Another round of banging interrupted them, and a pockmarked guard peered in at them through the window. “Lights out,” he growled.
“Yes, sir.” Zee reached for the oil lamp. With a sharp exhale, she extinguished it.
The door clicked as the guard slid a panel over the window, plunging the cell into darkness.
“The guards are awful,” said Zee.
“So what happens now?” asked Ursula.
“Well, they’ll have us keep the lights out until morning.” Zee enunciated morning the way she might if she’d been miming air quotes. For all Ursula knew, Zee was actually making air quotes, but it was impossible to tell in the dark. “But sometimes I think they have us keep the lights off for days on end.”
Something pressed against Ursula’s side, and she nearly jumped, until she realized it was Zee.
“Sorry,” said Zee. “It gets cold in here.”
Zee rested her head on Ursula’s shoulder and spoke softly. “Do you know how long I’ve been imprisoned?”
Ursula tried to tally all the time that had passed since they’d been separated at Vortigan’s warren under the Statue of Liberty. “I’m not sure. A week or two maybe?”
“Oh,” said Zee. From the tone of her voice, Ursula couldn’t tell if she was relieved or horrified.
“Well, it could be worse. At least you weren’t tortured in prison like Kester was.”
Zee stiffened. “You saw Kester?!”
“Abrax had him. He’s fine. Recuperating with Cera right now.”
Zee sighed audibly. “I was worried about him.”
“He can more than fend for himself.” Ursula was glad for the darkness, so Zee couldn’t read the expression on her face as she remembered Kester stabbing her mother.
Ursula woke in the dark. She could feel Zee’s small form next to her. Although it was pitch black, she could hear by Zee’s slow breathing that she was asleep.
The lack of sensory input should have bothered Ursula, but it didn’t. The darkness felt safe and clean, like she didn’t exist. Like nothing could hurt her—no memories of her mother’s shirt, stained with red, or Kester driving a sword through her ribs….
Ursula closed her eyes and opened them, blinking a few more times. The blackness remained the same. Just her and her thoughts. She closed her eyes again, and sucked in a slow breath.
Maybe she shouldn’t run from her memories anymore. She’d come here to learn who she really was, hadn’t she? She’d never be whole until she remembered everything.
It was time to revisit her arrival in London.
Slowly she began unwinding the memory. She started with the scratchy sheets of the hospital bed, then the firefighter carrying her through the burning rubble of Ethelburga Church. A moment later, she was reconstituting out of ash on the palace roof. She slowed down the mental images, studying F.U.’s agonized face, then the strange reverse carving of Emerzel’s sigil into her skin.
She wanted to know why she’d done this to herself, but in this memory she was merely an observer. She could watch each moment, see every detail, but she couldn’t feel the emotions. Even in her memories, she was keeping a distance. Why?
She scrolled back further. New memories began to unfold before her—memories she hadn’t seen before. F.U. sprinted backward through a door, into a dark stairwell. Down and down it wound, and she bounced backward down the stairs. F.U. was gasping for breath, tears streaming from her eyes. What had upset her?
F.U. burst through a door into a cacophony of screams and shrieking steel. Men were fighting, bleeding all around her. She was in the midst of some sort of battle. Looking down, she found the gold dagger in her hand as she ran backwards, moving into the battle. The reverse nature of the memory was disorienting as she dodged swords and halberds, moments before they swung over her head.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of demonic wings beating the air—Abrax’s wings. Fear nearly sent her fleeing back to reality as she realized where she was. This was the beginning of the Battle of Mount Acidale—the throne room.
F.U. ducked down, falling to the floor, and began sliding in reverse under a table. Her hands reached for something, and Ursula nearly screamed at the sight of her mother’s corpse.
F.U. cupped her mother’s head in her hands. Red hair draped over Ursula’s shaking fingers, as her mum’s dead eyes stared at the underside of the table. Ursula nearly screamed again as they suddenly focused, and the corpse drew in a shaky breath.
“No, Mother. Stay…” she heard herself say. F.U.’s eyes were blurry with tears. She looked at her mother with an expression of abject horror.
Ursula could see the love in her mother’s eyes, and her mum reached up to touch her cheek. The memory twitched and jerked like an old silent film. F.U. leaned in as her mother whispered in her ear.
Then the memory went dark as if the film had run off the reel.
Ursula opened her eyes, gasping in the dark, quiet cell. Next to her, Zee continued to breathe softly.
Ursula’s mind raced. What had she just seen?
F.U. had been at the battle. She’d seen it in Bael’s memory, and now her own. She’d been at her mum’s side when she died. Was this what had sent her running from Mount Acidale? Did she know that King Midac would blame her too? Maybe her mum had told her to run. Those seemed reasonable possibilities. But why did she feel the need to rid herself of her memories? There was something more there she didn’t yet understand.
She was just considering whether to revisit the memory when the door burst open. Zee screamed, as Ursula blinked in the light. A figure stood in the doorway: a giant of a man, with shoulders that nearly spanned the doorframe. Bael? Ursula squinted.
No, the hair wasn’t right, not dark enough.
“I wish to speak to the queen-killer’s daughter,” Lucius’s voice boomed.
Chapter 33
Ursula stood slowly. Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the light. Instinctively, she began to channel fire into her palms.
“I told you, your fire won’t hurt me.” Lucius grabbed her by the wrist.
He dragged her from the cell, throwing her onto the rough floor of the hall. As she scrambled to her feet, she heard a shout, muffled through four inches of solid oak. Unmistakably Bael’s voice.
“Looks like I woke your boyfriend up,” said Lucius. “A pity. The condemned deserve their sleep.”
Horror slammed her in the gut like a fist. Condemned?
Lucius’s hand was at her wrist again, pulling her up in a vise-like grip. He yanked her to her feet and began dragging her down the hall. Her pulse raced wildly.
“What do you want with me?” Ursula shouted, struggling against him.
Lucius turned to her, his eyes the color of molten steel. “Obey me, and I’ll give you a painless death.” He squeezed her wrist so hard that she was sure her bones would snap. She grunted with pain, wishing her fire could do some damage to him. Lucius continued to drag her down the hallway, while the sound of Bael’s assault on his cell door grew more distant, until they turned a corner and she could no longer hear it.
She’d expected Lucius to lead her upward, to some sort of bird’s-nest-like dragon eyrie. Instead, he led her downward, deeper into the bowels of the ravaged castle.
At last, they pushed through a doorway, into a massive corridor. A giant tube, hewn straight from the bedrock. Ursula shuddered when she saw the walls, deeply gouged by dragons’ claws.
They followed the tunnel as it twisted downward. At last, it opened into a familiar cavern. Here, massive dragons rested on tiers of stone, their sides moving in slow breaths as they slept. There was no question that this was Lucius’s Mount Acidale warren.
Lucius led Ursula past the sleeping dragons, into a smaller, human-sized corridor.
“Where are you taking me?” she hissed.
“Someplace private, where we can talk.”
Ursula glanced at Lucius with surprise. His voice had lost its brutal edge. While it didn’t ex
actly sound kind, it also didn’t sound like he planned to eviscerate her the instant he got her alone.
He pushed through a heavy oak door into a living room of sorts, but one that gleamed brightly. Just as she had when stepping from her cell into the hallway, Ursula had to shield her eyes. As her pupils constricted, Ursula gasped with astonishment. Gold filled the room. Gold coins littered the floor like confetti, and bars of bullion lined the walls behind golden armchairs. Solid gold sarcophagi stood against the walls. Even the walls and ceiling were papered with gold leaf.
“You reek of death,” said Lucius, reminding her that she still wore the soiled prison uniform. He pointed to a door, covered entirely in gilt, like a museum picture frame where the picture was simply more gold. “There’s a shower in there. Clean yourself up. Then we’ll talk.”
Like in the living room, gold lined every inch of the bathroom. Lucius had even eschewed a porcelain toilet for one made of solid gold. Not that Ursula spent a lot of time judging. She practically tore her dirty clothes off as she made a beeline for the shower. Steam filled the space.
The water was piping hot, but Ursula spent a good ten minutes under the scouring stream, scrubbing at her hair and body with gold-flecked soap. Finally clean, she stepped out into a steam-filled bathroom, toweled her hair dry, and slipped into one of Lucius’s robes. Whatever he had in store for her, at least she wasn’t dirty.
In the living room, Lucius sat on a gilt chair, Excalibur on his lap. Ursula frowned. He wore a black shirt and dark navy pants. The only gold on him was a thin chain around his neck.
“Is there a problem?” asked Lucius.
“I was just surprised that you weren’t wearing a gold shirt.”
Lucius shrugged. “That would be ostentatious.”
“Look,” said Ursula, “I appreciate the shower, but what do you want with me?”
“I wanted to hear your side of the story.”
“My side,” she repeated, dumbfounded by this change in his behavior.
Lucius cleared his throat. “Grisial. Please join us.”
From between two of the sarcophagi, a door creaked open, and Grisial stepped into the room, her white hair draped over a bright red gown. “Hi, Ursula.”
Ursula blinked. “What are you doing here? I thought you escaped.”
Grisial smiled. “I thought so, too, but Lucius caught up with me.”
“So you’re a prisoner as well?”
“No,” said Lucius. “Grisial is free to go if she so wishes.”
Ursula crossed her arms. “Can you fill me in a little? The last time I saw you two in a room together, you were trying to kill each other. And that was a matter of hours ago.”
“We have a complicated history. But you’re the one who makes me nervous. If I recall correctly, you disemboweled my friend Dreq,” said Lucius solemnly.
“Well, he ate me,” Ursula sputtered. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Most humans consider it a great honor to be eaten by a dragon. Dragon bile is said to cleanse the soul of sin and free you of any earthly bonds. If you’d allowed yourself to be digested, you could have lived a glorious afterlife.”
Glorious afterlife, my arse. “Right…” said Ursula.
Lucius leaned forward, fixing her with his amber eyes. “Grisial told me your story about getting Excalibur. I’d like you to understand that I spent years as a torturer. I know when people are lying and telling the truth. Tell me. Is it true you spoke to Viviane? That she gave you Excalibur?”
Ursula didn’t have any idea what was going on. “You mean the Lady of the Lake?”
Lucius pierced her with his gaze. “I assumed you’d stolen the blade from her.”
“No. She gave it to me to fight the Darkling.”
Lucius stared at the blade in his lap. From where Ursula stood, she could see the words put me down engraved in the steel. “Vivane was my great love. Were it not for this blade, she would not have died,” said Lucius softly. Slowly, he raised his eyes from the steel. “Is it also true what you told Grisial about the Darkling?”
“Yes,” said Ursula. “Abrax is gathering power as we speak. He says he intends to free mankind, but he only wants to rule them. If he succeeds, he will subjugate the human world, and the magical realms.”
Lucius nodded slowly. “I’ll help you.” Lucius looked from her to the blade. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but the blade is mine.” He rose, sliding Excalibur back into its sheath.
Lucius was turning toward the door when it burst open. Five guards rushed into the room. They trained their rifles on Ursula.
From behind them, Ursula’s grandfather stepped into the room. “The king requests an audience with all three of you.”
Chapter 34
With the rifles trained on her back, she crossed into the great hall. From his throne, King Midac stared at her. “Why is the prisoner out of her cell? Why are you consorting with her?”
Lucius strode up to the king’s throne. “Sir, I believe the girl speaks the truth. That there is an immediate threat to the kingdom.”
The king cocked his head, his lip curling. “I decide when there is a threat to the kingdom.” He rose from his throne, “Am I not the king?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Lucius, casting his eyes down.
The king glared at the shifter, then pointed at Grisial. She tossed her white hair over her shoulder in what looked like an act of defiance.
“Who is that?” the king bellowed.
“That is Grisial,” said Lucius.
Midac’s face blazed with rage. “You captured the White Dragon, and you did not immediately tell me?”
“Your Majesty,” said Lucius. “I was in the process of interrogating—”
“It is my job to determine the fate of our prisoners,” Midac shouted. He pointed a thin finger at Grisial. “Bring her to me.”
The guards leveled their rifles at Grisial’s head. Slowly, she walked up to the edge of the throne.
“Why did you try to kill me?” growled Midac, rage palpable in his voice.
Ursula was impressed at how genuine Grisial was able to make her smile. “I came to deliver important news. News crucial to the survival of the kingdom. The Darkling—”
“Do not speak of the Darkling!” A vein throbbed on his forehead as Midac yelled, “He does not exist, and even if he did, we are perfectly safe here in Mount Acidale. I have a legion of dragons to protect us. We repelled the last attack, when the shadow demons tried to slaughter us.”
This guy has drunk too deeply from the goddess’s fires, and he’s lost his mind.
Ursula took a step closer to the king. “I have seen the Darkling, and you have too. Here in your kingdom. He was part of the attack that killed the queen. He abducted me from New York to try to force me to join his cause. He is building an army in the Shadow Realm. If he’s able to bring them to earth, he will overrun your realm—”
“Who are you to interrupt me?” Emerazel’s fire blazed in Midac’s eyes. “I am king of this realm. You are but a—” King Midac froze as he looked at her. “Y-you—” he sputtered, his voice quavering. “This girl. I recognize her.”
Oh bollocks. Ursula’s stomach dropped.
“The queen slayer’s daughter. How dare she speak to me with such insolence?” The king’s face had gone red, spit flying from his mouth. “Her mother murdered my wife. She was a traitor.”
King Midac gestured to Lucius, who dragged Ursula up the steps to his throne. He stepped closer to her, Emerazel’s fire streaming from his right hand in great gouts of flame. His eyes burned with insanity, crazy as the gods themselves.
“You will burn for what your mother did,” he roared.
Before Ursula could step away, the king grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her toward him. Then he pressed his hand, blazing hellfire, into her face.
Heat and pain exploded into her vision. Midac’s palm must have been a thousand degrees as it pressed against the bridge of her nose. She screamed, fighting t
o escape his grip. Midac held her for what must have been at least a minute, until he dropped her to the marble flagstones.
“No!” Midac gasped. “That is impossible.” He stared at her in horror.
“Wh-what?” Ursula stammered, her heart slamming against her ribs.
“Your skin. It didn’t burn.”
Ursula touched her nose. Her skin felt smooth under her fingertips. His flames hadn’t actually burned her.
“Emerazel’s flame immolates all flesh. Unless—” Midac’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Unless the goddess’s fire flows in your veins as well.”
Ursula began to step away, but the king grabbed her. His fingers wrapped like manacles around her bicep. With a jerk, he tore her shirt open, exposing her collarbone. “Just as I thought. She carved herself.” Still gripping her bicep, he drew a small dagger from his belt and held it to her face.
“Remember this?” he asked. The blade was kinked, its golden handle melted.
The same blade she’d seen in her memory. “I don’t think so—”
“This was once the athame of infernos. Emerazel’s dagger. Only the chosen were allowed to taste its power.” Unadulterated rage contorted the king’s features. “You stole this from me. You illegally carved yourself. Then you destroyed it.” The king lifted the broken blade so its point was inches from her right eye. “You are a thief, with purloined fire in your veins,” Midac hissed. “The penalty for this transgression is death.”
Lucius moved into the corner of her vision. “Your Majesty, she came to us at her own peril. She has not attempted to harm the kingdom. Death is not an appropriate punishment.”
Releasing Ursula, Midac turned to glare at Lucius. His eyes blazed with the heat of Emerazel’s infernos, and Ursula finally understood the source of his rage. The goddess’s blood filled his veins, her fire driving him mad. Of course—because the gods themselves had lost their minds.
The king jabbed the dagger at Lucius’s face, but the shifter dodged it effortlessly. Midac’s hands began to glow with hellfire.
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