Hothgar slowly turned, pointing at Ursula.
“The hound?” Nyxobas roared.
At the sound of his voice, a vast emptiness filled her mind. She stood at the edge of the precipice. Black and bottomless, it drew her closer. She only had to step off the edge, to give herself into eternal descent.
No sound, no light, no sensation. Just Ursula and the unending darkness.
Distantly, she felt the pain of her broken ribs. I can leave this wrecked body behind, this withering carcass.
Is this what the Forgotten Ones had meant when they told her the darkness would save her? She could join Nyxobas now. Supplicate herself to him—become one of his brethren. He would give her power she couldn’t begin to imagine. She just needed to accept the void, to give up this decaying flesh.
To give up the broken ribs and burning walls, the rapacious hunger that could eat her alive...
Give up the tall grasses, beams of light through yew trees, the salty taste of sea air on her lips...
No, she thought. I want to live.
Before her, the darkness thinned. Her heart thrumming, she stared as Nyxobas slowly drew the blade from his chest. He crushed it between his fingers. “Why have you roused me?”
“They were murdering Bael.” Her voice was rough and strained. Agony still pierced her chest where the cords bound her.
From the floor, Bael moaned, no longer enshrouded by dark magic.
Still alive.
Nyxobas turned his gaze on Hothgar. “You chose to murder one of my lords?” Ice tinged his voice.
Hothgar straightened. “He has lost his wings. Since we last spoke with you, he has proven himself unable to protect Albelda Manor. The palace has been destroyed, half his men slaughtered. As a mortal, he has been unable to fulfill his duties as lord. Abrax, your son, can hold the manor until another lord is appointed.”
Nyxobas’s glacial eyes bored into him. “Is this true?”
Bael pushed up onto his elbows, blood dripping from his lips. “The other lords attacked. I defended. Albelda Manor stands, and I live.”
Hothgar’s eyes flicked to Ursula. “He wasn’t able to control his captive very well either. The hound is out of control, as you have seen.”
Ursula’s mouth went dry. This is not going well. “Isn’t there a way for Bael to get his wings back? When I became a hound, I was offered a trial—”
“A trial,” said Nyxobas, lifting a finger. “The wretched hound has the blood of a warrior.”
Hothgar and Abrax both turned to glare at her. Shit. What did I just suggest?
Shadows coiled around the god of night. “The code of the warrior has always allowed for a trial. If Bael wishes to keep his manor, he must fight for it. Win, and all is forgiven.”
Bael rose to his feet. “I will kill whomever I need to. I may be mortal, but you know my strength.”
The god’s silver eyes narrowed. “There will be a tournament. The lords may nominate five champions each—their greatest warriors. For the tournament, all demons shed their immortality. And if you, Bael, wish to reclaim your status, you must win the trial.”
Bael nodded. He spoke through bloody teeth. “So be it.”
“Then it is settled,” said Nyxobas. “When the shadows grow long above Lacus Mortis, and the sun sets, we will conduct a melee. Those who survive will join the race. Finally, a duel. The prize is the remnants of Albelda manor, and a position as lord. If Bael wins, I return his wings.”
An icy silence fell over the room, then Hothgar slammed his gavel onto the stone. “A trial for all the lords. A just ruling.” His voice boomed, echoing off the crystal ceiling. After a moment, the room filled with rumbling cheers.
Hothgar stood. “Before the melee, we will hold a feast. We will present our champions. Then, the bloodletting begins.”
* * *
Bael stared out the window of the carriage, his jaw set tight. He kept his eyes fixed on the gray horizon. In the distance, his ruined manor glittered faintly.
The bats’ wings beat the air, an oddly soothing sound after her close brush with death.
Bael hadn’t spoken for the entire carriage ride. He’d regained his regal bearing, and blood no longer dripped from his mouth. But his demonic stillness sent a chill up her spine.
She was quickly learning that the stiller a demon’s body, the more unquiet his mind.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Bael fixed his eyes on her, his irises shading over. “I told you to be subservient,” he spoke in a guttural growl. “Not to put a dagger in the god of night.” Dark magic whorled from his body, skimming her skin like an ice breath of wind.