Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “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 something 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.

 
Lord Darken was now outlined by the flames that flickered in the hearth against the wall of his throne room. It was a strange fire; in place of red, orange, and yellow, its glow was composed of shades of gray. It also gave off no heat, though the sound was like that of a normal fire. It crackled and popped and shed just enough light to give Astriel a better idea of what Darken looked like.

  What he saw took Astriel’s breath away. In fact, he barely believed his eyes.

  “And you want me to abduct her,” Darken continued, his stark, silver gaze flashing.

  It wasn’t a question. It was simply a statement of disbelief, spoken with such calm and cold demeanor, it was impossible to tell whether Lord Darken was amused or was just trying to get the facts straight.

  “Such a thing could cause a war, prince.”

  “Tanith?” Astriel breathed, his brow furrowed, his eyes wide.

  Darken remained motionless, partially hidden by the halo of gray firelight and shadows surrounding him. And then, very slowly, he stepped forward and close enough that Astriel was now looking fully into his all too familiar face.

  It was impossible what he was seeing. But it was there, plain as day.

  Drake of Tanith was Lord Darken, king of Phlegathos, the seventh circle of Abaddon.

  “No,” Darken whispered, and in that small word, Astriel heard the difference he hadn’t noticed before. Then Darken’s silver eyes narrowed, and Astriel could see the difference as well. There was no give in his gaze. Tanith was a man torn between honor and duty. But Darken’s eyes brooked no kindness, revealed no war between wrong and right. There was only cruelty, cold, calculating and quiet.

  “Not anymore,” Darken finished. And then he smiled, flashing the fangs that Drake of Tanith almost never allowed himself to bare. “Not for a very, very long time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun had been up for an hour when Raven awoke to the sound of hissing and the smell of smoke. She blinked and sat up to see that Drake had begun packing things back up and dousing the fire.

  Raven watched him and felt exhausted. Clearly, he wanted to get moving, but she had no idea why. She had no idea where they were going. She’d barely gotten over her wounds, eaten a meal, and stolen a quick cat nap. They had yet to talk about what had happened or what he was doing there with her and her brother.

  She ran a hand over her face, yawned, and then rubbed her eyes. When she looked up again, Drake was standing over her.

  “We need to talk,” he told her.

  Raven blinked. “What?”

  “Before your brother wakes up,” he added, with a glance at Loki’s still-sleeping form. Then he offered her his hand. “Come with me.”

  Raven looked down at his hand and then back up at him. Smoke from the bonfire outlined his form. The rising sun blurred her vision, and her body desperately craved more sleep. He looked so much more powerful than she felt in that moment, every instinct she possessed was telling her to stay where she was.

  But then Drake lowered his hand. Suddenly he was kneeling in front of her. She inhaled sharply, but managed to stay where she was and not retreat. Not that she’d have gotten far. She was sitting flat on her bottom and her legs were still tangled in her cloak.

  “I know you’re overwhelmed,” he said softly, almost whispering the words. “And I don’t blame you if you don’t trust me, Raven.” His metal eyes seemed to melt for a moment, softening into the liquid mercury that so defined him. “But believe me when I tell you that you need to hear this – and you don’t want your brother to.”

  Raven heard her heart beating in her ear drums. Drake of Tanith was inches away from her, his eyes boring into hers. It was the stuff of both nightmares and very good dreams. Her stomach tightened, and when his gaze flicked to her lips, a flush of warmth spread across her chest, hardening her nipples.

  Look away, she thought.

  With some effort, Raven pulled her eyes from his and glanced over at her brother and the ork who lay a few feet from him. They slept deeply. How was it that they didn’t notice the movement and noise around them? She’d always been a light sleeper. And Drake, being who and what he was, had never gone to sleep in the first place.

  Raven felt Drake’s sudden touch like a brand on her skin. He gently took her chin in his hand and turned her head back around to face him, and Raven fought the desire to close her eyes. He wasn’t wearing his gloves; his skin was hot and sent waves of electric warmth radiating across her skin.

  Her lips parted as he stared long and hard into her eyes. “Please come with me, Raven. Right now.”

  The bounty hunter of Tanith was saying “please.” It was not something he was known for doing. Raven had to appreciate that, despite the determination in his molten gaze and the wary, watchful way with which he regarded her. She had to give him credit for trying.

  And anyway, she wanted to go with him just then. Maybe she was just exhausted, and maybe it was downright stupid, but the look of him, the scent of him, and the way he made her feel when he touched her were all getting to her. Deep down.

  She felt weak inside. Her will was dissolving where it came to Drake.

  She thought of this as she finally nodded and he released her chin. He stood, gracefully and smoothly, and once more offered her his hand. This time she took it, all the while wondering whether she had become a fool through and through to trust a man like Tanith.

  *****

  “Sit down,” he told her once they’d moved far enough away from the other two that they couldn’t be overheard. The waves crashed against the beach and black rocks nearby. Sea gulls cried overhead. A slight breeze played with Raven’s hair; it caressed her cheek as she looked from Drake to the rock he gestured toward.

  “Why?”

  “Because I told you to?” Drake said, clearly running out of patience. Raven assumed it was a lack of sleep. She sighed and sat down, then she waited as Drake leaned against another large boulder and placed his hands flat against the stones’ pockmarked surface.

  He looked down at the sand and his hands flexed and un-flexed where they rested on the rock. “I told you before that you were in danger,” he said, his voice very quiet. A wave washed up onto the shore, hissed and sizzled, and then slowly retreated. “I meant it,” he continued. “But you don’t know the half of it.” He looked up now, and his silver eyes seemed so stark, they were almost poignant. He swallowed hard, and she could see it slide down the muscles in his throat. “My father has given me an ultimatum. I am to become king of Nisse and lose my soul,” he told her, “or….” He broke off, swallowed again, and his brow furrowed.

  Now his expression looked downright pained. Raven’s heart was hammering with the idea of Drake taking over Abaddon’s ninth circle. It would be no different than spiritual suicide. But the look on his face was kicking her fear up several more notches still. She straightened on the rock, her chest feeling tight and her legs wobbly. “Or what?” she asked. Her voice sounded strained.

  Drake’s fingers curled into the rock tightly now. Raven felt a brush of his power, as if it was leaking from him, slipping from his control. He stilled, frozen as he undoubtedly prepared to say what he was about to say. The universe hushed. “Or he will take you as his queen.”

  Another wave crashed onto the shore. This time, as it pulled back out to sea, it took with it all sound and motion. The world stopped turning. Raven’s heart thudded painfully and then seemed to grow numb in her chest. Her entire body felt strange. Her ears rang. Her mind reeled. She felt dizzy, and braced herself with her hands on either side of her on the boulder. Drake’s eyes bored into her as she breathed in and out. In and out.

  “You’re lying,” she said. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, it was just that what he had just told her was unbelievable – so much so, that she couldn’t process it, and the words had just slipped out.

  “You have no idea how badly I wish that were true.”

  Raven shook her head. “But why?” she asked, not at all understanding. What wou
ld Asmodeus want with her? Why on the Terran Realms and in all of Abaddon would he focus on her? How did he even know she existed?

  “That you can even ask that bewilders me, Raven,” Drake told her.

  Raven pulled her gaze from the sand where she’d been staring at nothing and looked up at the bounty hunter. His expression was one of stark frustration. “There is no woman in any realm more suited to the position than you,” he said. Suddenly he was pushing of the rock and moving toward her. Raven tensed as he reached her in two quick strides and crouched down so they were on eye level.

  Quicksilver, she thought, swallowing hard.

  “You are a complete idiot if you still can’t see how special you are,” he told her, almost hissing the words. She recoiled from the acid in his tone, moving back across the rock on which she sat, but his hand was as quick as the metal in his eyes, and she found herself held immobile by his fist in her hair as he leaned in to whisper his next words. “Are you truly that stupid, or are you truly that innocent, Raven Grey?”

  “Let me go,” she hissed back, at once on the defensive. She could feel a thrum of tension running through him and into his grip on her. His power was leaking badly now, and in the course of seconds, it had become stifling. A thread of warning unraveled within her. This kind of power was something she didn’t want to test.

  Instead, she tried something she hadn’t yet tried with the bounty hunter. “I’ve done nothing to earn your anger, Drake,” she said softly, forcing her features into an expression of reason. She would have shaken her head had she been able to move it, but he held her fast. “Nothing at all,” she finished.

  Drake’s eyes flashed. And then he frowned – and blinked.

  At once, he released her and stood, taking a quick step back. He seemed shaken suddenly. Uncertain. It was a new look for him.

  “What will you do?” Raven asked him tentatively, as she rubbed her head where he’d held her and slowly came to her feet. She wanted to be on even footing with him at that moment. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking – what he was about to do. It scared her.