Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) (11 page)

She was right. Loki simply shoved his sleeves up his arms, picked up one of the logs he’d dropped, and tossed it onto the top of the bonfire without taking his burning gaze off of Drake.

Raven turned back to look up at Drake, and it was clear from the tiny glint in his metal eyes that the bounty hunter knew Loki wasn’t going to attack him. In fact, it appeared that Drake found her brother’s anger…
amusing
.

Raven held that gaze a moment longer and then raised her arms to shove against Drake’s chest. He could have held on to her; she knew how strong he was. He was the son of Asmodeus, and his powers were undoubtedly mind blowing. However, he let her go, allowing her to stumble back a step to straighten her singed tunic and ruined leather breeches.

“Tanith,” came a gruff voice. They turned to see Grolsch rejoin them. The ork held two dead jackrabbits in one of his large hands. He raised it up and speared Drake with a meaningful look. “It’s dinner time.”

“I don’t –” Raven began.

“Eat animals,” Drake finished for her. He gave her an exasperated look. “We know.” Then he moved toward Grolsch, took one of the rabbits, and began setting up a skewer on top of the bonfire. “There are two tins in my pack,” he told Raven as he worked. “Open them and you’ll have your food.”

Raven glanced at the small leather black bag Drake carried when he traveled. It was truly tiny. No one would believe that it contained anything other than the gold or platinum Raven knew Drake used to buy information, housing, and weapons. But Raven had seen the proof to the contrary.

When Drake had first come after her at Astriel’s behest more than a month ago, he’d succeeded in capturing her. And then he’d set out a blanket and pulled two small metal canisters from his leather pack. These, he’d opened to reveal magically prepared food. Steaming soup. Warm baked bread. Cheese. Fresh, sweet strawberries.

Raven wanted some magic tins like that. She wondered how much they cost. Knowing Drake and the vast amount of wealth he had no doubt amassed over the thousands of years that he’d existed and made a living at tracking people down, they weren’t cheap.

She made her way to his bags and opened them. The tins were right on top. “I remember,” she mumbled without realizing it.

“So do I,” came Drake’s deep voice.

Raven froze over the packs and looked up to meet his gaze. A moment of heat passed between them, and then Drake pulled a large knife from the inside of his boot and Raven looked away, unable to watch what he was about to do.

The containers looked just as she remembered. Raven’s stomach growled at the thought of what they would reveal when she opened them. Hastily, she sat on a nearby rock and popped the top off the larger of the two.

At once, the smell of heated spices and cream wafted over her. She closed her eyes, put the canister of soup to her mouth, and took a sip. Broccoli cheddar.

Bread
, she thought.
Bread would be perfect with this
.

Hoping that she would get lucky, Raven carefully placed the soup on a flat part of the sand before her and opened the other tin.

It
was
bread.

Now grinning broadly, Raven took the steaming fresh baked roll and dipped it into the soup. She took a bite so fast, broccoli cheese smeared the corner of her mouth, and she hungrily licked it off.

“It is.” She broke the bread in two and handed him the tin of soup. He sat down beside her, and they ate together in silence. Every once in a while they stole glances at the other two members of their “group.”

Drake and Grolsch were more or less hidden by the high flames of the bonfire. Their outlines were all that Raven could make out. Perhaps this was done on purpose by the bounty hunter, as what they were doing to the rabbits Grolsch had killed was most likely not something Raven wanted to see.

Devils needed to consume life in order to regain what strength they lost while using their magic. This meant eating animals – or drinking blood. Raven
had
used magic since leaving the castle, but not much. She’d killed the Rakshin, however she’d done so with a single attack. The truth was, she wasn’t feeling weak at the moment. She was just tired. The pain of the burns she’d sustained had taken a lot out of her and now sleep was encroaching.

“No,” she assured him. “I’m alright.”

Loki nodded, satisfied with her response. And then Raven reopened the container that had given them bread the first time. This time, there were raspberries. She smiled again and held the container out to her brother. “Berry?”

“Wow,” said Loki, shaking his head as he pulled out a few of the ripe, dark pink fruit. “These canisters are amazing. I want one.”

“So do I,” Raven agreed.

“I wonder how much they cost.”

Chapter Ten

Lord Malphas rose from his throne when Adonides entered the room. His steward was a tall, strong devil, with skin of pitch like coal and eyes that burned like suns. His long black hair cascaded down his back, and his giant bat-like wings folded gracefully behind him as he made his way across the throne room with practiced grace and stealth. He was dressed in the blue and black leathers of his office, the seal of Caina emblazoned on his chest. At his waist rested the hilt of a sword whose blade was hewn of solid ice. It had been a gift from Malphas years ago.

Lord Malphas signaled to the devils guarding the doors that he wished to be alone with his steward. The devils bowed low and stepped out into the vast icy halls beyond, pulling the massive doors shut behind them.

“My lord,” Adonides said as he went to one knee before his king.

“Rise,” Malphas commanded. Adonides did so.

Malphas descended the steps from the dais that held his throne and made his way toward the tall, thin windows that had been magically carved into the ice palace eons ago. His strides were long and his boots echoed on the etched rime beneath them. At the window, he stopped and gazed out across the frozen expanse beyond. “Lady Hope of Trysta is dead,” he said softly. “I received word this morning.”

Malphas could feel his steward’s shock from behind him. The devil had gone stonily silent, and the air in the chamber became instantly filled with nervous tension. Trysta was the second circle of Abaddon. Lady Hope had ruled there, amidst its plethora of sex slaves and courtesans, for thousands of years. She never failed to surround herself with enough protection, both magical and physical, for thirty mortal queens. Yet, somehow, someone or some
thing
had made it past those defenses, and now one of the Rulers of the Nine was dead. It had never occurred before.

“How could this happen?” Adonides asked. His normally deep, steady voice sounded off-kilter. “It’s not possible.”

“Clearly, it is,” replied Malphas as he turned from the window to face his steward. “What’s more,” he added, “My informant tells me that Princess Winter has escaped Castle Eidolon. Now I fear she may be in danger as well.”

Adonides’s already surprised expression intensified. “My liege, please allow me go and retrieve her at once.”

“And do what?” Malphas asked. He gestured to the castle around him. “Bring her here?” He shook his head. “Someone is killing Dark Royalty, Adonides. No one in Hell is safe.”

Adonides fell silent, his gold eyes flashing, and lowered his head slightly.

“No,” continued Malphas. “I do not want her anywhere near Abaddon. Not now.” The Lords of the Nine were in a chaotic state of unrest at the moment. Lady Hope’s assassination had caused a ripple of fear to spread through the ranks of the circles, and security measures had been amplified intensely over the last few hours.

Everyone wanted to know who was behind the attack, naturally. Fingers were already being pointed. Each circle blamed the others.

Lady Hope’s son had taken over as king upon his mother’s death and, whether he was doing it to eliminate himself as one of the suspects or he truly cared, he had launched a full investigation into his mother’s murder.

She’d been poisoned. The confounding thing was, Lady Hope had tasters for her food, as did most of the rulers of Hell. The poison was found in the same goblet of wine that her taster had just sipped from. The taster had survived. She had not.

The taster, of course, had been executed minutes after Hope’s demise. But it still begged the question: How was this possible?

“Instead,” Malphas continued, “you will act as her guardian.” He made his way toward his steward and gave him the direct order. “Take two of my men with you. However, I also do not wish her to know that you are watching over her. If the current situation in the realm intensifies, we may have to act quickly, and if so, the element of surprise will be in your favor.”

It was so much easier to pull someone out of a realm and into another if they weren’t expecting it and could not defend themselves against the sudden act. Malphas had run enough covert retrievals to know this. He also knew his daughter. She had a part of his soul inside of her. Defiance was hardwired into her being.

*****

Phlegathos was a realm of slight and shadow. The roads were dark alleyways, the taverns were filled with dark corners, and the eyes of its citizens teemed with dark secrets. Astriel kept the hood of his cloak low over his face and moved with a quiet step as he traversed the ancient, massive city’s dangerous passageways.

It was said that no one ever “found” Lord Darken. If you were looking for him, and he deemed you worthy of his audience,
Darken
would find
you
. Then you had better hope against hopes that you hadn’t actually wasted his time.

If the stories about the King of Phlegathos were true, then Darken was good enough at what he did to already know that Astriel was in his realm. Astriel was the elf prince, and no matter how much he attempted to tamp down his own magic in this dark place, someone like Darken would no doubt notice it.

It was only a matter of time.

Astriel stepped out of the shadows of a particularly dark alleyway and into the dim torchlight of street lamps that had been set up in one of the city’s many small squares. A round fountain stood at the center of the square, its marble bottom covered in countless gold coins. It was bad luck to steal coins from a fountain in Phlegathos. The coins were usually blood money – and the wishes attached to them were undoubtedly dark.

Astriel strode to the fountain, gazed at the coins, and then tossed in one of his own. It cut through the water with a heavy, almost silent thunk and drifted to the bottom to join the others.

“I know you didn’t come to my kingdom to make a wish, prince.”

Astriel had been preparing himself for Darken’s arrival, but none the less, the king’s low, whispering voice sent a chill of foreboding through his body. He straightened and slowly turned.

Several feet of empty space rested between Astriel and the edge of the town square, where tall buildings caged the opening in. On the other side of the square and against one such building stood a tall, dark figure, his features completely obscured by the shadows.

Well over six feet tall, broad shouldered, and still as the grave, the stranger waited for Astriel to either speak or approach. The prince did neither. Finally, the king cocked his head to one side, and Astriel caught the tiniest glint of what looked like metal for eyes. “Why are you here?” Darken asked.

The question was more than a question. It was an accusation and a warning.

“I need you to find someone for me,” Astriel said, deciding that it would be wise to cut to the chase. “Someone very special.”

Lord Darken remained where he was, wrapped in silence and stillness, for some time, until he at last turned toward the building behind him. A beat later, the bricks of the building wavered and warped as a portal swirled to life.

“We’ll discuss this some place more appropriate,” said Darken. He stepped into the portal, and Astriel followed him.

*****

“So… Lord Malphas has a daughter.” Lord Darken still had not revealed himself to Astriel. The king’s throne room was a stony, cold place as devoid of revealing light as was the eternal city of Phlegathos. There was no place to sit but upon Darken’s throne. The rugs were thick and soft, but their fur was the blackest of blacks. There were no windows. The only other form of furnishing in the massive stone chamber was the scrying pool that seemed standard issue for all throne rooms. A king had to know what was happening with his subjects, after all.

A giant stone hearth against one wall contained a fire the likes of which Astriel had never before seen, but Darken remained far from its eerie glow on the opposite side of the room.

“Yes,” Astriel replied, his spine tingling with the amount of magic in the air. All of Abaddon was like this, but the higher the ranking of the circle, the more magic one inherently breathed. It was intoxicating, suffocating, terrifying, and empowering. It was on the level of Fae magic, but without the soft edges and glamor. “He does.”

“How intriguing,” Darken’s voice whispered and hissed and wrapped itself around Astriel like invisible fingers. The king’s back was turned to the elf prince now; Astriel stared at his broad shoulders and experienced a slight sensation of familiarity.

Suddenly, Darken’s tall, shadowed form shifted, and Astriel blinked. The King of Phlegathos was gone.

“The Lord of Caina has managed to hide her all this time,” came Darken’s voice, as powerful and close as before.

He was behind Astriel. The elf prince barely managed not to whirl around in surprise. Instead, he slowly turned in order to face the king once more.