Chapter 10
The crew strode through Flutic.
The fear was palpable in the streets. Averted gazes. Empty boulevards. A carriage abandoned on its side, traces cut, horses missing.
Yet the city didn’t feel abandoned; Harald caught glimpses of faces watching their passage from between nearly closed shutters.
Knots of strangers gathered on street corners melted away by stepping out of sight hurriedly at their approach.
A bustling delegation from House Silvershield kept to the far side of the avenue as they crossed paths, the dozen raiders eyeing them warily.
This wasn’t a city emptied, but rather a city locked down as if under siege.
At least, so it was in the Angelic Quarter, where the wealthy could afford to stay home, eat stocks of food, drink from their own wells or supplies of drinking water.
As they made their way toward Vic’s cathedral, Harald imagined that life had to continue in some weary fashion in the other parts of town.
People needed to fetch food, to work, to keep going.
And most likely, the focus of this brutal civil war was here, in the noble quarter.
The rest of the city must be slinking about, hoping to avoid notice, to let the Houses butcher themselves as they willed.
The sun was setting over the rooftops when they reached the Avenue of Penitence.
It was broad and flanked on both sides by a heavy arcade of arches under which vendors normally set up their stalls to sell holy mementoes, sacred tokens, blessed medallions and other such trade of the divine.
The arches were quiet and empty, however, the vendors and hawkers were absent, so that the long procession to the huge cathedral at the avenue’s terminus felt eerie and abandoned.
The sun was setting over the rooftops of Flutic, the air growing chill.
The golden light washed over the cathedral’s facade, bathing the narrow towers and clustered spires in warm light, but allowing darkness to pool dramatically in its hollows.
Every surface of the stonework was carved in pointed arches, traceried windows, deep recesses, and serrated shadows.
A vast rose window the size of a carriage was placed directly over the main doors at the top of a flight of broad steps, and buttresses flanked the huge building like the legs of some vast insect.
“Never liked this place,” said Sam quietly as they walked down the avenue. “Always made me feel guilty, like it was some minor heresy on my part, but…”
Harald eyed the shadowed alcoves on either side. Scale lanterns were set between them, burning with the constant light of Copper Crescents, but that illumination failed to pierce the broad depths where the stalls should stand.
“Something’s watching us,” he said.
“Aye,” agreed Kársek. “Has been since we stepped onto the avenue. I imagine they’ll reveal themselves soon.”
“One of Vic’s demons, no doubt.” Nessa’s face was pale, her bearing stiff. Harald could only imagine how much it cost her to set aside her personal quest after preparing herself to face her horrific past.
“Any moment now,” agreed Harald.
“I feel like my dramatic entrance has been ruined,” called a sultry feminine voice, rich in amusement and mockery. “Here I was, planning to shock you with my approach, yet you all stole my thunder.”
A woman was leaning against the inside of an arch just up ahead, arms crossed, white cloak hanging to her heels. There was no doubting her being a demon; huge ram horns of rich lavender emerged from sockets in her helm to sweep back from her head and curl upward at the last to form wicked points.
But for huge skull-shaped pauldrons and spiked ivory vambraces chased in gray steel she wore no armor, but rather something akin to a high priestess’ vestments tailored for a bordello.
A white corset hugged her full figure, and a lavender skirt panel fell from her layered belt, its cut accentuating her hips.
She gave off a sense of refined brutality, of sensual martial dominance. Every aspect of her form betrayed her expectation to be seen, obeyed, and feared in equal measure.
“You’d be one of Eclavistra’s demons,” said Harald, forcing a hearty tone into his voice on instinct. “Hello. We’re old drinking friends of Vic’s.”
The woman’s face was hauntingly beautiful, her skin so smooth as to appear like polished marble, her lips black and glossy, her eyes blank purple chased in smoldering charcoal shadows.
She smiled lazily, taking them in, completely at her ease.
“Is that so? Old friends of King Carmine?” Her voice was a caress. “Come to raise his coattails to power?”
Nessa stepped forward. “Come to speak with him. Are you going to bar our way?”
“I might.” The corners of her lips crooked a little higher. “Sheerly for the amusement. I’ve been so bored lately. Perhaps you’ll offer me some sport?”
“Enough.” Sam’s voice was a whipcrack, severe and disdainful in a way that Harald had never heard before. “Don’t toy with us, demon. I am a Netherwarden Knight and tolerate your standing there only because you’re in service to my friend. Take us to him, or I’ll extinguish you.”
“Oh, how delicious,” grinned the demon, pushing off the wall to step out into the avenue. “A holy little warrior? So noble and pure. I’m going to ask Vic to entrust you to my care. I wonder how long it would take to make you squeal in pleasure.”
Sam raised her palm skyward and unleashed a stream of bright, wondrous light that fountained upward to a height of some ten yards before spreading outward in every direction, only to fall back to earth and encase them and the demon within a dome of silvery light.
Harald felt himself uplifted, his spirit renewed, his purpose strengthening even as the demon’s subtle scent of lavender faded and her eyes narrowed in displeasure, her smile replaced instantly in a frown.
“Your last warning, demon.” Sam’s voice was rich with confidence and threat. “Take us to Vic, or I’ll lose my patience.”
The silvery radiance played over the demon’s voluptuous frame, and in its light her glamor was lessened. She seemed diminished and less imposing, though Harald was lulled—he could sense on some basic level that she remained a truly formidable foe.
“You think I bring every idiot who claims to know King Carmine to his throne?” She sneered. “Especially those who come only with threats? I should slay you for this impertinence alone.”
“I’m sure Vic adores your sense of discretion,” said Harald, raising a palm as he moved up alongside Nessa. “But really. We’re old friends. Used to go to the Kitty Kat Club with him back in the day. Surely he’s told you about it?”
The demon hesitated, her expression turning arch. “He may have suggested I’d have earned a fortune in Silver Starbursts if I’d worked there.”
“That sounds like Vic.” Harald took another step forward. “Equal parts infuriating wit and devilish wit, am I right? We really are his friends. If you must, tell him Harald and the crew are here to congratulate him. Can you do that for us?”
“Harald?” The demon narrowed her eyes. “Son of Darius Darrowdelve?”
“Of course she’s heard of you,” muttered Nessa.
“Yeah.” Harald gave an awkward shrug. “The same.”
“You should have said.” She inclined her hugely horned head in mock deference. “Our sublime lady holds you in high esteem. Be welcome at King Carmine’s court.”
Sam lowered her arm, allowing the Starfire Bastion to subside.
Kársek tapped Harald’s elbow and gestured toward the top of the far arcade.
Another demon was watching them from above, cut from the same mold as the first but more slender and encased in cruel, form-fitting plate armor, all of it spiked and hooked.
“Oh, there’s four of us watching you,” allowed the primary demon, turning and beginning to walk toward the cathedral. “If you thought you could fight your way through, you’re sorely mistaken. Even the Gold-rankers in the city have hesitated at contesting us all.”
“How many are you?” asked Harald, leading his companions after.
She laughed, the sound like crushed velvet. “Oh, you wish to learn our logistics, tactics, numbers, and powers? I hate to disappoint you, but we ladies must keep our secrets close.”
“Fair enough.” Harald scanned the archways as they passed, the rooftops, but so now others. “The coronation is still happening tomorrow evening?”
“Assuredly.” Her tone grew clipped. “Of that there is no doubt.”
“And then you’ll rule over Flutic like a… cruel mistress of the night?”
She glanced back, only her eyes visible over her huge skull-shaped pauldron. “You mistake us, Harald. Vic will be the ruler. We are but his abject and willing slaves.”
“Right,” drawled Nessa in disgust. “Vic must be like a hog in a mud stye.”
“What a flattering comparison.” The demon’s purple eye locked on Nessa and then flashed with a rich glimmer. “Coming from a self-loathing, glory-addicted, approval-craving cunt who would have killed herself years ago if she weren’t such an abject coward.”
Nessa’s eyes bulged, her jaw clenched, and her face drained of all color. Her hand dropped to the longsword at her hip, but Harald grabbed at her wrist, clamping it in place and preventing her from drawing her blade.
“She’s just flirting,” he said, forcing his tone to remain light and breezy. “I mean, she’s a demon, right? Poor thing. She probably can’t help herself.”
The demon laughed, the sound high and tittering, and resumed looking forward.
“She’s dead.” Nessa’s tone was low and vicious. “I swear it on all that’s holy. I’ll claim her life before this is done.”
“No objection from me,” whispered Harald, and released her.
They mounted the broad steps. The golden light playing across the cathedral’s front was already dimming, growing blood-tinged. Up to the huge doors, its casement exquisitely carved with a throng of religious figures from the church’s past, and then through and into the dark.