Death Doesn't Bargain: A Deadman's Cross Novel

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  But then, his father had always left him conflicted and confused.

  Kalder had been training with Chthamalus when the news had arrived. Not by a friend or family member.

  By the common shouts of the town criers as they’d swum through the city, delivering the news to all.

  No one had sent word to break it to him gently. Rather, he’d been in the middle of sparring, his shield held high as they went through their daily maneuvers.

  “King Daven is dead! Felled in battle! Long live King Varice!”

  Stunned by the callous words and unexpected pain of it, Kalder had lost his grip on the shield at the same time Chthamalus had struck a blow. The impact had sent the edge of the shield slicing through his mock armor and into his skin, leaving him with a gash and a scar that still marked him. Yet it was nothing compared to the pain in his soul.

  “Highness? Did I kill you? Oh dear gods! Highness! Speak to me and let me know I didn’t kill you!”

  On his ass and tangled in seaweed, he’d barely registered Chthamalus’s concern. All he could hear were the crier’s echoing words that repeated his news as he’d swum farther away to tell others. “King Daven is dead! Felled in battle! Long live King Varice!”

  Chthamalus had stroked his cheek with one tentacle while he tended Kalder’s wound with two more and rubbed his back with a fourth. It was only then that Kalder had realized he was sobbing in the seawater.

  “Me father’s dead, Tally.” He hadn’t even recognized the hollow tone of his voice.

  “Aye, my lord. I’m so sorry. He was a good…” Tally had paused as if searching for a word that wouldn’t offend him or be a blatant lie. “… warrior.”

  Kalder had nodded, knowing that was about all one could say in honesty. Yet even so, he’d loved him. Brash and brutal though he was, he’d been his father. All he’d known as such. Daven had been the one who’d taught him to hold a sword. Taught him to drink and prank.

  Taught him how to take a blow and not cry from the pain of it.

  Except for today. His father would be furious to see him blubbering like this over something as natural as death. He’d be the first to backhand him for giving in to grief, and letting others know that he had a weakness.

  Are you a man or a child needing a tit to suckle for comfort? Should I be sending for a wet nurse to burp you?

  Kalder swore he could hear his father’s angry roar even now. Feel his fist striking his chest as he shoved him back in fury that he’d dare show anything other than utter and complete strength at all times.

  Never let anyone see weakness, boy! Ever!

  Sucking his sobs in with a ragged breath, he’d forced his tears away as he disentangled himself from the weeds, and stood in spite of the pain. Physical and mental. That was what Duprees did. No matter the maelstrom. No matter the turmoil and pain.

  Strength through adversity.

  Then he’d taken the sticky cloth from Chthamalus’s tentacle and pressed it to his neck to stanch the flow of blood. Be damned if he’d shame his father, even in death.

  Or himself, even in grief.

  “That’ll need stitching, Highness. It barely missed your jugular.”

  Knowing his mentor was right, Kalder had gone to have it done, before he sought out his mother and brother. His thoughts being to pay respect to his mother and swear loyalty to his brother for his new regime. Standard Myrcian practice. It would be expected of a prince of their empire.

  Nothing more. At least that was what he’d told himself.

  Yet the moment they saw him in the palace throne room, they’d gone on the attack like sharks after freshly chummed water.

  “What do you want?” His mother had raked him with a glare so foul that it’d practically seared his flesh with its causticity. No concern or question whatsoever about the stitched wound on his neck, or the blood on his clothes. For all they knew, he’d been under attack. Yet not an ounce of concern for his well-being.

  And all he’d really wanted had been a hug. Someone to hold him and tell him that everything would be all right.

  A single word of kindness in his hour of grief.

  But it was apparent that wouldn’t be found here. Not with his family. And why should he expect it from them? They’d never given him any such kindness before. He should have known better than to ever start expecting anything comforting from them now.

  Perhaps Chthamalus had given him a head injury during their training. It would explain his stupidity for thinking even for an instant that they might actually give a shit where he was concerned.

  “I came to pay me respects and wish Varice the best for his reign.”

  “Or are you here to challenge his right for kingship?”

  Those words had struck him like a blow. “Why would I do such?”

  She’d scoffed in his face. “Are you telling me that you have no desire to be king of your people?”

  Was she serious? He barely felt weaned most days. While they considered him a man, it wasn’t a label he embraced willingly, and he certainly didn’t feel ready to cross that full threshold yet. There were still a lot of “manly” things he had yet to experience. His first beheading.

  His first child.

  He barely wanted to get out of bed most days. He damn sure didn’t feel ready to take on the responsibilities of governing his people.

  Honestly, he wasn’t sure what madness possessed his idiot brother that Varice thought himself able to take on that role given that he wasn’t much older, and especially since their people had been known to rebel and randomly cut the heads off rulers who angered them or made laws they didn’t agree with. But then, Varice had always been an arrogant prick with more stupidity than caution.

  “Nay, Mada.” He was aghast at her accusation. “I’m here only to support you both.”

  “Then prove it.”

  Hurt and confused, he’d blinked and blinked again, trying to think of some way he could convince them of his sincerity. But nothing had come to mind. “How?”

  “Give up your signet ring. You say you’ve no eye for the throne. Then you’ve no use for it. You have eight older brothers anyway, so it’s not as if you need the ring for succession. So hand it over and then we’ll know that what you say is true and that you’ve no desire for your father’s throne.”

  And like a fool, Kalder had complied. After all, the small gold signet ring had been of little monetary value. It was so old that even the crest was barely discernible anymore. He’d assumed the only reason his father had given it to him was because it was so ancient that none of his brothers had wanted it.

  Not once had his father ever bothered to explain its importance. He’d merely passed it over to him on the day he’d turned one-and-three by gruffly shoving it in his face and saying, “Guess you’re old enough now to have it. Don’t lose it, or else.”

  Then his father had walked off and left Tally to tell him it was a family signet ring. No other explanation beyond that. So, little wonder he’d put no other significance to the piece.

  He’d assumed the only reason his father had given it to him had been because he’d forgotten to buy him anything else to mark his birth.

  How stupid am I?

  But then, it was more an indictment of their carelessness with him than anything else. Because they placed so little significance on him, he would never have dreamed that he’d have been given something this important.

  And never at that age.

  Kalder winced as his gut tightened and he relived that moment when he’d pulled off his father’s ring.…

  Nay, not his father’s ring—his mother’s ring from his pinkie and had handed it over to this treacherous slag without a second thought.

  To prove his loyalty to a viper.

  Sick to his stomach, he glared at Bron now and shook his head. “You knew what the ring was when you demanded it from me! How could you?”

  His anger mounted as he turned toward Chthamalus. “And you … why didn’t you ever tell me?”


  “He didn’t know anything more than it was a signet ring with the royal crest.” Devyl placed his hand on Kalder’s shoulder. “I only know what the rings are because I know your aunts and their treachery, and magick. And I promised your father that I’d watch over you for him. As you know, your father trusted no one.” He turned his red eyes toward Bron. “For good reason. He didn’t dare let anyone know what the ring was, for fear they’d take it from you and use it against you.”

  Which they’d done.

  “How did Bron find out, then?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?”

  Bron lifted her chin. “You’re not the only one who can cast a spell, Druid.”

  Kalder laughed at her words, drawing her attention back toward him. “Nay, he isn’t. And I’m not the only one in this family who can bleed.” Summoning his fire, he threw it at her.

  She screamed as it hit her. But before it could engulf her, Varice whipped his cloak off and put it out. He ordered the watchmen to attack Kalder.

  Bring it, you bitches.

  For the whole of his life, he’d fought against the unreasoning rage inside him. Had tamped it down and tried to ride herd on the darkest parts of his personality that had begged him to lash out at the world that had hated him since the hour of his birth, and destroy everyone and everything he could.

  The world was ugly and mad.

  Just like him.

  Kalder was done with it all. More than that, he was done with them.

  If he was bound back to hell, then he planned to chain them to the devil’s throne so that he could spend the rest of eternity beating their collective asses.

  Cameron gasped as she saw Kalder change forms completely. She stumbled away from him. Her hair and Paden’s turned stark white at the same time as Kalder’s eyes went from their silvery pewter to something unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

  The left one turned an incredible shade of vivid sky blue and the right one turned yellowish-orange. Streaked like the eyes of a hawk and lit as if the fires of hell itself burned within it. Indeed, the colors seemed to flicker from some unholy source she couldn’t name.

  His hair turned darker and vicious scars appeared over his face like some giant bird had slashed and attacked him, and left them there as a bitter reminder.

  “Captain?” Belle drew her sword and prepared to fight their crewmate.

  Kalder stalked the queen the way a fierce, hungry lion would go after its prey.

  Captain Bane placed his hand over Belle’s to stay her attack. “You asked me once about the fury inside him, Lady Belle. Now you know, and you understand why I wanted him for our crew. He’s a Cyphnian.”

  Paden growled in anger. “He’s one of them! And you let him out?!”

  Cyphnians were rare and most coveted for their abilities to siphon off the powers and emotions of other demons and weaken them. At one time, they’d been rounded up and offered to the god Apollo as part of his menagerie at Delphi. But the downside of their abilities was that since those powers and emotions weren’t theirs, they couldn’t handle them, and it would ofttimes drive them mad, and cause them to lash out and become more of a threat than the creatures they took the powers from to begin with. Only a tiny handful of their breed could control and master their full destiny, and they were the most coveted of all.

  When Paden moved to attack Kalder, Devyl caught him with his powers and slung him high into the opposite wall, where he crashed hard, and slid to the floor. He landed in a painful lump that made Cameron cringe in sympathy.

  “Lay one hand to him, Captain Jack, and you’ll wish I’d left you in Vine’s tender custody.”

  Kalder turned to hiss, but when he saw that Paden was handled, he resumed his quest for Bron, who was scrambling to escape him.

  Cameron debated what to do to stop him.

  Her brother pushed himself to his feet and wiped his hand across his bleeding nose. “Those are some of the very demons we’ve been charged with policing and returning to hell! How could you let one of them out, and serve on your crew?”

  Devyl met Mara’s gaze, and when he spoke his voice was thick with sincerity. “Kalder cannot help what he was born as.” His gaze went to Belle. “There are those of us who chose our path to damnation. We earned what we got and embraced it with both arms, every step of the way. Kalder was born a Cyphnian. As are all the males conceived by merewyns—it’s why his mother was forbidden to keep him. They are cursed the moment they fill their mothers’ wombs. Every day of his life, Kalder’s fought against that rage, even while it’s torn him asunder. And you would damn him for that strength and conviction?”

  “But he ain’t fighting now, Captain. He’s made friends and bedded down with that rage. Am thinking they had puppies and are planning a summer palace for it.” William jerked his chin toward Kalder, who was tearing through the soldiers dumb enough to get between him and Bron.

  Bart started to intervene, but the captain stopped him, too. “He’ll kill you.”

  And if someone didn’t do something, he’d kill his own people, and the queen.

  Terrified, and knowing she couldn’t stand by and let this happen, Cameron ran for him. Before her common sense could grab hold and make her do something intelligent, like run for the door and save her own hide, she took his arm.

  “Kalder?”

  He turned on her with fangs bared and fist raised.

  She flinched and held up her arm to protect herself, fully expecting him to attack her, too.

  But the moment he saw her there, he froze.

  Time hung still.

  Her heart broke as she saw his beautiful face that was ravaged by such ugly, vicious scars. In her mind, images played of him in their battles together, and those memories merged with battles he’d fought without her. And as she saw her fierce, handsome warrior, standing bitterly alone for those fights, she knew how he’d gotten those wounds.

  The demons who’d put them there while he’d been damned for Bron’s actions.

  Worse, she saw the very day Muerig had died.

  Kalder had been on his way to meet him.

  On time.

  The tale she knew—that Kalder knew—was a lie.

  She saw everything as clearly as if it were her memory as much as his. As if she were there that day, living through it with him.

  Kalder was in a dingy hovel of a room similar to the ones in some of the taverns where Cameron had worked over the years. The kind they rented to some of their less-than-moral patrons and wenches for things that their owners were forced to pay hefty taxes on or be forced to lose their licenses over.

  He’d just finished dressing and was pulling out his money to pay the harlot he’d been with.

  Bound up tight in a grimy sheet on the bed, the dark beauty pouted at him. “Must you leave so soon?”

  “Aye, love. Have to meet up with me brother. Can’t keep him waiting or he’ll be kicking me arse and whining all day about it.” He’d handed her the coins, then stepped away from the bed and shrugged on his jacket.

  As he started for the door, he’d shaken his head, and swayed a bit, before he reached out to the edge of the dresser to catch his balance.

  Tucking her chin beneath the sheet, she’d laughed as if daring to play coy after everything they’d done. “Still a little tipsy?”

  Kalder rubbed his hand over his forehead and scowled. A dull ache set in, making his ears buzz terribly fierce. He blinked and tried to clear his vision as it continued to blur and make the room spin even more. All the while, the whirring buzz worsened. “Didn’t realize I’d drunk so much.”

  “You have to watch out for Petey’s rum. It’s more potent than most.”

  “I guess.” Kalder took another step for the door.…

  And hit the floor near the open window.

  Unable to move, he’d lain across worn oak boards while the sunlight reflected off the brass buttons of his coat, and the graying lace of the curtains had lightly brushed against his face. />
  An instant later, everything had gone black.

  No sooner was he out than the woman shot from the bed to check on him to make certain he wasn’t about to come to. Once she was assured of it, she’d opened the door to admit three men from the hallway who’d been waiting, hidden in the shadows, for her treacherous cue.

  Cameron wanted to curse as she saw them and knew them for the bastard devils they were.

  Perrin walked in first, with two of his most worthless brothers at his side. The three of them duplicated the tart’s actions of ensuring Kalder was unconscious on the floor … and mocked him for the fact that he’d been drugged and duped so easily because, unlike them, he’d been forced to purchase a few moments of the kindness that was so generously lavished upon them for free.

  Furious on Kalder’s behalf, Cameron watched while they stripped his clothes off and then roughly returned him to bed so that he’d have no idea what they’d done to him.

  Laughing, Perrin cleaned out his purse and handed its contents off to the strumpet. And why not? It wasn’t as if he’d earned Kalder’s coin. Why not be free with it?

  “Good work. Did you have any trouble?”

  “Nay, me lord. He didn’t question it at all. Took the drink and downed every drop without so much as a single comment.”

  His shortest brother clapped Perrin on the back. “Told you he wouldn’t be the wiser. None can taste me brew.”

  Perrin snorted as he fingered the empty cup Kalder had left on the table beside the bed. “You ever put that shite in me drink, Eyson, and I’ll gut you for it. Asshole to appetite.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. Unlike Kalderan, Alard and I aren’t stupid.” He glanced to their other brother. “Are we?”

  Alard rose up from placing Kalder’s clothes on the floor, where they’d been before Kalder dressed. “Don’t know about all that, but crazy’s another matter entirely. Of that, I have an abundance, sure enough.”

  Perrin hesitated as he studied the clothes and then Kalder’s unconscious body on the bed. He narrowed his gaze on his brother. “You’re quite certain he won’t remember that he’s been drugged?”