Blinking open her eyes, she sat up. She was naked on the floor of the bedroom?
The last thing she remembered was stepping into the fire. She patted her arms, legs, and face. Not burned? How long had she been out?
The sun was low in the sky. She must’ve been unconscious for hours. So what had happened to her during that interim? And how had she gotten here?
She stood unsteadily, her head as heavy as a bowling ball. Courtesy of the fire, her brain had been saturated with new information, her body with magic.
Lila was . . . changed.
In her mind’s eye, she could see every inch of this dimension and castle as though looking into a terrarium. This was how Abyssian viewed his realm! No wonder he’d been able to find her so quickly after her escape.
For some reason, she knew Graven hadn’t transferred Abyssian’s abilities to Lila. No, she had her own, equal to his—because she was the queen of hell, and Pandemonia was half hers. She felt it in every cell in her body.
Using her new talents, she searched for his presence. She detected Uthyr in the throne room, but the demon was gone. No doubt off to plan his fucking war.
The ground trembled as if with her fury. She frowned. Could she learn to control her surroundings? Closing her eyes for focus, she imagined one of Graven’s staircases sweeping left. It obeyed! She shifted another one to the right.
As she got the hang of this power, she opened and closed moving walls like a kid playing with a car window.
She made a small volcano erupt—with just a thought. Amazing! She fanned the winds over the sea. When the terrace curtains fluttered, the late-afternoon sun struck the diamond on the mantel, the concentrated sparkle catching her eye.
The demon had pledged his future to her. He’d promised to let go of the past. How could he break her heart, without a seeming care?
What if he returned and tried to imprison her again? This is my home now. The castle had chosen her to challenge, and Lila had boldly stepped into an inferno. In reward, Graven had anointed her with power.
If Lila wielded magic like Abyssian’s, then maybe she could banish him from this realm. Hell hath no fury like a hell queen scorned. She burned to make him pay.
He possessed no magic outside of Pandemonia, so how could he defeat hers? She recalled him telling her about one of his battle campaigns, stressing that field advantage was key in war.
Only one of hell’s two rulers is currently in this advantageous field.
She pictured the invisible border of the dimension, then imagined sheets of hell metal covering it, locking the boundaries down.
Locking him out. Only she had the key.
“Pandemonia is mine,” she murmured, hands balling into fists. “I control it.” She concentrated harder. “I want him gone. Lock him—and any who would help him—out. I forbid Abyssian to return.”
The hellfire had blessed her. He didn’t deserve this place.
He broke my heart.
Power thrumming through her, she swayed on her feet, sensing . . . success. She’d barred him from this dimension!
Though she savored this electric feeling of connectedness to Pandemonia, wanted to explore it even more, she had a mission to challenge her cousin.
But if she couldn’t wield hell’s magic in another realm, how could she defeat him? He would have the upper hand in every way.
He’s stronger. Faster. A legendary swordsman. Protected by guards. Backed by an army. Field advantage. More experienced. More devious.
In one of her many late-night conversations with Abyssian, Lila had said, “Maybe a more levelheaded fey regent could overthrow Saetth.”
He’d answered, “That king’s the strongest of his kind. He’s too powerful to be routed by another fey.”
She’d bitten her tongue, instead of voicing her thought: And Saetth knows it. Which is a vulnerability in itself. . . .
Her attention was again drawn to the mantel. The L?tān head and the scepter seemed to call to her.
The moment grew dreamlike; yes, everything felt connected. This was why she’d been brought back for a second life.
Fate wanted Lila to be queen.
Suddenly she knew how to defeat Saetth.
She laughed at the solution, stamping her feet. By not defeating him at all. . . .
FIFTY-FIVE
Sian and Rune stilled, waiting to see if the glass would hold.
Tense moments passed. The fracture began to slow. By all the gods, stop.
When it finally did, they both exhaled a gust of breath.
“Are you done with this?” Rune traced to his feet, adjusting his jaw.
Now that the heat of the fight had ebbed, Sian was left with . . . emptiness. He gave a faint nod.
“I truly thought she would tell you.” Rune shoved his hair out of his face. “I read your mind when Josie and I stopped by, and I saw how happy your mate was making you. I wanted that for you.”
“She did make me happy. Before I learned of her treachery.”
“I didn’t do this to harm you. Think, Sian—can you comprehend how difficult forgoing my own revenge was? She’s been one of my targets since her birth.”
“How did you forgo it? You vowed to yourself, to Orion. Even to Magh.”
Rune crossed to the war room’s table, then dropped into a seat. “I vowed fealty to my allies. That comes before all others.” He rooted in his jacket pocket and produced a flask of demon brew. He took a swig, then offered it.
After a tense moment, Sian joined him at the table. He accepted the flask and drank deep.
“I agonized over this decision, talking out all the ramifications with Josie. Who, by the way, will hand me my ass for not bringing her with me. But I figured something was up when you summoned me here.”
“What if I’d never found out?” Sian passed the flask back. The two sat side by side, gazing out at the galaxy. “How would you have gotten past the fact that my mate and I might’ve added to Magh’s line?”
No matter what he’d said to Calliope, Sian wouldn’t have cared who her ancestors were. Last night, he’d felt the possibility—no, the certitude of children between them.