Half-Demon's Fortune

by Lina J. Potter

  “Dear wife, I have to tell you more sad news. First, you’re now an orphan.”

  She already knew that, going by her clenched teeth. Darius had told her. They had probably cried their hearts out to each other, too.

  “So...”

  “If your father hadn’t wished my death, I would have never gotten to Riolon. He might have lived ten more years then. So we’re even.”

  “I hate you!”

  “Oh, you’re finally telling the truth! No need to fret, dear, I already know about your feelings. You’ve cost me a lot, you know. Oh, and my condolences on the recent loss of your brother.”

  “No!”

  Now that was a scream. Her eyes bulged out, and her face turned white, covered with ugly red patches.

  “Oh yes. I met him on my way from Riolon, so the throne is temporarily unoccupied.”

  “You...you killed him?”

  “I was the reason for his death. As you can see, he that steals honey should beware of the sting.”

  A stream of such profanities emerged from Dariola’s mouth that for a second, I froze. How cute!

  “Have you learned that from the stable boys, my dear? Don’t be upset. You’ll live—in a convent, but still.”

  And I left. Behind the door, I found the escaped broads. They stared at me, bug-eyed. I nodded at the door.

  “Guard her. Don’t leave her side even for a minute. If anything happens, I’ll hang all of you.”

  The ladies stormed inside—and right on time, as I heard high-pitched wailing coming from the room. Dariola was hysterical.

  I went to the ball room. The Riolonians were already there. Some of them were standing, some were sitting, but all looked at me with eyes full of hate. The courtiers, too; my soldiers had pulled no punches as they rounded up all that rabble, and they were right to.

  Rene was there as well, and he had brought the lists. I smirked.

  “So, how about we get to work, my friend?”

  The Riolonians were the easiest to deal with. I ordered them to be separated from the courtiers and put them in prison. They would have to wait for a week or so—no big deal.

  As for the courtiers...

  We divided them into five categories. The first was to be executed immediately, or, considering the circumstances, to be sent to the altar. The Keeper needed sustenance. All right, send them to the dungeon, too.

  The second would offer money and lots of it. I ordered them to be sent to the city prison, no need clog the palace with that scum. The torturers would work on them—not too much, though—and they would give everything up nicely.

  The third category was people who were almost innocent—the time-servers. I would give them a kick in the ass and send them home, biding them to think about how they could make amends before the king or the Morinars and save their own skin.

  The fourth was our people, those that had pledged their loyalty to me by immediately going to the Chancellor and after that, spied for me. They were to be rewarded, and seeing as there were around ten of them, it wouldn’t be terribly expensive. The confiscated property would cover all of that.

  But the point was, they would get a reward, even if they had only helped me because they were scared of me. They had earned it.

  And then, we had the last category. The Chartreuses and Darius’ inner circle. I didn’t think long about them. They were to be sent to the dungeons, thoroughly interrogated, and executed. The difference between them and the first category was that the first one could be put to death right away, while these guys had to be questioned. The torturers could be as rough as they wanted; they could even cripple them—as long as I got mine. I could kill and interrogate their spirits, of course, but it would take time and power. Why the hell would I need torturers on my payroll if I did their job for them?

  “Do ye need any help, baby?”

  Martha appeared as if from nowhere. She was calm and happy, an aura of fresh kill around her.

  “Who?”

  She got the implication.

  “The minstrel.”

  I smirked and pulled my mother to me. For a second, I stood motionless. She was here. She was all right. Thank the gods...

  “You’re awesome. Did he try to run?”

  “From me?”

  I kissed her black hair, tinged with grey. When had I grown taller than her?

  “You’re a miracle, nanny.”

  And then, under my breath, with just my lips, so only she and I could hear it, I added,

  “Mother...”

  And Martha—for a second, just like me—finally let herself relax.

  “Alex, m’ dear boy...”

  She leaned against me...and a moment later, pulled back, once more cool and collected. She took the list and looked at it...

  “I can take care of these.”

  Those that were to be sacrificed to the Keeper without any questions.

  “Do it, then.”

  Martha nodded. I called up one of the lieutenants and gave an order. It felt nice to have something taken off my back.

  ***

  Innis let out a sad sigh and looked at the road ahead.

  She was traveling to Andago. Just a week ago it would have made her happy, but now... She missed Alex.

  She missed the snotty, stubborn, arrogant demon that had made every effort to help her. He had solved all of her problems, tried not to do her any harm, explained the intricacies of bargaining with demons, got her to the capital, saved her from getting raped, and even...even wore a woman’s dress, all to protect her reputation! Although, back then, she had just been playing it safe. Who would spare a second glance at Innis Andio, a common girl? But Alex had taken it seriously and dressed up, grinding his teeth...

  He had even given her a ride on a demon. Too bad that the road back wouldn’t be as quick as on Ak-kvir’s back, but Andago was waiting for her.

  They had left the capital right after the funeral of Tyrimma’s husband. To Innis’ shame, she didn’t remember his name. Tyrimma had been completely freaked out and Innis had offered her and Auntie Madie a good solution to their problems. They would go to Andago as her companions, with full pay and subsistence, and if they didn’t like it, they could leave. If they did...

  Well, there were people living in Andago. We’ll find Tyrimma a husband; you’ll get grandchildren...

  Innis herself didn’t want to get married, for the two next years, at least.

  “Mistress, these are for you.”

  The poppies were charming, as was the nobleman who offered them to her as she sat in her carriage. But...

  “Thank you, but I cannot accept this gift.”

  Auntie Madie looked at her reproachfully, but Innis didn’t care about that. She had other plans. She wanted to get to Andago, descend into the laboratory and talk to Tidann. After that, she could get to business—sort out everything that had piled up during Amorta’s presence in the castle, take inventory, and file several petitions: for her stepmother’s inheritance; ironically, for her own emancipation; and for legal guardianship of her father, who was being kept in Riola’s insane asylum because transporting him was too dangerous.

  She also needed to study and learn. If she, an air mage, unlearned and unskilled, had managed to summon a demon... Maybe she could summon Alex specifically?

  I will check everything. I will be careful, very careful, but I...I will do anything just to see him one more time.

  ***

  The daily regimen of a king at war: work, work, and more work.

  Coming, seeing, and conquering is wonderful, but why does nobody ever think about what happens next? In my case, next came a revision, because I had no idea what one could do to a treasury so it would wind up in such a sorry state.

  A month! I was gone for just a month!

  We had no money and no prospective income, but lots of debt warrants. Rene promptly explained the situation. Nine tournaments, twelve balls, and three fireworks shows! I had planned to use that money to build two bridges
and equip a regiment. What a naive half-demon!

  Bastards! Degenerates! I will make you pay for it...with interest! You wanted a party? I’ll give you one! The whole of Riolon will compensate me for your fun! Or, even better...

  No need for compensation. Riolon will become a province of Radenor, and that’s it.

  Everybody approved of my plans right off the bat. Tommy was not averse to fighting, while Rene and Henry loved the idea itself. Martha rubbed her hands, content. The only problem was that the next king would have to be my child with Dariola; Riolonians would never acknowledge another ruler. Blood mattered.

  Well, whatever. A child was on the way, and if we took him soon after she gave birth and gave him to Martha... She had managed to raise me; she would have no problem with a quarter-demon. But that was for the future. Until then, I had to work.

  A lady-in-waiting informed me that Dariola wanted a meeting, but I told her to get lost. I had a lot of urgent business, much more important than a traitor wife, especially one matter that couldn’t bear any delay. It would have to be done that night.

  At sundown, I went to the dungeon. Martha was already dressed in a necromancer’s ritual gown: a long black robe, elbow-length sleeves, blood on her half-bare arms and the ceremonial dagger.

  A snake was wrapped around her feet. The Keeper was sated and content, I saw that. He had just consumed over thirty souls, and his scarlet eyes were burning in the twilight like two suns.

  The ritual was far from over. A score of people were waiting their turn. Still, I couldn’t continue with it. I had to talk with the King of Rats.

  Fortunately, in the dungeon, there was no need to draw anything. Alethar Radenor had left a lot for his descendants. The summoning was quick and easy, and an ugly shadow appeared above the pentagram.

  “Necromancer.”

  “King,” I greeted him. “How goes your hunt? Are you feeding well?”

  “I have thirteen days, necromancer. Do you remember our deal?”

  “Of course. I don’t want to dismiss you before your time, but I want to offer you something else.”

  “What?”

  I saw the hunger in his every move. The King was rarely offered so much prey, and he was pleased with me as a necromancer.

  My blood was also important to him. I was a half-demon, after all, and the king saw me as kin, of sorts. Of course, as a rule, demons are all devious and ungrateful creatures, but a certain hierarchy and subordination exist even among their kind. They bow before the strong and bully the weak.

  Oh, and they do not always eat each other. It does happen, true, but mostly, they are wary of each other. Demons have to be careful while dealing with other demons. Evil is active, evil is worldly, evil is attractive—because evil is small in numbers. Letting your guard down meant death.

  Good could get away with being idle, as good was numerous, but evil... To live, and live well, we had to be proactive—to make deals. And that’s why the king was looking at me with such interest.

  “I want to offer you a person. She’s not a servitor, she is a queen.”

  “Your queen?”

  “My uncle’s. He was the king, and she was his wife.”

  “Not a royal by birth...” The king seemed disappointed.

  “She was properly crowned and bore him children.”

  “Are you giving her to me?”

  “Her soul, her body, her blood, her life, her death, and her afterlife,” I spoke the old formula.

  Martha was quick to understand everything.

  “Abigail...”

  I lowered my gaze.

  “So are you giving her away?”

  “I offer you a deal. Your servants find her, and we go there together. I want to see her die.”

  The king didn’t think long. A chance to get one more soul, especially a royal one... She might not have been born one, but Abigail had been crowned just as the rules dictated.

  “I find her, we go together, you give her to me.”

  “I want to be there.”

  “You see her death—her final death.”

  “Only her; you’ll take only her.”

  “Fine.”

  He didn’t seem pleased, but whatever. I had a good reason for bargaining with the King of Rats. I knew that Abigail had left the convent, and I was more than sure that she had been warned. She knew that I was back. What would she do in such a situation? Hide somewhere where nobody would find her.

  Amulets could protect her from divinations, and hideouts, from people. But rats... She couldn’t have foreseen them. Those creatures were everywhere; they could slip anywhere, spy on anything, and squeeze through a cranny that the sun had never reached.

  They could, oh yeah. The only thing I needed...

  That was the ugliest moment.

  “Back me up, Mother.”

  “Yes, Alex.”

  Martha stood near one of the rays of the pentagram. Her hand holding the ritual dagger wasn’t shaking. If anything happened, she would destroy the king first, and cry for me later, and he knew that. He knew that well indeed because the look he threw Martha was full of apprehension.

  How could he not know that a female protecting her children was the most dangerous of all? And it mattered not whether she was a human, a rat, or a bird. Even a mouse would fight like a tigress for its child.

  I stepped into the pentagram, and the shadow plunged at me, merging with me, entering my mind, and the part of it that housed the faces of my enemies opened up to it.

  Abigail, the damnable wretch. Thanks to her, my birth mother had lost her life. Her black hair, her blue eyes, her scornful face. Her cold beauty, the dastardly charms of a venomous adder. I felt as if a dozen small icy snakes had crawled inside my skull. They squirmed and slithered, their fangs dripping with venom that clouded my mind, eating away at my self-control and trying to wriggle further, behind the wall protecting the rest of my memories.

  Yet I held out firm. Abigail, only Abigail. That is enough.

  And little by little, the cold went away. Grudging and reluctant, it slipped away from my mind. I pulled myself together and stepped back.

  Martha’s hands picked me up.

  “Drink!”

  Hot spiced wine warmed my throat—and maybe even my soul. It felt good.

  “Thank you.”

  “Boy!”

  A short laugh broke out from inside the pentagram.

  “He’s a good boy, woman. He knows how to hate.”

  “You’re lucky he’s unharmed.”

  Martha wasn’t afraid to look the King of Rats in the eyes. For me, she would have torn anybody’s throat, let alone an overgrown rat’s.

  “Are you threatening me, woman?”

  Martha took a step forward, toward the pentagram, and peered right into the shadow.

  “No.”

  And I knew that she told the truth. Those weren’t threats. It was death itself.

  The King of Rats realized that as well as I did...and chose to abandon that subject for good.

  “I saw her. Soon, my servants will tell me her whereabouts.”

  I nodded. It was time to summon Ak-kvir.

  The demon answered my call in a few seconds and snarled after gorging on three criminals.

  “I like it when you summon me, necromancer. You feed me well. So what should I do for you?”

  “Give me a ride.”

  The King of Rats, or rather his shadow, watched me from the pentagram.

  “Good choice. He’s fast.”

  The fur on the back of Ak-kvir’s neck stood up, but he kept silent. We waited until the shadow flashed its scarlet eyes.

  “I found her.”

  “How far is she?”

  “In Ertalin.”

  I did a mental tally.

  “Was she moving toward Tevarr?”

  “Yes.”

  That was hardly surprising. I looked at Ak-kvir.

  “Ertalin?”

  “Saddle up, necromancer.”

 
I went up to the pentagram with the King of Rats inside.

  “See you in Ertalin.”

  With a flick of my fingers, the pentagram went out. The shadow dissipated, and the dungeon instantly grew warmer and cozier, even despite the bloody altar.

  Martha kissed me goodbye on the cheek, and Ak-kvir darted off. He wanted to have a run under the stars, too.

  ***

  Abigail looked out the window.

  She couldn’t sleep. The pillow was too hard, the bed was shoddily made, the inn was noisy, and the light shone right into her window. In a word, things weren’t looking good. She could have complained, asked for the innkeeper to fix something, but there was no point.

  She had to face it; she had lost once again. All she could do was reminisce.

  Her youth...how pretty she was then, yet she had nothing except for charms. No money or connections, a family on the verge of poverty, with their title their only asset... She had all of one dress, which she had to stitch up and remodel dozens of times.

  But Lady Luck played her hand and Abigail got to travel to the capital...and meet Rudolph. A chance encounter in the midst of a ball. Abigail had already had a potential suitor back then, Duke Rolfso—a short-winded fat man forty years her senior. He was disgusting but had money and no children. She would have endured even that, as long as it rescued her from poverty, but as it turned out, she didn’t need too.

  Upon seeing her, Rudolph’s eyes flashed like two beacons, indicating his interest, and she lowered her gaze, contemplating her situation.

  To play or not to play?

  And already there, at the spring ball, fastening a branch of dizzying white lilac to her hair, she knew: she would go all the way. If she lost, she still had Rolfso. But if she won, she would get everything and more.

  The hardest thing was refusing the prince’s advances: flirt with him, but not too much, feign innocence, leave him, yet give him just enough hope.

  She was successful, and she got to marry Rudolph, but afterward, not everything was rosy. Rudolph himself was a true knight: noble, rather simple-minded, and easy to control. His father, however, was dangerous and cunning. Thankfully, he considered Abigail a common predator. He underestimated her, while she waited, watched, and fortified her position, summoning her relatives and setting them up at court, making connections... In short, she worked her ass off—and almost missed the main threat.