Chapter Four
CHAPTER
FOUR
In the corner of a vaulted stone cellar, a demon sat with his fingers curled around a goblet of wine.
His hulking form slouched against the cool stone wall, flickering candlelight blurring into a haze as he traced idle circles over the rim. His temples pulsed in beat with the tavern’s revelry, distant sounds from above that were eclipsed by the weight of what he cradled in his lap.
After all this time, he’d finally done it.
The demon twirled the goblet between lithe fingers. The glass was etched with the sigil of his guild, lush grapevines woven around a crescent moon. Beneath it were the words Vinum Vita Miraculum—Wine, the Miracle of Life. The demon brushed a sharpened nail against them.
Three decades Severin had spent gathering charters and gaining recognition, changing his face whenever necessary to avoid questions. From the ground up he had built this guild, and in his hands was the culmination of his efforts—the perfect vintage.
A gift for all of Rhovar.
Severin raised the goblet to his lips, and the wine unfolded like velvet.
Each sip was as opulent in taste as its jeweled hue.
Notes of black currant glided upon his tongue, a prelude to the cascading warmth of vanilla and allspice that followed.
The untrained palate would consider the drink an indulgence with a satisfying finish and remarkable aftertaste.
To an enthusiast, the wine would unveil itself in layers, showcasing subtle notes of the cedar barrels it’d been aged in and coaxing from it a complexity of flavors Severin guaranteed no one had ever sampled before.
He swirled the goblet, watching the dregs settle. So enraptured was he that he hadn’t noticed the tavern above him had fallen silent. It wasn’t until a voice cleared their throat in the doorway that he realized someone else stood in the cellar.
“I’m busy,” Severin said, not bothering to look up.
“Then make time.”
Only one demon could cut through his focus so effortlessly. He turned to see her standing in the doorway, blue-skinned and wreathed in shadows. The twisting darkness at her heels was not unusual, but the bleeding tail clutched against her chest certainly was.
Severin sighed as he rocked back to his feet.
The demon looked ready to set the world ablaze, shadows seeping from her skin and coiling around her like nightmares given form.
They loomed over her, twice her size, and while Severin appreciated her effortless command over magic, he had no desire to be on the receiving end of it.
“Hello, Lute.” His voice was rough from disuse. It seemed he’d lost track of how long he’d been in this cellar. “I see you couldn’t be bothered to knock.”
“I was busy having a crisis.” When Lute spoke, it was with a wrath that threatened to shake the very heavens. He could see now why the tavern had fallen silent—the lesser demons had likely fled at the sight of her.
Severin frowned at the tarlike puddle of blood that dripped from Lute’s tail and soaked into the cracks of the hardwood. “You’re of no use to me if you bleed out.”
“Pardon my dying,” she hissed. “We have a problem.”
The stump of her tail twitched, spilling more blood onto the floor. Severin clicked his teeth in distaste. Demon blood was a bitch to clean.
He brushed past her, fetching a rag. Not realizing the extent of his own condition, however, he swayed, nearly losing his footing.
Lute tracked him like a predator, her shadows writhing and darkening until it was impossible to distinguish where her blood ended and the shadows began.
By the time Severin returned, his vision slightly blurred, he found her staring pointedly at his wrist.
“You promised you’d go easy on the wine.”
“And you promised to complete the mission without issue.” He ignored the dull ache pounding at his temples and crouched at her feet, dabbing at the black puddle before it could seep into the cracks of the hardwood.
“Aren’t you going to ask who cut off my tail?” she asked, easing onto one of the nearby barrels. She held her severed tail aloft, its skin knitting halfway around the wound in a grotesque attempt at healing.
Without meeting her gaze, he tossed the rag onto her lap. “Only if you ask why I’m still in this cellar at four in the morning when Melisandre is performing upstairs.”
“Melisandre? I thought you were seeing Neave.”
“That was a fortnight ago, Lute. Do keep up.” He sank onto the barrel beside her, leaning back on his hands. “Let’s hear it, then. Tell me who’s responsible for your butchered tail and I swear I’ll see to their ruin.”
Shadows rippled ahead of her, snaking around the goblet Severin had abandoned and drawing it into her waiting hand. Her nails tapped against the glass, voice dropping low. “It was the Chantelune.”
He stiffened. “Varen?”
“The daughter. That bitch cut off my tail, and she could just as easily have cut my throat. She’s stronger than we thought.”
His gaze swept over her more pointedly. “How on earth did you run into a Chantelune?”
Lute tossed the goblet aside, her shadows catching it midair before it could shatter. “Kieran’s forces attacked Rhovar.”
“You were caught in an attack? Hell’s teeth, Lute, why didn’t you flee?”
“I did flee. The girl saw me and gave chase through the woods. She barely let me go, and now look at my tail, it’s hideous!” She hissed in pain as her fingers flexed against the mangled appendage. “You said Kieran wouldn’t interfere.”
Severin’s head thudded back against the cellar wall. “I didn’t expect he’d be foolish enough to.”
“They’re impatient, and I don’t blame them. How long until our own forces follow suit? Or until Rhovar tracks down our location? I’m tired of hiding in the shadows.”
“And you think I’m not?” He reached forward, his scarred fingers firm as they tipped her chin upward. He turned her face until their eyes met, then reached for a wineskin tucked beneath one of the barrels and handed it to her. “Taste this.”
Lute didn’t hesitate before lifting it to her lips, drinking deeply.
“Well?” Severin’s expression betrayed nothing, though his knuckles whitened as he awaited her verdict. “What do you think?”
Lute’s fangs gleamed red in the torchlight. “That’s your best one yet.”
“It’s not just the best. It’s the one we’ve been waiting for.
” How many nights had he dreamed of saying those words aloud?
Even in the dizzying cellar and with a cloudy haze across his vision, he couldn’t suppress the grin that bloomed across his face.
“Three decades in the making, a vintage unlike anything Rhovar has ever tasted. By the king’s next feast, this wine will fill every chalice. ”
He held his head high, awaiting praise. He certainly deserved it.
A demon disguised as a guild master and artisan, he had spent years peddling his wine into Rhovar’s taverns and monasteries, forging ties until it was his goods alone that kept Rhovar stocked.
Over time, he’d amassed a small fortune, employing demons too weak to hide their features and who would sooner find their bellies flayed by a pitchfork than find honest work.
And yet, Lute offered no acknowledgment, merely tipping the wineskin back for another drink as her attention drifted to her trousers.
“Blasted demon blood,” she muttered, tugging at a tear in the fabric. “These were my favorite pair.”
Severin’s jaw clenched. “I said the wine is finished, Lute.”
“I heard you.” She grumbled, still not looking at him. “But this will never work. It’s enough of a challenge keeping out of Varen’s sight, and now we’ll have his daughter to contend with.”
Severin’s fists curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms. “Did she kill one of them?”
“They think she killed me. We were already risking everything by dealing with one bonded pair. With two, we can’t stay here. We need a new plan.”
“And how long do you suggest we wait to sort that out? Another decade? Perhaps a century?” Her doubt only fueled his resolve.
“We can’t keep waiting. This is our chance, and I’ll be blessed before I let some half-baked knight take it from—” He cut off suddenly, blinking down at her. “You said she let you go.”
Lute inspected her fingers, brushing flecks of dried blood from her claws. “I can be rather convincing.”
“Convincing enough to sway a Rhovarian knight whose life’s purpose is to kill us?” He shook his head, standing upright.
If this girl had hesitated to kill Lute, then perhaps they were looking at this all wrong.
“Why are you making that face?” She sighed. “I despise it when you make that face.”
“I have an idea.” Severin moved toward her, his boots a hard slap against the stone. “We’ll continue as planned. If all goes well, then tonight may have been the best thing that could have happened to us.”
“Speak for yourself, knave.” Lute made a derisive sound, brushing a hand along her mangled tail.
Severin didn’t take the bait. Instead, he ducked his forehead against hers, grinning.
“Rest easy, Lute,” he told her. “I’ll take it from here.”