Devil's Punch
Page 37

It had just dawned on her. No more dreams. No Jesse. Nothing but Sheol and Xibalba until the day she died.
“I’m sorry. Ultimately I’m the reason you’re here. And I wouldn’t have chosen this for you.”
“Well, you didn’t choose it either. You only came because of me—and that means a lot. Obviously I’m not okay with sacrificing some poor bastard either, just so I can go to college and have some kids someday.”
I nodded. The human half of me had understood she would feel this way. I’d used that awareness shamelessly, and by Chance’s expression, he knew. But he didn’t comment on my management of the situation. He only stared at his hands.
Shannon went on. “I only wish there was some way for me to get word to Jesse. I’m not sure if you knew this, but he’s got major emotional damage.”
She went on to tell me things I didn’t care about, like how he didn’t trust himself because he could be swayed by other people’s emotional states and how he feared he’d never fall in love for real, just spend his life in a depressing spiral of serial monogamy. But I listened because I felt I should at least pretend to be like the woman she remembered, even if that person—at best—was only able to whisper from the back of my head. Eventually, she ran out of words and then she cried. I put an arm around her and Chance stroked her hair.
Finally she said, “Thanks for letting me get that out. It’s been a really shitty few weeks.”
“For us too,” Chance murmured.
Shannon nodded. “I guess nobody sets out to get trapped in hell.”
“Do you have a moment, my queen?” Greydusk stood at the study door, bearing some papers I needed to sign.
“Of course.” I read them over before scrawling my signature where he indicated—not that I didn’t trust him, but in all honesty, I didn’t. I trusted no one. That was what it meant to rule.
Shannon talked with Chance while we did our business, and then I performed more introductions. “Greydusk, this is Shannon Cheney. You are to treat her with all royal consideration.”
At first she recoiled, but I hoped she would get used to my second and eventually not view him as a monster. Things were different in Xibalba, and the sooner she accepted it, the happier she would be. Perhaps, in time, I could arrange a marital alliance with the Luren. Shannon would certainly find one of their males physically appealing, and I could appease Sybella with the offering. I had broken our agreement, but I wished her luck in enforcing a bargain that had been made, technically speaking, with a person who no longer existed.
For the remainder of the day, I put aside all business and spent time with Shannon. She ate, bathed, changed her clothes, and then I showed her the palace and grounds. Once the tour ended, I enlisted her help in decorating private rooms that had been passed over in favor of attention to the public areas, like the throne room.
“Seriously? You’ll let me have free rein on all of this?”
“Indeed. And I will need another adviser I can trust. I’ll create a title especially for you.”
“Holy shit. Okay, so let me get with Greydusk.”
I nodded. “He’ll assist in obtaining all the materials you need.”
Because she was young, she didn’t realize I had more important matters to attend to. I couldn’t spend days entertaining her, and I had to be sure she would be gainfully occupied. It wouldn’t do for her to get homesick and cause trouble. She had to stay here, safe and protected, and out of the hands of my enemies.
At my word, Greydusk escorted Shannon to the storerooms, where we had piles of unsorted goods, fresh from the Saremon confiscations. That left Chance with me in the study, and he didn’t look pleased. In preparation for an unpleasant conversation, I shut the door and took a seat behind my desk.
“You have something to say?” My tone was dangerous.
“You lied to her about why you’re staying, and then distracted her with busywork. Even though you did try to explain, I don’t think she realizes how…different you are, and when she does, it’s going to be a problem.”
“What do you suggest?” It wasn’t sarcasm. In this setting, with no witnesses, I’d permit him to speak his mind.
He scrubbed a hand through his inky hair. “I don’t know. I’m just worried.”
“As am I. But what are my alternatives? If I renounce the throne and devote my life here to doing good works among the downtrodden, how long do you think we’ll live? Any of us?”
“You won’t convince me your decisions are driven by altruism,” he snapped. “Poor you, taking on the whole city for our benefit? Bullshit. You want this.”
I pushed to my feet, flattening my hands on the desk. Leaning forward, I whispered, “Am I supposed to apologize for wanting things, Chance? You don’t.”
He stilled, his tiger’s gaze locked on mine. A muscle ticked beside his beautiful mouth. Even in anger I craved him.
With measured steps, I approached him and stopped short of a touch. “As I recall, you pursue your impulses beyond what’s reasonable. Or do you feel guilty because you still desire me? Maybe even…because you want me more, this way.”
“I don’t.” But there was no conviction in his voice, and he leaned toward me, just a little. Just enough.
“Power’s an aphrodisiac. You crave my certainty. Want it straight in the vein.”
“No.” But he stepped closer, nostrils flaring.
“Don’t fight it anymore,” I whispered. “Or pretend. Or lie. You’ve always secretly wanted someone to control you. Make you give everything. That’s where the primitive instincts flare. When you growl mine and go savage, you need someone who will say it back—and mean it. You’ve always been searching for the iron fist in the velvet glove.”
No. Don’t do this to him. He loves me, not you. Don’t fuck with his head.
I banished her voice with a little more difficulty this time. Silenced her protests.
Desperation flashed in his face—not because I was wrong, but because I was right—and I had him. He couldn’t resist such bone-deep need. When he bent his head, I kissed him with every ounce of possession in me. Chance swept the desk with feral hands; then it was all heat and teeth, slick, hard friction, wild as a firestorm.
The Court Convenes
Two weeks after Shannon arrived, I held my first court.
I saw her relatively little, but she busied herself with the decorating. When that work concluded, I’d find something else for her to do. Anything to limit the amount of time we spent together; her questions were piercing, distracting, and I had no time or patience for her emotional needs. Chance had stopped worrying about that, at least to me, as I kept him too occupied in my bed to do much thinking. He was wholly mine now, owned in a way few consorts would permit. In the past, I recalled other lovers who had wanted a rival killed or to be raised to the rank of knight. He had no caste, so he never asked me for favors.
Everything was coming together beautifully.
On that day I sat on the throne with fierce anticipation. Greydusk had located a suitable crown—not the original, of course, but it shone with impressive brilliance as the servant announced the knight from each caste. I had been cautious enough to prohibit them from bringing their own guards into the audience chamber, so a muted rumble of voices came in from the antechamber each time the heavy doors swung open. Zet had sent a contingent of Hazo warriors to add consequence—and guard my person. Four of them on either side of the throne made for an impressive display. They did not speak, merely stared with unnerving intensity.
The throne room itself was glorious. The dark tile shone like obsidian and the new hangings added an air of gravity to the chamber. Other artful touches like rare sculpture had transformed the room, and now it was time for me to meet my public.
I was not surprised to see Sybella in the forefront of my first petitioners. This time, however, I looked her in the eye and felt nothing at all beyond irritation at how she had inconvenienced me when I first arrived in the city. She dropped into a low curtsy, her graceful neck bent, and I let her stay that way until her muscles trembled from holding the pose. The balance of power had shifted, and I gloried in the juxtaposition.
“Rise,” I said at last.
“Your Majesty.” Her smile was tight, but she had dressed for the occasion in her best stamped silk, matched with real gilt on the buckles of her shoes. Her hair was a dark river, intricately twisted, and her mouth had been painted into a red bow.
“I am willing to hear your oath.”
Her expression drew even tauter, revealing lovely bones. But then, the Luren were always beautiful, so it would be more interesting to encounter one that did not possess sheer physical perfection. I tapped my nails lightly on the arm of my throne, gazing down on her with an impassive expression. And my silent scrutiny made her uneasy. She shifted her weight.
“We heard how you treated Caim.” She meant to sound confident, even silkily threatening, but my regard unnerved her enough to unravel her best intentions.
“When he came to this hall, he knew how the encounter must end.”
“Why do you suppose he did not fight?” Recovering a little poise, she tested me, wondering how powerful I was in such a hybrid form.
“Because I would have annihilated his caste like the Saremon. He showed courage in accepting my judgment, and thus the Hazo prosper.” I gestured to the eight in positions of trust at either side of me. Not that I wasn’t constantly watching them for signs of conspiracy or rebellion. In the royal house, I was on my guard at all times. It did not make for restful nights.
My reign had barely passed into its infancy. Careless hands would bring everything tumbling down.
“Yes, I had heard you brought their stronghold low.” Anxiety flared again before she dropped her eyes, unable to hold my gaze.
Good for me, if she carried word to the others. Destroying the Saremon in the heart of their strength would give the other castes pause. I alone knew I hadn’t destroyed every accursed mage—unless the Saremon had come out of hiding to foment dissidence and insurrection. Yet if the worst came to pass, I would deal with it.
“Indeed. As I said, Sybella, I am willing to hear your oath. You harmed none of my party and did not interfere with my destiny.” Without further hesitation, she dropped to her knees, and I spoke the words as I had to Zet. “Do you swear to serve me in all things, to set my will above your own, and obey my commands without question?”
“I do so swear,” she whispered.
“Rise, Knight of the Luren. I have no orders for you at this time.”
One by one, they all came: the awful Aronesti with their wings and stench, the Birsael, the Dohan, the Klothod, the Mhizul, the Noit, and the Phalxe. They swore to me on bended knee, and most seemed sincere, at least in their fear. It didn’t mean they would keep their promises. They might all be plotting, using these pledges as a means to keep my suspicions at bay until they could strike in force. But for my personal recollection of assassination attempts, my thoughts might have sounded like paranoia.