“Is it okay?” Clio asked.
“She’s fine.” His deep voice slid over her and she shivered as it rubbed along her bones in a way that wasn’t exactly unpleasant—but definitely unnerving.
Shaking off her reaction, she awkwardly brushed her hands together, clearing the dust she’d gathered under the table. “I’m glad she isn’t hurt.”
He said nothing. Did he know his little dragon had been caught in a spell? And that Clio had saved the creature? Either way, she should probably rejoin Kassia. Clio looked around again, intending to sneak back to her friend, but saw Suhul peering across the room. Without thinking, she ducked behind the draconian, putting him between her and the portly daeva warlord.
Ash didn’t react to her using him as a shield, but the little dragon peered down at Clio from over his shoulder. After a minute, she peeked around Ash’s arm. “Is he gone?”
He glanced at her. “He’s at the other end of the room.”
The long pause preceding his answer suggested he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak with her at all. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and pretended he wasn’t that scary. Had she really hidden behind an assassin to avoid a sleazy warlord? She needed to get her priorities straight.
Then again, maybe the warlord was more of a threat than an assassin who probably wouldn’t stab her unless someone paid him to do it.
“Um.” She regarded Ash warily. “How … dangerous … would you say that Suhul guy is?”
“Everyone here is dangerous.”
Not a helpful answer. She didn’t know why she was even asking him. She should have been making fast excuses to get away, but his complete disinterest was better than all the other daemons who wanted something from her. Or maybe the adorable way the little dragon was snuggled around his neck made him less frightening.
“How soon is too soon to leave?” she asked instead. “Samael hasn’t even shown up.”
Ash waited almost a minute before answering, probably hoping she would leave if he didn’t respond. “Samael isn’t coming.”
“He’s not? But he invited me. I was told it would be a terrible insult if I didn’t meet him.”
Ash said nothing, and she frowned. His gray eyes followed another daemon for a few moments before refocusing on her. His attention carried a tangible weight that pressed her into the floor. She shivered again.
Irritation tightened his mouth when he saw her expectant stare and realized she was waiting for a response. “If Samael wanted to meet you,” he snapped, “he would have summoned you privately.”
“Oh, I see. So it’s just a political play.” She nodded to herself. Samael had invited her so the others would see her, not because he cared to meet her himself. “I’m glad. I was worried I was actually important or something.”
He looked across the room again, oozing “go away” vibes. She sighed, figuring she should probably return to Kassia. With a sharp chirp, the little dragon on Ash’s shoulders sprang off him and darted away, vanishing into the shadows.
“Ah, Clio, my dear! There you are!”
She swallowed a groan and turned. Suhul bore down on her, his coal-black eyes squinched with greedy relish.
“I thought you might have gotten lost.” Suhul glanced at Ash and his leering smile returned. “Ah, curious about the draconian, were you, my dear? Not the best company to be seen in, I must say.”
Clio scowled at his rudeness. Ash either didn’t care or was too used to similar remarks to react. He leveled his cutting stare on the warlord, who quickly broke eye contact.
“Clio, since our host is otherwise occupied, why don’t I give you a tour of the building? I’ve seen it all myself enough times to know almost as much as a Hades family member.”
She hid her alarm. “Thank you for the offer, but I need to find my bodyguards and—”
“Don’t worry, my dear, I have guards.” He nodded to the six henchmen who followed him everywhere in silence. “You’ll be perfectly safe with me.”
Shaking her head, she stepped away from him and almost backed into Ash. “No, thank you. I need to—”
“Don’t be silly, Clio.” He grabbed her wrist, his fingers cold and clammy. “It won’t take long. Don’t you want to see more than this one room?”
He dragged her a step forward and she saw a door between the pillars only a few paces away. He planned to tow her right out of the hall. She looked around in a panic, but Kassia—frantically searching for Clio—had gone the wrong way and was even farther across the room. Eryx was nowhere in sight.
She dug her heels in but he effortlessly dragged her closer. “No, I can’t. Let me go—”
Another hand, warm and strong, closed over her upper arm, holding her in place.
“Release her.”
Ash’s voice slid under her skin and vibrated against her bones. Suhul paled and opened his hand obediently. Clio stumbled backward, bumping into Ash, and he released her arm almost as quickly as Suhul had.
“What’s this?” Eisheth Hades sauntered over, her high ponytail swinging. She contemplated Clio, then performed the same examination of Ash, her reddish-black eyes burning with what was either loathing or lust. Lastly, she glanced at the daeva who was gawking at her with what was definitely lust.
“Suhul,” she purred, “are you monopolizing the Irida envoy? I haven’t even been introduced.”
“Not at all,” Suhul spluttered. “I was offering her a tour, but …”
Eisheth’s lips curved in a sickly sweet smile. “Is the draconian being troublesome?”
Clio craned her neck to look at Ash, who was watching the two daemons over the top of her head. He didn’t respond, his expression even more blank than before—but shadows gathered in his eyes, darkening the stormy gray.
Clio folded her arms. “Do people always talk about you like you aren’t there?”
His gaze flicked down to hers. Suhul stared gormlessly as though Clio had just questioned a piece of furniture.
Eisheth cocked one hip and planted her hand on it. “Talking to a draconian is rather like talking to a hound. Seems rather pointless, don’t you think?”
“That’s—that’s not … very polite.” Clio trailed off, shrinking under Eisheth’s patronizing smile. She would have loved to tell the woman off for comparing draconians to dogs, but insulting Hades nobility wasn’t smart.
“Really, Clio,” Suhul said. “I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong impression. Manners are lost on brutes like this.”
Eisheth glanced at the daeva warlord, and cruel delight lit her eyes. “Exactly so, Suhul,” she praised with sudden sincerity. “Samael’s draconians are well-trained guard dogs, nothing more.”
To Clio’s disbelief, Ash remained silent. He looked bored as if he’d heard it all a hundred times. Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was how things were done in the Underworld.
“Yes, yes,” the daeva warlord blustered. “You see, Clio? We should—”
“Oh no,” Eisheth interrupted. “Dear Clio looks frightened. This draconian is nothing to be feared, child.”
Clio blinked. She looked frightened? What?
“Suhul, you should show Clio that Samael’s pet draconians are harmless and would never lay a hand on one of his guests.” Eisheth gazed at the daeva with adoring expectancy.
“I—I should?” Suhul glanced from Eisheth to Ash, then at Clio. He puffed out his chest. “Yes, of course. Look, Clio.”
He reached right over Clio’s head, his fat fingers heading for Ash’s face.
She didn’t see where it came from, but suddenly there was a long, wicked dagger in Ash’s hand. And just as swiftly, he thrust the hooked blade right through Suhul’s wrist. Hot blood splattered her face.
“Actually,” Ash said, his arm curled around her, trapping her in place, “Samael’s other pet draconians would never harm his guests.”
Suhul’s flabby jaw hung open as he stared at the blade sticking out of his wrist and the wet crimson soaking his sleeve. Then Ash ripped the blade
right through the daemon’s hand, splitting his palm in half. Suhul screamed.
His six guards charged Ash and Clio.
With his bloodied dagger in hand, Ash swung her out of the way of the charging daemons. He continued his graceful pivot, nonchalantly flicking his fingers, and black flames erupted in a wide arc that threw his attackers back. She staggered away from the draconian, shocked by the sight. Black magic. She’d never seen such a thing before. It wasn’t the shadow-tinged gold of Lyre’s magic-eating clock spell, but pure ebony power.
Over the cacophony of shouts and the thundering footsteps of daemons running toward or away from the fight, exuberant laughter chimed. Eisheth stepped back as a guard slammed to the floor at her feet.
“I’ll see you in the bastille later, Ash,” she called gleefully. “Don’t be tardy!”
Still laughing, she turned and sauntered off.
Jerking her attention away from the woman, Clio dove out of the way as Ash tore into the guards, now holding another long dagger. Where was he getting those? Black flames rippled down the blades, and he tore the steel right through the other daemons’ shields like they weren’t even casting. If she’d had the leisure, she would have loved to get a good look at what exactly he was doing with his strange magic.
As it was, she could barely keep clear of the battle. She scrambled out of the way as Ash tossed a daemon into the wall beside her. The guard hit with a sickening crack and slid down the wood panels, leaving a streak of blood in his wake. She cringed, desperate for an escape. Daemons were converging from around the room to watch, and trapped behind them was Kassia, trying in vain to force her way through.
Meeting Clio’s eyes, Kassia jerked her hand in an emphatic gesture. Clio looked around and saw the nearby door. Kassia was telling her to get out of the line of fire—to escape from the room.
As Ash unleashed a spiraling band of black magic that filled the air with the agonized screams of his assailants, she flung the door open, fell through, and slammed it shut behind her. Something crashed into the other side, and she sprinted away without glancing back.
Note to self: do not antagonize draconian assassins. She’d thought Ash wasn’t that bad, but the current slaughter suggested otherwise. Yeah, Suhul had insulted him and tried to grab him, but those guards hadn’t said a word. And now he was ripping them apart.
Ripping them apart effortlessly, despite those daemons being trained warriors too.
Clio shuddered and focused on where she was going. The paneled walls and glossy floors went on forever before she came upon a junction. She stood for a minute, looking in each direction, then picked one at random. Minutes stretched as she wandered down one corridor and up another, unable to find a staircase to take her down a level where she’d have a chance of locating the exit. Eventually, she found a hall lined with windows and stopped to peer outside, but the vista of lights offered no clues as to where she was or which direction she was walking.
She leaned on the sill, waiting for the shaky feeling of adrenaline to wane. She was lost, but sooner or later, she would find her way out of here or find someone to take her back to the entrance. Not the end of the world.
Her neck prickled warningly.
Before she could turn, hot breath washed over the top of her head and a hand slid around her neck in a lover’s caress—then tightened painfully.
“Hello again, Clio,” a voice purred in her ear.
Magic was already spinning into her body from the hand on her throat, and she couldn’t even scream as blurry darkness closed over her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lyre jerked awake with a gasp. Flinging the blankets aside, he bolted upright, eyes blurry with sleep.
A fist thudded against his front door, and he realized it was the second knock—the first had woken him. Rubbing his knuckles against one eye, he rolled off the bed and staggered in the general direction of the hall. He tripped on a pair of discarded pants, so he grabbed them off the floor and pulled them on as he stumbled into the main room. At the front entrance, he woke up enough to check through the peephole.
Reed stood on the porch, raising his hand to knock again. Lyre tapped the wood to forestall any more loud noises and disarmed his wards. Stifling a yawn, he pulled the door open.
“Hey, Reed. Trouble with a spell?”
His brother pushed inside and nudged the door shut. “Rekey the wards.”
Frowning, Lyre slapped a hand to the wood and rearmed the spells. Reed paced the length of the sitting room, then whirled around and paced back. Lyre’s sleepiness slipped away. Reed never got upset about anything, so what had him on edge?
“What’s the matter?”
Reed stopped and faced Lyre, his fists opening and closing repeatedly. With a loud exhalation, he dropped onto the kitchen chair and slumped forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “Why do you always cause so much trouble, Lyre?”
“What did I do now?”
“What didn’t you do? But, more significantly, why did you have to piss off Dulcet?”
Lyre perched on the arm of the sofa and folded his arms across his bare chest. “The slimy snake got in a tizzy over Clio and decided he wanted to play games with her. All I did was tell him to fuck off.”
“He was found unconscious in a corridor.”
“That wasn’t me. It was Clio. Mostly.”
“The envoy?”
Lyre smirked. “Hit him in the face with the business end of a sobol. I don’t think she knew what it would do to him.”
Reed rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t funny, Lyre.”
“Actually, it was pretty damn hilarious, if you ask—”
“Lyre! Would you shut up and listen?”
Lyre straightened where he sat. Reed’s eyes were darkening, but not with anger. With … fear?
“Dulcet went to our father,” Reed said tersely, “and spilled every secret he knows about you. Every bit of dirt he’s been gathering since you were an apprentice. He must have been stockpiling it, probably to blackmail you someday, but I guess he decided to get rid of you instead.”
Lyre pushed down his rising defensive instincts. “What did he tell our father?”
“I don’t know the details. I don’t even know if it’s all true. But you’ve done enough shit over the seasons that if Dulcet got even a quarter of it right … You’ve sabotaged too much Chrysalis business. Wrecking supplies, hiding things, destroying research, scaring off clients … A few incidents our father might look past, but not all of it.”
“Dulcet can’t prove anything. As far as our father knows, he could be spinning tall tales—”
“It doesn’t matter, Lyre. From what I overheard between Andante and Ariose, our father believes enough of it. The only question is what your punishment will be.” Reed’s irises dimmed to near black. “Andante is pushing for your disownment and immediate execution.”
Like a snapping safety line, Lyre plunged from shivering fear into cold, calculating calm. “Lyceus won’t do that. I’m too useful.”
“But you will be punished, and it’ll be ugly.”
Lyre knew what that meant. A real punishment, not a slap on the wrist like his demotion to a consultant for a few cycles. Meaning imprisonment. Pain. Torture. Eisheth and her minions excelled in all forms of the latter, and she would love to see Lyre in chains at her feet.
He’d been punished before when he was younger and more careless in his defiance. He was familiar with the inside of the bastille, and sometimes the nightmares kept him awake for a full cycle or more, driving him away from his bed almost as soon as he closed his eyes.
Reed pushed to his feet and started pacing again. “We’re different. You’re different. I’ve tried to understand why you rebel against our work, what makes you resist. I really have, but I can’t comprehend it.” He spun to face Lyre. “But I know it’s who you are, and you can’t change it. You’ll die before you’ll change.”
Lyre met his brother’s stare. “What are you saying?”
“Andante and Ariose don’t know I overheard them. Our father is at Samael’s event, so he won’t decide anything until the eclipse is over. As far as they know, you’re unaware Dulcet betrayed your secrets.”
“What are you saying?” he asked again. He knew exactly what his brother was suggesting, but he wanted Reed to speak the words they always danced around whenever they spoke of Lyre’s uncertain future in Asphodel.
Reed’s gaze shuttered. “Don’t be a fool this time, Lyre.”
Even now, he wouldn’t say it. Even fearing for Lyre’s life, Reed wouldn’t utter the treasonous word. Escape.
Jaw clenching, Reed strode to the door and waited impatiently for Lyre to disarm the spells again. Lyre placed two fingertips on the wood and let magic flow into it. The spells quieted and Reed put a hand on the doorknob.
He looked at Lyre, and his eyes were golden again, bright with worry. “Lyre, I hope …” He inhaled sharply through his nose. “I hope I never see you again.”
Lyre stepped back. “I don’t know, Reed. I don’t know if …”
Reed grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in. “Don’t be a fool. Don’t.”
He nodded. Reed’s stare bored into him for a few more heartbeats, then he pulled the door open and strode outside, vanishing in a cloaking spell. Lyre shut the door and leaned back against it, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Dulcet, that bastard. Selling Lyre out to their father as payback for what he—and Clio—had done.
“Fucking hell,” he growled, gripping his head with both hands. Fingers fisted in his hair, he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor.
Run away? Flee Asphodel? Escape the clutches of his father and brothers? It was impossible. Or, if not outright impossible, highly improbable. Beyond Asphodel, where would he go? What would he do? How would he survive alone on Earth? This was the only life he’d ever known.
Chrysalis had the magic, and Hades had the manpower—and a multitude of spies and moles—to monitor any locale daemons frequented. To avoid recapture, Lyre would have to isolate himself and abstain from contact with his own kind.