Before Ursula could come up with a retort, Cera was standing before her, wielding eyeliner. “Sit.”
Ursula did as instructed, and Cera spent the next two minutes attacking her face with eye makeup, blush, and a berry lipstick. When she’d finished, she packed away the makeup, and pulled out a pair of black heels and a new cloak made of dark silver feathers that shimmered as it moved. Ursula pulled the cloak around her shoulders. She plucked the silver ring off the bar, shoving it into the cloak’s pocket.
“What was that?” Cera asked suspiciously.
“Just my lucky charm. I think I might need it tonight.” Her eyes flicked to the window, searching for signs of the rising sun. Dread welled in her chest.
When the sun sets over Lacus Mortis... For the finishing touch, Cera slid a sparkling silver headband onto Ursula’s head. “Splendid,” she purred, stepping back to admire her work.
Ursula slipped into the heels. Somehow, she felt at home in these clothes.
Cera arched a cautionary eyebrow. “My only request is that you don’t destroy the clothes through bloodshed and mayhem.”
Ursula grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
Cera scowled. “Please try to behave appropriately when you meet the lords’ wives.”
Cera tilted her head. “Do they all have wives apart from Bael?”
“Most do. It can get pretty lonely on the crater’s rim.”
“I’ve noticed, I was going to ask if there were any books I could read. I don’t think I can make a shank from the pages of a novel.”
Cera frowned. “A what?”
“A shank, you know, like what prisoners make to stab—” Abort, Ursula. Abort! “I mean, since Bael said to remove anything I could use as a weapon. Surely books are harmless.”
Cera nodded slowly. “There’s a library I can take you to tomorrow, if you like.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s time for us to leave. You can eat at the ceremony.”
Ursula’s stomach rumbled. The last thing she’d eaten was a soup made from those strange, glowing mushrooms.
Cera crossed over to the door, flinging it open. “Come along!”
Ursula hurried to keep up with Cera as she made her way across the windswept bridge and into the atrium. There, the elevator waited for them.
Cera gave a little bow outside the elevator. “Good luck.”
Ursula pulled open the door, stepping inside. The door clicked shut. “Thank you, Cera.”
As the cage rose slowly on its chain, her chest clenched. Tonight, she’d be facing all the lords again, and getting an eyeful of the champions. She didn’t know what to expect, but she imagined they’d be terrifying.
She shoved her hand into the cloak’s pocket, running her fingertips over the smooth silver ring. It seemed to center her.
The elevator creaked up past one flight after another of shattered glass, twisted steel beams, and layers of gray ash.
Bael was an ancient, stunningly powerful demon. And maybe he was mortal right now, but he had enough magic and brute strength on his side to fix this place up. Still, he’d chosen to leave the damage untouched.
Perhaps he wanted to leave it as a testament to his rage, fuel for his fury.
Ursula could only hope that was enough for him to win in a battle against the champions.
* * *
The elevator lifted onto the roof. Bael stood before her, the cold wind feathering a few strands of hair across his face. He pulled open the elevator door, and she stepped out.
He wore fitted black clothes with a high mandarin collar. A dark cloak—feather at the shoulders—was held together over his enormous chest with silver chains and a lion insignia.
Starlight glinted in his pale eyes.
He looked every inch the military leader. At the sight of him, hope sparked in her mind. He looks like he can actually win this thing.
As she stepped onto the roof, a frigid wind toyed with the hem of her dress, lifting it into the air. The delicate fabric floated in the breeze.
“You look...” he said, his gaze trailing down to her leg, exposed in the breeze. “Exactly as you should.”
That... might be a compliment. “And how is it that I should look?”
“Stunning.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you in some clothes, after you were traipsing around in your smalls all night.”
Bael’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile before he lifted his fingers to whistle for the carriage.
The faintest hint of purple stained the sky, and she shuddered, watching as the team of bats whisked the carriage before the moon.
Ursula bit her lip. “So am I to be subservient again, or do I get to act on my own volition this evening?”
With a gentle scraping noise, the carriage landed on the rooftop.
Bael’s jaw tensed. “You must act subservient. All the women are, and you mustn’t draw attention to yourself.”
Of course they are. She heaved a deep sigh, fighting the urge to ask him about his wife. Even in the painting, the determined look in the woman’s eye told Ursula she had never been subservient.
Bael pulled open the carriage door, and she stepped inside.