City of Thorns (The Demon Queen Trials Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  Every time I looked around, I realized people were craning their necks, trying to listen in.

  I sighed, looking out across the Acheron River to the south bank. “The Elysian Fields. I do remember them fondly. Is it true that during your Infernal Rite, you slaughtered fifty demons?”

  He twirled the stem of his wineglass between his fingertips, and the crimson liquid glinted in the sunlight. “Well, I don’t like to brag—”

  “Liar.”

  Amusement curled his lips. “Fine. I love to brag. Yes, I killed fifty demons. And yes, I think the others find me terrifying.”

  Did the king find him terrifying, too?

  I sighed, trying to get into my role. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen King Nergal.”

  “Don’t worry.” He flashed me a dazzling smile. “You will see his head soon. But now you have unwavering loyalty to the new king, don’t you? You know how it is here. Vae Victis.”

  Woe to the vanquished. Expect brutal treatment at the hands of the victors. Another reminder that I couldn’t fall into enemy hands here.

  I lifted my wineglass, smiling, and repeated, “Vae Victis.”

  Chapter 16

  When we finished eating, the tour continued—one ward after another of honey-colored stone. The walls wrapped around the city’s borders, punctuated by towers that looked out over Osborne.

  I was thrilled I’d had the foresight to choose the most comfortable boots, because we walked for miles—through the Belphagor Ward with its Hall of Guilds, and the old Parliament by the river. We saw the haunted prisons in the Sathanas Ward, and the gallows outside where executions took place. A three-headed guard dog snarled at us outside its iron gates. It must have been the magic of the place, but the city was far more enormous than it appeared from the outside.

  I noticed that the fashion looked slightly different in each ward. In the Luciferian Ward, there had been a lot of silk dresses and large belts with plunging necklines. In Sathanas, I saw bustiers and men in suits with thin ties.

  But the Asmodean Ward was something altogether different. Here, canals flowed through the city instead of roads, and deserted boats floated in turquoise water. The streets were narrow and deserted, occasionally opening up onto squares with faded grandeur. Classical buildings were adorned with columns and tall windows, and the faded stone looked like it had once been painted bright colors. Many of the façades were crumbling, the windows boarded up. An empty fountain stood in the center, carved with statues whose faces had been smashed.

  My heart clenched. Sadness permeated the air here like a dark miasma. I felt the loss of this place viscerally.

  Across from us stood a palatial building with arched, mullioned windows. A canal flowed on one side of it. Workers were rushing in and out, carrying furniture inside and replacing broken windowpanes.

  Orion pointed to it. “There. That’s your home for now. No one has lived in the Asmodean Ward in centuries, but they’re making sure it’s fit for Mortana.”

  I turned to look behind me, unnerved to find that three female demons had followed us into the abandoned ward. There was nothing for them here—no restaurants, no shops. No one lived here. They were simply watching us, and they didn’t seem to care about being subtle.

  A tall, brunette demon with sapphire eyes and black horns was glaring at me, arms folded. The look in her eyes was pure wrath, sending shivers through my bones. In her leather shorts and corset, she looked as sexy as she was terrifying. Two blondes flanked the horned one, all of them statuesque. But the most interesting thing about this trio was that the horned one had tattoos of flames on her arms. Did she have fire magic?

  I needed to know how common flames were among demons.

  Moving closer to Orion, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and I shot a smug smile at the trio. In response, Orion wrapped his hands around my waist. His intense magic sizzled over my body, heating me.

  I reached up and pulled his head down closer to my mouth. “Orion,” I whispered, “I can see that people want to kill me already. I need to know what their powers are like.”

  “What do you want to know, love?”

  “What about fire magic?” I whispered.

  His arm brushed down my back, and he looked over my shoulder. He reached for my hand, then he led me toward a building that looked like an abandoned brick mansion, the windows boarded up with wood. He kicked through the ancient wooden doors into a room of faded marble and dusty tile floors.

  I coughed in the stale air. I could see that at one point, this place had been truly stunning. Busts in alcoves lined the hall, carved with flowing hair and crowns. But their faces were smashed, too. A few of the statues had been pushed to the ground and lay shattered on the marble. An old, dusty diary had been forgotten on the floor, as had a moth-eaten cape. Two crystal glasses and a decanter stood on a table. A maroon stain darkened one part of the floor, disturbingly the color of dried blood.

  It was hard not to be curious about an abandoned demon mansion, so I peered through one of the doorways to see something that looked like a ballroom, covered in dust and cobwebs. A harpsichord stood in one corner, and more crystal glasses and plates littered the tables. It was like the Lilu who’d once lived here didn’t see it coming. Like they’d left mid-meal. It made my heart twist to see it.

  “Why was this all left here?” I asked. “If the Lilu are gone, why did no one take over their palace?”

  He turned to look at one of the smashed busts, and he traced his fingertips over its rough contours where the face used to be. “Demons are superstitious. When something terrible happens, a place is thought to be cursed. Haunted.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  He shook his head. “No. Haunting requires a soul, and I don’t believe we have them.”

  But for some reason, since we’d come in here, the shadows seemed to thicken as if this place spooked him. Hot magic warmed the air around him.

  “Do you think mortals have souls?” I asked.

  His eyes slid to mine, his expression distant. “I’ve never spent any time thinking about mortals. Maybe you have souls. It’s honestly difficult to take interest in fragile little creatures that only live for a few years.”

  I’d really have to just get used to his condescension. “Right. Okay. I suppose none of that matters right now.”

  “You wanted to ask about fire magic.” His gaze pinned me. “Why fire magic specifically?”

  I shrugged. “There was a demon woman outside with fiery tattoos. I’d heard a rumor that demons can light people on fire, and I happen to be more than a little terrified of it.”

  “That’s Lydia—Duchess of the Luciferian Ward, House of Shalem. Fire magic is rare. Most of us possess only strength and speed relative to mortals. A few have ice magic. The ability to summon water, or to cause a storm—there are some examples of elemental magic. But fire—only the most powerful can summon fire. Those from a branch of royal lineage. Some say it means you’ve been touched by Lucifer himself.”

  Now this was the most important thing I’d learned since I’d arrived. “So who’s on that exclusive list?”

  “The king, Lydia, and Mortana.”

  And now I had three suspects.

  Orion raised his hand, and flames burst from his fingertips like candles. The fire danced in his eyes. “And me.”

  I stepped back from him, my heart pounding, and the flames disappeared.

  He looked at me with curiosity. “You really are afraid of fire.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Yeah. It’s a thing I have.”

  He took a step closer. “You’re here with me, working with me. I’ll make sure that no one hurts you. Understood?”

  Either he was telling the truth or he was a very convincing liar.

  He turned, heading back for the door. “Let’s go, love. I don’t like it in here.”

  Add Orion to the suspect list, then.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 17

  We reached our endpoint in th
e Beelzebub Ward, where we stopped for dinner at a riverside restaurant called Valac’s. The setting sun cast dazzling red and orange rays over the river just to our south.

  Everything in the royal Beelzebub Ward, where envy ruled, looked as though it were gilded. Sandstone streets, trees that bloomed with yellow flowers, women in metallic dresses, cheekbones highlighted with gold dust. The setting sun washing it all in amber.

  Orion had left me on my own to get dinner. He’d said something about wanting to speak to the king before my arrival. And with him still footing the bill, I ordered crab legs with butter and garlic mashed potatoes, along with the most expensive red wine on the menu. I wondered which kind of wine Mortana had used to drown the queen, and frankly, it seemed like a real waste.

  The task that lay ahead of me tonight made my stomach churn: charm a king and convince him I was a succubus. Fail, and my best friend would be murdered. And I’d die in a literal fire.

  I let out a long breath, scanning the scene around me. From here, I could see the bridge that crossed the Acheron River—the Bridge of Harrowing, according to the map. On the other side of the river, shadows pooled in the darkening woods. A warm breeze rushed from the south, carrying with it the mossy scent of the wild forests.

  Nowhere had I seen the star I was looking for, and I desperately wanted to ask about it. I couldn’t just bring it up cold, though. Not when Orion himself was a suspect.

  In the City of Thorns, I was like an undercover cop.

  I’d once watched an old Keanu Reeves movie called Point Break where he played a cop infiltrating a gang of surfer bank robbers. He blended in, got to know their culture, and waited for information to come to him. He didn’t just start interrogating the other surfers. Only when he got them to trust him did they reveal their secrets.

  As I sipped my wine, staring out at the Acheron, I mulled over the horrible but real possibility that Orion was the killer. What if he’d known exactly who I was when he found me in Cirque de la Mer? What if he’d dragged me here under false pretenses to spy on me after killing my mom four years ago?

  But the theory didn’t really hold up. Why would he spy on me? He had lethal magic at his fingertips and zero empathy. He could torture answers out of me if he felt like it.

  My heart kicked up a notch as I realized that Lydia, the tattooed woman, was sitting at the table across from me. Her lip curled as she stared back at me, and my blood turned to ice.

  I couldn’t let her actually see that I looked nervous, though, so I kept my expression bland and gazed at the flowing river.

  “Mortana?” Orion’s deep voice pulled me from my musings, and I turned to see him. In the sunset, his beautiful face was bathed in rosy hues. “It’s time to get ready for your meeting with the king. And I’m afraid tonight might be a more difficult than I’d imagined.”

  My stomach sank.

  Orion and I approached the outer gates of the Tower of Baal, arm in arm. The palace looked ancient, the outer wall carved with arrow slits. A sandstone path led to an arched gateway. From here, I could just about see the former king’s head impaled on the outer gates above the first entryway. My blood turned cold as my heels echoed off the stone.

  In the past hour, we’d taken a cab back to Orion’s house in the Luciferian Ward, and I’d readied myself. I’d picked out a gorgeous dress—long black lace with a slit up the thigh and a neckline so plunging that a bra wasn’t an option. I never wore stuff like this, but Mortana did. And you know what? Mortana looked fucking hot.

  While I’d been fixing my hair, Orion had dropped the bomb. There was so much controversy about the return of the succubus, I wouldn’t be meeting the king alone. In fact, I’d be meeting a whole council of demons, and they would decide my fate. The whole Infernal Quorum would be in attendance—a duke or duchess from each of the city’s wards.

  Including Lydia.

  And if any of them sensed I was an imposter, I’d be thrown into a pit of fire right there in the Tower of Baal.

  As we drew closer to the outermost gate, I considered why the king would need the input of a quorum. He had the ultimate power here. But my guess? He wanted to be able to blame other people if Mortana turned out to be a royal disaster. After all, it was their decision, too, right?

  Powerful people—even when they had total control—were great at blaming others.

  My heels clacked over the stones, and I tried not to dwell on the flames. It was just that of all the methods of execution, that was the one that really scared the shit out of me. But I was doing this for Mom, and now for Shai, so no matter what happened, I had to get it right.

  When we got closer, I could see that the old king’s head looked remarkably well preserved, with a full head of black hair and his skin still smooth. But his eyes were closed, and his facial muscles looked slack. Torches fixed to the walls cast wavering light over the sandstone walls, and the dancing shadows almost made King Nergal’s head look like it was moving, the dead lips gibbering. I let out a long, slow breath.

  With my arm looped through Orion’s, I leaned in to whisper, “Is this normal for demons? The severed head?”

  He looked at me with confusion. “Of course not.”

  Thank God. So they weren’t all sociopaths.

  Then he added, “There would be no reason for other demons to keep a severed head above their gate. It’s only because he was the former king. It’s a reminder to the world that King Nergal was defeated by someone stronger, and that Cambriel is the rightful king. Vae Victis, remember?”

  “The severed head doesn’t bother people who live here?” I whispered. “It’s a bit macabre.”

  He shrugged. “He wasn’t very popular.”

  I found myself staring at Orion, trying to read him. His face showed absolutely nothing, and the head clearly didn’t faze him. I wondered if all demons lacked empathy.

  In mortal terms, someone with no empathy was called a psychopath. From what I understood, psychopaths had reduced activity in their amygdala, the part of the brain that created anxiety. So psychopaths didn’t feel fear as deeply as the rest of us, or any emotions, really. That meant they sometimes went to disturbing lengths to feel things. If they grew up middle class, they could chase a high buying and selling stocks, or go into politics. If they grew up around violence, maybe they’d cut off their dad’s head and stick it on a gate.

  We crossed through into a stone courtyard, and I realized there was yet another gated wall before we got to the tower. The king had a lot of protection. “Orion,” I whispered, “do you ever feel fear?”

  He frowned. “What would I be afraid of? I could kill nearly anyone.”

  Oh, dear. “Do you ever feel bad for someone? I’m just trying to understand what kind of people think the decapitated head is a good idea.”

  His lips curled with a taunting smile. “If you want to understand what kind of people think it’s a good idea, you can read your own history. It’s where we borrowed the custom from. Mortals were doing the exact same thing when we closed the city gates in the 1600s. The heads of defeated enemies jutted out of Boston Common in the 1670s.” He shrugged. “Demon culture simply moves more slowly.”

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  He had a good point. Demons and mortals alike were fairly terrible at times.

  At the other side of the courtyard, two hulking, muscular demons stood guard before a door carved with a sigil. It almost looked like an insect with long legs, and it must be the symbol of Beelzebub.

  The guards’ ivory horns curled from their heads, the color matching their pale, waxy skin. They glared at us and clutched their spears. Silvery magic curled off their bodies, and a low growl rumbled over the stones beneath our feet. The sound rose to a sort of deep, morose song that filled the air.

  A shudder crawled up my nape at how unfamiliar this was. But I managed to keep my sexy, catlike walk going. My hips swayed. It was the weirdest thing, as I’d never met Mortana. I hardly knew a thing about her. And yet, I felt like I had an int
uitive sense of how she thought. Her confidence, her disdain for others, her ability to control a situation. She was like my ruthless shadow-self coming to the surface. My id. She was the primal part of the brain, unburdened by self-consciousness or anxiety. The id was all desire and aggression, and maybe it was kind of fun letting it come to the surface.

  When we got to the door, the two guards shifted out of the way. Now, the gates opened into a field of wildflowers in gorgeous fiery hues—amber, pumpkin, cherry red. A stone path carved through the field, leading to a gilded tower of concentric circular floors, which narrowed at the top. Closer to the tower, a red carpet had been laid out for our arrival.

  It was the most grandiose thing I’d ever seen, and clearly, it had been built to intimidate. Around the tower, demons milled about in gorgeous ballgowns and suits. It looked like a Met Gala, with outrageous gowns of crystals and metallic colors. There were red dresses with long trains that trailed over the grass, men in pinstripe suits or velvet with enormous sashes. I could have transposed the scene to New York but for the fact that half the attendants had horns.

  Tonight was apparently quite the event. Everyone wanted to be here, possibly to watch a succubus roast in a fire.

  I stole a glance at Orion, taking care to maintain my placid expression. His silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, and when he turned to look at me, I felt an unwelcome fluttering in my heart. The thing was, I was starting to feel safe with him, like he was my protector. And that was absolutely stupid, considering he was one of my suspects.

  And as we drew nearer to the red carpet, I felt all the demons’ eyes on me. The crowd started to close in. My heart was fluttering hard, my stomach twisting. I did my best to look bored, even if I was anything but.

  In my black gown, I was wearing one of the simplest dresses here, but I thought it made sense. Mortana was a badass bitch with the confidence to show herself off. She wouldn’t rely on the clothes to do it. Why give all the attention to the designer when it could be on her?