by Rachel Aaron
His eyes flicked back to the black length in his hand. The seed was enormous. Most demonseeds were the size of almonds. When Alric told him Sted’s seed had been as wide as his hand, the Lord of Storms almost hadn’t believed him. But the Daughter’s seed dwarfed anything he’d seen in the five thousand years he’d been hunting.
It was as long as his forearm and only slightly thinner, tapered to a sharp point at both ends. How the thing had fit in the girl’s body, he had no idea, but it was good he’d gotten it out. Even separated from its host, the seed’s surface burned like a brand against his palm, eating him little by little.
The Lord of Storms shifted his grip with a grimace. He could see why the Shepherdess had wanted to handle it herself. A seed like this was a danger to the entire sphere. Of course, he thought bitterly, it was only fitting she deal with the seed since it was her fault the thing had gotten this big in the first place. If she hadn’t prevented the League from going near her precious thief, they would have killed the girl ages ago.
He shook his head and set off across the whiteness in the direction of the Shepherdess. The Lady had been in decline for a long time now, but she took all leave of her duty whenever the boy was involved. Fortunately, that infatuation seemed to be over. Maybe now, with the Daughter of the Dead Mountain safely disposed of, Nara out of the picture, and the thief in disgrace, things could finally get back on track.
The Lord of Storms cleared his thoughts as he approached the White Lady. Benehime was kneeling beside her sphere with her head in her hands, white hair falling across her body. She didn’t look up as the Lord of Storms approached.
“The Hunt was successful,” he said, coming to a stop beside her.
She stirred at his voice and slowly raised her head. When he saw her face, the Lord of Storms jerked back. The White Lady had been crying.
“Shepherdess,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “I can return later if—”
You have the seed?
The Lord of Storms held out his hand, offering her the seed. The lingering blood on its black surface hissed when she grabbed it, burning away with white fire wherever her fingers touched. The seed itself, however, was unchanged.
You’ve done well, my Lord of Storms, the Lady said, cradling the seed in her arms. It’s larger than I thought.
“I’ve never seen its like,” the Lord of Storms admitted. “How do you mean to dispose of it? Will you give it to the Hunter when he returns today?” The Hunter was the only soul who left the shell that sheltered creation from what lay beyond. Even in the Lady’s own care, the seed was far too dangerous to remain here. Throwing it into the void would be perfect.
Benehime lay the long, wicked length of the seed across her bare knees. When she looked up again, her white eyes went to the Lord of Storms’ sundered chest, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. He stood at attention and waited for her to say something, but she simply turned back to her sphere. No, he squinted—not to her sphere, but to something floating beside it.
It was the pearl from earlier, the small sphere that she’d pressed the gold vein into, but where before it had been opaque, it was now beautifully clear. Clear enough that, despite its tiny size, the Lord of Storms could easily see what lay inside. The Shepherdess was holding a tiny, perfect world between her fingers, a beautiful, jeweled landscape of sparkling seas and deep forests, and as he saw it, the Lord of Storms felt himself go cold.
“What is that?”
You’re overstepping your bounds, my Lord of Storms, the Lady said, stroking the delicate arch of the tiny sphere with one long finger. Swords do not ask questions.
“You are the source of my strength,” the Lord of Storms said. “And I am the source of the League’s. Therefore it is very much within my bounds to question you when your actions seem self-destructive.” He crossed his arms over his lacerated chest. “Why were you crying just now? And what is that small sphere? Why are you calling in the stars?”
The Lady glared at him over her shoulder. I do not explain myself to you.
“You do if you want me to keep your world safe from the demon,” the Lord of Storms said. “You’ve been causing a panic for three days now that’s made my life very difficult and almost cost you that seed. I don’t care what you do with your time, Benehime, but if it hurts my ability to do your work, then I need to know. Especially if you mean to keep this up much longer.”
The Lady turned suddenly, the black seed clutched in one long hand while the other reached out to grab his face. As she touched him, the air went rigid, trapping him in place. The Lord of Storms could do nothing but clench his teeth as she pulled his head down until their faces were level.
My dear Lord of Storms, she whispered, running her white fingers along his jaw. How long have we been together?
The Lord of Storms didn’t know this game, but he grudgingly played along. “Little over five thousand years,” he growled. “As you well know.”
So long, she whispered. And in all that time, have you ever wished you could do something else?
The Lord of Storms sneered. “Like what?”
Have you ever tired of this life? she whispered, her lips inches from his as she looked down on him through half-lidded eyes.
“No,” the Lord of Storms said. “I am your sword. Swords don’t get tired of cutting.” And he might have just found the equal opponent he’d been searching for all his life, but the commander kept that bit of information to himself.
The Lady was looking at him strangely, her snowy eyes studying his face as though she were memorizing it. As she looked, her fingers roved up to trace his nose, sliding down the ridge of it before coming to rest on his lips. I think I shall miss you, she said quietly. I would take you with me, but I have no need of storms in paradise.
Her words made no sense, but the finality in them made him wary. He shifted back, trying to pull away from her touch. “What are you talking—”
She cut his words off with a kiss. It was not the hard kiss she usually gave him when he was caught like this, but a soft brush, gentle as a new lover’s. Her lips lingered against his, and when she pulled away, her face was almost sad.
Good-bye, my stubborn, loyal sword.
And then her hand stabbed into the wound in his chest.
The Lord of Storms screamed, the sound turning into a thundercrack as it filled the white nothing. The Shepherdess’s hand burned inside him, her fingers searching through his clouds for the threads of power that kept him together. She broke each one as she touched it, undoing the binding she’d laid down at the world’s beginning. Every break brought a new flash of pain, but the worst was the feeling of falling apart. The Lord of Storms was breaking, crumbling, his power splintering beneath the Shepherdess’s fingers, and he could do nothing but hang in the air and scream as the White Lady did what no demon had ever been able to achieve.
When she finally released him, the Lord of Storms fell to the ground. His form was more cloud than man now, and he could barely move for the pain. Even so, he forced his head up just in time to see the Lady turn away.
In reward for your years of service, I’ve left you enough control to choose the location of your death, she said. Go now, I must prepare for my brother’s arrival.
The Lord of Storms twitched on the ground. The agony was overwhelming, and yet he had to speak. Even if he died halfway through, he had to know.
“Why?” he croaked. “If I die, the League falls, and the demonseeds will overrun the world. You told me so yourself when you made me. So what are you—” His voice broke as a wave of pain overwhelmed him, but he forced himself to finish. “Why, Shepherdess?”
She looked down, her face full of pity. Not for him, but for herself. I find I don’t much care what happens to the world anymore, she said. Now leave, you’re bleeding all over my floor.
Sure enough, a puddle of clear rain water was spreading out around him. The Lord of Storms squeezed his eyes closed, willing it to stop, but he wasn’t a human, wa
sn’t the Heart of War, blessed with the Lady’s power. He was a storm, a common spirit, and his will could do no miracles. Bit by bit, he was draining away, but he had a little strength yet.
His hand began to creep across the white floor. His fingers, now little more than tendrils of cloud, pulled themselves forward until they reached the Lady’s bare white foot. With a final burst of strength, he grabbed her ankle and squeezed with everything he had left.
“I—” he gasped. “Will not. Let you. Betray. Your duty.”
She scowled down at him, kicking his hand away.
It is the world who betrayed me, she said. Get out.
With that, she raised her foot and brought it down hard on his chest. Pain greater than any he’d ever felt exploded at the impact, and then he was falling. The last thing the Lord of Storms saw was Benehime’s back as she turned away, fading into white as her world closed to him forever.
You’d better wake up, little girl.
Nico flinched in her sleep, her abused body going stiff with panic.
Why are you here? she thought frantically. The demon was buried. She’d buried him herself. He wasn’t supposed to be able to talk anymore.
I’m always here, idiot, the demon sighed. I’m part of you. And as part of you, I’m telling you that you need to wake up. Right now.
Nico’s eyes popped open.
She saw nothing but storm. A great primordial storm that spread out as far as she could see. The clouds were as black as char except for where the blue-white lightning shot between them, lighting them up in purple flashes. But right through the middle of the storm, cutting across the black expanse like a razor, was an unnaturally straight strip of blue sky. Clouds rolled at the edges of the divide, cracking and rumbling, but they never moved forward. They could not close it, and Nico could not understand why.
Use your eyes, stupid girl.
Nico blinked in surprise. Suddenly her mundane, human vision reasserted itself, layering over the spirit sight, but what she saw there was no less horrible. The Lord of Storms filled her vision. He was nearly on top of her, his black form towering over her head. He was injured, his chest rent in a great gap lined with the same black clouds she’d seen before, nearly splitting his chest in two. But the wound didn’t seem to be slowing him down as he slammed his hand into her chest.
Nico had put her body through a great deal in the years she remembered, but she had never, never felt pain like this. The Lord of Storms’ hand dug into her flesh, burrowing through her like it was searching. And then, just when she was sure the pain couldn’t get any worse, his fingers closed on the hard, stiff mass in her chest she’d never actually felt before he touched it.
The panicked pain that shot through her at the contact would have knocked her to the ground had his hand not been inside her, holding her upright, but Nico couldn’t think of that. She couldn’t think of anything but the feel of his fingers wrapping around the thing inside her. Her seed. He was holding her seed.
I’d help if I could, but it seems a little late now. The demon’s voice was almost wistful as it floated through her pain-washed mind. I would like to say I’m sorry, though.
That was almost enough to shock her out of what was happening in her chest. The demon never apologized.
I’m sorry I didn’t kill you when I had the chance, he continued. For all our differences, you are still my daughter, and I owed you that kindness. Trust me, you’ll hate me for it later.
Nico found that very hard to believe.
Believe it. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, darling, and I’m not talking about wishing you’d taken me up on any of my hundreds of generous offers.
Why would I ever miss you? Nico thought, gritting her teeth in the hope that she could somehow keep herself from passing out.
Because I’ve been the only thing holding it back. The words were a whisper, but Nico could hear the demon’s smile. Good-bye, daughter.
Nico was about to ask what he meant, but then the Lord of Storms began to pull and the pain drove everything else from her mind. The whole world shrank down to the hand in her chest, and then, with a ripping jerk, the Lord of Storms pulled the seed free.
It was like he’d torn out her core. Nico flopped forward, her body spasming against the snow. Her chest was ripped wide open, but that seemed like a minor concern. Without the seed she felt like an empty skin. Even the pain was fading into the distance now, eaten by the yawning emptiness, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was dying. This was death. Normal, human death.
The realization nearly made her weep. She’d never thought she’d be able to just die, to open herself to the emptiness and pass into the mists. But as quickly as it came, her relief morphed into anger. She couldn’t die. Not like this, not after Josef had risked so much to save her so many times. She couldn’t throw away his efforts, his suffering, and take an easy death. Even if she could, she wasn’t ready to give him up. She wasn’t ready to give any of it up. She wanted to live. She was going to live.
Her fingers clenched in the icy ground, slowly at first, and then stronger. She could feel the Heart of War’s spirit dimly nearby, wrapped around another soul she knew as well as her own. Josef was close, and he was furious. So furious that even the Heart’s presence faded beneath his rage. Why? Nico wondered, and then she pushed it aside as unimportant. All that mattered was that she had to get to him. Had to help him.
Slowly, deliberately, she forced her arms to extend. Grabbing the icy rock, Nico pushed herself up inch by burning inch. Finally, she made it to her knees. Only then, when she was firmly anchored, did she let her eyes open again.
Josef was the first thing she saw. He was standing on a ledge with the Heart of War in his hands, screaming in an enormous, wordless, enraged roar. Nico tried to move toward him, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Weeping with frustration, she focused on her legs, trying to make them cooperate, but the more she fought to move, the more she became aware that she was hungry. Frighteningly hungry. Ravenous. Unbidden, her head snapped back to Josef and the Heart of War. She could see both spirits clearly, see the power coursing through them.
A spike of hunger hit her, slicing through her body with such fury it reduced the pain to a whimper. The Heart of War drew her like a beacon, and the need to devour its power was almost overwhelming. She would devour the swordsman as well, and the cliff he stood on, and the mountain below that. She could eat the snow and winds overhead. Eat everything.
Before she knew what was happening, she was on her feet, stalking toward Josef like a predator on the hunt. The moment she realized what she was doing, Nico slammed herself to the ground. As she buried her head in her hands, she noticed that her sundered chest had stopped bleeding. The wound was still open, but it didn’t hurt much anymore. It was just a black hole in her chest—
Nico stopped cold. Black. Her blood was black. No. The seed was gone. She should be human, a normal girl with red blood and normal hunger, not this all-consuming need. Why? What was happening?
The answer came to her in the demon’s voice, something he’d said to her days ago on the beach at Osera after she’d defeated Den. Rival, he’d called her. A new demon.
Nico clutched her chest with shaking hands. The skin was healing as she watched, the black edges knitting together, and as the wound closed, the hunger rose in her until it was all she knew.
The need to eat was like a madness. It came over her in waves, pushing her will away with careless strength as it strained toward Josef and the Heart. Her mind was emptying until all she could think of was how delicious that power would be, how filling. To hunt, to eat, these things were her right. These things were her nature. The only truth that mattered.
Just before the need to devour took her over completely, Nico slammed her eyes shut. New demon or old, it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed. She would beat the hunger, beat anything that stood in her way. This was still her body, her soul, and she was still master of herself. The only master she would ever serve.
When Nico opened her eyes again, she was standing in her field where she’d first buried the demon. As it had been in Osera, her inner world was dark, the hills hidden by a pitch-black, moonless night, but the darkness was no longer the only change. In front of her, the rock she’d used to crush the demon down had been torn free. The pit where he’d lain was now a gaping chasm, the ground ripped away along with the seed. Around it, the grass was gummy and decaying. No wind blew, and a foul smell was rising up from the soil, making her gag.
Rot, Nico realized with a spike of terror. Her field was rotting. No, this was her world. She was master. Nothing happened here without her consent. But even as she thought it, the hunger roared in her mind. The need to eat sent her to her knees. She could almost feel her stomach curling up and vanishing inside her. She had to eat. Had to eat or she would die.
After that, the hunger became all-consuming. It seized control of her mind, bending her to its will. Eat the sword, it commanded. Eat the human. Eat everything. Eat and grow strong. You can’t be king if you’re weak.
“No!” Nico shrieked her answer. “Weak or strong, dead or alive, this is my body.”
You’ll die, the hunger jabbered. Die die die die die die.
Nico shut herself down, refusing to listen. Slowly, mechanically, she crawled up the large stone that had held the demon in his prison and curled into a ball on top of it, wrapping her arms around her wounded chest as she stared into the dark.
Out on the edges of the field, blackness was lapping like water. It rose as she watched, flooding over the rotting grass and fetid ground, pouring into the chasm where her seed had been. It rose until her rock was the only island in an endless, black sea. Rose until the dark waves were lapping at her feet. The darkness was as cold as the space between the shadows. It froze her wherever it touched, but Nico refused to move.