Chapter 18
Nikolai could feelthe heat from Armaros’s forge even where he and Astarte sat beside Vannog and Vozgan on the other side of the courtyard. Father and son were having a mid-morning snooze, their snores rattling the windows facing the castle forecourt. The purple helldragon had arrived that morning with fresh news.
The last of the army that had attacked Arakiel’s city had finally been disposed of.
Nikolai had wanted to ask Astarte if chasing the remaining troops was worth the effort, but he’d never questioned her in the end. It was not his place to doubt the will of a Goddess, nor the decisions of demon commanders who once occupied the highest seats in Heaven.
Tension coiled through him as he watched Mae and Brimstone where they framed Armaros. Demonic energy woven with black and white magic throbbed off them as they infused the pendant the demon was painstakingly melting with their powers while it returned to its liquid state.
They’d been at it for two hours already and had barely liquefied a fraction of Hellreaver’s dormant form.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Astarte murmured.
Nikolai’s chest tightened a little. “Yeah, she is.”
The Goddess smiled faintly. “Spoken like a man truly smitten.” She fixed him with a curious stare. “What would you have done if she’d picked the incubus instead of you?”
Nikolai’s insides twisted at the question. It had kept him awake more nights than he cared to admit. He hesitated.
“I…would have accepted her choice.”
Vannog opened a lazy eye.
“Really?” Astarte said.
Nikolai frowned at their dubious stares. “What, you think me incapable of bowing out of a fight gracefully?”
“Yes,” Astarte said bluntly. “You seem like the kind of guy who’d toast your competition alive with Hellfire Magic before you ever admitted defeat.”
Nikolai’s frown deepened.
Vannog scratched his cheek with a giant claw. “Your father is that dastardly Sorcerer King, after all.”
“I would prefer it if you did not remind me,” Nikolai said coldly.
“We cannot choose who sires us.” Astarte’s gaze found Mae. “Nor who will steal our heart.” A faraway look came over the Goddess. “Protect that which you cherish, sorcerer.”
Nikolai could not help but suspect a hidden meaning behind her words. From the worried glance Vannog gave Astarte, it seemed he was right.
The Goddess’s next words made him stiffen.
“That Hellfire Magic should have consumed you when you first touched it. That you are able to withstand its destructive powers means it has accepted you for some reason.”
Nikolai’s pulse accelerated under her guarded stare. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that not just anyone can handle a power akin to Heaven’s Fire.”
Nikolai swallowed. He’d forgotten that Azazel had based Hellfire Magic on Heaven’s Fire. Cold fingers danced down his spine as he recalled an ugly truth.
“Vedran absorbed that magic from my core. He can control it too.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” A dark smile curved Astarte’s mouth. “Those who mess with powers they don’t fully grasp soon find out how dangerous they truly are.”
Alastair rustled his wings nervously and inched closer to Nikolai.
He was still wondering what the Goddess meant when Cortes returned from his tour of the city with Us’gorith. Popo was clinging limply to the sorcerer’s shoulder.
“What’s the matter with him?” Nikolai asked.
“He almost got eaten by a kid,” Cortes muttered.
“I apologize again, treasured guest,” Us’gorith said, contrite.
Some fiends approached him. He excused himself and wandered off with them.
“Is Vlad still training with his father?” Cortes asked.
Nikolai smirked. “Why? You miss your boyfriend?”
Cortes lowered his brows. A distant explosion sounded from a mountain to the west of the valley before the sorcerer could deliver a cutting reply.
A crimson haze rose above the treetops near its base.
“He’s a fast learner,” Astarte said.
Nikolai made a face. “You can see them from here?”
“No. But I can sense the power of Ilmon’s son growing exponentially.” She glanced at him slyly. “He could still prove to be competition.”
Nikolai wasn’t sure if the Goddess was teasing him or not. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
Cortes cocked his head at the forge. “So, where are they at?”
* * *
Dusk was fallingwhen Armaros finally finished melting Hellreaver. Mae and Brimstone panted beside the demon. They retracted their magic, bodies trembling and cores half drained.
Armaros poured the glistening metal into a stone mold. “Your weapon is a hungry little monster.” He frowned at the sight of their pale faces. “Why don’t you two go get some rest?”
Mae hesitated, her racing heart finally slowing. “What about you?”
Armaros shrugged. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like this is the first time I’m going to be up all night making something.” Crimson flashed in his pupils. “After all, I am the best metalsmith in all of Heaven and Hell.”
“Violet said that Artemus guy is just as good as you,” Brimstone piped up.
Hellfire exploded on the tips of Armaros’s horns. “Oh, did she now?!”
“How about you stop winding him up?!” Mae hissed at the familiar. She worried her lip as she watched Armaros cool Hellreaver’s liquefied form in a vat of cold water. “I should stay.”
Steam filled the forge.
Armaros scowled at them through the fumes. “You’ll only get in the way. Now shoo! Both of you!”
He waved them off dismissively.
Brimstone shifted into his smaller form. Mae picked him up and reluctantly made her way across to where the others sat at a table that Us’gorith had had some servants bring outside. The skeleton key Armaros had fixed hung on Hellreaver’s chain around her neck. She hoped she would eventually figure out how to use it in their battle against Vedran.
Some of her weariness lifted when she spotted Vlad and Ilmon. A warm feeling blossomed inside her chest.
Brimstone looked at her curiously. What is it, my witch?
“I’m happy for Vlad.”
A shrewd gleam appeared in the fox’s crimson eyes as he studied the incubus. He has become stronger.
Mae blinked. “You can tell too?”
If you mean his sex appeal has bloomed,yes, Brimstone huffed. You only have to look at the demons ogling him with lustful intent to know his seduction powers are through the roof right now.
Mae clocked the twitching curtains at the castle windows. Scores of figures were giving Vlad covetous looks, peeking at him from behind the glass. Several hulking demon soldiers were squabbling with one another next to the armory, fighting for pole position to spy on the incubus.
If Vlad noticed, he wasn’t showing any sign of it.
“That wasn’t what I meant, but you’re right.”She became conscious of Brimstone’s pointed stare. “What?”
Will you be okay?the fox asked in a tone laced with doubt. Are you feeling a warm stirring in your loins too?
Mae’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “How about you leave my loins out of this conversation?”
Nikolai handed her a drink when they reached the table. “Here.”
She accepted it gratefully and took the seat beside him.
“You look like death warmed over,” Cortes observed.
“I feel like it.” Mae gulped a mouthful of the cold liquid and looked around. “Where did Alicia go?”
“She said she’d sensed something and went to investigate.” Astarte scratched Tarang under the chin. “Who’s a good little tiger?”
Tarang made a happy sound.
“Sensed what?” Mae asked warily.
“I’m not sure.” The Goddess grimaced. “She has an uncanny sixth sense when it comes to sniffing out trouble.”
Mae wrinkled her nose. “Is it okay for her to be out there on her own?”
They all looked at her blankly.
She realized what she’d just said and laughed awkwardly. “Ha ha. Right, she’s the Queen of the Soul Reapers.”
“Can you stop trying to seduce my familiar?” Vlad muttered at Astarte, who was slipping the tiger her entire platter of meat.
They ate dinner under the stars, Armaros joining them briefly before returning to his forge. Sparks exploded as he patiently pummeled and shaped the magic-infused metal with a hammer that looked like it could smash a mountain, the sounds ringing across the courtyard in a hypnotic cadence.
It was late when Vannog and Vozgan returned from patrolling the neighboring valleys. They had a snack consisting of twenty roasted hellboars each before settling down close to the forge. The heat from the flames soon lulled them to sleep.
“You should go to bed,” Mae told Nikolai when the midnight hour approached.
“I’ll stay with you.”
He dropped down beside her where she leaned her back against Vozgan’s flank, Brimstone in her lap. To Mae’s surprise, Astarte and the others chose to stick around too.
“I’ve always wanted to ask,” Cortes mused after some time. He studied the Goddess and Ilmon with a calculated expression. “All that stuff in the Bible. Is any of it true?”
The Incubus king and Astarte shared a wary glance.
“Some of it is,” Ilmon acknowledged.
“But a lot of it involves conclusions mankind came to after hearing stories passed down to them by their forefathers,” Astarte said drily. “And we all know how information gets twisted when it changes hands.”
“The War in Heaven and the Fallen Angels,” Vlad said hesitantly. “That really happened though, didn’t it?”
“And Artemus Steele truly is the son of the archangel who cast you all to Hell?” Mae added.
Astarte’s eye twitched. Ilmon clenched his jaw.
“I think you touched a sore spot,” Cortes muttered to Mae.
“It’s not that,” Astarte ground out. “It’s just?—”
“—every time we recall that war,” Ilmon said between gritted teeth, “we remember?—”
“—that asshole’s smug face,” Astarte finished with an almighty scowl. “At least Uriel and the others had the decency to look remorseful.”
“That bastard just smiled.” Ilmon’s pupils flared scarlet. “Just thinking about him makes me want to punch a wall.”
The ground trembled at the demonic energy that blasted from the Incubus king. Vlad tried to calm his father.
“How about we change the subject?” Mae said hastily when Armaros twisted around and glowered at them.
Vannog stirred in his sleep.