Ursula nodded, staring as Sotz clutched a rope in his feet. As she moved closer to the window, she saw that a large plate of glass dangled at the other end of the rope.
At the direction of the oneiroi workmen, Sotz flew higher, lifting the glass. With a volley of shouts and frantic gestures, the men were able to maneuver the pane into the room. Ursula watched as the workmen carefully fitted the window into place, Sotz hovering just outside. The rider on Sotz’s back slowly adjusted his position in a fascinating display of control.
“Ursula.” Cera touched her arm. “I brought you a present.”
Ursula smiled. “You did? What for?”
“Not my idea. The lord told me to give it to you. He thought it might keep you busy.”
“Right. So I won’t stab anyone else, presumably.”
“That would be for the best.” Cera scurried off toward the hall. When she returned, she carried a shiny black bag.
Ursula’s eyebrows rose. More clothes?
“The lord said you liked to paint.”
A smile curled her lips. “The lord is right.”
Cera reached into the bag, pulling out brushes and tubes of paint. Lastly, she pulled out a small canvas stretched over a wooden frame. “He said if you want a larger canvas, you should let him know.”
“This is such a lovely present.”
“The lord provides,” said Cera.
The two oneiroi workmen approached. The smaller of them met Ursula’s gaze. “The window is in—airtight. The lord protected all the windows with his magic. Nothing will destroy the glass now. You’re safe inside here.”
“Thank you so much,” she said. Thank the gods. She wouldn’t have been able to relax in here, knowing that a man on a giant bat could shatter the glass at any moment.
As Sotz flew off outside, the two workmen left the apartment.
Cera turned back to Ursula with a mischievous grin. “The lord spent the night in your quarters.”
“Not like that.”
Cera’s eyes widened. “He hasn’t come in here in centuries. I think it’s because it pains him to see the portrait.”
Ursula frowned, glancing at the spot on the wall where the portrait had hung. Someone had removed it during the night. “Of the woman? Why?”
Cera’s hand flew to her mouth. “I should not have spoken.”
Well, now I have to know. She touched Cera’s arm. “You can tell me. Who else am I going to tell? You’re my only friend here.”
Cera’s eyes shifted frantically from side to side. She was obviously trying to decide how much she was allowed to tell Ursula.
Finally, she whispered, “The lord’s wife, gods protect her soul.”
Her jaw dropped. “He was married? I had no idea. Did she die in the attack?”
“No. It was long ago, long before my time. I should never have said anything.” Cera backed toward the door. “It’s not my place to talk about the lord’s life.”
Her face even paler than usual, Cera hurried out the door, slamming it behind her.
Chapter 16
On the day of the Selection of Champions, Ursula’s stomach was twisted in knots. She filled the bath with warm, lavender-scented water, trying to soothe away her nerves, but one terrifying thought rang loudly in her skull.
Today, she would find out exactly who Bael had to kill.
If he failed, he’d forfeit his life. Terrifying and gruff as he might be, she didn’t want him to die. And moreover, if he lost, she’d be joining him in the afterworld.
Or worse—Abrax would enslave her for an eternity of sadistic torment.
As she soaked her body in the bath, Cera’s voice rang out from the living room. “Hello? Ursula?”
“In the bath!” she shouted.
“Good. You’ve started preparing yourself. I’ve brought you a new dress for the ceremony. Everything must be perfect!” she shouted. “We must help the lord by making everything perfect!”
Ursula winced at the shrill tone. Apparently, I’m not the only one plagued by nerves. She rose from the bath, grabbing a towel. She wrapped it around herself and then stepped into the living room.
Wearing the gray coat, Cera stood in the center of the room, her knuckles white as she clutched a box. A bag hung over one of her arms. “I have pressed the lord’s clothes to perfection. He will have not a wrinkle on him before the other lords. Mortal or not, they will know his glory through his divine beauty.” Her eyes were wide, slightly frantic.
Ursula held up the towel with one hand, taking the box from Cera with the other. She flashed a placating smile. The little oneiroi was losing it.
Still, Cera wasn’t kidding about Bael’s divine beauty, though Ursula wasn’t going to admit it.
She dropped the box on a chair. “Why doesn’t Bael look like a demon, like the other lords? They all have horns and creepy eyes.”
“Nothing creepy about silver eyes,” snapped Cera. “But as for how the lord looks, you’d do best to mind your own business. Open the box.”
With one hand, Ursula pried off the top of the box. Tucked neatly inside were tiny silver knickers, and a dress of a gorgeous midnight blue, the fabric so thin and sheer it almost seemed enchanted.
“Wow,” said Ursula. “This looks amazing.”
She saw the beaming smile on Cera’s face before the oneiroi turned around to give her privacy. “All the great ladies will be dressed in their finest clothes. I wouldn’t want Abelda House to fall short.”
Ursula pulled off her towel, then stepped into the lacy silver underwear. When she picked up the dress, she gasped. It was stunning—a delicate gown, dappled with silver gems around the belted waist. She pulled it over her head, and the silky fabric brushed over her thighs. Like the dress she’d worn before, a V neck plunged down to her belly button. The sheer fabric gathered at the waist, providing just enough coverage for her lower half. But if she extended a leg, she saw that the dress had a slit all the way up to the top of her thigh.
“Gorgeous,” she said.
Cera turned, grinning. “I knew it would be perfect. It’s skimpier than the ladies of the Shadow Realm wear, but you’re a hellhound. Everyone will expect you to be a harlot anyway,” she chirped, rifling around in her bag.
Before Ursula could come up with a retort, Cera was standing before her, wielding eyeliner. “Sit.”
Ursula did as instructed, and Cera spent the next two minutes attacking her face with eye makeup, blush, and a berry lipstick. When she’d finished, she packed away the makeup, and pulled out a pair of black heels and a new cloak made of dark silver feathers that shimmered as it moved. Ursula pulled the cloak around her shoulders. She plucked the silver ring off the bar, shoving it into the cloak’s pocket.
“What was that?” Cera asked suspiciously.
“Just my lucky charm. I think I might need it tonight.” Her eyes flicked to the window, searching for signs of the rising sun. Dread welled in her chest.
When the sun sets over Lacus Mortis... For the finishing touch, Cera slid a sparkling silver headband onto Ursula’s head. “Splendid,” she purred, stepping back to admire her work.
Ursula slipped into the heels. Somehow, she felt at home in these clothes.
Cera arched a cautionary eyebrow. “My only request is that you don’t destroy the clothes through bloodshed and mayhem.”
Ursula grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
Cera scowled. “Please try to behave appropriately when you meet the lords’ wives.”
Cera tilted her head. “Do they all have wives apart from Bael?”
“Most do. It can get pretty lonely on the crater’s rim.”
“I’ve noticed, I was going to ask if there were any books I could read. I don’t think I can make a shank from the pages of a novel.”
Cera frowned. “A what?”
“A shank, you know, like what prisoners make to stab—” Abort, Ursula. Abort! “I mean, since Bael said to remove anything I could use as a weapon. Surely books are harmless.”<
br />
Cera nodded slowly. “There’s a library I can take you to tomorrow, if you like.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s time for us to leave. You can eat at the ceremony.”
Ursula’s stomach rumbled. The last thing she’d eaten was a soup made from those strange, glowing mushrooms.
Cera crossed over to the door, flinging it open. “Come along!”
Ursula hurried to keep up with Cera as she made her way across the windswept bridge and into the atrium. There, the elevator waited for them.
Cera gave a little bow outside the elevator. “Good luck.”
Ursula pulled open the door, stepping inside. The door clicked shut. “Thank you, Cera.”
As the cage rose slowly on its chain, her chest clenched. Tonight, she’d be facing all the lords again, and getting an eyeful of the champions. She didn’t know what to expect, but she imagined they’d be terrifying.
She shoved her hand into the cloak’s pocket, running her fingertips over the smooth silver ring. It seemed to center her.
The elevator creaked up past one flight after another of shattered glass, twisted steel beams, and layers of gray ash.
Bael was an ancient, stunningly powerful demon. And maybe he was mortal right now, but he had enough magic and brute strength on his side to fix this place up. Still, he’d chosen to leave the damage untouched.
Perhaps he wanted to leave it as a testament to his rage, fuel for his fury.
Ursula could only hope that was enough for him to win in a battle against the champions.
The elevator lifted onto the roof. Bael stood before her, the cold wind feathering a few strands of hair across his face. He pulled open the elevator door, and she stepped out.
He wore fitted black clothes with a high mandarin collar. A dark cloak—feather at the shoulders—was held together over his enormous chest with silver chains and a lion insignia.
Starlight glinted in his pale eyes.
He looked every inch the military leader. At the sight of him, hope sparked in her mind. He looks like he can actually win this thing.
As she stepped onto the roof, a frigid wind toyed with the hem of her dress, lifting it into the air. The delicate fabric floated in the breeze.
“You look...” he said, his gaze trailing down to her leg, exposed in the breeze. “Exactly as you should.”
That... might be a compliment. “And how is it that I should look?”
“Stunning.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you in some clothes, after you were traipsing around in your smalls all night.”
Bael’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile before he lifted his fingers to whistle for the carriage.
The faintest hint of purple stained the sky, and she shuddered, watching as the team of bats whisked the carriage before the moon.
Ursula bit her lip. “So am I to be subservient again, or do I get to act on my own volition this evening?”
With a gentle scraping noise, the carriage landed on the rooftop.
Bael’s jaw tensed. “You must act subservient. All the women are, and you mustn’t draw attention to yourself.”
Of course they are. She heaved a deep sigh, fighting the urge to ask him about his wife. Even in the painting, the determined look in the woman’s eye told Ursula she had never been subservient.
Bael pulled open the carriage door, and she stepped inside.
“Can you tell me what to expect tonight?” she asked.
Bael climbed in, sitting across from her. “As you wish. We’re going to the hall of lords. There will be a feast. The lords will choose their champions, apart from me, of course. Hothgar will announce the rules of the melee. Then we will leave. Hopefully alive.”
Well, that inspires confidence.
“Do I get a dagger again?”
One of Bael’s eyebrows rose. “After last time? No. Absolutely not.”
She rubbed the solid ring in her pocket. “You’re going to leave me entirely unprotected, then. And if Abrax decides he wants to get me alone—”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You said I don’t deserve your protection.”
He winced. “I will protect you,” he said again.
She leaned forward, studying him. “Why don’t you choose me as your champion?”
Surprise flickered across his features, his eyes widening. “Why in the name of the dark god would I do that?”
“The other lords have better odds with five champions each. You’ve only got one. If I fight with you, it doubles our chances of winning, right?”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. There will only be one left alive at the end,” he said. “None of the other champions will be left alive by the end of the tournament. I would have to kill you.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re injured. I could take your place, then. I may have a better chance than you.”
His eyes bored into her. “Don’t be absurd.”
Maybe he has a point. She might be pretty good with a sword, but she was no match for someone who’d been fighting for twenty-two thousand years. And moreover, she lacked a weapon and her firepower.
His eyes darkened. “Tell me you won’t call attention to yourself this evening. That you won’t attack anyone.”
“I can see you’re still upset about the kerfuffle with Nyxobas.”
“Tell me.”
“Fine. I’ll do what you say.” Within reason.
Chapter 17
The carriage plunged lower and lower through the air, and Ursula gripped the seat to steady herself. They were descending all the way to where Asta met the crater floor.
With a lurch, the carriage touched down on a rocky avenue.
She peered out the window at a long line of carriages. As the bats inched forward slowly on their claws, Ursula gazed out at the desolate lunar landscape. Apart from Asta’s violet light, darkness shrouded the land. Deep fissures cut into the stone around the base of the spire.
Their carriage slowly pulled forward to a covered entrance, and two footmen in gray jackets hurried out to open their door.
Bael stepped out, holding open the door for her. He offered her his hand as she stepped out.
Ever the gentleman.
This close to the ground, Asta’s crystal was a deep mulberry, the color of a bruise. Above them, gray clouds of moths swirled and danced, blotting out the stars.
“This way,” said Bael.
A walkway, lit by glowing mushrooms, led to the arched entrance. Ursula walked by Bael’s side, rubbing the silver ring between her fingers.
Through the doorway, she stepped into an enormous hall, carved from the purple crystal. The walls arched at least two hundred feet above them, and great clusters of glowing mushrooms hung from the ceiling like chandeliers. Long, onyx tables, populated by demons filled much of the hall. An open space had been left in the center, like a dance floor. By Bael’s side, she walked further into the center of the hall.
At the far end of the massive room, a single table stood on a dais. Eleven lords sat at the table, proudly enthroned in silver chairs. Abrax glared at her, licking his lips, and a shudder ran up her spine. No one here seemed to know or care that he’d tried to overthrow the entire Shadow Realm. Apparently, losing your wings was unforgivable, but a full-fledged divine coup was okay, assuming you were a demigod.
In the center of the table, in the largest chair, sat Hothgar. A gavel lay on the table before him.
Ursula frowned. That should be Bael’s spot. Until Abrax had stolen his wings, Bael was Nyxobas’s Sword, the most senior of all the lords.
Ursula looked at the whorls of shadow magic behind the table. Nyxobas. Behind the powerful clouds of magic, she’d nearly missed him. He sat in a silver throne, half-shrouded by writhing shadows. As a swirl of magic cleared, his eyes—two dark abysses—seemed to stare right at her. At the sight of him, dread tightened its grip on her heart.
A small oneiroi hurried up to them.
“M
ilord,” she said with a deep bow to Bael before turning to Ursula. Her eyes trailed down to Ursula’s dress, and the shockingly sheer fabric that hung below her cloak. The oneiroi scowled, then plastered a smile on her face once again. “Please follow me, milady. The lord will be seated at the table of nobles.”
Ursula looked to Bael for help, but he was already moving toward the dais, leaving her behind.
“Right this way,” the oneiroi chirped, beckoning her forward.
Ursula took a deep breath. Let’s do this.
She quickened her pace to keep up with the oneiroi, who navigated between the sea of demons, seated at the tables. Some appeared entirely human—and shockingly beautiful. Others sported more demonic features: horns, talons, or even eyes the color of blood. And yet they were beautiful in their own ways, too. Men with chiseled features, women in glittering gowns, their bodies lithe and delicate. Since arriving here not long ago and spending time with Cera, her definition of beauty seemed to be expanding.
She surveyed the guests—gowns of dusky purple, midnight blue, or shimmering black seemed to be the favored colors. Some women had jewels threaded into their hair, and many of the men wore dark suits with silver accents.
And each one of the demons stared at Ursula as she passed their tables.
Obviously, word had spread about her presence. The hellhound harlot. Wait till they see the whole dress.
Avoiding their stares, Ursula followed the oneiroi deeper into the hall, closer to the platform. Finally the oneiroi stopped, and gestured to an empty chair at a long table, filled with female demons sporting totally demonic features: horns, talons, white eyes, sharp teeth. All beautiful. All dripping with diamonds. And all staring right at her.
The oneiroi pulled out a chair by a striking woman whose jet-black hair tumbled over a white gown.
“Your seat, milady.” The oneiroi held out a hand. “May I take your cloak?”
Ursula unclasped the cloak, pulling it off. Before she handed it to the oneiroi, she snatched the silver ring from her pocket.
As the other women took in Ursula’s daring gown, they gasped audibly.
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