked you. With the end of the tournament nearly upon us, I don’t think he can uphold his end of the bargain.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Those Vrekeners are likely deep into the air territories. Exactly how are death demons going to trace to a location like Skye Hall? It moves. And they can only teleport to places they’ve previously been. Say they actually bag a Vrekener and force their hostage to take them aloft to the Hall—is Abaddon to wage war? Because that’s what Raum courts.”

Bettina squeezed her goblet, surprised to find it bending in her grip. “They declared war on us when they nearly assassinated me, the future queen of this realm! And what about Eleara? They succeeded with her. What’s to stop them from wiping the Sorceri out completely?” From wiping me out? “Why can’t we do anything?”

“Though it’s difficult for our kind to wage a war—when we can’t find our enemies and their stronghold is impervious to sorcery—we’re not without victories. Why only six hundred years ago, Sabine decapitated the Vrekener leader, while her sister Melanthe maimed his son! All in one night! It’s said the son can’t fly without grueling pain to this day. A Vrekener who hates to fly? That must count for something.”

Sabine and Melanthe were both legendary for their deeds. As the Queen of Illusions, Sabine could make her victims see their worst nightmares. She’d used that power to seize the leader’s own mystical scythe—and behead him with it.

“In any case, don’t you think I have non-Vrekener concerns in my own queendom?” Morgana continued. “Portents bode ill; a nemesis rises.”

“La Dorada.” When Morgana didn’t deny it, Bettina said, “Is she alive?” La Dorada was the Queen of Evil, which meant that she could control evil beings. Including Morgana.

A sorceress who could master Morgana—as easily as Morgana could master her. Which one would get to the other first?

“I don’t yet know if she lives,” Morgana said. “Considering her arrival may harken the apocalypse, I’ve made this a bit of a priority. Besides, Raum was tasked with Vrekener disposal. Yet whenever I ask him about his progress, he’s very evasive.”

“He said the same thing about you concerning my power.”

“What?” And there went Morgana’s braids. “How dare he cast aspersions!”

“Do you have my ability or not?”

“And now you doubt me. I’m wounded. Terribly. If I weren’t wearing a face glamour of indifference, you’d see my eyes glinting exquisitely.”

“Just answer me.”

“Do I? Don’t I? You’ll have to wait and see if your godmother has kept her word to her most beloved goddaughter.”

Bettina didn’t know what to think. Frustration welled inside her. “I’m upholding my end of the deal, and if you two aren’t—”

Morgana dipped her claw in her wine, then flicked it at Bettina.

She glared, wiping the wine from her cheek with a swipe of her shoulder. When Bettina flicked wine back, Morgana retaliated with a wave of her hand; suddenly a bank of snow tumbled over Bettina.

Bettina gritted her teeth, brushing off her shoulders.

“That’s how you say ‘The subject is closed’ in Yeti.” Expression darkening, Morgana added, “Shall Abaddon have its first blizzard?”

And just like that, the matter was closed. I hate it when she does that.

Morgana’s pique disappeared as swiftly as it’d arrived. “Look at the crowds. I can hear your tax coffers growing fatter by the second. Raum is wily in that, at least.”

“Why do you disapprove of him so much?”

“I don’t disapprove of him. I hate him. He’s demonic and coarse. He fought me fang and claw over the lady’s choice round. Tonight he’ll see how right I was to include it.”

“Still don’t care to tell me anything about it? Such as if I’ll have a chance to take Goürlav out?”

“A chance? Hmm. There is a chance. And that’s all I’ll—”

“Say on the matter,” Bettina finished for her. She set her dented glass aside, resting her elbows on the railing, peering below. Something caught Bettina’s eye. A raven-haired female was sauntering through the crowds—though others were steering clear of her.

It had to be the odd spectator who’d been showing up every night. She had pointed ears and wore T-shirts emblazoned with PRINCE OF SHADOW #1! The strange fey creature brought buckets of theater popcorn that she never ate. She tried to start waves and chants, cheering Daciano on.

“Morgana, do you know anything about that weird female who shows up for each night’s fight, the one who wears trashy T-shirts?” Was she a former lover of his?

Bettina sniffed to herself. If so, that bitch ooooolllld.

“Hmm? Don’t concern yourself with her.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How is she connected to the Prince of Shadow? Tell me.” The female looked like a Valkyrie. Considered “good guys” in the Lore, the Valkyries were major Vertas players.

We don’t get many of her ilk here. In times past, the Deathly Ones had sided with the more nefarious factions of the Lore. For this Accession, Raum had already made gestures to ally with the Horde and other demonarchies aligned with the Pravus.

“Your eyes go bright, freakling. Are you jealous of the female? After all, you are the Shadow Prince’s Bride.”

“Of course I’m not jealous.” I might be jealous.

“He looks at you as if you’re a virgin vein. There’s much to be said for obsessive hunger.” Morgana patted her hand knowingly. “Solid partnerships have been built on less. Did I mention that I spoke with him the other night while he awaited his bout?”

“You did what?” Questions about the raven-haired spectator disappeared.

“I told him, ‘You must be a Forbearer.’ He merely said, ‘Must I?’ then turned away. That dripping disdain—so sexy!”

Morgana had no idea how sexy that vampire was. I do. Because he was mine for three brief encounters.

“I decided I wanted his tongue on me; I couldn’t decide if I wanted it still attached to his mouth or not. So I held off. Now I’m glad I did, since you’re so possessive of him.”

“I’m not possessive.” Morgana together with Daciano? The idea made her want to screech.

“And there go your eyes once more. Raum has shown favoritism at every turn, gunning for a demon king. It would serve him right if you wed a vampire.” With a chuckle, she turned to leave.

But at the doorway, she gazed back with a thoughtful look on her face, offering Bettina cryptic wisdom: “Remember, freakling, the greatest thing about having power is the mere having of power. Use the latter well, and you’ll never have to use the former.”