Now, we’d discovered the rest of the story. Connor had literally promised Lincoln to Adair. Aldred had thought it was a done deal, even before either of them was born. No wonder Adair had an outrageous sense of ownership about Lincoln. She was undoubtedly raised to think he was her property.
A sickly taste seeps into my mouth. Adair wasn’t wrong, ultimately. Lincoln did belong to her, in a sense.
Armageddon limps back to his throne. “Much better groveling, my sweet broken girl.” He plunks back into his stone chair. The movement seems robotic and odd.
Adair slowly rises to her feet. “If I please my King, then I am happy and whole.”
“No, you’re still a broken little thrax and always will be,” snaps Armageddon. “But I have good news. Maxon’s monopsyche is almost shattered, too. After that, our little guest will wake up.” He rubs his long hands together. “Fun times ahead.”
My knuckles whiten around Lincoln’s arm. Panic and rage twist across my shoulders. This can’t be happening. No way can Lincoln and I wait here while Armageddon tortures our boy.
Lincoln sets his hand on mine and whispers one word, “soon.”
“Yes, soon.”
I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches from the pressure. Lincoln’s right. This isn’t our moment. I close my eyes and concentrate. The idea for how to take down those golems feels just out of reach; I can almost hold it in my mind.
Meanwhile, Aldred slinks up to Armageddon’s side. “May I assist in the torture?”
I stifle a gasp. Aldred could be joining in hurting Maxon? That’s something I never considered. My temples pulse with anxiety and rage. Beside me, a muscle twitches along Lincoln’s jaw. He’s as close to losing it as I am.
Armageddon turns to the figure in the throne beside him. “What do you say Mumsy, should we share our fun?” He grips Onyx’s shoulder and shakes her violently, making her head swivel from side to side. “Mumsy says no. I’m the only one who gets to have fun around here.” He back-hands her cheek. “How right you are, Mumsy.”
“In that case, it seems I’m not needed.” Aldred takes a few shaky steps away from Armageddon. “If there’s nothing else you require, I’d like to return to the torture pits.”
“Leaving so soon?” Armageddon leans back in his chair, lacing his three-knuckled fingers over his thin belly. “I have time to kill while the little whelp gets conscious. Tell me everything you know about Myla and Lincoln, starting at the beginning.”
Lincoln and I share a look of surprise and disgust. I wonder how many new residents of Hell get interrogated this way. It’s unsettling to think about the Armageddon spending hours picking through the minutiae of our lives. Yet another reason why this freak must die.
Aldred fidgets with the hem of his tunic. “I’ve already told you all I know.”
“Well, tell me again. You’re a simple sod prone to forget important details. It’s crucial for me to understand my enemies. You’ve never met Xavier, have you?”
“No, he began visiting Antrum after I was imprisoned.”
“Pity. Tell me about the demon girl and boy scout prince, then.”
Aldred bows so quickly and deeply, I’m surprised he doesn’t snap his back. “Yes, my King. To understand Lincoln, I should probably start with Connor.”
“Go on.”
“I knew Connor as a child…” Aldred launches into detailed explanation of everything I already know about Lincoln’s father. My chest tightens with anxiety. Armageddon is distracted now. The throne room is relatively empty. The emptiness may be odd, but there’s no reason not to take advantage of it. This could be our best and last chance to free Maxon.
At last, an idea appears, fully formed and beautiful.
I turn to Lincoln and mouth one word. “Whips?”
He grins from ear to ear. “Whips.”
A pang of excitement shoots through my nervous system.
This is really happening. We’re on.
After sharing a quick nod, Lincoln and I creep to opposite sides of the balcony, careful to stay out of view. I take out my baculum; Lincoln does the same. Our gazes lock. This is it. Go time. My heart pounds with such force, blood whooshes in my ears.
Lincoln raises his right hand, counting out on his fingers.
Three, two, one…
I lower my baculum to the balcony floor, imagining it turning into a whip of white angelfire. A long razor-sharp wire of flame snakes out from the end of my weapon. At the same time, Lincoln does the same with his baculum, creating another long whip. The ends of both of our lines twine together, forming a single line of laser-sharp wire, strong enough to cut through most metal, and definitely hot enough to slice through a frost golem.
Seeing the crackling line of fire, I know we need to hustle. There’s no way we can sit around, waiting for someone to notice the sudden light burning on the darkened balcony. Lincoln and I share another small nod.