It must have been only a few hours when Cera tapped her on the shoulder. “Ursula?”
“Mmmmghh.” Ursula started her morning eye rubbing routine, but stopped when she saw Cera’s face. The oneiroi’s eyes were raw, her hair looked like a bird’s nest.
“I guess Bael spoke to you.”
“The lord told me about Massu. And you. I couldn’t sleep.”
Ursula sat up, the memories of the ceremony crashing down on her. Tears stung her eyes. “There must be some way for us to get through this.
Cera shook her head. “No one violates Nyxobas’s edicts.” She lifted a shopping bag from the floor, her jaw fixed with resolve. “Still. I won’t have you appear in front of the melee looking a mess.”
Ursula frowned. “This hardly seems like the time to bring me a dress.”
“It’s not a dress. I’m tired of you destroying my outfits. Besides, a dress wouldn’t be appropriate for the melee.” She tossed the bag to Ursula. “Try it on.”
Ursula peered inside at the folded pile of midnight-black leather.
“What did you make me?” Ursula stood, pulling out a pair of black leather trousers, a leather corset—reinforced with steel. A leather jacket—also reinforced. And to top it off, thigh-high boots, stitched with a dozen knife-sheaths.
Despite everything she was about to face, a smile curled Ursula’s lips. “This is amazing.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
It took only a few minutes for Ursula to zip up in the figure-hugging black leather. It fit her like a glove, and had pockets—where she could store her new lucky charm. That little ring she’d pilfered from Bael.And more importantly, she felt like she could fight in this. “You’re amazing, Cera.” She leaned down, hugging the oneiroi.
“You’d better not hurt Massu,” Cera cautioned. “Or I’m taking it all back.” Cera wrung her hands. Confusion clouded her features. “I mean, I know both of you can’t live, and the lord... I just don’t want to see you all hurt each other. And maybe you’re right. Maybe if you live long enough, there will be some way out of this. Just make it through the melee alive, okay?”
Ursula clamped a hand on her shoulder. “I will. And we will figure something out. Maybe a loophole...” Her voice trailed off. Nyxobas probably didn’t give a fuck about loopholes. “Anyway, thank you so much for making this outfit. I’ll try really hard not to trash it.”
Cera folded her arms. “Even you couldn’t trash it. The leather stitching is triply reinforced, and the leather lined with a thin sheet of steel. And that reminds me.” She snatched the bag off the floor, plucking out a knife. “It’s not much, but I wanted to give you this.”
Ursula took it from her, a smile brightening her face. “Finally. A real weapon.”
“I believe it’s what you call a shiv,” added Cera.
Ursula held it up to the light. The blade, black as the void, had been carved from stone. She let out a low whistle. Gorgeous.
She examined the lethal tip. “What’s it made of?”
“Obsidian. Be careful with it. It’s very sharp.”
Ursula rubbed her thumb over the hilt. It was perfectly weighted. “Did you make it?”
Cera shook her head. “No. It’s been in the family for generations. When Nyxobas and his henchmen first arrived one hundred millennia ago, his demons confiscated all the onerois’ metal weapons. Fortunately, their spells can’t distinguish between your average moon rock and a knapped blade.”
Ursula slid the dagger into one of the sheaths in her boots. Straightening, she felt a certain confidence return. At least I have a weapon, tiny as it might be.
Already, her nerves were buzzing with adrenaline. She shot a panicked glance at the window. When the sun began to rise here, it would be setting on the other side of the moon. “Is it time?”
“Yes. I’ll be taking you to Lacus Mortis.”
“I’m not going in the carriage?”
“No. The lord is taking the carriage. We will be traveling by bat. Sotz is waiting outside. It is time.”
“Right.” Her stomach fluttering, she glanced at the sky again, certain it was brightening.
Never before had the concept of sunrise seemed so soul-crushingly terrifying.
* * *
Sotz was waiting for them on the bridge, his feet clutching the railing. His beady eyes blinked as they approached.
“Turn around,” Cera commanded.
Slowly, Sotz rotated his body until his rear faced them. As she had in New York, Cera mounted his saddle at the shoulders, and Ursula clambered on the back.
Cera turned to face her. “Take this,” she said, passing Ursula a black ribbon. “Tie it around your mane of hair to keep it out of your face.”
“Thanks.” What I wouldn’t do for a helmet right now. As instructed, she fasted her hair in a ponytail behind her head.