Forgotten Fates

by S J Doran

  “So what did he do to piss you off?” Cass said with a nod toward the enthralled warlock that stood in the corner. Time to stop pushing her.

  He pulled his sword from its sheath, examining it. He hadn’t meant to offend her, not any more than he already had during her last visit. All the hells, he could still remember the taste of her lust…

  She growled, snagging his attention back. “Some of my people are vocal in opposing my stance on the Blood Cleansing rituals. I thought it time to remove the more pertinent voices.”

  Cass just nodded. She’d told him about the Blood Cleansings before, her people basically practicing genocide on their own already endangered race for the sake of pride and bloodline. A counterintuitive practice. Hard-pressed to garner power when your people were weak and sparse.

  And they were friends now. He’d support her, merely because she supported him. She didn’t have to be here today, offering to use her powers to clean up a mess of his own making.

  “This is a bad death for him,” he grimaced. The thought of her zombies feeding… “and you won’t even have him as an example.”

  She smiled, a little too bright to be comforting. “Removing him from the situation is good enough.” She shrugged, “and it’s helping you. So step back, demon and let me work.”

  There was definite warmth in his stomach, a pleasant warmth. She was doing this for him.

  He slid his sword back into its sheath and moved back to the wall, openly curious in his observation.

  “You did track down her name?” Mara asked with that condescending arch of her brow.

  His cheeks heated. “I looked it up. Batna Paeliryon.” Guilt still churned in his gut.

  “Demon.” Mara said, tone sharp. Cass met her eyes again “What did I tell you about self pity?”

  He grinned, “I’m better than that.”

  She nodded “We are what we are, and because of it those around us get hurt.” An impish grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “Come here Sin, you can stay in my circle while I cast.” She held out her hand and he grasped it like a lifeline. He could shield himself, but he’d much rather be obscured by her magic and rendered undetectable. The undead made him uneasy.

  “You’ll keep me safe from the ravenous zombies?” He lay his arms over her shoulders, rocking back and forth.

  “They aren’t zombies,” she snarled.

  “They eat brains. Haven’t you seen the movies?” He smiled, but his insides clenched. He could joke, but it seriously disturbed him to watch corpses cannibalizing their own species. The visual almost too prophetic.

  Mara slapped his chest. “Okay hush. I need to focus.”

  “Can I hold you?” He smiled down at her.

  Her brows drew together. “You can’t touch me at all while I’m using my magic.” Her cheeks flushed, and she turned to study her accessories that spread across the top of his dresser.

  “I know that Mara. I was teasing.” He curled his finger under her chin and tilted her face back to his. “I wouldn’t dream of judging you for using this power.” Not when she’d seen how he used his.

  She rolled her eyes. “Well gee, I guess I can sleep well tonight.” She snarked, but her body visibly relaxed. The tension around her eyes easing.

  The candle flames briefly flared, and he felt the pressure of her power heavy in his chest.

  “Batna Paeliryon, I summon you from the depths…”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  it's still my turn

  He lazed across the gilded iron throne, as much as one could laze about on thinly cushioned metal. His leg thrown over one of the arms, his elbow propped on the other, holding up his head, trying to affect boredom. Though he felt anything but. His sister had this coming. He was so damned tired of being a pawn in another’s game.

  Strike. Counterstrike.

  Generally, he stayed out of his half-sister’s way. She was cold and vicious, a replica of their father at his worst, encompassing the most cutting traits of their sire. She had no love to spare for her bastard brother, who had taken her place as heir to the throne.

  This needed to work.

  He felt Basileus’s presence as the demon stepped in at the right of his throne. He was concerningly attuned to the other demon’s energy, the constant sharing the same bed had them more intimate than lovers. He stifled a shudder. Though it could be argued that they were.

  He tilted his head back to look up at the stunning demon. No, he wouldn’t invite the demon and his scheming back into his bed. He couldn’t afford to have his father’s Herald making moves against him as they shared pillow talk into the nights.

  Bas looked down at him, his finger tracing from Cass’s eyebrow down the side of his face, stopping at his mouth.

  “You’re prepared for this?” He said, pushing lightly against Cass’s bottom lip. “Her Herald is demanding blood.”

  His touch felt wrong, his words irritated. And when Basileus had threatened Amara, a deep-seated anger suffused him. Only her calming touch and his own hunger had held him back.

  Cass gathered himself, hoping his acting skills were up to snuff.

  “You should rise to greet her, my lord.” Basileus’s voice only carried as far as Cass’s ear, “it wouldn’t do to infuriate the Grand Duchess, and spurn a potential ally.”

  Cass lowered his lids and pulled back from Basileus’s wandering fingers. He already had an ally, one he could trust. And with her help they would put an end to their scheming. Today’s events would make for a good show not soon forgotten.

  “Thank you for the advice. However, perhaps it is in Glasya’s best interest not to anger me.” He sat up, righting the twisted metal headpiece that served as his crown and surveyed the room. Acts of raucous debauchery were going on unheeded, the air fragrant with sin and lust, a familiar backdrop in the Nessus fortress where all types of sins were celebrated.

  The grand hall was lined with basalt and obsidian pillars, Cass’s throne facing down the center towards where the halls opened to a wall-to-wall veranda that overlooked the infamous pits. Stairs separated the balconies, numbering in the hundreds, he’d never counted the number of steps that visitors to his fortress would have to climb.

  Those on intimate terms had access to the main portal, anyone else was forced to scale those stairs, a maneuver to physically exhaust them and put them at a disadvantage. His father’s penchant for giving himself the upper hand reflected in every design and decision made.

  Glasya and her entourage would be cresting the entry to the halls at any moment, today’s entertainment queued up and ready to be unleashed.

  Anytime now.

  “BATNA,” a mournful cry echoed through the Hall. “How could you?” The shouts growing closer.

  He hid his grin with a swipe of his thumb. Straight face. Brazen this out.

  There, in the peripheries, he saw Amara’s warlock traitor stumbling behind pillars, running as though his life depended on it. Because it did. The warlock would soon find himself with a difficult choice to make, how to die.

  Personally, Cass would certainly find the sharp crevasses of the pits a preference to being eaten alive.

  The hall had gone silent, some demons chasing the warlock, Bas himself at attention and peering around Cass to see what the disruption was. A warlock in the Nessus was enough to cause a stir, fortunately most would mistake him for a new addition to the harem.

  Glasya entered the hall in the midst of the stunned silence, her presence oppressive and suffocating. She was close to a thousand years old, her mother had been a power in her own right, add that to the power she had inherited from their father- she was going to test his resolve.

  Time to see which of them inherited more of their father’s cunning.

  He could feel her eyes on him as she studied him, the icy exchange prompting the entire court in attendance to observe them with bated breath. Time was suspended in a moment of tense silence, then her mouth turned up into a vicious mockery of a smile.

  He st
udied her in turn. Her hair was long and dark, her eyes more gray than blue. She wore black silk robes held together with diamond studded silver chains, the firelit halls reflecting rainbows from the diamonds over the matte silk. There was nothing of his father in her looks, which would make it easier to deal with her.

  “Well look at my father’s heir, all puffed up on his own self-importance.” She chuckled humorlessly.

  “Young Cassius has done well for himself.” She spoke to her Herald, while maintaining eye contact with Cass.

  “And from such humble beginnings. Bastard born son of the most powerful demon in the nine hells, and a questionable female of a forgotten race. Tell me— has your mother faded altogether from mortal memory?”

  She stepped closer to his throne, Cass having to look down at her. “does she have any power left to speak of, or has her first-born son usurped that as well?”

  Whatever vile words were next to come out of her mouth were cut off by shouts, louder than before.

  “BATNA… I can’t live with this!” The warlock’s cries caused Glasya to stop speaking, her head cocked as she studied Cass.

  Poker face. He stared Glasya down, arching his brow, daring her to comment. Her poor Herald stood behind her, wringing his hands and looking around, as though searching for… and there she was, his missing daughter making her grand entrance.

  You couldn’t pay for theatre like this in the Hells.

  Every eye in the room followed the warlock as he ran through the hall and out to the balcony, sweat beading clearly on his gaunt face, only Cass knew that it was fear behind his expression, not grief. The Warlock climbed onto the balcony rail, Cass cringing at the thought of the jagged spires below. Then shrugged. Still more pleasant than having your brains feasted upon.

  Glasya’s herald stumbled back as though cold-cocked to the face, his pallor turning ghostly white as he watched his daughter amble down the hall and out toward the balcony. “Batna!” He called out for her, the woman not even turning her attention to him.

  He was fortunate in that. Unless you had someone to push in front of you, it was never a good idea to draw the attention of a zombie.

  The rest of Glasya’s retainers stopped on either side of the entrance, every one of them riveted upon the scene playing out.

  “Batna you were mine!” The warlock wailed and took a step back. He balanced for a moment, enough time for sentience to flash through his eyes. Typical Amara, she had released her power over him just in time to make him aware of his pending death. His cry pitched, then the warlock dropped.

  Zombie-Batna wailed, her arms circling, grasping for the warlock, a moment too late. She threw back her head with a howling cry. One could almost mistake it as agony of the soul. But no, it was hunger. Her dinner had just slipped through her grasp.

  The entire room took a collective breath as ‘Batna’ climbed up and over the balcony. To watch a warlock succumb to death was one thing, but this was a Princess of the Hells.

  “Batna! No! Do not do this thing,” Moloch, Glasya’s herald, took off in a run, Glasya’s soldiers falling in behind.

  For a moment, he managed to capture the female’s attention. In that moment, Cass lost his breath. All could be lost. He edged forward in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests.

  Yet as she turned to him, she lost her grip. In the expanse of a second she stared mindlessly into the eyes of her father, her fingers slipped from the rail, her feet lost purchase— and she was gone.

  “You did this.” Glasya hissed.

  “Since I have no control over what females do in my fortress, I’ll have to disagree. Why are you here Glasya?” He let a bit of power seep out, enough to make the walls tremble.

  The ringing of weapons being drawn echoed through the silent hall, and with a motion of his finger, his own retinue drew arms. He didn’t necessarily want this to end in war, but never let it be said he wasn’t prepared.

  “Tell your soldiers to stand down, and we’ll move to the dining room.” Cass said, keeping his tone even.

  “Convenient is it not, that the woman we came seeking just happens to meet her demise at the precise moment of our arrival?” Glasya held herself imperially. “Sloppy, little brother.”

  Cass bared his teeth. “Coincidental rather than convenient, I’d say. It is my understanding that the warlocks are a prideful and passionate race, not surprising poor Batna found herself smitten with one. It’s all very tragic.”

  He could see the black of her pupils dilate ever so slightly as realization struck. Glasya had come to the Nessus believing herself holding all the cards, only to find that he and Amara had altered the game.

  He shrugged, staring her down as he stood, towering over her, “By the by, our father sends his regards.”

  Shock drained the color from her face, and Cass walked down the stairs to stand directly in front of her, Basileus following.

  “You’ve seen him?” she hissed.

  Ah yes, her power was a palpable thing. So was her envy. Such a powerful, corruptible sin. He sucked it all in, the barriers of her mind faltering with his invasion.

  Her eyes sparked, the blue brightening. “Did you just feed off me, brother?”

  Cass stilled. She had felt that?

  He leaned in, so he could speak in her ear. “Your envy is a veritable feast, Duchess. I advise you to rein it in.”

  “Do it again, boy, and your balls will be on my bedside table.”

  Cass smiled. “Good to know kink runs in the family.”

  He placed his hand to her back and prodded her forward, his eyes wandering to the side of the hall. There he found Mara peeking out from the shadows of the corridor leading back to his private suites, meeting her smirk with one of his own.

  In the dining room they were met by simpering minions who set them up with drinks and place settings while trying to maintain invisibility. His sister sat at his left, the rest of their entourage a few seats down, so they could have private conversation.

  Glasya looked over to him, daintily sipping her wine, her eyes scrutinizing his features, probably comparing them to their father’s, as he was doing to her. Or perhaps she was pondering her next move, since he and Mara had just swiped the board clean. The war she’d come to pick with him neatly averted.

  “You have no heirs?” she finally spoke.

  Cass turned and focused on his own drink. “I have no need for heirs. Nor any desire for progeny.”

  “Your position is a precarious one.” She replied absently, though Cass knew to take it as a thinly veiled threat. “I have many willing females who could bear you a strong child.”

  “Thank you, but no.” Cass motioned for food to be brought in. “So, my condolences to your Herald. Care to explain why after all this time you’ve decided on a social call?”

  This is how they had always operated, with neither of them calling each other out on the power play at hand. They’d just continue to circle one another while awaiting their moment to strike.

  “Why, to start a war, Cassius.” She smiled, and this time it lit up her eyes. She had a back-up plan and Cass was now at the disadvantage. Side-step, counterstrike.

  “Levistus has been at my heels for many centuries. He fell to the corruption and became obsessed with my poor mother. It is no secret I hold him responsible for Benzosia’s death, it's why he regards me an enemy. Since father stripped his titles, he has taken to growing armies. I’m surprised you weren’t aware. Large armies, building up within your realms,” her tone was blatantly snide.

  “I took up the throne five years ago.” Cass said, popping a grape into his mouth. “So, no. I am not entirely aware of all the intrigues yet. But I am becoming informed.”

  “Five years which you wasted slumming in the mortal realm.” She spoke over her glass.

  Her Herald re-joined them, his grief sucking up all the energy in the room and replacing it with a mournful pall, she stopped laughing, studying him, then drank down her glass of wine.

  “Yo
u have capacity for much power.” She spoke low, “but lack the heart for the intrigues.”

  Cass smiled. “Our father said as much just a few days ago.”

  “Our father should have crushed Levistus when the evidence pointed to him for my mother’s death. It was the first of many weaknesses the great Asmodeus showed.” She looked over Cass’s expression again. “One cannot have tender feelings and maintain an iron fisted rule.”

  Cass took offense, and he wasn’t sure if it was for his own sake, or at the slur against his father. “Asmodeus’s power was and still is incomparable. His downfall had been his own undoing by making a play for power that was beyond even him.”

  The play that he and Mara had set up over decades. Tiny, overly complex pieces that played off the next, leading to the eventual downfall of a power too great to be contained. They had strategically scattered misleading evidence for the realms factions to find, had whispered into the right ears. Fearing his father’s expanding power, the heavens had been forced to step in and remove Asmodeus from his throne. It had been an elegant coup.

  “And so unlike him.” Glasya eyed him carefully.

  Cass was careful to school his expression. “Truly? I have never known him any different.”

  She lifted her glass to her lips, but halted mid air. “I need your legions at my back. Levistus will be brought down this time for good. I will see him slit from gullet to groin and watch him as his insides spill out from his waiting hands and onto the floor at his feet. Then I will hang him over my pits and watch him roast and regenerate until I fail to be amused by it.”

  She ended her rant with a long swallow, giving Cass time to absorb the viciousness. The underlying anger.

  “I’ll grant you legions, providing you bring me proof of his crimes. Crimes against me that is. I see no reason to get involved in a feud between the two of you,” he spoke slowly, sipping at his drink, anticipating her outburst.

  Basileus was suddenly at his side, hand on his shoulder, as though to hold him back.

  “You impertinent little fuck!” Glasya yelled, jumping to her feet and slamming her hands on the table so hard the dishes rattled.