She dropped to her knees as the changes began: skin turning dark and hard, fingers and nails growing into vicious claws, her short white hair growing out into a night-dark silken veil. Her human soul was becoming demonic, something only one of supreme willpower and arcane might could endure. She had finally succeeded in forcing her way into the great game of realms, gods and greater powers. Conquering Essoran had been such a petty ambition.
The newest Duke of Hellrath rose to her taloned feet and swept black hair back into hard spikes. Her burning eyes swept across all assembled in her throne room. All cowered before her.
She turned to her shadow demons, her dark sisters. “Bring me my mortal family. Be swift about it.” She waited in silence for their return, and none dared raise their voice or lift so much as a finger as the hours passed.
Eventually, her demons returned from the caverns beneath Hellrath’s Shadowlands, seeping through the walls to pool in front of her. A human hand poked through, followed by her daughter Heline’s head. She peered around the still throne room and then focused on what had been her mother. She stared until recognition dawned. Then she sighed and clambered out, lowering a hand to pull out her sons. Tristan and Edmond stood beside her, gawping at their grandmother and the assembled host of demons.
“Mother,” Heline said, arms crossed. “I assume this means you won. Don’t go thinking we will be prostrating ourselves before you though.” Demons shifted, nervous about her tone when talking to their Duke.
“Shemharai is dead,” Black Herran said, rising from her throne and flowing towards her family. “There will be no prostration. We are family.” She reached out a taloned hand and Tristan flinched back.
She stifled a sudden rage and carefully lowered her arm – it seemed she had some adjusting to do in this new body of hers. “The Lucent Empire is no more,” she said. “The threat is ended and you can go home. Hellrath is no fit place to raise children.”
Heline shook her head sadly. “Return to Tarnbrooke is impossible. We are the blood of Black Herran, and that will never be forgotten.”
“Then we shall prepare you a new home in the mortal lands,” Black Herran replied. “One far away from fanatics, demons, and disaster. There you can live a long and happy life.”
“We were happy before,” Heline said. “When you were just Dalia.”
For once, Black Herran had no answer to something.
Her daughter took a deep breath, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her demonic mother, heedless of spikes pricking her flesh. “I love you.”
Duke Herran trembled. She cleared her throat and blinked away hot tears of black blood. “Yes, well. I think perhaps you should learn some rudimentary demonology before we send you back to Essoran. I wouldn’t want you to be a stranger.”
Heline’s eyes narrowed. “No demonic deals.”
“No deals.”
Her daughter nodded, then stepped back and took her sons’ hands. She looked around the throne room at all the dreadful demons and sniffed, unimpressed. “It’s a decent start, I’ll give you that. As for you lot, I wager my mother will be running this whole place soon enough. Best not to get in her way if you know what’s good for you.”
Duke Herran of Hellrath liked the sound of ruling this place. That would come in time, as would her vengeance on Maeven. She flexed her taloned fingers and smiled. Nobody could be allowed to stab her in the heart and get away with it – it would be bad for her reputation. Maeven deserved an eternity of agony for her own actions. Sooner or later, somebody would kill her, especially if given the right nudges. Then she would be there to collect her old captain’s wicked soul – and what a weapon she would forge from it.
Duke Herran sat on her throne and vowed to make this the beginning of a reign that would make mortals, demons and even Elder Gods tremble at the very mention of her name.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Finishing this book off during the Covid-19 pandemic has been… interesting. On the one hand, creativity had nosedived under the relentless assault of horrible news, local lockdowns and the general awfulness of 2020. On the other, it’s been great having the distractions of editing and polishing up the manuscript and the hope of good things coming in the future. Somehow I’ve managed to muddle through it all more or less intact…
As always, thanks go to Natasha, my family, friends, and my fellow writers who have all been incredibly supportive – something much needed and very much appreciated over the last two years! I hope to see you all again sometime soon once this dastardly pandemic is over.
Special thanks go to Ed Wilson, agent extraordinaire, and the ever-wonderful team at Angry Robot.
The Maleficent Seven Page 39