The Night Realm

by Annette Marie

  In the shadowy gap between a pillar and the wall, two daemons dressed in black waited, their sleeveless shirts baring well-muscled arms adorned with dark bracers. At a glance, they didn’t seem much different from the other watching guards, but those two … they oozed danger.

  Kassia followed her gaze, then nudged Clio with her elbow. “Don’t stare.”

  Clio quickly focused on the table. “I wonder who they are?”

  “I couldn’t tell you who anyone else here is, but I have a good idea about those two.”

  “Really? How?”

  “The older one with the scar on his face? Every chimera who does the Nereid apprenticeship knows about him: Raum, the draconian assassin.”

  “An assassin?” A chill ran down her spine at the fearful hush in her friend’s voice. “Right here at the party?”

  “Draconians are mercenary warriors. They do everything from killing people to covert ops to breaking kneecaps. ‘Jack of all trades’ soldiers-for-hire. Raum’s reputation is well known among Overworlders. We suspected he works for Hades, but I guess this confirms it.”

  The older of the two daemons had wavy wine-red hair and a long scar down his left cheek, visible even at a distance. His expression was ice cold and harder than steel, more like a statue than a living person. His companion, a younger version of him without the scar, had darker hair braided against the side of his head with a red tie that hung over one shoulder. He was almost as expressionless.

  “Why is he so well known?” she whispered.

  Kassia flexed her shoulders. “Raum has killed at least six Ra family members in the last four years—that we’ve heard about. Probably more. The list of assassinations and attacks he’s tied to is about five pages long.”

  “Holy crap. What about the other one?”

  “My guess is that’s Ash, his protégé. A few years younger, not as much of a reputation yet, but he’s building a similar one even faster than his mentor.”

  Clio squinted at them, then realized what she was doing and dropped her gaze back to the table. “I don’t think the second one can be who you think he is. He looks my age, maybe even a year younger. How could he be that notorious already?”

  “It doesn’t take long when they start killing before they’re done training.”

  Shuddering, Clio turned her back on the two assassins and chewed on her thumbnail nervously.

  “It’s always bugged me,” Kassia muttered. “With their skills, they could work for anyone. Why the Hades family?”

  “Why not?” Clio asked with a shrug. “Hades probably pays the best.”

  “A few centuries ago, Hades exterminated the draconians’ ruling family and most of their population, assimilated their territory, and scattered the survivors across the Underworld.” Folding her arms, Kassia frowned disapprovingly. “The draconians must not have much pride as a caste if they’re taking money from the same family that almost wiped them out.”

  Clio huffed. “Have I mentioned I hate this place?”

  “Asphodel?”

  “The Underworld. The darkness in this realm harbors so much ugliness.” Her thoughts drifted from the draconian mercenaries to a certain incubus. “Nothing here is what it seems.”

  “Once Madrigal finishes your prototype, we’re gone. It’ll be enough for Bastian. It’s more than foul enough to suit him.”

  Clio grimaced and adjusted the long sleeve of her costume. The design Madrigal had proposed made her feel dirty just thinking about it. A sacrificial soldier would carry the lethal spell into the enemy force. It would explode, killing enemy combatants and infecting others with the same weaving. Then, later, the infected soldiers would detonate as well, killing and infecting even more victims who’d then carry the lethal weave deeper into the enemy forces.

  “It’s foul, that’s for sure,” Clio mumbled as she swallowed back faint nausea. “Not exactly war-ending, but definitely war-deterring. I’m glad Bastian probably won’t have to use it.”

  Kassia gave her a strange look. “What do you mean he won’t have to use it?”

  “The spells I bring home are supposed to give us enough of an advantage to deter Ra from attacking, and we wouldn’t have to fight a single battle. That’s what Bastian said, remember?”

  Kassia pressed her lips together, then sighed. “Clio, that’s not how it works.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In war, a deterrent only works if the enemy knows we have it. The only way they’ll know we have it is when we use it.” Sympathy softened her crimson eyes. “Whatever spells you give Bastian, Irida will use at least once. Probably more.”

  “But …” Clio shook her head. “But Bastian said …”

  “He might hope we won’t need it, but if Ra is serious about invading Irida, Bastian and the king will use every weapon at their disposal, including whatever spells you bring them.”

  Clio’s hands clenched. How naive was she? Of course Irida would have to use the spell. Otherwise, how could it frighten Ra? It wasn’t like Irida could just send Ra a letter saying, “Hey, we have scary spells, so don’t mess with us!” Ra wouldn’t fear Irida’s magic until they saw it in action.

  Her gorge rose. Would Bastian sacrifice one of his own people, a loyal soldier, to use Madrigal’s spell? Would he commit a war crime by killing wounded soldiers or civilians?

  She knew the answer. To protect his homeland, Bastian would use any and every tool at his disposal—including his half-sister.

  She slipped her fingers into the hidden pocket of her belt and pulled out Lyre’s small pink gemstone. If he had done her commission, would he have proposed a spell like Madrigal’s? He’d tried to get her to purchase more typical, straightforward battle spells.

  “Incoming,” Kassia whispered.

  A daemon, flanked by six flunkies, bore down on her with an oily grin. His huge bulk strained the buttons of his shirt. Daemons were naturally athletic and seeing one so overweight was a shock. It took extreme overindulgence for a daemon to end up that obese.

  “You must be the Irida envoy,” the daemon said in a deep, unpleasantly husky voice. His dark eyes were like little pits of coal above his sagging cheeks. “Clio, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Clutching the gemstone, she tried not to stare as his three chins jiggled with each word he spoke.

  “I am Suhul, warlord of the daeva. Are you familiar with our caste?”

  She wanted to move away from him, but she was trapped between his entourage and the table behind her. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Not to worry, my dear. There are over a thousand Underworld castes and nearly three hundred established territories, plus as many unofficial ones.”

  “A thousand?” she repeated weakly.

  “Many never cross worlds, so I wouldn’t imagine their names are ever spoken outside the Underworld.” His greasy smile returned. “Your experience tonight is unique for an Overworlder. Over seventy castes are represented here tonight, did you know?”

  “Seventy?”

  “Indeed.” He leaned closer and she struggled not to recoil as a sour smell wafted over her. “It’s a highly varied gathering, from esteemed reapers and daevas like myself, to the mercenary harpies and draconians.”

  On the last word, his gaze darted to the two draconian assassins and he licked his lips before focusing on Clio again. “Have you been introduced to everyone yet, Clio, my dear? I would be happy to act as your guide and informant.”

  Clio glanced pleadingly at Kassia, but her friend just stared stonily at Suhul, no more able to get Clio out of the conversation than she could herself.

  “Who would you like to meet? I saw the harpies talking to you earlier—you can certainly do for better company than them.” He swiveled his round frame. “How about—oh, but you would have met them, since you’re here for business with Chrysalis.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  Shifting back a step, he gestured toward two men with pale blond hair speaking to a tall woman. One of the blond men t
urned and Clio’s breath caught. Lyre. But no, it was another doppelganger—another brother, this one with shorter, neater hair than Lyre’s and an expression like he’d never smiled in his life.

  Then the second blond man turned, and Clio gasped. Not a doppelganger, because this incubus was distinctly older, his hair paler and tied in a short tail at the nape of his neck.

  “Ah,” Suhul said, watching her. “So you haven’t met them yet.”

  “Who …?”

  “Lyceus Rysalis, and his eldest son, Andante.”

  “Rysalis,” she muttered. “Chrysalis … Rysalis.”

  “Exactly, yes.” Suhul tugged his shirt down his bulging belly. “Most incubi are worse than useless, but the Rysalis family is quite a different case. The bloodline has produced some of the most famous—and infamous—weavers in Underworld history. The family is very wealthy, though that wealth is tied to Hades now.”

  “They didn’t always work for Hades?” she asked cautiously, watching Lyre’s father. Lyceus didn’t look old enough to have sired adult children—let alone seven of them—but daemons didn’t always age like humans. The family’s patriarch appeared to be in his late twenties, but on closer inspection, she realized that impression was based entirely on his demeanor. Physically, he looked no older than his son beside him. Did incubi age at all?

  “Oh no.” Suhul rocked back on his heels, delighted to show off his knowledge. “With their wealth and unique magic, the Rysalis family used to rival the main families for political power. Then—oh, about six centuries ago? Seven?—the Hades warlord struck a deal with them, and the whole Rysalis clan moved here and set up shop as Chrysalis.”

  “Why would they do that?” she asked. “Why give up their independence?”

  “Back then, they didn’t specialize in militaristic spellcraft the way they do now. One small family, even with the best weavers in the three worlds, was vulnerable, and their wealth could only buy them so much protection. Hades provided a safe place to work and do business, and all the helpers they could need.”

  “And in return, they make whatever magic Hades wants?”

  “Precisely. Over the centuries, Chrysalis became more of an arm of Hades than its own entity, but it’s still powerful.” Suhul leaned toward her with another leer. “I can see you’re a clever one, my dear. I would be happy to educate you further on Underworld history and politics.”

  “A—a generous offer,” she stammered, cringing back and bumping the table. The gemstone slipped from her hand, hit the floor, and rolled out of sight. “Who is the woman Lyceus is talking to?”

  Annoyance at the change of subject rippled over Suhul’s face, but he glanced over at the female daemon speaking with the two incubi. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, and her curvaceous figure was clad in a mix of black fabric and even blacker leather that didn’t seem appropriate for … well, for any occasion.

  “That is Eisheth Hades, a cousin of Samael’s,” Suhul answered. “A high-ranking noblewoman. She’s also the bastille’s warden, and that position commands a certain … deference.”

  “The bastille?” Clio repeated in confusion.

  “The, ah, prison here in Asphodel. It has a reputation …” Giving his head a shake, he stepped closer, his swollen stomach almost touching her. “As I was saying, perhaps you might like to visit my territory before you leave the Underworld. Asphodel is rather lacking in luxuries, you know. You would enjoy a visit with my people, I am positive.”

  Don’t blast a warlord. Don’t blast a warlord. She chanted the words in her head as she again looked at Kassia for help. Her bodyguard straightened and raised her voice.

  “Warlord, sir, is that daemon hailing you?”

  “Huh? Who?” Suhul stepped back from Clio and turned, searching for the nonexistent daemon.

  Kassia tilted her head, urging Clio to duck behind her. But that wouldn’t stop Suhul. Looking wildly for an escape, Clio couldn’t see anywhere to hide. And she wasn’t leaving until she found Lyre’s gemstone. She couldn’t lose it, not here. She glanced at the table, draped in red fabric that almost touched the floor, and a stupid idea popped into her head.

  Stupid, but the best idea she had.

  With an apologetic grimace at Kassia, Clio dropped into a crouch and ducked behind the tablecloth just as Suhul’s feet pivoted back.

  “Eh? Where did she go?”

  “The Irida envoy had to step out for a moment,” Kassia answered stiffly, sounding irritated.

  “But—but where …” His feet turned. “Hmph. Is this some kind of Overworld magic? Vanishing on the spot?”

  Crouched uncomfortably, Clio pulled a face, grateful it hadn’t occurred to Suhul that she was under the table—probably because he wouldn’t fit. It would have been beyond embarrassing for him to catch her hiding like a child. Maybe this was a bad idea, but one more lascivious grin from that creep and she would have tossed her dinner on his feet.

  Ignoring the conversation above, she searched around until a sparkle caught her eye. Retrieving Lyre’s gem, she stuffed it back into her hidden pocket and hunched her shoulders. How would she get out again without anyone noticing her? Maybe she would just stay here until the event was over.

  With an annoyed grumble, Suhul stalked away, his heavy footsteps vibrating the floor. Clio huffed out a breath—and heard another small puff of breath.

  She twisted around, staring in confusion. Barely audible over the competing conversations was another huffy sound and a faint scuffling. Brow furrowed, Clio crept along the floor and peered between the legs where one table butted up against another.

  Her eyes widened. She wasn’t alone in her hiding spot.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the shadows near the opposite legs of the table, a dark lump the size of a house cat quivered. Then huge, almond-shaped golden eyes opened, blinking rapidly at Clio.

  She gaped as the creature writhed, its long tail snapping back and forth, the end adorned with a dark tuft of fur. It was a miniature dragon with folded wings, a dark mane running down its long neck, and a delicate feline head with small horns.

  And the little thing was wrapped from nose to rump in a shimmering web of red magic.

  “Oh,” Clio breathed, her fear waning. The miniature dragon was caught in a spell. How could anyone attack something so cute?

  As though to defy her thought about it being cute, the dragon bared its sharp teeth. It hissed warningly and scuffled backward, scarcely able to move its legs. Clio passed a hand over her eyes, focusing her asper. The weave that fueled the web appeared, revealing a simple binding. She could remove it if she could get close enough to touch the dragon.

  “Can I help you?” she whispered, slowly extending one hand. “I can get that binding off in no time.”

  The dragon hissed again, cowering against the table leg.

  “I promise not to hurt you.” She shifted closer. “Let me help.”

  She waited there, not moving, as the dragon hissed and shuffled backward. The creature’s golden eyes narrowed. Its snarl faded, and it huffed softly. With a grumble, it lowered its head in what Clio took as permission.

  Cautiously shifting closer, she reached for the dragon and touched its scales just above its shoulder. A quick zap of magic broke apart the first half of the web. She touched the dragon’s rump and gave the spell another quick zap. It fizzled out and the dragon went limp with a startled whine.

  “It’s okay,” Clio whispered. She cautiously stroked the creature’s silky mane. “It’s just the aftereffects of the spell. It’ll wear off in a minute.”

  Heavy footsteps passed the table and Clio froze, watching several pairs of shoes stride by. This wasn’t safe. All it would take was one daemon standing too close and the helpless dragon might get kicked or stepped on.

  She reached out. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

  The dragon hissed, but Clio pulled the small body into her arms anyway. The creature squirmed weakly and Clio shushed it. Cradlin
g it in one arm, she scuttled along under the row of tables toward the other end near the wall. It would be quieter there. A safer place for the dragon.

  “What are you doing under here anyway?” she muttered, her ankles aching from crouching too long. “This isn’t a good place for little dragons.”

  The creature chuffed quietly, a sound that made Clio think of a teenager rolling their eyes. She scooted along until she’d reached the end of the table. Hesitating, she wondered if she should leave the dragon here or …

  Before she could make a decision, someone on the other side of the tablecloth swept it aside.

  A daemon crouched in the opening, a foot away. Gray eyes like pale storm clouds cut right through her, his face cold and expressionless. Her heart stuttered, then launched into a panicked beat. The draconian mercenary. The one Kassia had called Ash.

  Clio was still frozen when the draconian scooped the dragon from her arms. The tablecloth fell back into place, leaving her alone.

  “Hey!” she gasped, her paralysis breaking. She dove out from under the table—and crashed headfirst into his legs. Her skull connected hard with his shins and she swallowed a yelp.

  He stepped back. She scrambled to her feet and glanced around wildly to make sure no one had noticed her reappearance. Kassia stood at the other end of the long table, looking worried.

  With her dignity safe for now, Clio whirled on the draconian. “What do you think you’re …”

  She trailed off. Perched on his shoulders was the dragon, its tail curled lazily around his neck. The creature trilled in a friendly way and blinked peacefully at Clio.

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “The dragon is … yours?”

  He nodded, still expressionless. A couple inches taller than Lyre and noticeably broader in the shoulders, he towered over Clio. That aura of menace she’d sensed from across the room was almost overwhelming while standing right in front of him. At least the older draconian was nowhere in sight.