Chapter 23
I waited for… something. A flash of white? How did this usually happen? I’d never actually noticed Ronj magic overtaking me because I was usually in the throes of a mating ritual.
I pushed smoke into the tiara using my short, dark hair to mask my actions. My heart thudded.
There wasn’t any white magic in the tiara.
And my thoughts were still my own.
I was me.
Tyran was tugging me up, and I went without a fight, utterly bewildered. He’d just made me queen. He’d made me queen and hadn’t filled me with white magic in the process.
I stole a shocked glance at him.
“—your queen!” he boomed.
The Crave Arena shook harder than ever before. I’m queen.
Why was I queen?
Tyran just gave me—the person who wished to kill him—power. None of that made sense. He hadn’t needed to. No king had ever done so this early.
My mind whirled as I sought to uncover his motive. Had Neti or Athira purged the tiara of his magic somehow beforehand?
“Wave at our subjects, my queen,” Tyran murmured. His eyes glinted, and I sensed then and there that this was either a joke to him, or he was yet to deliver the actual punchline.
Like a robot, I lifted my hand and waved at the masses. Then he was leading me out of the arena, and I could only focus on one step after the next. The onlookers sank into curtsies and low bows. Crimsons and reds filled the passageway ahead too.
“Queen Syera,” Gratia murmured.
I blinked at her, then looked at Athira standing opposite her daughter. She curtsied too.
“Queen Syera,” she said, then glanced up at me.
Her look asked the question I still half-wondered. Are you really you?
I couldn’t reassure her with Tyran so close, and I had to convince myself of the answer first. Why would he leave me in control and grant me more power?
Sure, being queen wouldn’t give me much more power above what I’d already reclaimed upon returning to the fortress.
But in the eyes and minds of the realm, this tiara on my head made an enormous difference.
In the space of twenty minutes, Tyran had made me beloved. Adored.
The queen of demons. Crowned at last. Theirs. Their warrior queen of such unique power. He’d made me their shield and protector, while he remained the sword and iron fist.
This didn’t make sense, and that terrified me as much as the seconds before Tyran placed the tiara on my head.
He led me out of the arena, and the other fortress demons fell into step behind us. Our procession reached the entrance where servants awaited.
I gazed at the lavish decorations and the yellows and oranges lining the halls leading to the ballroom. He’d planned all of this. I’d thought it was in reaction to my surprise version of Tiers, but he’d always intended to crown me queen today.
Tyran spoke over his shoulder. “We will join the celebrations for my queen shortly.”
I caught Athira’s nod before she strode toward the ballroom with Gratia and Raes close behind her.
“Come,” Tyran murmured.
He was pleased with himself.
Anger started to burn away my shock. Whatever his plan was, I would figure it out. I walked alongside him through the halls and to the hangar, where soldiers hurried to jerk open the doors.
Three strands of Tyran’s smoke whipped ahead to unlock three gates.
Magus. Luther. Vissimo.
Tyran wrenched me forward to stand before the central, Luther gate.
My mouth dried, but my mind latched on to the only course of action available to me right now. Axel?
I waited, but no answer came. It could be the middle of the night there?
Axel? I called louder, then shouted, Axel.
The faintest reply floated through my mind. Syera? I can…
If I’d found a way to access the hangars yesterday, I would have told Axel to convey my suspicions that Tyran wanted to force his magic into me.
Tyran’s voice speared through each gate. “I have made her my queen. You cannot hope to defeat us both. Surrender now, or watch the massacre of your peoples.”
I focused on the Luther gate. Axel, can you hear me?
I’m running to get closer. I hear you better than before.
I thought, He’s crowned me queen, but I still possess my own mind.
Would that make any sense to them? Hopefully my sister.
Everything he’s doing—this whole war—is to give him enough power to create a master race of demons.
I don’t know how he plans to use me as queen, but I believe he will seek to control me against you.
Axel didn’t answer, and there was a resounding boom of stone as Tyran slammed the gates shut.
Did Axel hear any of that?
Tyran sighed. “I will enjoy watching them try. Now that your sister is dead, nothing stands in my way.”
I was going to be in major shit when the truth of that came out.
“Come, my queen. We must sit upon thrones and watch the antics of idiotic crimsons and reds for the evening.”
My shock had ebbed somewhat, though I couldn’t identify what I felt most under that. Carmine’s emotions clouded my own too. Whatever Tyran planned, I had to play my role. I couldn’t show weakness, and unfortunately, I’d let him see me unnerved. “I don’t know how you do it after thousands of years.”
Tyran led us back through the halls. “Such things are a recent addition to the fortress. Five hundred years or so.”
“Five hundred years too much,” I muttered.
“Demons require a common enemy,” he answered. “Lacking an outlet, they will turn on each other. Watching reds and crimsons attempt to play politics is more painful than watching them dance, fuck, and humiliate one another every night.”
The answer was surprisingly honest, but the excited edge to his tone explained the freeness of his words. He either loved how uneasy the coronation had made me, or he’d just put a mega plan in motion.
“I don’t know why you don’t just introduce other scale colors to the fortress,” I answered. “Change the structure of how things have been. Why torture yourself?”
“The fragile egos of the power-holding demons in this realm could not survive blues and oranges and yellows among them. They would rise against me, or try, and that would not suit my end, nor would it suit the image of a crimson king who rules via fear. Sects of demons must remain unaware of the threat they could pose as a unified group.”
I snorted. “Unified group? I’m not sure that term can be applied to demons.”
“My following was a group,” he countered. “There is much community among yellows and oranges, though little unity in other colors.”
I thought of my lucky yellow and how the servants in the fortress had immediately welcomed him in. Ronj and Istg were other examples. Raes, too, and he wasn’t in the yellow and orange community.
We turned into a wider hall, and the sounds of celebration trickled to me from the ballroom ahead.
“If demons are to unify, then all demons must alter,” he said.
I frowned. “You seek to unify demons?”
Tyran arched a brow. “I do. Is that so hard to believe? A master race of demons could utilize the strengths of all scale colors. Such a race could build a stronger community, one with less community violence. Our race cannot hope to continue as it has without collapsing from dwindling numbers. Richness awaits us if we can unlock the full potential of our immortality. The older a demon, the stronger a demon, the more skilled and wise a demon. We could have a race as old, or older, than I. Imagine the collective power we would hold. Yet we kill each other before that can happen. We cull our numbers and our potential, and we never change. We are our own disease. Our own curse. I will change all of that. Demons will rule the world once more. One day.”
Uneasiness stirred in my chest. Some of what he said was true. Demons did cull their numbers. I’d had similar thoughts about the farce of a demon’s immortality not long ago. “Perhaps there’s a reason for the natural instincts and violence of demons.”
Tyran sneered. “Perhaps there is a reason for my ability to see the gaping flaws of the natural instincts of demons too. So that I can fix them.”
Touché.
Servants bowed as we entered the ballroom. The music cut off, and conversation died.
Gu approached, then faced the room of “idiotic crimsons and reds.” “King Carmine and Queen Syera.”
There was polite applause as Tyran and I sat in the thrones at the center of the room. The music resumed, and dancing struck up once more. My throne was new. Though smaller than Tyran’s, it was larger than before and made of blackened iron to match my tiara too.
As the hours ticked by, I finally located some calm again. I may not understand why I had a tiara on my free head, but I was only in control of what I did next. Unfortunately, my ideas numbered zero aside from figuring out Tyran’s plan.
I needed my lucky yellow. I needed his brain and to know he was safe. Did Athira find him, or had Tyran ordered her back for my coronation before she could do so?
I needed my mate too.
My breath caught. I needed to share a dream with Carmine. He could give me all the insight necessary. I almost sagged with the hope that hit me in a wall. A plan.
A tiny plan, but a plan.
I watched as a group of red males laughed together. How did I get into a dream with Carmine? Tyran would post soldiers to keep me awake tonight.
Athira approached and bowed to me, and then her son.
“Mother,” Tyran said. “Tell me of your progress.”
Athira glanced at me. “I will, my son and king. Might I suggest a more private location? I came upon an unusual presence while tracking the yellow traitor.”
Tyran considered her. He’d denied Gratia’s similar request. “We will speak in the war room.”
He stood and kissed the back of my hand. “Remain here, my queen, and enjoy the festivities.”
An order.
What are you up to, Athira?
I sat in the throne and stared at those in the ballroom with unseeing eyes. Could I drug Tyran somehow? Any drug would need to be strong, and a drug that strong could be easily sensed by someone of Carmine’s power.
No, the answer didn’t lie with rendering Tyran unconscious.
“Queen Syera.” Raes bowed low.
I shook off my stupor. “Brother, are you prepared for battle?”
He answered with a strange look and nothing more before drawing out a package wrapped in tough material and cord. “A coronation gift from my family. Not your usual weapon, I know, but perhaps you will enjoy a change from your norm, and there is much beauty in the art of wielding it.”
He passed the weapons into my hands, but when my fingers went to the knot of the cord, he said in a lowered voice, “Carefully. I do not wish any part to fall out of the packaging and hurt you.”
I cocked a brow. “Such concern, brother.”
But Raes was acting strangely, and that was enough to listen to him. I freed the knot, aware of the onlookers, and lifted one edge of the material.
An exquisite flail rested within, and on top of it was a note.
When Gratia saw the yellow, he held a sack.
She did not tell her brother because the odds were against her, but she plans to find the yellow and the sack to prove the truth of her accusations.
I care too much for my mate to stand by as she creates her own downfall.
I reduced the note to ash with a tiny jet of smoke, and then I lifted the flail free for all to see.
“A gift worthy of a queen,” I announced. “Your family are masters of their craft. I will need your help to learn this weapon.”
Raes bowed low. “Of course, my queen.”
“Bring paper and ink,” I muttered to the nearest servant. “I would like to write a note to the royal blacksmiths and thank them for such a priceless gift.” I looked back at Raes. “You will take it to them tonight.”
Fear lit his gaze, but he nodded. “Of course, my queen. I will be happy to do so.”
The servant returned, and I scrawled out my note.
A large risk to put details in writing, but Gratia wasn’t here, and no one else should bother Raes to take it.
Raes would know well enough that the contents were for him.
I folded the note and passed it to my brother-in-law. “I will see you at dawn for training.”
“I look forward to it.”
After another bow, he backed away, then strode from the ballroom.
Would he read it? I expected so.
But would he do it? That was the question.