Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
LYRA
My heart was in my throat as I descended a staircase that reeked of death and decay. Low moans punctuated by animalistic shrieks echoed through the tower, raising goosebumps along the pale, waxy flesh that covered my unnaturally long arms.
I stood more than a head taller than my natural height, cloaked in dark robes that smelled like incense and mildew.
Rounding the corner onto a narrow landing, I met a couple of lesser demons. One gave a startled hiss, and then they both averted their eyes.
Drawing myself up to my full glamoured height, I arranged my face into a look of disdain as my bare feet slapped over the smooth black stone.
I hoped no one noticed that I had no idea where I was going.
The floor I’d come to seemed too lively to house the demon king’s private quarters, so I turned sharply toward the next set of stairs and continued into the bowels of the palace.
With every step, my anxiety mounted. In one split-second decision, I’d sealed all our fates. If I was wrong, I wouldn’t just be condemning myself and my friends to death. I’d doom the entire realm.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, where the buttresses were carved to resemble nude mortal bodies writhing in pain. Fisting my hands at my sides, I strode through an arched opening and nearly smacked headlong into a tall, handsome demon with pale skin, pale hair, and unnaturally straight teeth.
Fleshtalker.
I sucked in a startled breath, my mind working in fits and starts before I remembered that I wore another demon’s face. Unfortunately, I’d never seen Xadorsch interact with Fleshtalker, so I had no idea what to say.
“The prince has arrived,” I drawled in my best impression of the courtier. Chills raked down my spine at the sound of the demon’s low, oily voice, but I carefully hid my disgust. “He has brought the half-huntress mongrel and the Euroshean bitch.”
Fleshtalker’s lip curled, and I knew it had been the right choice to insult those in Kaden’s inner circle. Whether the two demons got along was irrelevant. I knew they held nothing but contempt for those who were not of demon blood.
“I see you failed to dispatch her before she reached our doorstep,” Fleshtalker snarled, narrowing his eyes and glaring at me with disdain.
Panic surged through my veins as I groped for what to say next. Xadorsch had been sent to kill me?
Shit. Clearly, since I was Xadorsch, I was supposed to know about that.
Thankfully, Fleshtalker spoke again before I was forced to say something that might give away my glamour.
“No matter,” he muttered, nostrils flaring in irritation.
“She is here now. I have waited centuries to have the little Euroshean whore at my mercy, and now we have the huntress to play with as well.”
My stomach curdled at his words, but I quickly schooled my expression.
“I shall bring her and the prince before the king, and we shall see how long she must suffer before he breaks.”
My blood boiled, and I had to resist the urge to plunge my witchwood blade through the bastard’s heart right then and there. I’d already missed my chance to kill Fleshtalker once. But I had a feeling I’d never make it to Semphrys if I committed murder on the way.
“In the meantime, his Majesty wished to see me,” I drawled, hoping that Fleshtalker didn’t know otherwise. I needed to find my way to the royal chambers — preferably before Kaden came looking for me and ruined my entire plan.
Suspicion flickered in the higher demon’s eyes, but he jerked his head toward another staircase across from the one I’d just descended. “Very well.”
“And I must speak to the prisoner,” I nearly stammered, knowing I was pushing my luck. “The Morkahlf.”
Seconds passed in excruciating silence as Fleshtalker regarded me.
If Sorsha was wrong about Adriel, then I was well and truly fucked. I didn’t know how she’d guessed that the male wearing the royal guard’s face was an imposter, but suddenly, it made sense.
The apokropos stone.
The way he’d let that belligerent soldier get so close to the princess in the mess hall.
And then there was that moment in the stairwell when I’d thought . . .
I suppressed a shiver at the memory and met Fleshtalker’s gaze, sliding a hand into my robes to curl around my witchwood blade.
“He is not in the dungeons,” the demon said finally. “His . . . abilities make him rather difficult to contain.”
I raised an eyebrow, my heart hammering.
“He is being held in a rowan-wood crypt in the south wing, just below the king’s old chambers.” His mouth stretched in a bone-chilling smile, revealing two rows of dazzling teeth. “Give him my regards.”
My stomach sank. Adriel wasn’t even in this part of the palace. Going to him now would take too much time — time that I didn’t have.
Forcing a curt nod, I turned and stalked past Fleshtalker before his suspicions had a chance to take root. I wound down the staircase, deeper and deeper, until the sounds of battle faded completely.
I reached a landing that opened into an antechamber where murals depicting scenes of demons ravishing mortal females decorated the walls. Opposite the stairs was a set of huge double doors, where two lower demons stood guard.
My blood hummed with the need for vengeance, and my hand closed around the hilt of my dagger. Lifting my chin, I forced myself to stay in character as I strode into Semphrys’s chambers.
The room was lit with huge bronze braziers that burned and crackled with hellfire. The flickering flames cast long shadows over the floor, and it took several seconds for my eyes to adjust after the darkness of the stairwell.
The king’s chambers were sparsely furnished, and my heart beat faster when my gaze settled on the pale, bald figure seated on an enormous obsidian throne. He was dressed in dark robes that reached the floor and wore a crown made from jagged black crystalline shards that glinted in the firelight.
“Is it true?” the demon king rasped, his voice so similar to Kaden’s in pitch yet devoid of any warmth. “My son has come to kill me.”
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” I replied in my best impression of Xadorsch’s silken tone.
“It would seem my progeny has more of his whore mother in him than I realized.”
My blood boiled at his words, but I merely inclined my head.
“How many fly with him?”
“About two hundred, sire.”
The king gave a wicked chuckle. “I suppose that is two hundred fewer Drathen scoundrels I shall have to dispose of when I take the throne of Anvalyn.”
“This is true, my king.”
“Once the Drathens have been slaughtered, bring me my son and his mate who he protects so fiercely.” A cruel sneer twisted his thin lips. “I know just how to make him pay for his transgressions.”
An unsettling chill crawled down my spine, but I swallowed and forced a placid smile. “It shall be done, Your Majesty.”
Gathering the remaining shreds of my courage, I swept across the chamber to a low obsidian table, where servants had left a flask of wine and heavy chalices carved from a dark, smoky crystal.
“Now that the prince and the Euroshean princess are within your grasp, let us toast to the future king of Anvalyn.”
There was a long, pregnant pause, and I didn’t dare glance back at Semphrys as I poured two cups of wine. My hands shook slightly as the ruby liquid sloshed into the glasses, but I kept my back to the king in the hope that he would not see.
“Very well.”
Blood pounded in my ears as I approached Semphrys, every fiber of my being recoiling at the dark, menacing energy that poured off him. It needled at my skin, probing at my very essence, and I hurriedly checked my mental defenses to ensure my hedge of thorns was still intact.
Kneeling before the demon king, I offered one of the chalices.
He took it in his pale, gnarled hand, and it was an effort not to recoil as his fingers brushed mine.
His nails were overgrown, cracked, and dirty, and when I finally met his gaze, his black eyes glittered in a way that made my stomach roil.
“To Anvalyn,” I said, lifting my own goblet. “Long live the king.”
Semphrys blinked, watching me like a house cat might watch a trapped fly beat itself against a pane of glass. My taste buds tingled as the bitter wine coated my tongue, and my whole body seemed to exhale as the king raised his own chalice.
Deep burgundy wine stained his bloodless lips, and I drained my own goblet to help settle my nerves as I prepared to take my leave. But then my eyes dipped to the hand that clasped the dark crystal stem, and horror clanged through me like the peal of a bell.
My hand was small and feminine, scarred from years of wielding a blade. It was not the hand of the demon courtier, which meant —
Heart in my throat, I lifted my gaze to the demon king, whose eyes sparkled with a twisted glee.
“Well, well,” he crooned. “If it isn’t my son’s half-huntress whore.”
Terror surged through my body in crippling waves, and I groped for my witchwood blade as Semphrys rose to his feet.
He was so tall. I’d never noticed his height before. He towered over me by at least a foot, but it was not his stature alone that stoked the wild fear in my bones.
Before I could move, the king’s shadows whipped out, forming dark, smoky tendrils that snaked around my neck. His shadows tightened, constricting my throat, while others slithered over my skin with a touch that made me shudder.
I felt something move against my thigh, and when I looked down I saw another plume of shadow lift the apokropos stone out of my pocket.
Instantly, my full powers surged back, though the stone maintained a slight tug on my magic, greedy for what it had taken.
“What an interesting turn of events,” Semphrys mused, still stroking me with those horrible tendrils that felt nothing like Kaden’s shadows. “I always thought my son would be the one who tried to kill me, but he’s sent his little bitch instead.”