When she looked closely, she could see that scars marred the crystal’s surface. In other places, great chips had flaked off. When she strained her eyes, she could a jagged scar that bisected the crystal, as if it had been severed and reattached. What the hell had happened here?
They stepped out and the carriage pulled away from the balcony with the great beating of bat wings. Bael crossed to the opening in the wall. Before following him in, she pulled the hood more tightly over her head.
In the door’s opening, he turned to her. “Remember, if you want to live, you must do everything I say. Even if it doesn’t make sense to you. Do you understand?”
Do I have a choice? “I’ve got it.”
“Good. Now, your first command is to be silent. Absolutely no talking. Keep your hood over your head. Use the dagger only if your life is at risk.”
He turned, striding into a dark hall. She hurried after him, keeping her face downcast. Could he tell where they were going? Surely shadow demons had amazing night vision.
A moment later, his strong hand grabbed hers, drawing her next to him. They’d stopped walking.
A voice boomed from somewhere in front of her. “Was that your carriage, Bael?” The tone changed, growing soft and mocking. “I can’t imagine getting dragged around in one of those things. You must miss your wings.” A chorus of laughter echoed around them, but there was no mirth in it.
Quiet fury tinged Bael’s voice. “Yes, Hothgar. It is I.”
The familiar urge to identify an escape route began to take hold, tightening her muscles. The Forgotten Ones may have snuffed out her fire, but apparently they’d left her instincts intact.
Too bad she couldn’t see anything. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out only the faint sheen of gray marble below her, but she kept her head tucked down, hiding her face.
“Then let us convene this council. Do we have a quorum?” said Hothgar.
Another voice answered. “All twelve lords are here, sir.”
A cracking noise like metal against stone made Ursula flinch, the sound echoing through the space. It was only after the third crack that she realized someone was banging a gavel.
Hothgar’s voice boomed again. “The quorum is convened. Bael, have you brought the cur?”
“I have,” he replied. She heard his footsteps circling behind her, and he ripped the hood from her head. In the next second, he had forced her to her knees.
Her stomach clenched. He did tell me to be submissive, but this is a bit much. Still, she forced herself to keep her eyes on the floor.
“Good, I see that she is obedient,” said Hothgar.
Fury simmered. I hate these people. She let her gaze rise, taking in a granite, semicircular table twenty feet in front of her. Behind it sat eleven demons. And not merely mortal demons, like she was. No—these were high demons, ancient and powerful. The dim light of luminescent mushrooms cast their bestial faces in violet light.
At the center of the table sat the man with the gavel—Hothgar, she presumed. He wore a shirt of thin chainmail. His hoary beard and white eyebrows marked him as older than the rest. From his left, Abrax glared at her, his gray eyes glacially cold.
On Hothgar’s right sat a literal giant. Snowy skin, horned temples, flared nostrils. Demon-Bull, she’d call him.
She scanned the other lords, trying not to show her alarm at the array of muscled demons before her. Through eyes the color of obsidian, ice, and starlight, they stared at her with a mixture of disgust and hatred.
Mostly hatred.
Terrifying as they were, they paled in comparison to what perched behind them. An ancient throne, shrouded in shadow magic, so thick it almost looked tangible. An enormous form sat there, cloaked in darkness.
There’s Nyxobas, the god of my nightmares.
For just a moment, his magic thinned, and she caught a glimpse of his head lolling to one side. Is he asleep? No. Not quite. His eyes were open—not their usual pale gray, but black as obsidian.
Hothgar leaned over the table. “Why are you in the Realm of Shadows, hellhound?”
Her chest tightened. Hadn’t Bael told her not to speak? Was she supposed to answer Hothgar’s question or not? She didn’t feel like she’d been properly prepared for this encounter. A soft nudge of her shins from Bael cleared it up for her.
Kneeling, she said, “Nyxobas struck a deal with Emerazel. I’m to spend six months of every year here.”
“If that’s a lie,” growled Hothgar, “I will tear your guts out myself and use them to decorate my mansion.”
Ursula’s mouth went dry.
“She speaks the truth,” said Bael. “I was there.”
“Why should I trust your word, mortal?” asked Hothgar.
“You don’t have to trust it.” His voice boomed. “Abrax can tell you.”
Dread filled Ursula’s gut. Bael had just put her life in the hands of Abrax—the one demon who most wanted her dead after she’d ruined his plans of world domination.
Abrax spoke so softly, it was almost inaudible. “I can confirm Bael’s story.”
“So it is true?” asked Hothgar. “Your father summoned her?”
“Yes,” said Abrax.
“Why would the god invite one of Emerazel’s curs to his Realm?”