Panic tightened its grip on her heart. I’m going to die in this barren place, my soul sent to the crushing isolation of Nyxobas’s void. For the rest of eternity. A painful ache gnawed at her chest.
When the elevator finally opened, she turned, heading away from her quarters. Clutching the silver ring in her pocket, she strode toward the water portal, where she’d first arrived. It’s time I get the fuck out of here. If Nyxobas wanted to kill her, he could do it in New York.
She pushed through the black door into the semicircular portal room, hurrying over to the portal. Starlight reflected off the water’s surface. She pulled off her cloak, dropping it on the floor. In the next second, she’d pulled off the dress and slipped off her knickers. The cold air in the portal room raised goosebumps on her skin, and her teeth chattered.
She kicked off her shoes. In a few moments, she’d be back in her flat. She’d call Zee and tell her the whole story over a bottle of wine. Then she’d call up Emerazel and explain the situation. The goddess would quickly realize that Nyxobas had been breaking their terms, and all would be settled. Emerazel hadn’t sent her here to die.
She dipped a toe into the frigid water, hugging herself for warmth. I just need the spell that Cera used...
Her stomach swooped. The Forgotten Arsholes ripped all the magical knowledge from my brain.
She clamped her eyes shut, trying to remember a single Angelic word.
Nothing.
She kicked the water in frustration, splashing the marble.
Behind her, a deep voice echoed off the ceiling. “What are you doing?”
Dread coiled around her. So much for my plan.
She looked over her shoulder. Bael stood in the doorway, completely avoiding looking at her.
“I was trying to escape. I’m sure you understand why, what with the certain death you promised me.”
“It won’t work.”
“I know. Those stupid Forgotten Twats stole all my magical knowledge.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you remembered the spell. The spell requires Nyxobas’s permission. No one enters or leaves the Shadow Realm without his approval.”
She took a deep breath, teeth chattering. Bollocks. No escape. Grief welled in her chest, and she choked down a sob. Maybe all the lords’ wives thought she was a whore, but she had some dignity. She wasn’t going stand here naked and sobbing in front of Bael.
She would stand there naked and sniffling though, apparently. “Why has everything been forgiven with Abrax? He tried to overthrow the entire Shadow Realm. He’s the whole reason you’re in this predicament.”
“He is Nyxobas’s son. And the god respects brutality. Abrax demonstrated plenty of that when he tried to overthrow the kingdom.”
“So that’s it? It was violent enough that Nyxobas isn’t mad anymore?”
She heard a long exhale from Bael. “That, and I think Nyxobas feels guilty for what he did to his son.”
A shiver made its way up her spine. “What did he do?”
“It’s not important right now. I can hear your teeth chattering.”
“I’m going to put on my dress.”
“That’s for the best.”
She leaned over, snatching the dress from the ground. “I suppose you still won’t tell me anything about the opponents we must face, because my death is certain anyway.”
“The man in gray,” he said. “He may be someone known as the Gray Ghost.”
“Gray Ghost?”
“No one knows who he is. Only that he rides a white bat.”
Still shivering, she turned to face Bael. “The man who broke the window. He was riding a white bat.” She bit her lip. “Pretty sure he was wearing gray, too.”
He stared at her. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t know it was important.”
“Every detail is important.”
She glanced down at her dress, torn at the hem by the Gray Ghost. She’d ruined every dress Cera had given her.
At the thought of Cera, a lump rose in her throat. “We need to tell Cera about Massu.”
“I was on my way to tell her when I saw you.”
“Sorry about the...the nudity.” She had no idea why she felt the need to apologize.
Bael slipped back into the shadows. “Return to your quarters at once. You’ll be warm and safe there. At least, until the melee.”
Chapter 21
Back in her quarters, Ursula curled up in her usual spot on the sofa. With the slowly rising sun staining the sky a bright purple, fear tightened its grip on her heart. She had about five hours until someone bashed her skull in.
She’d spent her last five hours staring at Asta, the palace of nightmares. The view of the crater no longer seemed so starkly beautiful. Now Asta’s shimmering spire and the clouds of moths only reminded her of the danger the day held for her. In eight hours, when red tinged the sky, she would be in a fight for her life, thousands of miles from home.
She curled up, pulling her blanket tightly around her shoulder. And when she slept, she dreamt of Bael, standing over her with a silver sword, ready to strike.