“I confess I’m intrigued. Why would you ever believe you could best me?”
Because I learned trickery from a master. “Because I was anointed by hellfire as the true Queen of Pandemonia. Saetth, you cannot begin to understand my power. Not only do I wear the crown of hell, I wield the scepter of the primordial fey.”
His covetous eyes locked on it.
“It should look familiar to you,” she said. “It was forged of Titanian steel, at the same time your sword was created.” She tapped her chin with her free hand. “Oh, wait . . . you lost the Ancestors’ Sword to Rune the Baneblood—when you targeted that male’s mate in a cowardly attack.”
He didn’t deny that, just said, “A loss which makes me particularly interested in your scepter.”
So predictable. “I’m giving you one opportunity to abdicate. This is your only chance to leave this kingdom alive.”
“Indeed?” He shared a laugh with his courtiers before addressing her again. “I’m a warrior king, and you’re . . . you. We all know you’re better suited to modeling ball gowns and traipsing across a dance floor.”
Lila smiled pleasantly. “And still I’ll make a better ruler than you.”
“You continue to look at me as if I am the villain. You have yet to understand that I did what I had to in order to protect Sylvan.”
“Say that were true, you have yet to understand that if two alternatives are wrong, you don’t pick the least wrong, you figure out something right. That is what makes a monarch.”
She turned to address the crowd, giving him her back, hoping he’d take the bait. “I’m Queen Calliope, ruler of hell and heir to Sylvan’s throne,” she declared, her voice ringing. “When I defeat Saetth, you will all acknowledge my rule. Or I’ll end you.” She addressed the king’s guard. “You’ll vow fealty. Or you’ll die.” She told her cousins, “You’ll flee this kingdom. Or you’ll share Saetth’s coming fate.” Facing him once more, she said, “Don’t challenge me, cousin.”
The scepter drew his eyes again. That’s it, asshole. Take the bait—
Shouts sounded from the castle’s grounds. Soldiers? They were yelling for backup, the commotion growing louder. Fey archers started to fire, their bowstrings going twang, twang, twang.
Abyssian had come.
Inside, the crowd surged to the castle’s arched windows to look.
“A M?ri?r!”
“The handsome primordial!”
“Will the barrier hold?”
When a demonic battle roar carried through the night, she raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Fucker.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
The castle was as protected as hell had been, an invisible shield blocking Sian’s way. No tracing inside.
In front of that barrier, a line of soldiers with swords and spears mounted a defense.
Sian had charged them. All of them.
Poisoned arrows rained down from the castle’s battlements, crossing the shield though he could not.
He swung his ax over and over, not to strike soldiers—but to deflect arrows. He bodily knocked down swordsmen, clearing enough of them out of the way for him to reach the barrier.
He sank his ax into the mystical shield. It wavered. Held strong.
His opponents regrouped, attacking his back. He warded off strikes, but they were fast. Soon the small number of swordsmen gave way to troops hundreds deep.
Every time he raised his ax, soldiers landed blows, piercing his torso. Pain flared over every inch of his body. Archers continued to target him. Arrows jutted from his shoulders, glancing off his skull, lacing gashes with poison.
Wings and horns would come in really fucking handy right now.
A different kind of pain erupted. In his jaw. His temples. The tips of his fingers. He chanced a look down. His hands and arms were darkening, claws protruding from his fingers. Glyphs began to glow.
He gritted his lengthening fangs when his wings burst free and his horns emerged from his head.
The guards hesitated, stunned by his transformation.
They went flying when his wings flashed out. Missed those. Seizing room to move, he swung his ax against the barrier.
Why would he return to this form? Maybe Calliope had gone cold forever. Had he lost the fire?
Just get to her. Where was she? He scanned the windows. Didn’t see her amid all the fey gazing out. Another sweep of his gaze . . . There! He spied his mate just approaching the glass. She was alive! He didn’t see Saetth near her.
Others seemed to dart away from her. “Lila, get out of there!”
Their eyes met. His steps faltered at her appearance. Mine. My queen. She wore . . . a crown of hell. Did she comprehend the extraordinary significance of it?
He yelled when a volley of arrows plugged him. He ducked under a spear’s trajectory, narrowly missing the tip of a sword. Another glance at Calliope.
She looked uncaring as she gazed at him. No, I can’t have lost her. . . .
Roaring with frustration, he rammed his horns against the shield. His bellows reverberated off it. Get to her.
With her shoulders squared, she picked up the skirt of her gown and turned her back on him.
Just like the last time he was in Sylvan. His breath shuddered from his lungs. Noooo!
While blood ran down his face, he willed her to turn back and see him. To comprehend that he would do anything for her.
Turn around, Calliope. Look—at—me!
And then . . .
She did.
Lila needed to keep her focus on Saetth, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from Abyssian.
He was fighting off hundreds. He used his battle-ax—but only to hack at the barrier and ward off attacks. The blade didn’t have a drop of blood on it.
His wings knocked swordsmen over like bowling pins and deflected spears. Yet he never beheaded a single fey.
She watched his wing claw stop short at one soldier’s throat. Abyssian could have decapitated the male easily. Instead, he took blow after blow without killing. His blood poured as he proved himself.