by Melissa Marr
She’d considered having a child, hoping that she could suppress the child’s magic. She’d even implored Evelyn to teach her how. When Evelyn refused, Aya knew it was far better to avoid motherhood, far safer for her and any child to simply avoid the chance of death or enslavement, far better for Belias never to know that she was a witch. She couldn’t condemn her child, so at eighteen—the earliest she could become anyone’s breedmate or wife—she had ended her betrothal to Belias and entered Marchosias’ Competition.
But then Belias had entered too.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She threw the first knife as she walked into his training room, but he’d expected it. A heavy leather-and-chain vest protected his chest and stomach. His arms were bare, but the vital parts were all protected. Except his face. She launched the second knife, and he dropped to the floor.
“Apparently, I’m dodging your temper, little bird.” Belias picked up her knife.
She started across the floor, scowling at him, when he threw the knife at her. It nicked her upper arm, a slight cut that stung and bled, but it wouldn’t incapacitate her. She smiled and looked at her torn, bloodied sleeve. “Your aim gets worse every time you do that.”
He snorted. “Not likely. My willingness to injure you is all that’s changed, and you know it.”
Rather than acknowledge that truth, Aya bent and picked up her knife. While her expression was hidden, she said, “I didn’t expect you to enter the competition.”
“Do you want me to withdraw?”
Aya straightened. “Yes.”
Belias gave her the sort of smile that had led to nights spent lost in each other, but he still approached her cautiously. Her other knife was held loosely in his hand. “I am willing to withdraw if you do.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I want a future, Bel. I want to change things, make a difference—”
“You can do that without becoming a killer.” He stood in front of her now. Slowly, so she could escape if she wanted, he reached up and caressed her cheek. “We can negotiate whatever terms we need together. You and me.”
“I can’t be yours,” she told him yet again. “I want more.”
“More than me?”
“It’s not about you, Bel.” She gave in to her one weakness then and kissed him. When she pulled back, she told him, “You know I love you. If I were to marry anyone, it would be you, but I won’t marry. Ever.”
AYA BRUSHED AWAY THE few foolish tears she’d shed at the memory. They’d only been together a few more times after that. The more she’d fought, the more they’d both killed, the less they talked. Belias had no desire to prove himself in public fights, and he grew increasingly upset by her notoriety and reputation for ruthlessness.
WHEN SHE RETURNED FROM the first fight she’d nearly lost, he was there waiting. He had let himself into her apartment and stood there fuming. “Where is the daimon I have known my whole life, Aya?”
“Right here.” She grabbed a cloth and swiped at the blood on her face, smearing it rather than cleaning it away. “I’m still right here.”
Belias snatched the rag from her hand and wiped the blood that was dripping into her eye. “You don’t need to keep doing this. One of them is going to kill you, Aya. If he’d caught you a fraction lower with his claws—”
“But he didn’t.” Aya pulled away and turned her back to him. In her frustration, she couldn’t get the buckle loosened on her boots. “Maybe I’m good enough. Maybe I’ll win this thing. Does that ever occur to you?”
His hand came down gently on her shoulder; he turned her to face him. “It does, but not as often as the terror that one of them will get lucky or you’ll get matched to someone faster or better trained or . . . I can’t keep doing this.”
For a moment, Aya wanted to give in, to tell him the secrets that drove her, but Belias hated witches even more than most daimons did. He blamed them all for his father’s death. She closed her eyes. The moment was expected; before the first night they’d spent together, she’d known that he wasn’t going to be in her life forever. Knowing didn’t mean that reaching this point finally was painless.
She held out her hand. “My key.”
“So that’s it? You choose killing over me? Over the future we could have?” Belias’ grip on her shoulders tightened, keeping her from walking away.
“We were never going to be able to have the future you want.” Aya stayed perfectly still and stared into his eyes. “I will never have children.”
“Aya,” he whispered. “We can both quit the fights. We’re already ruling class, and you’ve proven that you’re a capable fighter.”
“Tell me you’ll always treat me as your equal. Tell me you’ll accept my decision not to ever have children—and not resent me or pressure me to change my mind. We can secretly take in a scab baby, hire someone if necessary, but I cannot bear a child. Swear to it, Bel, and I’ll do it. I’ll give you forever if you can accept that we’ll never breed. I can’t change that.” The hope she rarely allowed herself filled her as Belias leaned in and kissed her gently.
When he stepped away, he withdrew her key from his pocket and handed it to her. “I can’t change who I am either. I have to have an heir. I have to have a ruling-caste wife, and unless you are my breedmate or my wife, I can’t have you.”
“To be clear, Bel, you’re choosing tradition over me,” she pointed out with as little bitterness as she could manage.
“We’d have a future—a good future. We can still hire whatever staff you want to raise the child, but I need a child of my blood.” Belias shook his head. “I could wait, but I can’t accept never having an heir.”
AYA WONDERED IF HE remembered that conversation.
She had often dreamed that they’d find a way to compromise, but that dream was gone. The last few wisps of “what if” had shriveled as he stared out from the circle where she’d sent him.
Aya had seen the flash of fury in Belias’ expression as Evelyn changed the circle. That was proof enough that he could no longer hear them. As if I’d have any reason to doubt her. Evelyn was one of the most frightening creatures Aya had ever encountered. If Marchosias had an equal in either world, it was the witch who currently held Belias prisoner.
“Are you sure it’s wise to return there, Aya?” Evelyn folded her hands together again. “If this spell goes awry, you’ll be exposed.”
“I made a bargain.” She tried not to watch Belias pace the circle like a caged animal. She’d dreaded seeing the look of horror in his eyes when he found out what she was, but she knew she’d never be what he wanted. Daimons and witches didn’t breed. Common knowledge in The City said that they couldn’t, but she was proof that they could.
Evelyn’s voice drew Aya’s attention back to her. “You could stay in this world and take a position here at Stoneleigh-Ross.”
“No.” Aya didn’t belong in the human world. The rules here made no sense, and she didn’t expect that witches would be any more accepting of her daimon side than daimons would be of her witch side. She glanced at Evelyn. The witch who ruled in this world wasn’t any safer than the daimon who ruled in The City. The difference was that she understood The City, that she had power, position, and—hopefully—a future there. “Never.”
“Not even if it meant being with your daimon?” Evelyn prodded.
Aya shook her head. “Belias knows what I am now. You didn’t see the way he looked at me. . . .”
“You could tell him you’re not all witch.”
Aya returned a mirror version of Evelyn’s smile. “Everyone knows that witches and daimons can’t breed, and all I have is your word that my father was a daimon.”
“And talons,” Evelyn added wryly. “Witches don’t have a second form.”
At that, Aya shrugged. She knew full well that she was a hybrid, but she wanted to know who her father was. She’d wanted that since she’d learned that her parents weren’t really her biological parents. Evelyn wasn’t forthcoming with that information
though; all she’d said was that the daimon who’d fathered her had no idea—and that he was so disgusting that it was in everyone’s best interest to keep him unaware.
“I deserve to know,” Aya argued yet again.
“No you don’t. He is too insignificant to matter.” Evelyn walked around the front of the desk and stood as close to Aya as she ever did. It was a far cry from affection, but if Evelyn ever indicated that she felt anything remotely maternal, Aya would suspect a ruse.
Neither witch said anything further. They stayed side by side watching Belias pace and snarl for several moments. His talons were extended now, and he was searching the walls as if they were physical, as if there was some snag he could widen.
“If he can’t be convinced to cooperate, I will have to kill him,” Evelyn reminded her. “You staying here might be sufficient reason to convince him. He cares for you as much as any daimon is able.”
And to that, Aya didn’t have anything remotely polite to say. Belias had loved her; she knew that. She had also seen his eyes when she stabbed him, when he realized she was responsible for his imprisonment, when she revealed that she was a witch. She’d sacrifice a lot to keep him safe, but she wasn’t sure she was able to give up her world and her dreams—or become tied to the one daimon who had loved her and whom she had betrayed.
“It’s witches’ capability for affection I question,” Aya needled. “Maybe I should ask my daimon father if he is capable of caring for me. . . .”
She was at the door before Evelyn said, “He’s not. Maybe your Belias is different, but the daimon whose spawn you are is not capable of anything affectionate. Sometimes you’re more like him than I thought possible.”
Aya didn’t pause as she replied, “Perhaps that’s what comes of abandoning me in The City.”
She opened the door with a whispered word, proving by her action that even here in her mother’s space she could bend the world to her will. It was a quiet statement, but it was a statement all the same. Being a daimon-witch hybrid made her an aberration in both worlds, but she wasn’t a weak aberration. Reminding the head of the Witches’ Council of that detail wasn’t a bad idea.
CHAPTER 19
AS IT SHOULD, THE office door closed behind Aya with no effort from Evelyn. This was her domain, and bending things to her will was as easy as breathing. Her daughter’s ability to open that door, however, was a remarkable bit of magic. Doing even slight magic in another witch’s domain was difficult; doing it in the head of the Council’s office was both difficult and confrontational.
Good girl.
Evelyn smiled briefly. Aya’s ferocity was one of the only traits she shared with her father. The other useful one, of course, was her form-shifting skill. The spell that had enabled Evelyn to adjust her growing child’s genetic structure during those formative months nineteen years ago had all but killed them both, but here they were—both alive and succeeding. The victory had been worth the failed attempts. Delivering the child had been the final act in Evelyn’s path to leadership. No one else had succeeded at the spell. One other pregnancy had come near term, but the child had been born so frail that it had died before it walked. The only victory was Aya.
Evelyn came to stand at the edge of the circle. The daimon stared out predatorily even though it couldn’t see her. Its behavior did little to recommend its continued existence. On the other hand, it could be a useful tool if it survived. Having more allies among ruling-caste daimons would be advantageous to the Witches’ Council.
“Aya seems to want you to live,” she said.
The daimon lifted its head to stare at Evelyn. “And this matters why?”
“Because my daughter rarely asks for anything for herself,” Evelyn admitted with a small shrug. “She’s never asked for a pet before. You she wants to keep.”
“Your daughter?” The daimon flinched, but if she hadn’t erected the circle that held it, she wouldn’t have noticed. Its expression betrayed nothing of the insult that it felt. It said nothing more about her revelation. Its gaze followed her, but that was expected of most any caged animal. “I am not a pet.”
“A familiar, then.” Evelyn waved her hand dismissively. “There are other uses for your sort. Spells where your blood would be an asset. I could collect a number of useful ingredients from you. These days, since our unfortunate removal from The City, it requires a bit of delicacy to get those things, but here you are, all ready to harvest.”
“So those are my choices? You butcher me, or I’m Aya’s pet?” It sneered.
“Yes.” Evelyn hadn’t survived this long without having to dirty her hands. She was more at ease with murder than with affection, but in this case, she was hoping not to murder the daimon. The unfortunate truth was that her child was fond of it. The complications that would result from the daimon’s death were ones she would rather avoid. “If you would prefer death to being her familiar, I will kill you. Unlike Aya, I have no affection for daimons.”
“I’m not sure she had any affection for—”
Evelyn inhaled sharply, removing most of the air from its cage in the process. She watched the daimon try not to put its hand to its throat, studied the daimon as it struggled against the sudden loss of breath, and then she released it just as abruptly as she’d begun to suffocate it. “She is fond of you. We both know that.”
This time, the daimon didn’t reply, but Evelyn wasn’t sure if that was because it was trying to catch its breath or if it had learned not to argue with her. Daimons required a heavy hand. Most of them expired before they were any real use to her. This one needed to be kept alive though. The sad fact was that her daughter was a lot like her, ruthless and focused—which meant that crossing Aya would be problematic. Gifting her with a powerful familiar would be better than killing the daimon, but the process of doing so required the daimon’s assent.
Evelyn lowered the circle. At this point, doing so was a formality. If it tried to run, she’d stop it. It had eaten next to nothing, so it was too weak to attack her. Willpower alone wouldn’t provide it the strength to overcome her. She fisted her hand in the air, and it gagged as her gesture caused it to feel like her hand was squeezing its throat.
The daimon thudded to the floor, glaring at her all the while.
“I have other uses we could come up with, Belias. There are witches who would be indebted to me if I gave you to them.”
As its eyes fluttered, she relaxed her hand. It wouldn’t be able to hear her if it was unconscious. Then she’d need to repeat herself when it regained consciousness.
She waited. Once it appeared focused again, she continued, “Some of my colleagues are studying daimon physiology. I’m sure there are others who need sacrifices for this or that project.” She sighed as the daimon tried to stand. This time, she held her hand up with her palm facing out in a halting gesture.
It stopped.
“I would prefer not to involve them.” Evelyn pressed forward in the air with her upraised hand until the daimon was flat on its back. She walked over and stared down at it. “They don’t need to know about Aya’s weakness for your sort. It’s unseemly. My solution really is the tidiest resolution here.”
Even as the daimon was immobilized on the floor, it glared up at her. It was a very spirited display, all things considered—useless, of course, but still, the gesture was worth acknowledging. For Aya to do the sort of spells she’d need to, she had to have a familiar to store magic, and this one was actually a great specimen. It was fit and young, strong and resilient. It would make a good vessel. She told it as much, adding, “You are obviously otherwise skilled too, or she wouldn’t have looked at you so tenderly. This is a far gentler fate than that of any other daimon who has been summoned here.”
Finally, the daimon asked in an impressively steady voice, “What terms?”
CHAPTER 20
AFTER A FEW SURPRISINGLY restful hours, Kaleb woke to the sound of Zevi welcoming Aya, but the witch said nothing more than, “You can go. I did what needed
done.”
The witch looked worn-out, as if whatever task she’d completed had left her as weakened as a fight would, but Kaleb wasn’t in the habit of asking questions that might lead to emotional admissions, and fortunately, Aya wasn’t the sort to reveal anything. Only Zevi’s well-being would invite inquiries, but Zevi seemed to spill every secret without prompting, so that particular awkwardness was unnecessary between them.
Aya stood looking at them, and Zevi walked up to her and briefly butted his head into her shoulder. He had the aptitude to handle all of the emotional intricacies that Kaleb had no desire to develop. Looking unexpectedly grateful, Aya smiled at Zevi, and then she was gone.
The circle had dropped, and Kaleb and Zevi were left in the lush surroundings alone. Kaleb wasn’t sure whether it was the removal of the circle or whatever spell Aya had cast while they were in the circle, but he felt relaxed. The silks and velvets appeared a bit shabbier in the daylight, and the tarnished brass looked dull where it had seemed to shimmer in the candlelight. The rare foods that had been delivered were still tempting, even if they were a little more obviously overripe now that they were clearly visible.
“Do you trust her?” Zevi asked.
Kaleb stretched. His pains weren’t gone, but he had a few hours left before the fight. Healing wasn’t instant. “Maybe.” He smiled at Zevi, but the scowl he received in reply made clear that he still wasn’t able to lie convincingly to the younger cur, so he added, “I don’t have many other options, Z. I fight today, or I forfeit. If I forfeit . . .”