Chapter 34 #2
And Armaros does make a good point. I could right the wrongs that have been committed with the dagger, replacing its bad karma with my own righteous intentions… Okay, fine. I’ll take my chances.
I pick it up again.
When I do, the weapon seems to take on a mind of its own, humming along the depths of my soul with an inexplicable familiarity.
It feels so much like the entity, I have no doubt it’s wielding the power that my little shadow gave me.
Which means… risking my life as I did paid off. It actually worked.
Other than the markings on my body, this is the most proof I’ve had so far of my success. I might not be able to pull from the Aether on my own, but that’s not stopping this miraculous weapon from doing it through me. It’s simply more practiced than I am.
“This is the sign I needed,” I hum, moving the blade through the air to see it sparkle with divine brilliance. “I do have magic, Abaddon. I’m going to be able to use it.”
Armaros continues, speaking before Abaddon has the chance to reply. “Beware, young Queen, for we do not name inanimate objects. Tumultuari is an old weapon, and our weapons hold traces of what they once channeled. Wielding it would make you both a saint and a pariah.”
That’s not comforting whatsoever.
Unfortunately, it seems I have little choice in the matter. Once again, I’ve somehow bonded with something I don’t understand—something that will give me strength if I’m willing to sacrifice for it... And I am. I need every bit of power I can get, no matter the personal cost.
Not to open the Abyss, but to face the insurmountable odds I’m under.
I have to keep a wrathful God, along with his avenging angels, from completely obliterating my home and eradicating everyone I love.
“I’m a human, Armaros.” My mind made, I snatch Tumultuari’s matching sheath off the table. “I’m already a pariah in your world.”
By the time I make it back to my living quarters, there’s a small note attached to my door:
We’ve meeting the Council in the throne room at 5 pm sharp.
Dress formally.
— Abaddon
Frowning, I carry the paper into my room.
I didn’t even know the castle had a throne room, let alone where I could find it.
And what an odd, ominous message! He could have at least told me what this meeting is about.
The apocalypse, I’m guessing. Or maybe an interrogation about my powers.
Whatever it is, I doubt it’s anything good.
I no longer have any misconceptions that the Council is anything other than a pack of wolves.
So I shower, do my makeup, braid my hair, put on a nice black dress... I do everything I can to make sure I am deceptively beautiful—and discreetly deadly.
The long flow of my dress hides a sleek pair of black combat boots, great for running and climbing.
My new cloak is a beautiful work of art, but its inner pockets make perfect stashes for both of my blades, one on each side.
Since I’m right-handed, I put the Tumultuari’s sheath on that side, hidden in a tight pocket that falls near my hip.
It’s not the most comfortable way to walk, but I can reorganize later.
I leave twenty minutes early, stopping by the front desk of this hellish hotel to ask the locust staff where the throne room is.
The desk clerk looks at me, confused, and says, “It is at the main entrance to the castle, just under the grand staircase.”
“Oh.” Well, that makes perfect sense, because I’ve never used those doors before. “Okay, thanks.”
It doesn’t take me too terribly long to make it to that regal foyer.
Even though I am still early, Abaddon is already waiting at the doors for me, dressed in his full origin armor.
I wouldn’t consider that to be formal, but I suppose the rules are different for archangels…
But there’s also the fact that he’s wearing a crown for the first time since I met him.
“Hey,” I greet, trying not to stare at his bejeweled headwear. “What’s going on?”
“The Council has called for a briefing. There is news from the surface.”
“Bad news?”
He completely evades my question. “We’ll greet them in the throne room.”
I start to complain, but then a small box appears in his hand from a wisp of smoke. It’s black, about the size of a dinner plate, and has a simple gold ribbon tied over it.
“For me?” Cautiously, I take it, pulling the bow out.
Inside is this necklace he commissioned for me, and it’s almost certainly the most expensive thing I’ve ever touched before.
My void-black star sits comfortably at the end, but the rest of the necklace is draped with multiple layers of diamonds and other black jewels, some of which are miniature versions of the centerpiece.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, momentarily stunned, as I run my fingers over the precious gems. It’s even more ornamental than the crown Abaddon wears, and that already looks like a piece of art history. “I… I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can.” He pulls the box from my hands, moving to clasp the short necklace around my neck. “Have you already forgotten our customs?”
“Right. It’s rude to deny gifts.” The moment the piece falls around my neck, the cold bite of the unusual black stone pulls a gasp out of me.
Abaddon turns on his heels, heading into the throne room, and I follow behind.
It’s even more magnificent than I imagined. Perhaps a bit more macabre, too, but still overwhelmingly beautiful.
When I walk in, I’m immediately taken by the mural on the back wall.
It depicts a white moon setting over a pitch-black void with wispy, needy shadows reaching out of it.
They seem to be pointed towards the center, where an unmistakable Abaddon is painted at a very small scale.
Though it only shows the back of him, his wings make him unmistakable.
Curiously, though, he has bands of multiple elements wrapping around him, circling him in rings like he’s a planetary body.
Fire, light, shadows—all sorts of destruction.
And then there’s the centerpiece of the room.
It’s an oversized throne, melded from black obsidian and cushioned by plush red velvet. Intricate patterns of an unknown language are carved throughout the stone, while the back extends in the shape of Abaddon’s wings.
Leading up to the throne, extending nearly to the tall ceiling, are massive marble statues of angels. Six flank the walkway, three on each side, all with faces concealed by hoods. They each blow a trumpet, too, but they’re all pointed at slightly different angles.
About a dozen golden locusts, standing at a significantly shorter height than the pillar-like angels, crowd the walls as well. They stay so still, blending in with the decor, that I don’t even realize they’re not statues for a moment.
Meanwhile, Abaddon walks towards the throne as if it’s the most casual chair in the world.
The sound of steps behind me has me looking over my shoulder, finding Dusk and Semyaza entering the room in full armor. They nod at me in greeting, but something about the cavernous silence of the room seems to keep anyone from talking.
Following their lead, I walk to the edge of the dais, just before where Abaddon waits with his back turned to us. Slowly, he turns around, his eyes finding mine with a crushing intensity.
Some gut instinct inside me—fear, maybe—sends my heart rate climbing.
The King then begins to stalk towards me, his boots echoing off the polished stone floor with a rhythmic surety. I don’t quite know what to make of it, so I stay still, fighting the urge to nervously shift and fidget… But something feels off. The hair on the back of my neck raises.
Finally, he stops in front of me, looking down at me for a second.
“You look beautiful,” he says, contemplatively, just before snatching my wrist. Pulling me closer to him with unexpected demand, he leans down to whisper into my ear, “Come sit with me, my love.”
“What?” I barely breathe the word out.
“Hurry, now, before the Council arrives. I want your place to be known by everyone.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words abruptly die in my throat. In an instant, all of my shock, fear, and confusion have evaporated. Gone, just like that.
Logically, I know it’s unnatural. I couldn’t possibly have done it to myself, nor would I have wanted to. It’s a wholly unnatural smothering. But by the time I recognize it, it’s far too late. The polar opposite emotions start flooding in—I become euphoric, enamored, and acquiescent.
Abaddon slips his hand down from my wrist to interlace his fingers with mine, tugging me with him towards the throne. My body, pliant to wherever he leads me, is no longer my own. We take up the dais, and when he sits down, he pulls me with him.
Without an ounce of hesitation, I peacefully comply, joining him on the throne.
It’s large enough for both of us, though it’s a tight fit.
My legs are squeezed against his, finding uncomfortable angles between the metal of his armor and the tight underclothes beneath it.
His membranous wings settle behind me, and he casually rests our interlocked hands at the juncture of our legs.
I stare at it, knowing I’m desperately confused, but unable to feel the confusion.
When I glance up at Abaddon again, he’s…
He’s fucking smiling.
He never smiles like this.
And he’s not even looking at me, either. His eyes, dilated and filled with pleasure, are fixed across the room.
I follow his gaze, and it leads me straight to Dusk.
For a brief moment, the golden angel catches my eye, his expression something that’s either disgusted or horrified.
I don’t have enough time to discern it, though, because he quickly averts his eyes.
A mask of indifference, one that doesn’t belong on such a vibrant person, solidifies on his face.
He no longer looks at me. He won’t. He’s unwilling.
So, I glance at Semyaza—just in time to see him give a barely perceivable nod to Abaddon.
Traitors.