by Cate Corvin
The healer crept forward again.
“I’ve done all I can,” she told me softly. She had a soft, piping voice, the voice of a child. I felt awful that they’d needed to call her in for me when so many other demons needed help now. How many healers had died, or were up to their eyeballs in gore, that we’d needed to call in children, barely more than apprentices themselves? “And magic will only do so much, especially against a wound made by a Prince. You’ll be wearing the splint for the next several weeks, Lady Wrath. They’ve all made it very clear that you’ll try to slip off the wrappings before you’re healed, so I’ll tell you now: if you try to fly before it’s finished healing, you’ll be crippled all your life. I recommend that this is a good time to develop patience.”
I just stared at the young healer as she placed the back of her hand against my forehead, seeming satisfied with the result, then bowed and took her leave.
“She’s definitely going places someday with an attitude like that,” I said, sliding up onto my knees. My splinted wing felt awkward and ungainly, but most of the sharp pain was gone, leaving a mild but tolerable ache behind instead.
“Yes, that’s why we chose her. The splint stays on, angry angel. Now is not the time for bravado.” Belial gave me another glass of water and made me drink it slowly. “The others are doing recon right now. Dis is in total chaos; it’ll take time to re-organize our efforts.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, extremely conscious of my wing. “But Lucifer and Vyra-”
“No.” Belial took both of my hands in one of his, gliding his thumb along the top of my hand. “That’s why I’m telling you this. We can’t just rush into chasing them down, and they’ll tell you the same damn thing. We need to wait, Melisande.”
I gazed back into his deadly serious eyes, my stomach churning. Sit back and do nothing? Vyra could be-
My mind stuttered over a host of terrible things, words I didn’t even want to think. They were all too awful to consider. “But-”
He shook his head. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. Believe me, I’d be the first one out there if we knew we could win.” Belial’s eyes hardened again. “We can’t win if we’re unprepared. We can’t win if you’re injured, or if the Sword is broken, or any number of other things. Now is not the time to let wrath take over. Cooler heads will prevail here.”
Despite myself, a tiny smile touched my lips. “Letting wrath take the backseat? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“I didn’t either,” Belial said, still stroking my hands. “But even I’m willing to see when my way might be the wrong way. Azazel has the right of it this time.”
When even Belial was willing to hold back instead of marching in sword first, maybe it was time to re-evaluate my method of doing things.
Still, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Vyra’s limp form in Satan’s claws, the flat emptiness in Lucifer’s eyes as the red soul-bonds on his body overtook him, body and mind.
“Fine. But I’m not going to lay in bed all day. Let’s see what damage the Nightside took and go from there.” I climbed off the bed and strode to the window. I couldn’t say I was feeling invigorated, exactly, but the infusion of magic that had gone into healing parts of my wing had been like a jolt of pure energy to my otherwise-tired body.
I stopped at the window, bracing my hands on the sill. The willow in my garden had been blown over sideways, the long, dangling leaves shredded into lace. A gaping hole had been left behind in the middle of the courtyard, with the willow’s tangled, pale roots exposed.
“It could’ve been worse,” I said, biting my lip. “It didn’t break the wall.”
Belial joined me, rubbing the small of my back. “Yes, the wall is intact. The only structural damage is the crack in the front of the arena, but the Chainlings are working on it. Most of them survived the attack.”
I abandoned the window, heading for the door. “Most of them? What happened while we were gone?”
Belial’s face darkened and a line appeared between his eyebrows. “Mammon’s men happened. They broke through the barrier Leviathan’s Witches made and fought their way as far as the Sixth Circle.”
I had the distinct feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me, and that I wasn’t going to like it. “Why go so far?”
Belial looked down at me as we walked towards the stairs. I reached out and touched the shoulder of a Chainling as we passed, hoping they understood my gratitude. There were many things I didn’t understand about the Chainlings and their religion, but after they’d attached themselves to me, they’d been faithful through the worst of times.
And now they’d fought and died on my behalf. “Why? Why my people?” I repeated.
Belial shook his head, sending locks of dark hair flying over his shoulders. “Mammon’s Sin Eaters were looking for you,” he said flatly.
My lungs froze in my chest. I was the weak link in the chain binding us all; if someone killed me, there was a good chance the alliance between Lucifer, Azazel, and Belial would fall apart.
Not to mention there would be one less person in Hell capable of using the Sword of Light.
It only made sense that they’d want me to die, and the siege on Satan would’ve been the perfect time for it. It was only because I’d been in Blackchapel and out in the wastelands that I’d been spared being cornered and murdered in my own arena.
We descended the stairs and I looked up at the wall and the crooked doors. The door nearest the crack was nothing but splintered wood in the middle. I’d barely noticed while I was in shock from the pain of my injuries. “They breached the arena, didn’t they?”
Belial nodded tersely. “They made it inside… and met Haru and a lot of angry little cultists.”
The obsidian floor of my arena was still wet, puddles gleaming on the floor. The Chainlings had mopped up the blood and removed the bodies… or not.
I looked up at the ceiling high above, at the forest of silver chains that dangled above us all. The Chainlings hadn’t disposed of the bodies, necessarily.
They’d hung hooks on the ends of some of the chains. The corpses of Mammon’s Sin Eaters hung from them like slabs of meat, still wearing their dark, oily armor.
“They have such a lovely sense of interior decorating,” I whispered. With Gabriel’s gilded wings gleaming on the wall over my throne and a forest of bodies overhead, my arena was starting to look like quite the abattoir.
“I’m really growing fond of them,” Belial said brightly.
“Good. Let everyone know what happens when they try to break into what’s mine,” I growled. “Is Capheira okay? Where’s Michael?”
“Capheira is perfectly fine.” Belial steered me towards the back of the arena and into the dark halls. “As for Michael… he’s as comfortable as it’s possible to be in his position.”
At the end of the corridor, a pair of Chainlings guarded an innocuously plain door, each holding barb-tipped flails crossed over their chests. They bowed silently and stepped aside for Belial, who unlocked the door with an iron key.
“He’s still sleeping,” he said. I peered around the door frame.
The chamber beyond was lit with several torches, and a single Chainling was stationed inside, watching the archangel like a hawk from beneath their hood.
Michael himself had been arranged on a flat pallet on the floor. His wrists and ankles were chained, but he was still dead asleep, mouth hanging open. A huge violet bruise had spread over his temple.
“They’ll fetch us as soon as he wakes,” Belial said. “I plan to question-”
The sound of familiar voices interrupted him, and I spun on my heel. “They’re back.”
Belial locked the door and the Chainlings resumed their posts before we took off. Tascius’s deep voice echoed through the building, followed by Haru’s acerbic tones.
We found them in the middle of the arena. Tascius’s arms were crossed over his chest, and Azazel’s brow was creased in a frown.
> Haru just shook his head and walked away. His clothes were still stained with blood from the fight against the Sin Eaters.
Azazel was the first to spot us coming. “You’re awake,” he said, clearly surprised.
“I can’t lie around right now. What’s the news?” I asked, taking them both by the arm and dragging them into the training rooms in the back.
Plenty of rooms had been marked off to provide care wards for the injured, but I found the room where I’d once displayed Gabriel’s hand and convinced them of my plan. It was empty of everything, which was perfect. The further we were from my bed, the less likely someone would try to convince me to go back to sleep.
Azazel snapped his fingers, conjuring several couches and chairs. I climbed onto a velvet chaise, sitting ramrod straight so my wing wouldn’t brush the back.
“Blackchapel is untouched, of course, but the Brightside of the Seventh Circle is… not in good condition.” A note of apology crept into Azazel’s voice. “Belial, your arena is in ruins. There will be no returning there for the time being. It seems the Brightside took the brunt of the Dragon’s force.”
Belial just nodded, his expression blank. “I’ll have my Overseers look into salvaging what they can. They were under orders to abandon it and take the fight elsewhere if necessary.”
Tascius settled onto a long couch, his eyes on my bound wing. “As for the rest of Dis, the lower Circles had the worst of it, obviously. The First through the Third are largely untouched except for storm damage. We’ve already promised all the aid we can to Adranos; his Circle took the worst of it, and it appears that only half the forces of the Ninth Circle have rallied around their new Prince.”
“But the good remains,” Azazel added. “Satan is gone. The Princes are spreading the word to those who were in hiding; we’re going to need to meet and decide the governing of Dis now that the overlord has been toppled. Several high-ranking demons are already beginning their campaigns to be elected as the Ministers between Circles.”
I listened carefully, taking it all in, but there was one thing on my mind that had refused to leave since I’d woken up.
When there was a break in the reports of destruction and body counts, I couldn’t help but ask.
“Did any of you know about Lucifer’s soul-bond to Satan?”
The room was suddenly silent. Azazel finally exhaled on a sigh. “I had a suspicion. He might’ve been my student, but Lucifer was always close-lipped where his pride was concerned. When I attempted to broach the topic, he would change it. Looking back, I believe he meant to destroy Satan before the soul-bond could be invoked.”
My throat tightened. If Lucifer had just trusted us enough to tell us… maybe it could’ve been avoided. But there was no going back now, only forward. I would find Lucifer and break that bond or die trying. “Is there any way to break it from here?”
Azazel just shook his head slowly. “No, not entirely. If you could cut through the magical ties, you might be able to slow it or reduce its influence… but it won’t be completely broken until the creator of the bond is dead.” He looked at me solemnly.
The only way to help him was to destroy Satan. It was inevitable that I’d have to face him again; we would never live in peace as long as he still lived.
And to think I’d once found Lucifer’s tattoos beautiful. How naïve I’d been.
“Then we need to figure out how to track him down,” I said, swallowing my anger and sadness. “Surely you can, Azazel, especially if he has Satan with him.”
Azazel’s lips tightened. “Once we’ve handled Dis, I will find a way. Satan will actually be the problem in this case. He’s a Prime power- one of the gods himself. His energy will either register on such a large scale that finding his physical body would be like trying to pinpoint a needle in a haystack that covers hundreds of miles, or he’ll draw it in completely and obscure himself.”
I nodded, trying to be understanding even though I was dying to get started right now. “Then as soon as we’ve found all of the injured, we need to bring the Princes together again. I intend to see Dis brought together as quickly as possible. The longer we wait, the worse our odds of rescue.”
Azazel reached out and took my hand. I felt his emotions loud and clear through the bond: he was just as frustrated as I was with having to sit back and wait while our loved ones were out there.
Especially Vyra. We both knew Lucifer could handle himself, but Vyra had only just started learning how to fly days ago.
“Soon,” he said, squeezing my hand. Impatience and anger burned in his violet eyes. God knew how he was feeling with someone as gentle as Vyra trapped with Satan and a Lucifer who couldn’t be trusted.
I thought again on the red lines of Lucifer’s tattoos, burning into his flesh and creeping to cover his entire skin. The longer we took, the more likely Vyra was to be hurt.
And the more likely we’d never have the real Lucifer again.
3
Melisande
I left them there as Azazel began to pen missives to the Princes, sending them out clamped in the beaks of large, shadowy birds he conjured from his palms.
My emotions were an ever-boiling cauldron just under my skin; I knew we couldn’t leave Dis in total disarray, but the idea of having yet another meeting with the Princes, going through all the empty motions while my people were out there… it was almost enough to make me want to jump right out of my skin.
And under that desperate need to find them was a new emotion: seething anger that Lucifer had hidden something so vital from me.
I understood all too well how deep the need to keep one’s pride intact ran, the shame of being under someone else’s thumb. But for something as powerful as a soul-bond… if I’d known, we would’ve changed the plans. Lucifer never would’ve been allowed near Satan, let alone directly in his path.
And if Azazel had just voiced his suspicion, instead of letting Lucifer plummet right into the trap…
I paused in a dark corridor and took a deep breath, forcing myself to exhale all the rage building up inside me. Well, some of the rage, anyways. There was no way to work it off just through breathing exercises, and I was sure Azazel was beating himself up just as much right now. He’d lost a beloved sister, too.
If I lost my temper now and started pointing fingers, we’d never find them. Any hope of success was predicated entirely on becoming a fully united front.
I trailed my way upstairs, feeling as hollow and empty as a ghost. Even the gentle flip of Sarai low in my stomach couldn’t bring me out this funk. Here I was, with a broken wing and a useless, shattered Sword, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help anyone.
Before I raised my hand to push my door open, I glanced down the hall at Vyra’s room. Something pulled me away from my own bedroom, and I silently padded towards her door and twisted the knob.
I half expected to see her flopped across her glittering pink bed, pencil or sewing needle in hand, but of course her room was empty. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, taking another deep breath and looking around.
It was funny how Vyra could fill a space so entirely. She’d only been living in the Nightside with us for a month and a half, and in that time, she’d turned this one room into a sparkling bastion.
And I’d been so blind to the problems she kept balled up inside her, her constant fear of being taken, her feelings of helplessness.
Some friend I was.
I let my fingers trail over a rainbow of neatly folded silks, over the rough cotton skin of a dress-form, and on her dresser as I walked to her bed and sank down on the thick nest of blankets.
There was a sketchbook lying open, right where she’d left it before she’d been abducted. Harsh black lines covered the white page, but I averted my eyes before I fully saw the picture and flipped the sketchbook’s cover closed.
Even though she wasn’t here, I didn’t want to spy on her innermost thoughts and feelings. I just wanted to sit quietly for a mo
ment in a place that felt frozen in time, like she might come bursting through the door at any minute. Everything about her room felt happy, just the way she was. The smell of her perfume still lingered in the air, the scent of spun sugar and jasmine petals.
I couldn’t imagine that same friend being terrorized by the Dragon.
I wouldn’t imagine it.
In fact, I was going to do something about it, broken wing or not.
I carefully laid back on her bed, angling myself so I didn’t crush my wing, and stared up at the diamond-studded embroidery of the canopy overhead. Sarai moved, just a little flutter in my belly, and I placed my hand on my stomach, thinking aloud to her.
“She’s a succubus,” I whispered. “According to her, a succubus who hasn’t reached her full potential. She’ll need weapons to survive.”
Unlike her sisters, Vyra hadn’t yet fed on enough sexual energy to be able to achieve her full form, a beautiful being of claws and spiraling horns. She was still a weak flyer, though she made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.
“And Belial told me the succubi are the protectors of women.” I frowned up at the canopy. “If she’s truly their sister, it would be their sworn duty to protect her. To help me find her.”
The only problem was finding and talking to them, if they’d even hear me out. Asking them to go looking for her was no small task, especially when so much of Dis needed help right now.
The tiniest creak of the door’s hinges caught my attention, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit up. I felt tired down to the bone despite the healing magic coursing through me, like I could sink right through Vyra’s bed into the floor and keep going.
“I thought I’d find you in here, angel.”
The rough purr of Belial’s voice was a welcome one. I heard the door close, and a moment later felt his weight sinking onto the bed next to me.
“I’ve just been thinking,” I said, reaching out and groping around until I found his thigh and squeezed it for comfort.
