by Rhyll Biest
There was nothing.
Or perhaps there was and she just couldn’t see the cause of her brother’s obsession because there was something wrong with her.
But she was certain no-one else had seen whatever was wrong with her, that no-one else knew.
Nor would she allow them to.
She would guard her secret as fiercely as ever, just as fiercely as she’d fight for her freedom—both from husband and brother—and regain control of her life. A cough escaped her and when she raised a hand to cover her mouth, the sight of frothy blue blood against her skin sucked even more air from her lungs.
Retreat, save yourself.
There were thirty-two languages in Hell, twelve isolates—bearing no semblance to other languages—while the rest could be divided into five families: Enochian, Flornoy, Vrou, Daedel, and Palter. She ran through each one, comparing and contrasting distinctive features, cases and gender, alphabets, and the use of inflection until her lungs settled.
The rustle of silk signalled the presence of another.
She tensed, readying herself for more trouble, but relaxed when Semya approached, hips swaying in her habitual seductive gait, bosom taking centre stage in an impractically snug emerald corset made of iridescent green chitin beads. Her skin-tight silk skirt embroidered with a thousand elaborately shaped scales shimmered with each step. ‘I don’t think the bride is allowed to hide at her own wedding, sister.’
Valeda shrugged. Semya was too indolent to care about rules. ‘But I’m rocking this frock, aren’t I?’
‘Yup.’ Semya eyed Valeda’s wedding dress. ‘And I bet you’re glad you didn’t have the ceremony in your husband’s realm where no-one would appreciate it.’
The very thought made Valeda shudder. The wedding would probably involve the ceremonial exchange of turnips and a vow of illiteracy before a two-headed notary. She pushed the thought aside. ‘What brings you out here? I thought you’d still be dancing or putting the moves on one of your admirers.’
Semya’s emerald eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I was, but I spotted Cinna setting up a karaoke machine.’
As if on cue, a scratchy, wavering bleat severed the air.
Valeda raised her brows. ‘Sweet Lilith, where did she get hold of a screaming goat?’
Semya shook her head. ‘You’ve been away from home too long. That’s our sister hitting the high notes.’
‘No.’ But the guests fleeing the ballroom confirmed the awful truth. They exited in a stampede, trampling flowerbeds as they ran, hands over their ears, horror in their eyes. Valeda frowned. ‘I thought our mother banned karaoke machines.’
‘She did, but Cinna is still as good at thievery as she is bad at singing.’
That was true. Things went missing when Cinna was around—strange things—because Cinna got her power boost from theft. No-one in Valeda’s family would ever forget the infamous missing royal cock ring incident. Because of Cinna the entire family was banned from visiting the Second Realm—for eternity.
In fact, Valeda’s family was banned from a surprisingly large number of places given that they were the ruling family of the Ninth Realm. But her sisters were her sisters, and they were a reason that the queen had forcibly summoned Valeda home. Only Valeda could be trusted with such a delicate and important alliance. Semya, who topped up her elemental power through sex and flirtation, couldn’t be trusted to adhere to the monogamy clause of the contract, while Lymenia, who got both her jollies and her juice from destruction, was too likely to burn down her husband’s realm.
And as for Cinna—well, whatever she did, it would be spectacular, and not in a good way. This left Valeda to take one for the team. Lucky her.
‘Join me?’ Semya hooked her arm through Valeda’s. ‘It might be a while until we talk again now that you’re married.’
‘Please, don’t remind me,’ she murmured as they stepped into the ornamental bone garden with skull and carapace fountain.
Semya glanced at her. ‘You’re going to abide by the contract, aren’t you? Mother says we can’t defend our realm without the alliance.’
‘I have every intention of abiding by it.’ After I get what I need …
Semya’s eyes narrowed at her tone. ‘Hmm, I think Captain Sexy-pants better watch out for you.’
Captain Sexy-pants. A smile curved her lips. ‘I hope you’re not lusting after my husband, sister.’
‘They say he’s as loyal as a hound to the king and has balls of steel in battle.’
She grimaced. ‘Don’t forget his lovely bastard blood, black as tar.’ Or his unsettling gaze.
Semya arched a brow. ‘Sounds like true love.’
Valeda smoothed her gown. ‘He’s not important enough for me to like or dislike. I won’t hurt him any more than I need to.’
Semya laughed and tossed her raven hair. ‘Tsk, tsk, you know what our sister would say about that: “too much learning has made you weak”.’
Her lips twitched. Lymenia would say that but she would be wrong. Learning had protected Valeda, and once she found Lore and persuaded her to repair the wall she would become even more unassailable.
Semya patted her arm. ‘You seem distracted, sister. Does that have anything to do with the considerable neural inflammation I detect in your brain?’
Valeda faltered midstep as her sister studied her, emerald gaze intent.
‘Did you think you could hide it from me? I’m not the healer our father is but I see it. Pain is lit up like a Christmas tree inside your head.’
Would that the things inside her skull were as innocuous as a Christmas tree. ‘If I couldn’t handle the pain I would have mentioned it.’ Like her thoughts and her plans, Valeda’s pain was hers alone, and she would never reveal—especially not to her family—what her brother had done to her. Although she didn’t remember the details, what Paimon did must have been something cruel and bloody. It had to have been, since Paimon built his store of elemental power through cruelty. At the thought of her brother, a thousand dark bat wings caressed the wall in her mind, their combined screams threatening to turn her brain to stew.
Semya’s eyes widened. ‘What was that?’
She dismissed the question with a wave. ‘Nothing more than an ill-timed migraine brought on by stress. I’ll ask Father what he can do.’ She trusted her sisters but they couldn’t help her, and she didn’t want to see them hurt.
Semya looked like she was about to argue when a handsome blue-eyed demon passed by with a wink, a saucy bronze aura trailing in his wake. Semya’s gaze followed him. ‘Would you mind terribly if I caught up with you later? I’ve just seen an old friend.’
Valeda raised a brow. ‘That’s odd, he looked neither old nor like a friend to me.’
Semya smirked. ‘Don’t be so literal, sister. And do get Father to heal you; you shouldn’t have to suffer because of a mere migraine.’ She slipped away, hot on the heels of her blue-eyed acquaintance.
Saved by the sister’s sex drive. Valeda walked on. She passed her flower girls discarding their dresses in full view of the guests as they changed into serviceable leggings and tunics. The weapons and armour they strapped on confirmed Valeda’s suspicion they were soldiers, as did their rippling muscles. The queen’s servants practically threw the she-demons’ packs at them from a cautious distance, and the flower girls snatched them up with vulgar kissing noises and leers before shouldering them with brisk efficiency.
Valeda frowned. ‘We’re leaving already?’
Adriel, a good ten metres away, raised his head from the pack he was inspecting. ‘Yes, get ready to travel.’ He turned and answered a question she hadn’t heard before striding over to his brother.
The captain had ridiculously good hearing. His decision to leave immediately meant Valeda had to move quickly, since she had a much better chance of escape on her home ground. As she was considering how to best go about that, Lymenia ambled over, crimson aura burning bright. She rolled broad shoulders under her scarlet armour and eyed Valed
a’s wedding dress. ‘So, how’s it feel to be married?’
‘Let me see. It’s a bit like being disembowelled for the entertainment of others, only less fun.’
‘Heh.’
As Lymenia grinned, Cinna ran past them, arms outstretched, filmy dress floating in a trail after her. ‘Whee, I’m a butterfly.’
Valeda suspected the queen had ported the karaoke machine to another dimension, otherwise Cinna would still be screaming at high volume like a goat. Cinna turned and ran back towards them, dress stretched out like wings. ‘Watch me, I’m a butterfly.’
Lymenia whipped out a steel-gloved fist and Cinna ran face-first into it. Her head rocked back and her eyes rolled up before she dropped, out cold, to land on the gravel.
‘Ly!’ Valeda stared at the unconscious Cinna.
‘What?’
‘You just cold-cocked your own sister.’
‘So? Isn’t that what weddings are for?’
Valeda shook her head. Lymenia loved violence. She should be the one going to live with the Captain of Bloodshed and Slaughter. His harsh face flashed before her eyes and she almost shuddered.
She glanced up as a familiar tower of coiffed red hair studded with thousands of deadly, gleaming poison-tipped hairpins approached. The tower of scarlet cut through the crowd like a shark fin. The queen emerged into full view, her gown of black beaded chitin rippling with each royal step and her burnt orange aura flickering wildly, a supernova she wore with style.
Valeda took Lymenia by the arm. ‘The queen is headed this way.’ She gripped her sister’s arm tighter. ‘No. Don’t run away.’
Lymenia blinked and they both fell silent as the queen’s regal glide halted by Cinna’s prone form. ‘What is your sister doing down there?’
Lymenia coughed. ‘I think she fainted. You know, the excitement of a royal wedding is just too much for some.’
The queen shook her head. ‘Strange child.’ Her gaze shifted from Cinna to Lymenia’s armour and the twin broadswords strapped to her back. ‘Why didn’t you wear the dress I had made for you? Don’t you want to look pretty?’
‘No, I want to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.’
The queen sighed. ‘You don’t have to choose between the two, silly. Am I not proof of that?’ She allowed her aura to swell, the orange billowing out like a pair of wings.
Valeda frowned at Lymenia and mouthed ‘distraction’.
Lymenia’s eyes widened and she cleared her throat. ‘You’re right, of course, Mother. And where did you find that marvellous rust-coloured make-up to paint over each of your delightfully sharp cheekbones?’
Valeda’s brain nearly imploded. Why had her sister chosen to talk about make-up? Everyone knew make-up interested Lymenia even less than manners; it was out of character and highly suspicious.
But Queen Marchelaine the Merciless, ruler and defender of the Ninth Realm, simply smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you, dear, it’s my favourite new rouge, the blood of a particularly repugnant enemy general.’
‘All right!’ Lymenia raised her gauntleted hand for a fist bump, forgetting—once again—that their mother didn’t fist bump.
Instead the queen took Valeda by the hand and pressed something small into it. ‘A gift. Use it wisely.’
Was it a vial of poison she could take once she succumbed to the despair of married life? Almost afraid to look, Valeda opened her palm. A small, plain hairpin. Silver but not quite silver. If it was her mother’s special poison it wouldn’t affect her or any other Ronove. If it wasn’t her mother’s special poison she’d drop dead in a few hours from the contact. Either way, it was the ideal wedding gift. She slid it into her hair and the contact warmed her skin. ‘Thank you, it’s beautiful.’
‘No need to thank me, we’re family.’ Her mother’s eyes, deep green and penetrating, searched hers. ‘Remember that.’
So, she’d been forgiven her long absence from Hell. They were almost having a mother-daughter moment.
A loud whistle shattered it. ‘Yo, fucknuts, this way.’ Missy the flower girl stomped towards them jerking her head in the direction where the dread mares waited, stamping with impatience.
From the corner of her eye Valeda saw her mother reach for one of her hairpins. For once Valeda agreed a hairpin stabbing was in order and, confident that her mother and Missy were evenly matched, she left them to it. ‘Keep that going as long as you can,’ she murmured to Lymenia before approaching Adriel. She wanted her mother’s attention occupied while she negotiated with her husband.
His back was turned to her but as she neared he swung around to face her, eyes alert. ‘Need something?’
It was impossible to sneak up on him. She made a mental note of it. ‘Just a minute of your time.’
‘Time is something we’re short on. Your brother’s army flirts with our eastern borders.’ His tone was brusque as he continued to pack, the muscles in his arm working as he folded and shoved.
The mention of her brother produced the usual patter of acid on her brain, but this time the acid rain was chased with another equally unwanted sensation—a whisper of awareness at Adriel’s raw strength. Watching his bare, powerful arms at work, taut muscles flexing, she could imagine them straining as he choked the life out of her. Lilith! She weeded the inappropriate thought out and focused on her task. ‘I can’t travel with you. Not yet.’
He raised his severe brows. ‘Gonna make me drag you home with me by your hair, princess?’
She slid him a dark look. ‘I wouldn’t recommend trying it.’
His brows hooked together and he dropped the pack he’d been roughing up to focus one hundred per cent on her. ‘I expected this.’
She stood firm and narrowed her eyes. ‘Expected what?’
‘Lies and evasion. Your father, the duke, seems an honourable enough man, but your mother …’
Something twitched in the cavity where her heart had once rested. ‘You,’ she looked him up and down, ‘have something to say about my mother?’ Don’t say the ‘b’ word. They say he disembowels those who throw the ‘b’ word in his face.
His nostrils flared at the veiled insult. ‘She’s a Ronove and all nine realms know that Ronove she-demons can’t be trusted.’
‘And your point is?’
‘I’ve been expecting some underhand attempt on your part to get out of the contractual agreement.’
If only he knew that all she wanted was to prevent barrels of blood—mostly hers—from spilling. She had things to fix before the hollowed out bones of memory tore holes through her.
‘Captain Vor.’ Fira ambled over. ‘No offense, but Missy’s gonna gut that high-haired bitch any second if we don’t go.’
Valeda’s gaze snapped to Fira. ‘That “high-haired bitch” is my mother, the queen.’ She lowered the air temperature several degrees to underscore her displeasure.
‘Yeah, sucks to be you, dunnit?’ Fira yawned and ambled away.
Through narrowed eyes Valeda watched her go. ‘Your personal guards are extremely disrespectful.’
Adriel rested his hands on his heavy sword belt. ‘My personal guards award respect to those who earn it.’
She gave him a brittle smile. As a princess with royal blood in her veins she didn’t have to earn anything—least of all the respect of his peasant rabble. ‘Really? And how does one do that? Earn it?’
Before the captain could answer, his brother appeared at his side to answer for him. ‘On the battlefield, with blood and sacrifice.’
What a surprise, it involved blood rather than kittens. She studied the brother, his mien as dark and forbidding as the captain’s but his aura a subtle sage colour and his build heavier. Like a cow. The two brothers were both so basic, so primitive. She’d bet they’d played with potatoes and turnips as youngsters and thought them objects of wonder.
Hakan jerked his chin at her. ‘What talents do you bring to the battlefield?’
Was that a direct question? What made him imagine she would answer it a
nd give away any strategic advantage? Her middle name was evasion. ‘I serve knowledge, not war.’
Hakan scowled. ‘So you’re useless, in other words.’
She raised her brows, perfectly happy for him to think that. It would only make ambush easier.
Hakan’s chin jutted. ‘I know your sister, Lymenia, can fight, but you,’ he looked her up and down, ‘I doubt you know one end of a sword from another.’ He glanced at his brother. ‘You’re sending her to the fortress with your personal guard, right?’
Adriel nodded and they fist-bumped.
Like frat boys. I could hurl.
Without warning a brawny arm wrapped around her shoulders, derailing her train of thought. The captain yanked her tight against him. ‘Got a kiss for me, princess, before we go our separate ways?’
Her cheek crushed against his chest plate, his bicep and forearm a hot vice around her shoulders, she tilted a scowl up at him. ‘You must be joking.’
He grinned. ‘Is that a yes?’ His arm slid to her waist and bold fingers splayed over her arse.
She gasped.
Hakan chuckled.
How dare he? The captain was lucky she didn’t have Lymenia’s hair-trigger temper or he’d now be snap frozen, suffocating beneath an inch of ice over his face. Ignoring the powerful scent of leather, steel and demon wafting from the chest pressed against her, she pushed the hand on her butt away. Or tried to. And met the immovable. ‘Captain, do you want to know what really turns me on?’
He lowered his dark head, silver eyes gleaming. ‘Don’t shock my brother.’ He winked. ‘Whisper it in my ear.’
He had a sense of humour? Well, so did she. She reached up to trace a fingertip along one of his prominent, slanting cheekbones before cupping his firm chin in her hand. The sandpaper of stubble scraped her palm.
She whispered in his ear. ‘Respect.’
As he stiffened she drew on all of the considerable skill and power she’d learned to wield over three centuries and froze his blood and nerves more solid than permafrost, preventing him from moving even a muscle. Sweat beaded her brow with the effort of maintaining just the right temperature to paralyse but not permanently damage tissue. If she’d had more juice it would have been easier. ‘Yes, what I find sexy is respect.’ Someone needed to shake the brothers up, stir them out of their arrogant complacency. Really, she was doing them a favour. If they’d underestimated her this badly, they might do the same with her brother. A steel hook rammed through her chest.