I fold my arms over my chest. “Why kill it? It hasn’t done anything to me.”
The Arachnoid recovers from its shock and starts fighting my tail. One of the demon’s legs breaks free, slicing through my leather armor and scratching my back. Pain rips up my spine. My eyes blaze demon-red.
“Okay, now it’s done something.” I spin about, hauling the Arachnoid with me. Once the demon has enough momentum, my tail releases it, launching the spider to the other side of the tournament grounds. The monster slams into the protecting wall with a thud, leaving a long smear of yellow goop as it slides to the ground.
I frown. “Well, now it’s killed. Yuck.”
The crowd erupts in another cheer. Cissy races out onto the green and gives me a big hug.
“Myla, that was amazing!”
“Thanks, Cissy.” It’s tempting to say ‘I told you so,’ but I don’t want to be a sore winner.
The Queen waves me toward the royal pavilion. I walk over and stand before her and King Connor.
Octavia grins. “You did well.” She and the King share a look that’s an entire conversation in itself.
King Connor raises his arm. “I hereby declare Myla Lewis from the House of Gurith to be the greatest warrior in all Antrum!” The crowd lets out a hearty round of applause.
Octavia addresses the crowd, a golden swath of fabric in her hand. “As is our tradition, I award a silk handkerchief to the winner.” She offers me the garment. “I thought you might prefer this, however.”
I take the fabric in my hand. It’s a delicate golden shawl with tiny pearl beading. “Thank you, Octavia. This is lovely.”
The Queen smiles. “The armor is yours to keep as well.”
“Wow. Thanks, again.” I rub the delicate fabric between my fingertips. The Queen planned this all along. My eyes sting, but not with rage. I’m not used to mom-figure types who have such confidence in me.
King Connor lowers his arm. “It is tradition for the winner to accompany each House on one demon patrol throughout the next year. I hope that meets with your approval?”
Demon killing on earth? My heart and mouth both kick into overdrive. “That would be sweet!” I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “I mean, I would be honored to join demon patrol, your Highness.”
Connor’s laugh lines curl up with his smile. “The winner may also make a single request of the King and Queen. As long as it is within reason, your boon will be granted.”
There’s no question what I want. “I’d like to keep Nightshade.”
A smile quirks the Queen’s mouth. “A kindred soul, eh?”
I shift my weight from foot to foot. I hope this isn’t a rude request. “Yes. Nightshade is very special.”
The King and Queen share a long look.
“Granted.” Octavia motions to a nearby servant. “Please make sure Myla’s horse is saddled and ready for her to ride home tonight.” She gestures to the open chair beside hers. “Now join me for the closing ceremony.” I step into the pavilion and take my place at her side.
The rest of the tournament is a lot of falderal and marching around. Trumpets play, lords parade, and ladies giggle. The Earl of Acca struts around like a peacock with a new set of feathers. Everyone stops by to say ‘good evening’ to the Queen and ‘congratulations’ to me. Finally, the guests go home, the sky turns dark, and Octavia rises to her feet. She pats my hand.
“Well done, Myla. You are a tribute to the House of Gurith.”
“Thank you.”
“Was I right to assume you’d ride Nightshade to the Ryder stables tonight?”
“I’d like to.”
“Of course. You’ll find her beyond that line of trees.” She gestures across the tournament grounds. “Good night, my dear.”
“Good night, Octavia.”
The Queen walks to the other side of the pavilion. Connor’s sturdy form waits there by the exit stairs. The King nods in my direction, winds Octavia’s arm through his, and the pair step away.
It takes a bit of meandering in the dark, but I find the stables easily enough. It’s a long wooden building set into the trees. The front gate lies open. I step inside, seeing a central aisle lined with a dozen stalls on each side. Nightshade stands at the building’s end. An oil lamp casts a circle of light beside her as she nuzzles a crouched figure. Whoever-it-is sits half inside the final stall.
The stranger rises to his feet, and I see the familiar outline of Lincoln: broad shoulders, earthy-brown hair, and military bearing. My stomach twists. With his back to me, he scans a shelf of jars at the far wall. Nodding, he pulls out a white container. He crouches on his heels, leaning over something in the last stall.
I step closer. Nightshade brushes her muzzle against Lincoln’s back. Reaching behind him, the Prince absently pats the horse’s cheek. “I know you’re there, Night. I’m happy to see you too.”
I freeze in place. Nightshade is Lincoln’s horse? My mouth starts talking on its own. “Hi, there.”
Lincoln rises to his feet. “Oh, hello.” He stands straight and alert, his black body armor open at the neck. Candlelight casts shadows on his full mouth and scooped-out cheeks.
“I’m here for Nightshade.”
The horse leans her blue-gray head toward Lincoln. “She knows. We’ve been saying good-bye.”
“Is she your horse?”
“One of them. The House of Striga breeds them; I raised her from a foal. Every Striga horse is enchanted, but Night takes it to a new level.”
I smile. “I know, she keeps me on her back without a saddle. I don’t even have to ask, she takes me where I need to go. Or she’s waiting for me when I get there. I think she does magic.” Night turns to me, her black marble-eyes blinking in a way that says ‘no kidding.’
Lincoln runs his fingers down her mane. “The House of Striga specializes in witchcraft. Nightshade casts spells for everything you described. She also has the power to make small things appear and disappear. Oh, and she loves to send fireballs at enemies during battle.” The horse whinnies; Lincoln grins. “We’ve gotten out of some close scrapes that way.”
“Look, I never would’ve asked for her if I knew–”
“It was a fair request. You fought well today.” He rubs Nightshade’s neck in long strokes. “My mother comes from the House of Gurith. It’s a lesser house, but one of the few that allow women warriors. She’s wanted a female tournament champion for years. You’ve made her very happy.” He sighs. “Besides, Nightshade chose you, didn’t she?”
“Yes. At the Ryder stables.”
“I rode her there to meet the minister. Normally, she comes back on her own.” Night tosses her head and snorts. “I don’t take it personally, girl.”
Reaching into his pocket, Lincoln pulls out a few small biscuits. Nightshade eats them from his outstretched hand. I watch him closely, my forehead knit in confusion. Is this the same guy who insulted quasis and yelled at me in the Ryder library?
Lincoln gently strokes Night’s forehead. “I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you did today. Your eyes turned red.”
“That’s my demon side. All quasis have a power with one of the seven deadly sins. Mine’s wrath.”
“Have you any battle training?”
“Nope. I started fighting death matches in the Arena when I was twelve. I sorta learned on my feet.”
A low moan sounds from the stall behind Lincoln.
I take a step forward. “What’s in there?”
“The Shadow Dragon. He was too sick to haul back to the Menagerie.” Lincoln opens the white jar, sniffs the contents, and winces. “This may smell bad, little man, but it’ll help.” He crouches down.
I step closer. The dragon’s black scales look chalky white. His fiery red eyes are now dimmed. My tail strokes along his back, his slowing heartbeat thrums through me like it was my own. The connection between us can mean only one thing. “This isn’t a Shadow Dragon. He’s Furor.” Although they can take the form of a dragon, Furor are
part human too. It’s against inter-realm law to fight them in the Arena, let alone a tournament like this one.
Lincoln scoops more ointment onto his fingers, rubs it into the beast’s flank. “How do you know? It’s never changed into human form.”
I turn to him and arch my brows. “One guess.” My tail waves at him over my shoulder.
He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” He leans back onto his heels. “Why do you think he hasn’t changed form?”
“I think he’s too frightened.” I pick up the back leg, look at the talons. “His first talons haven’t come in yet. He can’t be five years old.” The creature in the stall shoots me a sleepy look. “Poor little thing.”
“I’ll send a message to the Furor ambassador tonight.” He pats the dragon’s back with long strokes. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. By now, a Shadow Dragon would have tried to spear us with its tail. That’s how they consume your soul.” I smile. “Or try to.”
He grins back. My knees go a bit wobbly. “You know a lot about demons.”
“Arena fighters like me see all the matches they want. Last month, I saw a horde of Cellula.”
“Really? I haven’t seen that breed in years.” He closes the ointment jar and sets it aside. “So that’s how you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“How to save Earl of Acca from the Limus. He’s a pompous blowhard, but he is one of our most important Earls.” He looks at me intently. His wheat-brown and slate-blue eyes shimmer. “Thanks again for saving his life.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot. It feels weird to do anything but yell at this guy. “You’re, uh, welcome.” I turn my attention to the wounded creature. “Poor little guy.”
Lincoln grits his teeth. “Shadow Dragons are rare, the Master of Creatures wanted something to dazzle the crowd. But any creature this young, it’s not–” The dragon flinches, Lincoln pats his side. “Calm down, boy.”
I finish the thought. “Honorable.”
“Yes.” Lincoln’s mismatched eyes find mine again. My stomach lurches with something I don’t know how to name.
It’s time to leave.
“It’s late. I better head out.” I reach for Nightshade, she whinnies and prances away. I follow her down the stable’s main aisle. “Come on, girl.”
“Myla, what did you do to your back?”
I look over my shoulder. “Oh, that was the Arachnoid. I forgot it got one good lick in.”
Lincoln rises to his feet. “Come over here.”
What a worrywart. “It’s fine, really.”
Lincoln steps up behind me. “That looks bad. Arachnoids are poisonous. Wait one minute.” He rushes over to the shelves on the far wall, pulls down a white towel, and jogs back to my side. “I’m going to pat the wound, all right?”
“Okay.” I barely feel the fabric on my skin.
Lincoln steps in front of me, the towel in his hands. It’s covered with green and yellow pus. “See, what I mean? Bad.”
“Hells bells! But I don’t feel anything.”
“It’s the neurotoxin.” Lincoln jogs back over to the shelf of jars. “By the time you feel the pain, it’s too late.” He pulls a yellow jar from the shelves and inspects the hand-written label. “Don’t worry, this one’ll do it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve hunted demons since I was six years old. I’ve seen every injury you can imagine. That’s an Arachnoid cut, and this ointment’s the cure.” A green horse blanket hangs from a peg on a nearby wall. Lincoln pulls it down with his free hand. “You’ll need to take your upper armor off. Cover up with this.”
He tosses the blanket to me; I catch it with my right hand. I look at the once-white towel lying on the stable floor. It could be my imagination, but the gooey stain seems to slowly creep along the fabric. Lincoln’s right; this is bad.
“Give me a minute.” I step into a nearby stall and strip off my breastplate and under-armor. I wish I’d brought my fighting suit–that Arachnoid would never have gotten through dragon scales. Oh, well. I hold the blanket to my chest and step back into the main aisle.
Lincoln steps closer. “You better sit.”
Bending my knees, I fold my legs beneath me on the stable floor. Lincoln crouches behind me. He leans forward, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “This is going to hurt at first.”
I hear the scrape of the jar’s lid, then sense Lincoln’s vague touch on my back.
“I don’t feel anything.”
“Give it a few seconds.”
Suddenly, the skin on my back blazes with pain. Hurt explodes from my shoulders until every nerve ending in my body screams in agony. “Son of a bitch!” I jam the blanket into my mouth and bite down hard. I crouch forward, my head almost touching the stable floor.
“You’re doing great. Just a bit longer.”
The agony blasts through me again, then one by one, my nerve endings return to normal. The pain melts away. I pull the blanket from my mouth and exhale slowly. “Okay, it’s better now.”
Lincoln leans in closer. His warm breath glides down my bare neck. “Good.”
That’s when it hits me.
It’s the middle of the night; I’m half-naked in a deserted stable; the guy I hate most in the universe is massaging my back; and damn, his touch feels crazy-awesome.
I try to stand up. “I’m totally fine now.”
Lincoln’s hands grip the bare skin at my waist, pulling me back to the floor. The touch sends fire through me; I shiver.
“You’re not fine. Stay still.” The Prince’s fingers move in a relentless rhythm, starting at my shoulders. There my muscles flush with heat and loosen. His palms slide down the sides of my torso, then press against the small of my back. I bite into the blanket again, but not with pain. Heat and desire pool into places where I didn’t even know I had nerve endings. My inner Furor demon howls with a new sensation:
Lust.
The situation’s quickly heading into uncharted territory for yours truly. Massage skills aside, this guy’s still a pompous jerk. And since when do I get lusty about anybody? I only inherited the wrath side of the Furor lust-and-wrath combo, didn’t I? With every expert flick of the Prince’s fingers, another image flashes through my mind: Lincoln’s hands cupping on my breasts, gliding across my belly, sliding up my thighs. What the Hell is happening to me? I flat-out panic.
“I think I can–” I try to stand again. Waves of nausea hit me. The world turns fuzzy, then everything blurs into a white haze.
Chapter Fifteen
For a long time, my mind hovers in an empty space between sleep and dream. The pain in my back is gone. The tournament and stables seem a thousand miles away.
My dreams finally come into focus. I find myself standing on the windy floor of the Gray Sea. Dreamscape. A circle of white flame flickers on the ground by my feet. Within the fire, sand rises into the form of my mother in her senate robes. The ring of flames flares higher, then disappears. Mom’s sand-made body transforms into living reality.
Mom sits on a bench in the marble senate chamber. She clasps her hands tightly in her lap, her back is stiff and straight. Around her, senators, aides, and ambassadors cram onto benches and crowd along the walls. There’s hardly room to breathe, let alone move. At the front of the chamber, Senator Adams stands before the speaker’s podium, his elephant tail swinging slowly behind him. He speaks in a low and craggy voice.
“None wish to see Senator Lewis impeached, but her words against Ambassador Armageddon show a tenuous grip on reality. She needs treatment, not a role in government.”
A handful of Senators leap to their feet, shouting for Mom’s impeachment.
A stunned gasp escapes my lips. They’re really going to do it: impeach my mother for telling the truth about Armageddon.
“Now, now.” Senator Adams raises his withered hands to shoulder height. “Let’s give Senator Lewis a chance to explain. Perhaps her words have been ta
ken out of context.” He gestures to Mom. “If you please.”
Mom slowly rises to her feet, her mouth set into a firm line. “Thank you for the opportunity to speak before this chamber.” She scans the room, her brown eyes filled with steely resolve. Xavier leans against the back wall in his crisp gray suit, his face pale with worry. Tim hovers by the chamber’s exit. A muscle twitches along his gray neck.
Mom inhales slowly. “I’ve been asked to recant my words about Armageddon and the ghouls. If not, I’ll be the first Lewis Senator in eight hundred years to be impeached.” Mom scans the crowded Senate floor. “The truth may be something you choose to see as lunacy, but I won’t back down. This is a legitimate threat. Whatever the cost, I accept it.” She retakes her seat.
All the breath leaves my body. That’s about the bravest thing I’ve seen anybody do, ever. I’m torn between wanting to give her a high five and curl her up into a comforting hug.
Senator Adams shakes his gray-haired head. “Then, it’s the sad duty of this body to declare you, Camilla Lewis, to be–”
A low hum fills the chamber. A portal opens beside Senator Adams. Through it steps Armageddon, O-72, and a pair of hulking Manus demons. Standing six feet tall and almost as wide, the Manus are covered in shaggy black fur. Their hefty arms scrape against the floor. Pointed yellow tusks hang past their chins.
Holy Hell! I’ve seen Manus demons across the Arena floor before, but never this close. These beasts are the thugs of the demon world: massive, ruthless, and absolutely terrifying. They have one rule when in battle mode: leave none alive. Adrenaline courses through me. Run, Mom!
Senator Adams clears his throat. “Ambassador Armageddon, what perfect timing. We’re removing Senator Lewis from office due to her unstable attitude toward you and our ghoul allies.”
Armageddon’s long black face curls into a smile. He folds his gangly arms over his thin chest. “Oh, there’s no need for that.”
Adams smiles. “You’re too gracious, Ambassador, but we’re concerned for the Senator’s sanity.”
Armageddon gently touches Adams’s shoulder. “No, I’m not gracious at all. Senator Lewis is right. I’m about to attack Purgatory.” Armageddon’s eyes flare bright red, his three-knuckled fingers curl into the Senator’s shoulder. Adams freezes in place. Little by little, the Senator’s body and robes turn smooth and black as stone. “Starting with you.” Armageddon lifts his hand. Adams crumbles into a pile of ash.
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