The Throne of Broken Bones (Weapon of Fire and Ash Book 3)

by Brittany Matsen

  The image underneath the paragraph depicted a human man with his mouth opened grotesquely wide and a long, rail-thin creature with fangs and red eyes shoving its lengthy arm down the human’s throat. Emma cringed.

  Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, still trying to piece together how much of what she was reading was fact, and how much was speculation. The text was from Blaze, saying that Axel had announced his engagement to Emerelda. A party was to be held at the end of the week.

  Tossing the phone back onto the mattress, Emma heaved a sigh. She closed her laptop, admitting defeat for the day, when she felt the dreaded sensation in her chest that made her squeeze her eyes shut. Like hooks inside her ribcage, she felt her body ripped from the comfort of the compound.

  Emma didn’t scream this time. She hated that it made her father smile. The only sound that escaped her was the wince when she landed hard on her hands and knees, the cold stone biting her palms.

  When she opened her eyes, the cruel smile of her father greeted her.

  7

  Emma

  E mma climbed to her feet, swallowing down the terror that clogged her senses.“I haven’t found out anything new,” she said. Her eyes searched for any sign of her mother, but

  only she and two other…beings were in the great echoing hall. Asmodeus, prince of Sheol, looked like a man with a mess of dark curls. His lean body was adorned in an elegant black coat embellished with gold and red threads. He sat up tall, still managing to look intimidating as a man. Especially with eyes the color of blood. Beside him, cloaked in the shadows, was his personal guard, Geryon. The minotaur-like creature had the snout of a boar, beady black eyes, legs covered in tough blue alligator skin, and clawed feet like a dragon’s. As far as Emma knew, he didn’t speak. But his cold, empty stare never failed to send chills up her spine.

  Her father leaned forward on his massive throne constructed entirely of human bones, his long fingers digging into the grooves between smooth, ivory pieces. “And what have you been doing this past week, daughter mine?” His voice was the thundering booms of boulders crashing together during a landslide.

  Her lips parted of their own volition, spilling her secrets. “I’ve hid in my room during meetings and I avoid everyone in the compound.” As soon as the words were out, she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her father’s punishment.

  In answer, pain flooded her head, trying to split it in two. Her eyes felt as if they were being carved from her skull. She screamed, eyes flying open in silent pleading. Her knees knocked together as she gripped her head, vision blackening.

  Then the pain fled, leaving only a dull ache.

  Asmodeus smirked with chilling satisfaction. Rage burned in his bloodred eyes: a promise that her failings would not bring pain only to herself, but her mother would feel his wrath too.

  “From this point forward, any meetings the Giborim hold, you must find a way to become a part of. Find out what their next moves will be. I want to know where and who they are recruiting.”

  Her skin prickled as she nodded. He didn’t have to force her compliance in this—his glare was threat enough.

  When she’d first arrived back from Sheol, she’d stuck to Blaze’s side constantly. But then her father had forced her to tell him how many female Giborim were being protected at Blaze’s manor and the name of the Spellcaster that provided the wards. To buy her out from under Blaze, Emma imagined. Thankfully Gertie was unfailingly loyal.

  After that, Emma had purposefully feigned a headache every time Blaze suggested she sit in on a meeting with the Giborim leaders. Little by little, she withdrew, especially when more Giborim leaders and elders from all over the world began to arrive. And each of them demanded answers about her time in Sheol. About the ranks of Shediem, their numbers, any weaknesses they possessed. Unable to provide any answers, Emma had simply burst into tears and fled the room.

  No one demanded anything of her anymore. Well, Blaze didn’t, but she could tell he was just as desperate for any information she could provide.And she wanted to give it to them, anything that could be of use. But the Mark of Fallen Flame seared through her body and molded her lips shut to prevent it.

  “I’ll do as you’ve commanded. Now can I see my mother? I want to be sure she’s still alive, and not impregnated with one of your creepy demon babies.” She knew her words were risky, but she desperately wanted to see her mother.

  Asmodeus tilted his sharp face in mock consideration as her heart fluttered in dread of his answer.“Get me what I’ve asked,” he answered, stroking the top of a skull beneath his palm,“then you can see her.”

  An angry sound between a cry and a scream broke from deep in Emma’s chest—a wretched, broken noise that made her seem like a wounded animal. She allowed his rejection to stoke the fires of her anger. One way or another, she’d break his control on her, then she’d rescue her mother. And Haddie. She just hoped she wouldn’t be too late for either of them.

  “Fine. Send me back—they’re probably still holding a meeting.”

  “Actually, I have a problem that I want you to fix.”

  A shiver of trepidation ran down Emma’s spine as Geryon disappeared from his spot. Without a word, a flurry of steps sounded in the corridor behind her, along with the rattling of chains. Her breath stalled in her lungs when a woman with matted, light brown hair was prodded ahead of Geryon by the tip of his double-edged axe. Her arms were secured behind her back with manacles, her face bruised and coated with dried, cracking blood. But Emma gasped at what she saw trailing behind the woman and Geryon.

  Tear-stained and trembling, at least ten children no older than seven or eight filed into the hall.

  Emma whipped around to face her father.“What is this?”

  She could hear stifled sobs and sniffles from the children shuffling closer. The woman Geryon was watching as if she were dangerous appeared to be in her late thirties, and her tears fell, yet her expression was one of defiance. A thick, dirty scrap of cloth had been tied around her mouth, but she didn’t try to speak. Didn’t try to fight.

  Emma’s heart raced. Each face, even the children’s, had dirt and bruises mottling their skin. They were all prisoners. But why? And why were they brought here? Her stomach twisted as she slowly turned to Asmodeus again.

  “This is Elizabet,” her father said like he was telling her a story. Emma listened, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded, sensing danger. “Formerly one of my Spellcasters in charge of accelerating the growth of the Anakeem—the hybrid children. She was caught hiding these pathetic creatures.” Asmodeus gestured to the children, who trembled and wept silently.“Instead of disposing of the faulty ones with no powers, she hid them, lying and saying she had disposed of them.”

  Emma’s fists clenched. She recalled the pregnant women her father had shown her. He’d explained how he wanted to use the children born of Giborim females, using Shediem DNA, to create powerful supernatural beings. And how they’d all be trained soldiers programmed for war and death.

  She glanced back at the frightened children again. A jolt of pain ricocheted through her chest, sharp and cold, as the realization of what he wanted her to do sank in. She shook her head. They were supposed to be murdered because they were not the perfect, mindless assassins her father desired.

  The woman, Elizabet, seemed to figure it out too because her sobs grew louder, muffled by the fabric stuffed into her mouth.

  “No.” The word barely made it past Emma’s frozen lips. Her entire body was paralyzed with horror.

  Asmodeus rose from his throne and glided down the stairs of his dais, his arms tucked behind his back. Ever the prince of war. He didn’t have to worry about getting close to Emma now. He held her leash. She had no chance of attacking him when he least expected it.

  He stopped in front of the tear-streaked faces, clucking his tongue like a disappointed father. They didn’t all look like Emma or even resemble each other, which made her think he was not the father of many—if any—of the
se hybrids. Then again, his true eye color was not green, so perhaps his offspring only looked like the human form he chose at the time.

  “In the beginning, most of the Anakeem died before they could be tested for powers. After that, few of those that survived had powers. But now, we’ve perfected the method.” He smiled cruelly. She wondered what the hidden meaning was.“They have unparalleled powers, even for you. They know only the ways of the Shediem. They’re bred for brutality. Except for these ones— the runts of the litter.”

  He circled the group of children as they cowered together. Many of them sent pleading glances in the Spellcaster’s direction. She cried harder, knees giving out, and Geryon caught her with one arm before she could hit the floor. He held up the woman, who had lost the strength to stand. And Emma knew why.

  She wanted to move in front of the children—wanted to protect them from her father. But whatever silent command he had given would not allow her to move.

  “What about them?” she asked.“Sure, the woman shouldn’t have been hiding them, but they’re not to blame.”

  Asmodeus chuckled. “You cannot undo what this witch nurtured in them. As I found out with you, once there is human weakness, it cannot be rooted out. These ones are simply humans with long lives. They’re nothing.”

  He stopped in front of Emma, and she felt her stomach drop. He was going to kill them. And he was going to force her to watch.

  He leaned forward, his young, eerily striking features too close. His awful bloodred eyes fixed on hers. She almost thought she could count the drops of blood that filled them, but that would be an ocean. The bodies left in his wake were innumerable.

  “Kill them all. Starting with the witch.”

  Her body went cold. Her tongue was cemented in her mouth. The sound of her heart hammering in her ears momentarily cut out the cries. Cut out the pleas, begging for their brother or sister to be spared. Bile rose in her throat, the wave of nausea making the room spin. She shook her head fervently.

  “No,” she choked out, stumbling back, fighting the full force of her father’s powers.“Please, not the children.”

  Asmodeus shook his head in disgust. “Begging is beneath you, daughter.” He leaned close again, his mouth brushing her ear. His breath was hot when he spoke, “There will be no one who will refuse my will when this is all over. Not even you.”

  Anger shot through Emma like an electric current, heating her blood. She fought to contain it, to control it. “I have done everything you have asked so far; I took your stupid mark willingly. Let these kids go.”

  The prince’s smile twisted into something cruel and hideous despite his unnaturally attractive features. “You have done the bare minimum to keep your mother alive, daughter mine. It will not do. When war comes—and it will—your hands will be coated with more blood than you could even begin to fathom. Better get used to it.”

  “I will not do this. I will not kill innocent children.” Emma folded her arms over her chest, praying that by some miracle he would let her walk away.

  His twisted, wicked smile stretched as he said the words: “Kill them.”

  The power infused in her blood thrummed at his command. Every muscle, every tendon fought, shaking and burning as she forced her body to not move. “Please!” she screamed. The pain consumed her, flooding her veins and scorching her until white filled her vision. Her legs moved until she came to stand in front of the Spellcaster, and she met the defeated gaze of the woman who had fought to save the lives of the children.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma choked out.

  Acceptance filled the woman’s eyes as she gave a stiff nod.

  Emma’s hands lifted, and orange flames danced to life on her skin. For her it was heatless, but sweat soon beaded on the woman’s forehead.

  Emma’s body shook, fighting the pull, until it grew too strong. Every muscle in her body was on fire. With a grunt, she threw a blast of her fire onto the floor at the woman’s feet. A column of orange and yellow with tongues of blue encased the Spellcaster, ensuring the children would not see their caregiver’s gruesome death. It would be quick.

  When the hungry licks of fire were sated, they dwindled, leaving only a scant pile of ashes. The scent of scorched flesh still wafted through the air, making Emma’s stomach turn. She forced herself to swallow, but it felt like swallowing a deflated rubber balloon.

  Automatically, her feet spun her toward the gathered children. Most of them outright wailed, while others covered their eyes, trying to hide themselves from the monster she was forced to be.

  This time she fought with all her strength, though not much remained after expending so much energy already.

  “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” she gasped. Her words fell on deaf ears as her limbs moved of their own accord. When her palms erupted in flame once more, Emma tried to scream, but her lips had been sealed shut.

  She tried to fight. Tried to stop herself. But she was simply a passenger in her own body, watching the scene play out, helpless.

  A few of the braver ones tried to run but Geryon was there at every turn, throwing them to the stone floor at Emma’s feet.

  She wanted to look away as she reached the first child. Her eyes wouldn’t close, forcing her to memorize the small girl’s frizzy mess of blond curls.To remember her delicate blue eyes, red and puffy from crying. Fear shone in them, and Emma screamed inside herself in anguish.

  The little girl spoke—a tiny, musical voice in a language Emma didn’t recognize. Even if she had, Emma couldn’t respond. All she could do was raise her hand, engulfed in flame, and grip the thin, fragile arm.

  The fire exploded, shooting from her hands in a ring around the children. She pushed it all out, ignoring the stabs of pain behind her eyes or the stars that danced in her vision. If she could grant them one mercy in this hell, it would be a quick death.

  Their screams were deafening, ringing in her ears long after they had ceased. When her father’s control lifted from her, she fell to the ground, her body heaving and retching.Tears streamed down her face and her own tormented scream echoed through the hall. Her body shook, her energy spent.

  The stone floor was warm beneath her cheek. But nothing could chase away the chills—from using too much power or from the acts of horror she’d just committed, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care.

  Emma gasped as an explosion of pain erupted in her ribs. Her head turned to see her father standing above her, rage palpable on his face.

  “You’re weak!” he shouted. His voice shook the hall like rolling thunder.

  He kicked her again, and she felt as well as heard something crack. She bit down on her scream, letting the agony devour her. She deserved every ounce of pain for what she had done. With her eyes closed, her lungs seared as they tried to pull in air. Let him kill her in a fit of rage. She deserved no less.

  But the next blow didn’t come. She peered through her damp lashes to see her father spin on his heel and stalk back to his throne. Her head fell to the side as she struggled to breathe.

  From around the corner of the great hall’s entry, she spotted a pair of familiar striking blue eyes and silky, golden-blond hair.

  Haddie.

  Her vision swam as the girl fled from sight, clutching a bulging belly.

  8

  Blaze

  T he stuffy meeting room was loud, and a headache had begun to form between his eyes. He clutched the bridge of his nose, trying to rub away the ache. Arguments

  between the dozen or so influential Giborim were like white noise as Blaze’s mind wandered yet again. Emma’s outburst of flame was just the tip of the iceberg. Ever since she arrived at the gates several weeks ago looking worn down, her usually sparkling green eyes darkened from her time in Sheol, she had been different.

  It was to be expected. One as pure and as good as Emma Duvall did not spend nearly a week in literal hell and come back unchanged. She had been gone only three days in earth time. But Sheol time was roughly twice as fast. Her sc
ent, which smelled faintly of Shediem when he first met her, had become an unpleasant odor of smoke and blood and decay. Then again, he supposed that being in their realm would have that effect. But as the days turned to weeks since she’d returned, she still smelled like one of them, and it had set the house’s fifty or so occupants on edge. Jake and his uncle, especially.

  She had been back inside the compound for less than an hour when Jake had sought him out, fists clenched, eyes wild with the need to kill her. Blaze had sent him to London to help his father’s house, which was also filled with families seeking protection. His uncle, however, had been a different matter.

  “She’s clearly been compromised,” Silas had insisted. “You don’t know she won’t murder us all in our sleep. She’s a danger. The exact thing we are trying to protect our females from.”

  Blaze had shut him down, refusing to act without first hearing from Emma what had happened. But she refused to part with even a single word regarding her time there. For a while, Blaze had thought that her mother—the whole reason Emma had willingly gone to Levaroth in the first place—had been killed. But the weariness and grief in her eyes were shadowed by the hope that still burned in them.

  If only I could get her to talk to me…

  Now things seemed to be going from bad to worse.After Axel had shared the news of his impending nuptials—which would be a financial drain, but he wouldn’t think of that now—his uncle had found him. Blaze’s burns had mostly healed, but his uncle missed nothing.

  “Good god, boy. What in the bloody hell happened in here?” He’d gestured to the charred crater in the mat, then at the blistered skin adorning Blaze’s arms, chest, and face.

  “Training mishap,” he said with a shrug, getting to his feet at last.“What do you need, Uncle?”

  Silas had visibly bit back the urge to pry for further information, but his pressing news had outweighed that desire. “Well, as you know, the UN had been able to hole up somewhere safe. They were all found dead late last night, and there was another attack on the White House. That’s the last anyone has heard. It’s complete madness. Humans are prematurely thinking it’s the end of the world. They’re shooting each other and fighting over supplies. We have to intervene.”