The Kingdoms of Evil (14 page)

"No? My lord?" The duke's expression congealed in place. His exposed teeth gleamed.

He's going to kill me. He's going to reach out and rip out my larynx.

"Pardon me." DeMacabre's orange eyes glowed under the shadows of his lowered brows. "Are there any…objections, my lord?"

"I…" said Freetrick. "I do have objections. And you have to listen to them. I'm the Ultimate Fiend."

"Pardon me, my lord," said DeMacabre. "Soon-to-be-Ultimate Fiend. The coronation is scheduled for tomorrow."

The day
after
Freetrick's wedding to this guy's daughter? Ah ha. "Well, I haven't…had t-time to see anything yet, I mean—"
okay, calm, steady Freetrick, sound like a king and not a terrified college student.
As much as he wanted to, Freetrick did not shut his eyes. "I am not yet ready, and there will be no, uh,
un
-wedding until such time as I am."

DeMacabre looked like a shark that had just gone off its medications. "My lord, the preparations…" he rasped.

"That is not my concern," Freetrick cleared his throat and forced his voice down an octave. "My concern is the government of this country, and only once I have made a start on that will I consider, uh,
un-
marriage? Shall we say…" a quick calculation. What was the longest time he could delay without lethally pissing off DeMacabre? "A week from now?"

"My lord---" The waxy wrinkles of DeMacabre's face bunched, then smoothed. His smile regained its obsequious gleam, and several molars on both sides. "Of course, my lord. A week. New slaves will have to be prepared, but the un-wedding will be altogether more bitter for the wait, I am sure."

"Excellent."
The disgusting old man was actually following Freetrick's orders.
"And in the mean time, I look forward to getting to know both you and your daughter better. Mr. Skree, an appointment for supper tomorrow night? Arrange that, will you?"

Freetrick barely had time to register the words before they were out of his mouth, but strike him out if he didn't sound tyrannical. This was almost fun. Of course his spine was frozen solid and he was a good way toward hyperventilation.

"And for today, I would like breakfast, and then a tour of the castle. Mr. Skree, arrange that. And so, DeMacabre, I bid you good morning." All right, so maybe Freetrick was a prisoner here in Clouds-Gather. But he was also, it seemed, the head warden.

"…Indeed. In that case, I must beg my lord's leave." DeMacabre swept another low bow, which hid his expression from Freetrick. By the time he straightened, the grin was firmly in back place. "I shall go, and send word to my daughter that my lord wishes to speak with her."

"Uh..." said Freetrick, scrambling frantically for a polite way to say that he did not, in any way, want to speak with Bloodbyrn DeMacabre.

"No no, I insist. For in my long, and, I hope I do not overstep myself by saying so,
excessively
murderous career, I have found it best to leave the details in cases such as this up, as one says, to the incumbents themselves. I shall therefore leave the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend to discuss the matter of his un-marriage further..." the Duke's orange eyes glittered as if lit from within. "...with Bloodbyrn."

***

"My lord has done
what?
"

Bloodbyrn was a pillar of ruffles, tight leather, and wrath. She was easily the scariest thing in Freetrick's office, which was no mean feat.

"I have heard the news from my spies, who infest the walls, then from my father's chamberlain, whom I have bribed, and then from my father himself. But each time my mind rebelled, as the rational consciousness must, in the face of such an unbelievable eventuality." She paced between a gleaming silver-and-red-crystal obelisk on one side of the door and a stuffed lizard on the other. "It could not be, I maintain, that the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend, even in the grip of raging insanity, to throw away his greatest political advantage, sacrifice his social standing in Clouds-Gather, and alienate the only people in this nation who would rather see him alive than dead, all in one morning!" She spun on a heel as long and pointed as her previous sentence, gulped in a lung-full of air, and aimed an orange basilisk glare at Freetrick. "How could he, my lord, by which I mean to say
you
, have done anything so incomprehensibly
idiotic
?"

From his place dangling from the ceiling, Mr. Skree gave Freetrick a look that might have been condolence.

"Wuh---" Freetrick stammered, then winced as his new pants pinched him. Bloodbyrn had arrived in his room shortly after the royal tailor, and his fiancée and new wardrobe seemed to be working in concert to squeeze the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend, physically and spiritually. Freetrick had had to beat the tailor over the head to make him put away the iron spikes he wanted to install on Freetrick's knees, belt-line, and crotch, but apparently the man—male creature—stocked no pants that were not leather and nothing that wasn't two sizes too small for whomever was unfortunate enough to wear it. That went for the shirt as well, and the boots. The only things on Freetrick that weren't too small were his shoulder pads, in which the tailor had stored all the slack he hadn't used on the rest of the outfit.

"He cannot answer?" Bloodbyrn made sure Freetrick was more than just physically uncomfortable, "I am once
again
reminded of the foolishness of my hopes with regards to the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend.
And
he is grimacing at me."

Bloodbyrn had been to see her costumer, too. She flicked a hand through the dark curls cascading through the eye sockets of a not-quite-human skull, fetchingly strapped to the top of her head. "I had hoped, foolishly I see now, that I might have expected my lord to remain in my presence for five minutes without engaging in
some
sort of objectionable behavior."

Now, with his new eye-lenses, Freetrick could see the expression on Bloodbyrn's face with absolute fidelity. That, and her multiple piercings. "Look, Bloodbyrn, I know you're upset---"

Bloodbyrn waved a hand at him. Sighing, she leaned against the hive-like wall of hexagonal cells that Freetrick thought might be a bookshelf. "Forgive my asperity my lord, but the situation leaves me at a loss."

A loss for what? Not words, certainly
. "Bloodbyrn, if I'm really the Ultimate Fiend like you say I am, don't you think it's a little dangerous to mess with me?" He sat straighter behind his desk and tried to look non-mess-with-able. There was a squeak of protesting fabric and Freetrick felt his lower eyelids convulse.

The leather-clad dark lady made an unimpressed expression. "If my lord is the
Soon-to-be
Ultimate Fiend, he maintains this position, as opposed to the inanimate
con-
dition, by convincing his supporters that he can further their interests." Bloodbyrn glanced, sharp-eyed at Mr. Skree, and then looked back at Freetrick. "That was an observation on political philosophy, by the way, and my lord should not take it in any way as a threat."

Oh. She said that she and her father's party would kill him if Freetrick didn't do what they said.
That
was the threat.

"And another thing." She shook a finger at Freetrick as he tried to figure out how to respond. "Would it really be so difficult for my lord to phrase his utterances in a manner in which they might be understood?
I
learned to speak this cursed language properly, after all."

Freetrick thought fast. What might stop Bloodbyrn from simply leaping across his desk and severing his jugular? "I didn't cancel the wedding." He tried to speak as distinctly as possible, "I
postponed
it."

"Oh?" Tides of kohl rushed together as Bloodbyrn's amber eyes narrowed. "For what reason?"

"Well, I should think it's pretty obvious," said Freetrick, "I don't know you!" And what he did know wasn't complimentary. "And anyway aren't I supposed to be
your
king? So why are you even questioning me?"

Freetrick tried to remain upright in his horribly uncomfortable chair as Bloodbyrn examined him. "No." She said, finally. "No Dark Lord could act under such idiotic impulses. No, my lord is playing a game with me." She swayed toward him, the center of a boiling chaos of black lace. "Why does my lord reject me, really?" Bloodbyrn murmured, closing the distance between them. "Does he believe he can get a better offer than mine?" With a rustle and a hiss, Bloodbyrn seated herself on the side of his desk. "Who has risen to rival my claim upon primacy in the Fiend's seraglio? With whom has my lord been communicating? My lord may tell me. Was it perhaps the Dark Lady Slugslime?"

"Huh?"

"No? Then what of the Dark Lady Ashwing? That slatternly bitch. No?" Bloodbyrn leaned forward toward Freetrick, the maroon bow of her upper lip rising to display a gleam of metal canine. "Pit her or any other against me, and I swear to you, my lord, the leeches will be gorging themselves upon my rival within the hour."

Freetrick opened his mouth to reply. Then his eyes tracked down. And she slapped him.

The blow unbalanced Freetrick, and the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend gave forth an undignified squeal as his leather-clad ass gave up its tenuous grip on the chair and slipped forward and down. There was a clunk as his forehead met with the edge of his desk.

"Oh, get up!" Bloodbyrn snapped at him, as Freetrick fumbled around the floor trying to find his pince-nez, "that was barely even amusing."

"
Gibber!
" Freetrick swore and rubbed at the line of pain across his temples. "If you think any of this is making me any more likely to freaking marry you---" He stood up, far enough away from Bloodbyrn that she couldn't reach him, "it isn't. You keep striking
hitting
me."

He replaced his eye-lenses in time to catch her pierced eyebrow rising. "Lust is a powerful motivator," Bloodbyrn said. "By both stimulating and punishing the emotion, I gain control. Obviously."

Freetrick shuddered. He
had
to figure out a way to get out of this marriage Before Bloodbyrn could…condition him.

Mr. Skree made a desiccated cough.

Bloodbyrn glanced up at the monster, then rolled her amber eyes. "Very well. I shall play my lord's game. The fact that he has not revealed the exact nature of the competition makes no difference; as always, I shall excel. So," she lifted her chin and looked down at him with a terrifying smile. "Has my lord considered the question of magic?"

Freetrick blinked. He had considered the subject of magic. Specifically, how he didn't have any in Skrea. Well, he thought sourly as he looked down at his white, taloned hands, Skrean magic had
him.
It would be nice if he could actually do something with necromancy rather than simply use it to look creepy.

Bloodbyrn's smile widened. "Because, unless I am very much mistaken, there is no eligible Sangboisette in Castle Clouds-Gather to which my lord might attach himself, and thus my lord should know that, if he scorns me, among the many advantages he will lose is access to the magic of the blood."

Freetrick shook his head, "The who? Bloodbyrn, I have no idea what you're talking about. Look, I'm not saying I never want to marry you, just that I'd prefer to get to know---"

"Silence!" She lifted a hand and Freetrick automatically jerked backward, cursing himself for it. Bloodbyrn's eyes seemed to glow molten copper as she lifted her hand further, then her mouth twisted and her eyes closed. "Pah," she said, "let it never be said that Bloodbyrn DeMacabre is willing to fall into the complacency of believing herself perfect. Perhaps... some fraction of the fault here lies with me." Her eyes opened again and gave Freetrick a shrewd look. "My lord," she said, "I believe a demonstration would be more conducive to your cooperation than mere words. Come with me to the balcony. There I shall allow my lord to witness the power of the Blood of Sangboire."