Dreamers Do Lie

by Megan Cutler

  No doubt Lucifer could freeze him in his tracks, perhaps even banish him back to his cell with a thought. But he could sow havoc somehow. Would that delay the event? Was Lucifer pompous enough to reschedule if something went wrong?

  One demon pushed Moril into a small, steam-filled room with a pool of clear water in the center. The other tossed a towel at his head. “Out through the door in the back when you're done. And make sure you get all the blood off. The Master doesn't like blood on his fancy carpet.” They slammed the door and the sound echoed through the chamber.

  The allure of warm water, of easing his aches and cuts, and the prospect of being clean again were too strong to resist. Setting the towel aside, Moril peeled off the ragged remains of his clothing and discarded them. As he lowered himself into the tub, the water enfolded him like a mother's welcoming embrace. He closed his eyes. For a moment, he could almost imagine his home again; the stone corridors of the palace, the bright blossoms in the castle gardens, the crowded streets of Corvala's capital and all the happy days he spent there.

  He needed a plan. He might only have a few seconds before Lucifer subdued him. He needed to maximize the effect of his actions. The King of Hell probably expected him to scream obscenities and objections.

  He could attack his guards instead, but it wouldn't take long for them to overwhelm him. How close would Lucifer allow him to be to the proceedings? It would be pointless to attack the devil himself, but he might lunge for Kaylie. If he could wound her, much as it pained him to consider it, the ceremony would have to be delayed. And Lucifer would never expect it.

  With a sigh, Moril reached for a nearby sponge. If he lingered too long, the demons might break down the door and subject him to a forceful scrub. He rubbed gently at the blood caked to his limbs while he contemplated the coming confrontation.

  None of his prospects were good. Even if Lucifer believed him desolate, he wouldn't allow him an opportunity to strike. Perhaps he should focus on conveying his feelings to Kaylie. If he could condense it all into one sentence, he could speak before Lucifer silenced him. But how to fit all his feelings in so few words?

  The water must have cycled because it never turned red or brown, despite the amount of dirt and grime he cleared away. But the bath had grown tepid by the time he finished. Tenderly, he toweled himself dry. Then he passed through the far door, half-dreading what he would find.

  The room was narrow and nondescript, lit by a single flickering lantern. A wooden bench lined one wall and, on it, he found a pile of clothing. His uniform, undamaged by his tenure in the dungeon. He dressed slowly, arms shaking, fingers numb. Delay the inevitable. Stop panicking and think! Could he speak and act at the same time? Or would that jeopardize both his intended goals?

  He finished dressing and approached the next door with trepidation. A new set of demon guards waited outside. Each took one of his arms and half-led, half-carried him up the corridor, obviously intent on keeping him under control.

  They passed through a set of wooden doors into the manor proper. It might have been uglier than the dungeon. Moril couldn't find a space free of decoration and the sheer intricacy paired with the bright colors made his head ache. He tried to focus on the floor.

  He didn't know where the wedding would take place, but he steeled himself for the blow. He would look only at Kaylie, try his best to meet her eyes. He would memorize her form, her face and her voice so that he could recall them with perfect clarity for the rest of eternity. He would carry those memories, use them as a shield against Lucifer's future torments, the only form of resistance that would be left to him after today. He still didn't know what he would do. Speak as much as he could, attack if he was able, mar the event if he couldn't delay it. Anything to leave his mark on the occasion.

  They entered a grand dining hall with an ebony table in the center. Three figures sat at its head; Lucifer, Kaylie and Dwenba. At least when he returned to his cell, he could bring Eselt news of his companion. She looked pale and terrified, but healthy and unharmed.

  Kaylie sat with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted regally upward. Despite the pain in her eyes and the worry lines furrowing her brow, she was as beautiful as he remembered. She noticed her companion staring and turned slowly to face him. Her breath caught in her throat.

  How did he look to her? Battered? Broken? Did the fire of defiance still burn in his eyes? He wanted it to, wanted her to know that he hadn't given up even if his resolve wavered from time to time.

  Moril caught a glimpse of Kaylie's hands beneath the table, clasped so hard her knuckles were bone white. Then one of the demons seized his head and forced him to look at Lucifer, blocking Kaylie from his vision.

  The King of Hell stood and raised one hand as if to snap his fingers. Did he intend to torture his captive right here in the dining room?

  Kaylie rose, her movements frantic. She dove forward but Lucifer caught her arm and dragged her behind him, spilling his chair to the floor in the process. He flared his bat wings wide to block her path.

  “Do not try My patience,” he growled. He narrowed his blood-red eyes at Moril. “Take a last long look, mortal, before I banish you from My realm. The two of you will never inhabit the same dimension again.”

  “I don't intend to… What?” Moril had been poised for a fight, ready to struggle against his captors, to threaten and snarl until the devil's words washed over him.

  Lucifer smirked. “I have agreed to release you as a gift to My bride.”

  “I will stay. Then she need not marry you.”

  “She will marry Me either way.” The smirk became a grin. “If you wish to stay-”

  “Go, Moril!” Kaylie shoved one of Lucifer's bat-wings aside. With an irritated grunt, he folded the wing but lifted an arm to keep her from rushing forward. She clenched her teeth but seemed to think better of fleeing. “That's an order from a member of Corvala's royal family.”

  Moril hesitated. Technically, death freed him from his oath. Instinct told him to fight, just as Eselt suggested, even if he knew how it would end. But there was something in Kaylie's eyes lurking beneath the haunting sorrow and terror. He had seen it before.

  She wanted his trust.

  He bowed his head. “You should not have done this.”

  “Perhaps not,” Kaylie murmured.

  “Yes, yes, farewell, Moril.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Your presence shall be missed.” Again he raised one hand. This time, Kaylie grabbed it.

  “May we not have one moment?”

  “No you may not. I grant this request in exchange for obedience, which begins now. I did not agree to reunite the two of you for some sentimental farewell. I should have put him on the other side of a soundproof wall.” Lucifer jerked his hand from Kaylie's grip and snapped his fingers. The small sound echoed through the grand hall.

  Reality titled. The demons let him go.

  Moril stumbled forward. It seemed as though he stood on a wall, moving at strange angles compared to everyone else. His head spun, his vision danced.

  Then it all cleared. He felt light, as though the world no longer held him. He might just drift away, a feather on a warm spring breeze.

  Light surrounded him, as bright as the light which swallowed Kaylie when she stepped into the Styx. Moril blinked and looked down.

  Voices swirled below him, muffled and distant. Kaylie broke away from Lucifer. She rushed forward with arms outstretched.

  The devil flapped his massive wings. His lips moved, but no sound reached Moril's ears.

  The force of his wing beats drove Kaylie to her knees. She braced herself with both arms and turned her face upward. Her cheeks glistened with tears.

  Moril tried to lean forward, to reach for her, but an invisible wall blocked his movement.

  Kaylie's lips moved. He tried to focus on them, to catch the sound or trace the shape. He thought she might be begging for forgiveness, but he couldn't be sure. As if he could ever stay mad at her.

  He tried to speak,
but his voice echoed back to him strangely. It seemed nothing could penetrate the light that surrounded him. Kaylie's figure rapidly shrunk.

  “I will plead for you!” Moril repeated the call three times, ignoring the strange echoes. Surely from Heaven he could do more than if he had lingered in hell. Perhaps that had been her hope.

  He had no idea if his words reached her before she and the room vanished in a bright wash of light.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Bride of the Damned

  Still on her knees, Kaylie buried her head in her hands and sobbed. She didn't care if it made her look weak. Moril was free. His soul would find peace.

  Yet success left her bereft. During her last conversations with Moril she had contradicted him, insulted him and pledged her love to another man. Her greatest wish had been to restore the love between them before his departure, to apologize for her wretched behavior. She had tried when the light consumed him, but it didn't seem as if he could hear.

  She should be grateful. She won her beloved's freedom against impossible odds. Luck had surely played a role, even if it didn't provide her ideal ending. If only she could do it all over again, warn herself away from the Lethe-laced wine or leave herself some sign to trust Moril when he appeared. But even the gods couldn't change past events.

  A hand fell heavy on her shoulder, squeezing tight. Sharp nails bit her flesh. “Enough. We have vows to take.”

  Kaylie swiped the moisture from her cheeks as she lifted her head. The lust on Lucifer's face made her recoil. She jerked her arm from his grasp, ignoring the bright streaks of crimson left by his claws. “Here?” she demanded, gathering her skirts as she stood. “Now?”

  “Why wait?” Lucifer purred. “You have already received your gift and I have the necessary authority to complete our union. Besides, we have a great deal to do.”

  Kaylie shuddered. She had agreed to cooperate, to surrender her soul to his whims in exchange for the release of her beloved. But she couldn't marry the King of Hell. Once the bond was forged, it would be impossible to break. And a marriage between them would plunge the world into eternal darkness.

  Her mind raced, the chaos refusing to clear enough to allow rational thought. Moril's face flashed before her eyes, twisted with pain when she claimed to love Arimand. She recalled the glint of morning sunlight off the axe just before the soldiers banished her from Moril's execution. All the while, Lucifer's lust made her skin crawl.

  “Forgive my impudence, my lord,” Dwenba cried as she swooped between the two of them. Her voice was high-pitched and strained, but her words were clear and confident. “You are not just a king, you are also a god. Your union requires a proper ceremony. No, it requires a grand ceremony, the grandest ever conceived! Not only is your bride insufficiently dressed, but you have no witnesses. You must want your most powerful and faithful lieutenants to witness this triumph and bask in your glory. This is a marvelous accomplishment, the culmination of centuries of work.” She was breathless by the time she finished.

  Lucifer hesitated. He tilted his head to one side, obviously taken with the idea.

  A giddy rush of relief cleared the restriction of Kaylie's chest. What she wouldn't give to have Dwenba on her royal court of advisers! “I would like a proper wedding.” She sniffled, trying to sound innocent. “It will be my only one.”

  The King of Hell pursed his lips. “These attempts to delay will not serve you, My dear. But the idea has merit.”

  Kaylie lifted both palms as if in surrender. “What is one day to ensure your wedding is a proper spectacle? You will want the inhabitants of all three worlds to whisper about it for centuries to come.”

  “It will take you an entire day to prepare?” Lucifer growled, narrowing his eyes.

  “Well…” Kaylie floundered, momentarily at a loss. “I haven't had a chance to properly consider the logistics, but imagine how magnificent it would be to seal our vows just as the sun kisses the horizon.”

  “And what is wrong with this evening's sunset?”

  Dwenba wrung her apron between her hands. “Can you summon all your minions in time, my lord? And we'll need time to design Lady Kaylie's dress, even if you intend to pull it from thin air. There's a feast to be prepared. Goodness, we'll need to arrange table settings and gifts. You will expect your attendants to provide appropriate gifts, will you not?”

  Lucifer silenced her with a wave of his hand and Dwenba bowed her head obediently. “You have made your point. You women are always so obsessive about the details of special events.”

  Kaylie, too, kept her eyes on the floor, though she snuck a few glances in the devil's direction. “It is usually our duty to tend them. And royal weddings often take months to plan.”

  From the smug glint in Lucifer's eyes, it was obvious that Dwenba had successfully appealed to his ego. Kaylie didn't care where she wed the beast, but the timing was of particular importance. The more convoluted they could make the preparations, the more time she would gain.

  “You have one day,” Lucifer said at last. “I expect the two of you to ensure the event is sufficiently spectacular. I will send the invitations.” No doubt attendance would be mandatory, eliminating the need to wait for responses.

  Before either woman could protest or plead for more time, the devil swept from the room, folding his bat wings around his shoulders like a cloak.

  Kaylie almost fell off her feet. She stumbled sideways, reaching for the table and found Dwenba instead. Her friend guided her to the nearest chair and helped her settle. Then she pressed a napkin to the bloody scratches on her shoulder.

  “Don't worry, my lady, I know plenty of ways to make a peacock preen.”

  Kaylie drew slow, deep breaths, trying to clear the dizzy haze from her head. A flock of butterflies filled her stomach while a knot of nerves crowded her chest. How many extra hours could they glean from further contrivance? And what would she do if they couldn't sway him? “I just hope it will be enough.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Lucifer Helel, lord of the damned, looked upon his bride's wedding preparations with approval. Even the monarchs of Corvala had their vices, the desire for luxury chief among them. How many of these arrangements were meant for her wedding with Moril? Perhaps he would ask the next time she grew rebellious.

  The ceremony would take place in his grand chapel, of which Kaylie had described numerous dreams during his tenure as Arimand. It was the largest room in his mansion, though he could manipulate the structure at whim. It hadn't been used for worship in a long time; his fondness for watching creatures grovel had waned over the eons. Kaylie had passed through it only once before, on her way to Ethilirotha.

  The jeweled chalice still sat in the center of the obsidian altar along with a polished dagger resting on a red-velvet cloth. His intended must be aware of the countless sacrifices made in this space. Perhaps she considered her vows to be one of them.

  The light of the setting sun lit the cathedral ablaze. With the red-tinted windows and candles scattered throughout the room, the ambience was one of fire rather than blood. Kaylie and Dwenba had used flowers to reinforce this illusion, binding red, orange and yellow blossoms from his garden into bundles tucked beneath light sconces and lining the aisle down which his bride would walk.

  His favorite addition to the chamber, however, stood on the far side of his dark altar. Beside the life-sized statue of himself now knelt the smaller figure of his bride. Her posture displayed supplication while her expression was one of pure admiration. He had allowed her to delay the ceremony three extra hours in order to finish it; he had simply frozen the sun in place to preserve the flaming aesthetic. True to her word, it had been worth the small delay. He took it as a sign that she had fully accepted the terms of their contract.

  Perhaps releasing Moril had been the right choice. Losing his favorite plaything still rankled, but it may have saved him a hundred years of headaches. He might sprinkle similar statues among the churches in the demon city, to remind his minions of their new queen and
her fine example of fealty.

  On either side of the blood-red carpet that divided the hall were countless wooden benches, filled with the most distinguished of his demons. They had arranged themselves according to their accolades, which put the largest and bulkiest creatures in the front. The smaller winged creatures hovered to get a better view, while several imps balanced on the backs of the benches to peer between shoulders.

  Any moment now, his bride would appear beneath the grand arch at the far end of the room. While he waited, Lucifer admired himself one more time in the mirrors set beside the altar dais.

  Pale-faced and tight-lipped, Dwenba had presented him with his attire early that morning. He had left the magic of his personal tailor available to her and she had delivered fantastic results. His robes were made of the finest silk, dark as midnight, embroidered with intricate silver constellations. In a place of prominence across the collar were a set of golden stars, clear representations of his former namesake: the Morning Star, once believed to be the light atop his tower when he lived in true grandeur, before the squalor of the underworld.

  The soft clearing of Dwenba's throat drew his attention. Kaylie stood in the doorway. At his nod, she made her way down the aisle at a stately pace, giving him plenty of time to admire her dress. The under-layer was crafted from the same midnight silk as his robes. It hugged the contours of her body from the low-cut bodice to her shapely hips. It was overlaid by a gossamer fabric, transparent save for delicate silver embroidery depicting every star in the mortal sky. The second layer formed a long train which Dwenba bore with silent dignity.

  Though Kaylie's fiery curls were set atop her head in an intricate pattern, several had fallen free of their bindings to grace her neck and frame her face. A golden tiara graced her brow, set with tiny, glittering rubies. She wore no veil and followed no bridesmaids; not that such foolish superstitions truly held him at bay. She belonged to him, everyone present was aware of it, and she was more radiant than he had imagined.