Myla’s eyes widen. “I’ve got it. We’ll make it a contest. People love contests. And the winners can be part of my knights of the round table.”
I grin. “See? You’re half way there already.”
Across the room, Charles lets out a booming laugh. He’s dropped all pretense of discomfort. “You know what?” Charles asks. “I almost feel sorry for Doctor Brice. Almost.”
My stomach sinks. Right now, all Charles sees is his own greed. But in the afterlife? He’ll be confronted non-stop with visions of every person his actions destroyed. Humans think that Hell is being roasted over a pit of fire. That’s rare. More often, it’s simply being confronted with the evil you created.
Over and over.
For all eternity.
And this guy? He has no idea of the terrible Hell he’s making for himself.
16
Myla
So that sucked.
I had hopes. Big hopes. First with Lucifer’s lab. Second with another chat with Drusus.
Talk about your letdowns.
Lucifer’s lab exploded, almost killing me and Lincoln. Drusus is clearly not ready to be a guardian angel—or any kind of angel, really—but I’ve no ideas how to help him.
There’s one bright spot, though. I may have figured out a way to fill my own round table. The contest. That’s got to count for something.
It takes a few hours to get back to Purgatory. Soon Lincoln and I are marching back through our front door. Shockingly enough, the house is quiet, even though it’s early afternoon.
Lincoln and I share a long gaze. It can’t be. Can it? Yes, it’s early afternoon and is our son actually … napping?
Sure enough, Octavia tiptoes to the front door while making a clear shh motion with her pointer finger over her lips. In low voice, she addresses us. “What’s this I hear about a contest?”
“How did you hear about that?” asks Lincoln. For the record, my guy is really good at derailing Octavia by answering questions with more questions. It’s a skill I need to learn.
“Don’t avoid answering me, son.”
Lincoln fixes her with a silent stare. My guy is also a pro at working his deadpan look.
Octavia rolls her eyes. “Fine, I have contacts everywhere. There was a demon in the room when you were discussing the contest. It seems the creature overheard. Hell is not pleased. They like how angels fade.”
“Ah,” says Lincoln. And that’s really all he has to say. We all know Octavia has an amazing spy network. I didn’t realize it included Hell, but there you go.
“We are planning a contest,” I explain. “Winners will help me solve the whole fading angels thing.” Just saying the words out loud takes a weight off my heart.
“Excellent notion.” Octavia pulls a card from her pocket and hands it over. “I took the liberty of writing down a list of items in the thrax archives that may be helpful. With Cryptan gone—”
“There’s a new archivist,” I finish.
“Quite right,” says Octavia. If this were someone else, they might be ticked off that I finished their sentence. However, Octavia enjoys it when you’re one step ahead of her. Or in this case, at least on par.
I take the card and turn it over. Octavia’s listed out a bunch of ancient books and the sections I might find useful. I exhale. “Remy is the new archivist. Dad said she turned up other stuff, too. I’m overdue for a visit.” I press the card against my heart. “Thank you.”
It’s more than just the list of books. Octavia has clearly been scheming overtime to help out. It’s appreciated.
“You’ll want to leave for the archives now, I assume?” asks Octavia. “I’d planned to take Maxon to the Ryder gardens after his nap.”
Lincoln steps to her side. “The three of us can hit the gardens.” He looks to me. “What do you think?”
Translation: do you want to do this solo?
“I know my way to the vaults,” I reply. Which is my way of saying, yes, solo would be great.
Octavia narrows her eyes as her gaze slowly flicks between Lincoln and me. “You’re going alone?” she asks slowly.
I lift my chin. “I’m building my own knights of the round table.”
“Brilliant,” says Octavia. “As I always say, the best way to learn to ride is from the saddle.”
Pride warms my chest. This is Octavia’s way of sharing her faith in me. The vote of confidence helps.
After leaving Octavia and Lincoln, I go check on Maxon—who’s thankfully still asleep—and then change from a human skirt-suit into my dragonscale fighting outfit.
And with that, I’m off to Antrum.
17
Myla
No doubt about it; getting around Antrum is a total pain in the butt. There are no cars or unauthorized magic. You have to hoof it everywhere. Not that I mind a little walking, but sheesh.
OK, honestly? I totally mind a little walking.
I’m part demon. That means I stay buff without having to hit the gym or eat a carrot. If you were me, would you spend your life exercising?
Thought so.
Once in Antrum, I spent tons of quality time marching through tunnels until I reach a round, safe-style door that’s set into a stone wall.
Here it is. The entrance to the ancient archives.
The sight tightens my throat with sorrow. Coming here reminds me of visiting Cryptan, the old archivist. Sadly, Cryptan was murdered by Aldred, the evil Earl of Acca. Now Cryptan’s niece runs the vault. A weight of guilt settles in my heart. Cryptan was a good man and a sweet friend. I should have visited his niece earlier.
I huff out a breath. Oh well. Lincoln did kill Aldred and avenge Cryptan’s murder, so there’s that.
Nearby, a guard in full metal armor clears his throat. I look over. “What is it?”
“Did you hear my question?” he asks. The guy has his silver helm on with the visor down, so his voice is a little muffled.
Now, if I were Lincoln, I’d know exactly who this guard was, what house he came from, and perhaps what he even ate for breakfast. But I’m me, so all I know about this particular person is that he’s Guard Dude.
“No, I didn’t hear you,” I reply.
“With all due respect, your Majesty,” says Guard Dude. “I asked if you wanted to be announced to enter the vault.”
“Yes, that would be great.”
Guard Dude spins the vault door. A click sounds before the round portal swings open. “Announcing her Highness Queen Myla of Antrum.”
A reedy female voice sounds through the opening. “I welcome a visit from her Majesty.”
That’s my cue.
Hiking up my skirts, I step through portal and into the room beyond. It looks nothing like I remembered it.
It’s still a dark stone chamber. But back when Cryptan ran the place, the place was filled with enchanted books. Each volume sat neatly atop a tall podium. Now that’s all gone.
Along the left side of the room, animal cages are stacked. I’m talking dogs, cats, owls … and is that a monkey?
Yup, that’s a monkey.
In the center of the room, there stands a pile of random medieval junk. Horseshoes. Harnesses. Longswords. Most are broken.
And on the right? A towering labyrinth of boxes. All are labeled with the identical—and not too useful—title of books.
All in all, the archives look like a barn, metalsmith, and box company all threw up on each other. It’s a little odd, but Remy’s in charge now. I’m sure she has her reasons.
Speaking of Remy, the girl in question stands nearby. She wears a simple green dress which highlights her small and frail frame. Even so, she overflows with hummingbird-style energy. Remy also has round eyes and a pointed chin, which further supports her hummingbird look.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Thrax are all about protocol. As the queen, I should speak first. But what do you say to someone in this situation? Will she want to know how Cryptan liked reading Julius Caesar in Latin … or
how I almost got him a dog? I decide to go for the traditional statement. If Remy wants to know more, she’ll ask.
“I’m sorry about your uncle,” I say. “Cryptan was a good man.”
“Thank you. I barely knew him.”
“He and I were friends. Would you like to know more about him?”
“Cryptan kept many notes here. I’m well versed in his habits.”
“Then you know about his dog obsession.” Cryptan wrote reams on what kind of puppy he wanted.
“No, did he want a dog?”
I frown. It’s strange for Remy not to know about Cryptan’s thing with pooches. Then again, the guy spent most of his life inside this chamber. Not like he and Remy could have hung out much.
“He did want a dog,” I explain. “But it looks like you’re a step ahead of him.” I gesture toward the carriers. “Tell me about these animals.”
“I plan to keep a pet for company. These are my potentials.”
I step past the cages. The monkey screeches as I walk by. “Some of these are wild animals. They’re not meant to be pets. And honestly? I’m not a fan of cages for anyone.”
“Oh, whichever pet I chose will get to roam around the chamber.”
I frown. “Somehow, I don’t think the monkey will like that, either.” I inspect more cages. “Or the hawk.” That last animal makes me pause. “Is this bird from Kamal?”
Remy speed-walks to my side. Leaning over, she inspects the cage. “Why would that make a difference?”
I think back to Lucifer’s lab. Something swooped in and grabbed those gemstones. “Kamal hawks are exceptionally well trained. Some even have magically-enhanced intellects. They can be useful in many tasks.”
“Oh, of course.” Remy blushes. “I suppose I got a little flustered with you visiting and all. Yes, that bird is from Kamal.”
In other words, that bird could have grabbed stuff from Lucifer’s lab. Now, I’m on a roll. I step over to the pile of metal stuff. “What’s the purpose of this?”
“I’ve no idea. I found it all in the back recesses of the archives. I’m trying to sort through everything. We need to focus on books here. I can’t keep suff that don’t belong.”
I scan the stack more carefully. Sure enough, there are broken daggers and shields in the mix. Which leads to my next question. “Have you found any magical staffs?” Like the Staff of Avalon.
“Not yet,” says Remy cheerily. “But that’s a huge pile. There may be something in there. Would you like an alert if I find anything?”
“Yes, please.” I move onto the stack of boxes. The top one is opened, so I step up and inspect the contents.
Not liking what I see here.
“I thought you said this place should only focus on books,” I state. “Isn’t that right?”
“It is, your Majesty.”
“Then why is this box filled with royal correspondence?” To emphasize my point, I pull out the top sheet and read the title. “Incaenda boat blessing schedule. This is recent stuff.”
“Oh, I don’t know how I got those, either. They were labelled as books, so someone sent them here. I was about to send them over to the royal correspondence archivists when you arrived.”
“Right.” I know Remy is Cryptan’s niece and all, but I’m getting a majorly bad vibe here.
“Don’t worry, your Majesty. I know my role. I’m the knowledge keeper. Thrax rely on me to protect and categorize items that are magical or top secret.”
I know my role.
Those four words echo through my mind. Because in looking around this chamber? Remy is all over the place. What’s she really trying to do?
Remy twists her hands together at her waistline. “I’ve made a total mess of this. The Queen Emeritus told me what you were seeking. I found some original plans from King Arthur himself.”
That gets my attention in a big way. “What kind of plans?”
“How he chose his knights of the round table. He actually gave them detailed tests in math, science, and logic. The ones who scored best were invited to be knights.”
“I thought they had to kill things.”
“Yes, there were jousts and other tournaments of strength, but I didn’t think those would be as useful to you.” Remy steps over to another open box and pulls out a dusty book. “Here’s what I was thinking. There are some great tests in this volume. We could invite everyone to the Arena to take the test, grade the results, and that’s your contest.”
Remy offers me the book; I pull it from her hands. The pages list all sorts of math equations and word games. “You’re sure this is what King Arthur used?”
“His stuff was actually a little more basic. I suggest a tougher challenge.”
My schooling amounted to tips and tricks on how to serve my ghoul overlords. Long story short, I have no idea if these questions are any good. “I’m not sure.”
“Please let me prove myself,” says Remy. “You won’t have to do a thing. I’ll set up the contest, get the enchanted notebooks to grab results, and even hold the test.”
Now, most of my assistant experience is based around avoiding people who want to ask me a million questions. Not gonna lie. This whole you won’t have to do a thing offer is pretty sweet. “How long will it take?”
“Only a few weeks. If it doesn’t work out, you still have plenty of time to try something else.” Her bird-like body almost vibrates with held-in excitement. “Give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”
I flip through more pages in the book. On the inside cover is written an unusual name. I read it aloud. “The Great Lady Remy Elayna Danae.” I tilt my head. “You’re from one of the lesser houses, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” Remy blushes again. “I’ve had this book for ages. When I wrote that, I was just a kid and doodling. You know how we girls are. Imagining being a Great Lady is part of growing up, right?”
“Perhaps,” I say. “My experience with Great Ladies hasn’t been too awesome.” In fact, one tried to kill me multiple times, not that I’ll share such news with Remy.
For a full minute, I scan through more pages and consider my options. There really isn’t much to lose if I give Remy a chance. Sure, she made a bad impression, but don’t I do that all the time? And I’m trying to learn how to get my own knights of the round table. Having people who can do stuff without bugging me … that’s the kind of knight I’d like.
It’s one that’s definitely worth testing out.
“All right, Remy.” I hand her back the book. “Let’s give your plan a try.”
“Thank you so much, your Majesty! You won’t be disappointed.”
I picture a sky filled with fading angels. How many are vanishing right now? When I next speak, I take care to place extra emphasis on each word. “I certainly hope not.”
As I walk away, that smooth voice sounds in my head again.
Do not leave. Keep talking to Remy.
I stifle the urge to punch myself in the face. Talk to Remy? I just chatted her up for at least fifteen minutes. The girl has a lot on her mind, including a feral monkey to deal with. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Maybe this is some kind of girl-cling spell, because it keeps wanting me to hang out with chicks.
Sure, I’m magically immune, but even that has its limits. I’ll have to ask Lucas, the Earl of Striga, to run a few tests on me once he returns from his latest round of travels.
Oh, well. It’s not like the voice is telling me to kill, kill, kill or anything. I can wait until Lucas is back. Hopefully.
18
Lincoln
Two Weeks Later
At last, the great day of contest has arrived. I sit on a stone bench in a balcony of Purgatory’s Arena, nervous energy churning through my limbs. Any minute now, the event will begin.
It simply must be a success.
Myla slides onto the bench beside me. “You’re sure this looks okay?”
I’ve found it’s important not to give too-quick answers on occasions such as this
one. I carefully scan Myla from head to toe, seeing her purple skirt-suit, ivory shirt and black heels. When I next speak, I’m careful to put an extra dose of serious into my manner. “You look perfect.”
“Are you absolutely sure? I mean, this is the kind of thing my mother wears. I don’t want folks to think of me as a demi-goddess, but does this suit say, I’m trying to be my Mom?”
“It says, competent and in charge.”
Myla exhales with a long hoo noise. She scans the balcony. “Being here alone is weird.”
My wife doesn’t need to say anything more; I know what she means. Neither of our parents are attending today. Myla’s mother and father are off at their Ghoul Reconciliation Convention. Octavia is watching Maxon. And Connor watches over Antrum.
I nod. “It’s as if there are parent-shaped cut-outs on the wall, showing where they should be standing.”
Myla grabs my hand and squeezes. “Don’t look now but the contestants are arriving.”
Sure enough, figures step out onto the Arena floor below. I give Myla the side-eye. “Why am I not looking?”
“We need to seem cool.” Myla sighs. “Well, you’re already cool. I’m a bit of a mess.”
I scooch closer to her on the bench. “Do I need to call out the big guns?”
Myla nods vigorously. “Do it.”
This is one of our rituals for high-stress situations. I have a special tactic to ensure Myla can do what she does best, which is kick ass and take names.
I lock gazes with my wife. “I bet that you, Myla Lewis, can’t give a great speech today about your contest.”
Myla lowers her voice. “What are we betting?”
“The usual. One kiss, no conditions.” Which means that one of us can call a kiss at any time and the other one must supply the same. It rarely ends with just kissing.
Myla cracks her neck. “All right. I’m on this.”
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