Lincoln steps up to my side. “Your sentiments are appreciated. You’re fired.”
Her mouth falls open with shock. “What?”
“You heard what the King said,” I snarl. “You’re fired. I can’t believe I have an infirmary run by someone who shoves thrax in a corner because they aren’t affiliated with the right house.” She keeps staring at me, her mouth open. “Fired means you move.”
“Yes, Your Highnesses.” At last, the Head Nurse walks away as Emily approaches us once more.
“I sent out royal messengers to find all the support staff. They’ll start arriving in a few minutes.”
Lincoln rubs his chin. “Thirty staff members.” He sits down on the cot across from Hildy. “How long do you think those interviews will take, my love?”
I scratch my chin, thinking. “An hour or two.” At this point, I can tell within two minutes if they someone has their head screwed on.
“Agreed,” says Lincoln. “What time is it, Emily?”
“You remembered my name,” stammers the young nurse. “It’s ten o’clock at night, Your Highness.”
“Thank you. Excellent work, Emily. You may go.”
Emily blushes, curtsies and then hurries away. Lincoln watches her leave. “She follows orders and fast. That one might end up being the best in the bunch.”
“True.” I loop my arm through his and rest my head on his shoulder. After I woke up in the cathedral, my guy seemed frightened and out of control. Now, with every passing second, he’s more and more his old Kingly self. It’s comforting.
“The Striga elders don’t gather until midnight,” says Lincoln. “So, we’ve a few hours to kill, anyway. Might as well spend it here.”
I link his fingers in mine. “We’ve got them on high alert, and that’s always the best start.”
Lincoln gives my hand a squeeze. “I can feel the sphincters tightening from here.”
Despite the doom and gloom, I can’t help but chuckle. One great thing about Lincoln, no matter how tough things get, he can always make me grin. “Thanks, Lincoln. I needed a smile.”
He kisses the top of my head. “And I needed your smile, too.”
Chapter Eleven
Lincoln and I ride in a Viking-style long-ship headed for Striga. Our cargo for this journey is a very self-pitying Connor along with a handful of stoic Rixa guards.
Thankfully, it’s a very long boat and Connor has decided to hold his self-pity party in the last row. Lincoln and I stand up front by the dragon-headed prow. Worry presses in on my temples like a vice. I glance at the Looking Glass my wrist. Maxon is still seated against the wall of his prison box. His eyes are firmly closed. Hildy’s still protecting him. But that won’t last for long.
Try to take your mind off it, Myla. Working yourself into a frenzy will not help Maxon. Focusing on the task at hand will.
I force myself to look down and watch the outer hull of our enchanted vessel. Below me, the wood glistens with angelfire as it’s magically propelled along the Incaenda Way, a magma river that connects all of Antrum’s distant houses and lands. The combined light of the angelfire and magma dances across the blackened cave walls. Normally, this sight is a calming one.
Not tonight. The red-hot magma only calls to mind the fires of Hell, and churns up more worry about Maxon.
At last, our boat pulls over to a nondescript stone dock in a rather ordinary stretch of grey cavern. You wouldn’t know this was an entrance to the land of Striga, but that’s the point. If Antrum stays under air-tight security, then Striga’s stuck a perfect vacuum. They have every reason to be cautious, of course. Their magic comes from Lucifer’s crown, a power source that half the after-realms would love to steal. Unlike his orb, Lucifer’s crown is a source of good magic. Striga casters recharge their powers by touching objects—or more powerfully, their own hands—to its surface.
A drumroll of footsteps interrupts my thoughts. A dozen Striga dignitaries step along the stone dock to where our long-ship is tied off. The men wear purple tunics with the Striga pentagram on the front. The ladies look pale and ghostly in their long purple gowns.
The Earl and Duchess of Striga lead the group. Their faces are understanding and kind; I appreciate their wordless support right now. The Earl pauses at the end of the dock, sets his feet shoulder-width apart, and grips his fist behind his back. His long grey dreads fall almost to his waist.
“The Elders are ready for you, Your Majesties.”
“Thank you, Lucas.” Lincoln’s voice is strong and confident as he grips the Earl’s hand within his own.
Lincoln and I follow the group to a Pulpitum transfer platform, which is a round metal disk set into the cavern floor. Connor slogs along behind us, his chains rattling with every step.
The Earl activates the platform. The metal circle glows with a lavender hue.
“It’s just you three from here on,” says Lucas. “Elder’s orders. Will you be alright?”
Good question. The Elder’s Chamber is something few thrax ever get to see. “What’s their Chamber like?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t know.” Lucas shrugs. “Receiving an audience is rare. Although, my father was called inside once. He said it was dark.” The Earl smiles gently. His father was notorious for being a man of few words.
Lincoln sets his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Anything for you two.” Lucas nods toward Connor. “He won’t cause you any trouble?”
Connor rattles his chains. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. These are enchanted. Now, let’s get this over with.”
Lucas’s eyes widen with shock. “How can you speak to them in this manner, after what they’ve been through?”
“And what is that, precisely?” Connor asks with a sneer. “I’m the one who’s been locked in solitary confinement like a criminal.”
“No one told you what happened?” I ask.
“I’ve had no visitors since you imprisoned me, if that’s what you mean.” Connor’s cheeks burn red with rage. “Not even Octavia came to see me off.” He starts pacing the Pulpitum like a caged animal. “Now, more things have happened and no one tells the old king? Shameful!”
“This isn’t the time for one of your rages,” says Lincoln.
Connor stops his pacing. “You’re still not going to tell me what happened?”
“No, Father. We’re getting this over with as soon as possible.”
“Start the Pulpitum, Lucas,” I say firmly. “We’ll take it from here.”
Lucas bows low. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Normally, Pulpitum travel means locking hands on each other’s shoulders. On this trip, Lincoln wraps his arm around my waist while Connor sulks on the opposite side of the platform. Works for me.
“On my signal,” calls Lucas. “3, 2, 1.”
The Pulpitum rocks and bucks as we zoom even deeper through the earth. Visions of rock, stone, and magma flash by us as we careen toward the Elder’s Chamber. After a few minutes, we come to a stop inside a great, darkened space made of purple stone.
My breath hitches. This is it. The Striga Elders and, with any luck, some answers about how we can get Maxon back.
The Elder’s Chamber is a marvel of a room with angled walls that—if you’re looking from on high—form the shape of a great pentagram. We stand at very the center of the space, so we have a direct view into each pentagram-point. In every corner, an Elder stands in a pool of indigo light. I count four men and one woman, Elder Faustina. She hobbles toward us with a stooped back and craggy cane, her long white dreads dragging behind her.
“The Elders greet you.” Faustina speaks in what sounds like an Italian lilt, but since she’s been alive since ancient Rome was the new kid on the peninsula, I’m pretty sure the accent’s all her own.
Faustina gestures to Connor’s manacles. “You don’t need those-a here.” The chains instantly fall away.
“Thank you, Elder Faustina,” says Connor.
�
��Don’t thank-a me yet.” Faustina starts chanting in Latin, and the other Elders join in. I don’t catch all the words, but they say something about the bringer of light and power.
And then, a light appears.
An orb of gentle lilac-colored brightness descends from the ceiling, slowly lowering until it hovers at shoulder level. Inside this gleaming sphere sits a golden circlet decorated with angel wings.
Lucifer’s crown.
Faustina hobbles up to the enchanted circle of gold, touching it with her left hand. The orb pulses with violet light. With her right hand, Faustina draws a large circle in the air. Her finger leaves a trail of purple brightness that hovers in the semi-darkness.
“I try to see the truth, Connor.” She shakes her head sadly. “I conjure a Looking Glass many times.” She steps up to the circle in the air, and its surface glistens with lavender light. “Show me the boy.”
My heart cinches. The Looking Glass fills with the image of Maxon at his play date, running and laughing. On reflex, I glance at the magical oval on my own wrist. Maxon sits upright, his eyes all white, same as before. I exhale with relief. He’s still protected.
Faustina shakes her head. “See? The boy at play comes-a easily.” She gestures across her Looking Glass. “Now, show me what seals Connor’s tongue.”
The interior of the Looking Glass turns into a dripping sheet of blood. My stomach twists as the grisly sight. “I always see this,” says Faustina. “Blood.” She hobbles closer to Connor. “Speak!”
“I…It…” Connor’s face turns the same odd purple hue that happened when Lincoln interrogated him before. He’s clearly struggling to breathe.
“I know who worships blood.” Faustina steps closer, glaring into Connor’s eyes. “Black magic, right?”
“What is it?” I ask breathlessly. “Do you know who’s behind this?”
“Yes.” Faustina’s wrinkled mouth twists into a sneer. “Sakura.”
“That’s right,” says Lincoln. “Myla heard the name Sakura in the Amber Cathedral.”
Faustina waves her hand, and Connor starts to breathe again. “Sakura,” says Faustina. “From the House of Taizo.” Her heavy-lidded eyes narrow. “Do you know her?”
“I can’t say,” replies Connor quickly.
“Maybe you know of a geisha witch, then?” asks Faustina. “She wears a white kimono. It drip-a with blood.”
Connor tries to speak, but his words catch in his throat again.
“I thought as much,” says Faustina. She grins, showing a mouth of missing and cockeyed teeth.
My heart slams against my chest. Faustina’s making some progress here, but I don’t understand a damned thing she’s saying. I force myself to bow low at the waist. “With all respect, Elder Faustina, what does this mean?”
“It means-a this.” Faustina points to Lucifer’s crown. “Striga magic comes from Heaven. For House of Taizo, it comes from blood. Death.” She circles Connor like a wolf stalking its prey. “They were a powerful House once, Taizo. But they find the best blood magic come-a from killing each other. First a hundred Taizo, then fifty, then ten, then one. The geisha with the kimono that drips with blood. She became the most powerful of all. Sakura. She cast this spell. She seals your tongue. We are old enemies, her and I. You speak now?”
Connor shakes his head. “I can’t.”
Faustina points to the Looking Glass, which is still filled with blood. “I see this most of the time. But not all the time.” She touches the surface of the conjured mirror, and it turns into a swath of jungle. Long vines hang in the Looking Glass, blocking out anything else. “You know this spot?”
All the color drains from Connor’s face.
Faustina nods slowly. “So this is where it happened. I thought as much.” She hobbles to stand before Connor, and then raises her withered hand to his mouth. His lips glow with a violet light as Faustina casts a spell in a language I’ve never heard. From the other corners of the odd-shaped room, the remaining Elders join in her chanting. A violet light encircles Connor’s body, growing more intense by the second.
Once the brightness becomes almost blinding, Faustina barks out one word. “Speak!”
Connor sets wrings his hands at his waist. “I can’t. I’m weak.” With every word, the purple light around him dims. “Don’t ask me to do this.”
The magical brightness around Connor withers and fades. The other Elders cease their chanting. The chamber falls oddly silent.
“It is done.” Faustina shakes her head. “There is nothing more I can-a do.”
Connor looks up to me and Lincoln, his face streaming with tears. “You can handle this. You can help Maxon. He has Hildy now. I don’t have it in me.”
Lincoln steps closer to his father. “But you had it in you to make some bargain with a blood witch? Create a pact sealed with black magic?”
“I found Hildy!” barks Connor. “It took me years, but it’s all done now. Maxon will be fine!”
“No!” Lincoln’s voice bellows through the chamber. “Maxon’s not fine. He’s in Hell, Father.”
Connor’s face falls slack with shock. “That’s not true.”
“It happened at the Anointing,” I say, my voice breaking. “Aldred and Armageddon showed up. Aldred said he gave over the rights of Sakura to Armageddon. Magic filled the air and Armageddon took Maxon from my arms. There was nothing I could do.”
“No!” Connor rushes over to the crown. For a long moment, he stares as Lucifer’s crown hovers inside the pulsing orb of violet light.
“Father, what are you doing?”
“If you put that on-a your head,” Faustina says slowly. “It will kill you.”
“Will it loosen my tongue?” asks Connor.
“Sakura’s power is nothing compared to Lucifer,” explains Faustina. “Yes, it will work.”
Connor grabs the crown, his withered hands visibly trembling.
I share a worried look with Lincoln. This is where one of us could scream ‘stop.’ But we don’t. If Connor makes this choice to help us free Maxon, I’m taking him up on it.
“I should have done this years ago.” Connor grips the crown and sets it directly on his head. A sizzling noise fills the air along with the scent of burned flesh. A burst of purple light surrounds Connor as he screams in agony. His body visibly withers before us, turning into little more than a skeleton covered in skin. His eyes turn bulbous in their sockets.
“That’s enough.” Lincoln races toward Connor. “Father, stop!”
Faustina flicks her fingers in Lincoln’s direction, and he’s frozen mid-step. “No, you wait-a now,” she says in her thick, gravelly voice. “I tell you when he’s had enough.”
Connor crumples over with a long howl, collapsing onto his side. The crown tumbles from his head, rolling across the black marble floor. Blood spills from his mouth, nose and ears, pooling on the polished stone.
“Now, you can go,” says Faustina.
Lincoln is released from his freezing spell. He rushes to Connor’s side and kneels beside his father, as do I. Connor’s eyes are large grey orbs in a papery face. His thin, pink tongue runs over his wrinkled lips as he tries to speak. “Max…Maxon.”
“Oh, Father,” says Lincoln in a low voice. Tears roll down his cheeks and drip off his jawline. “Speak to us. Please.”
Connor’s voice comes out as barely a whisper. “Blood oath…With Aldred.” His skeletal chest heaves with every breath. “Blood witch…Sealed it.”
Lincoln gently takes his father’s withered hand within his own. “And then what happened?”
“A trade…Body and soul…Of my first born grandchild…I gave it for…” His breaths come ragged and short. “Octavia…must never know.”
Disbelief washes over Lincoln’s features. “You traded Maxon’s body and soul?”
Connor tries to speak, but he can’t seem to suck enough air into his lungs. “Octavia.”
I stare at Connor for a minute that lasts a thousand years. After all th
is, Connor’s last words won’t be about Maxon, but Octavia. Part of me feels touched that his final thoughts are of his beloved wife. Another part is freaking enraged that he cares more about her than anything else.
Connor’s eyes flutter closed. “Octavia.” His chest stops heaving.
A long minute passes before Lincoln sets down his father’s bony hand. “He’s dead.”
I turn to Faustina, my heart beating double-time in my chest. “Please, tell me that helped you.”
The Elder witch nods slowly. “A blood oath means that you must kill Armageddon.”
My brain rushes through the implications of this. “My father’s been saying that we can invade Hell and get Maxon back.”
“Not until Armageddon is-a dead. Maxon will never cross the gates.”
“And what about the blood witch?” asks Lincoln. “Don’t we have to do anything about her?”
“Not in order to free your boy. But I think-a she find you, now that you know the truth. Your blood would add to her power.” Faustina snaps her fingers and the Pulpitum platform lights up once again. “Now, you go. I must rest.” She starts to hobble back to her point in the star-shaped room.
“Thank you, Faustina.”
“We owe you a great debt,” adds Lincoln. “What can we do to repay you?”
Faustina pauses for a long moment, and then turns around to face us. Her eyes glow with a purple light as she replies. “I tell you what you do,” she says in a low growl. “Kill that son of a bitch Armageddon.”
Chapter Twelve
I stand on the main stage of the Spires, the most beautiful complex of buildings in all the Dark Lands, aka ghoul central. Everything in the ghoul’s realm looks either like a Goth graveyard or a Brutalist concrete lump. Not the Spires. This complex of buildings is lovely with winding white towers that reach into the dark, lightning-filled skies like so many delicate fingers.
And I don’t say that simply because my favorite ghoul engineer and architect designed them, either. I’d adore this place even if Walker didn’t mastermind it all.
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