Gideon's Promise (Sons of Judgment Book 2)

by Morgana Phoenix

  “Or what?” he teased. “She’ll leap into my arms and beg to be mine forever?” He laughed, the sound was bitter and sharp even to his own ears. “Trust me. That is very unlikely to happen.”

  A look of sorrow passed over his mother’s face as she watched him, searching his face like she was trying to find something that wasn’t there. Finally, she pursed her lips, tipped her head to the side and offered him a halfhearted smile.

  “Ultimately, the decision is yours, mo ghrá. We will respect it.” She reached out and stroked the side of his face. “But take it from someone who has tasted a love made for poetry and love sonnets, there is nothing you cannot accomplish with your mate by your side.” She pushed to her feet. “Now, let me finish with our applicants and you can accompany me to the summoning chamber.”

  “Mom?” He tilted his head to the side, watching her as she rifled through her papers. “Can I ask you something?”

  Without glancing up, she nodded. “Of course.”

  “You know when you reported Riley to the summit?”

  She nodded again.

  “They never followed up, but they came with the guardians to check on her after she’d become a strigoi. Maybe I’m over thinking this, but they seemed more concerned about her being unclaimed and a strigoi, then her being a human and finding Final Judgment.”

  Carefully, his mother set her glasses down gently on the papers. She met his gaze squarely when she spoke. “What does the summit fear most?”

  Gideon frowned. “Disobedience?”

  She shook her head. “An uprising,” she answered for him. “The idea that there are creatures like the strigoi, powerful and unstoppable and they can do nothing about it ... now add Riley to that mix, unclaimed and outside the treaty. I am not surprised they are so worried.”

  “Yes, I understand that,” he said. “But why didn’t they come sooner? When we summoned them because of Larry, they arrived within the first month.”

  His mother shrugged. “They do not perceive time as we do here in the mortal realm. Maybe they had an opening,” she joked. When Gideon didn’t laugh, she sighed. “Who can say what the summit thinks? Just be thankful we got as lucky as we did, or Riley wouldn’t be with us now.”

  And he was thankful, but something still didn’t sit well with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She didn’t return that night. She didn’t return the next night, or the next. Three months passed without a single word from Valkyrie. It was on the fourth month that Gideon charged the doors of Arild Devereaux’s fortress and came face to face with Serinda at the front gates as though expecting him. She stood loosely, relaxed even, but it was the hand she had curled around her sword that warned him.

  “I have come to see Valkyrie,” he announced.

  Serinda, if surprised by his request, which was doubtful, never so much as batted an eyelash. “She is preoccupied.”

  “Where is she?” he demanded. “I have not seen her in weeks. Is she all right?”

  Blue eyes so much like Valkyrie’s narrowed. “Forget my sister, Caster. She will never be yours.”

  “That was not my question,” Gideon shot back. “Where is she??”

  “That is not your concern. Valkyrie is not your concern. You would do well to leave.”

  He shook his head. “I am not leaving until I have seen her.”

  “Then you will be waiting a very long time!” Anger sparked behind her stare. “Father will never allow it.”

  “I do not care what your father will allow!” He calmed his voice when her fingers tightened on her weapon. “I must see her.”

  “Well that is impossible,” she said evenly. “Because of you, Father has banished her to the pits. Even I have no inclination when her punishment will be lifted.”

  “What is the pits?” he demanded.

  “A place no Harvester ever wishes to go.” She paused as she eyed him with a sort of deliberation he did not appreciate, kind of the way he would eye a spider workings its way up his bed towards his face. “It is our purgatory,” she stated. “A place greater than hell itself.”

  “Why is Valkyrie there?” he asked. “What is she being punished for?”

  “For considering to leave her home.”

  Gideon frowned. “How could he possibly know about that? We were alone...” It hit him like a punch. He glowered at her. “You told him!”

  She didn’t so much as batted an eye. “I do not lie to my king, nor does Valkyrie. She confessed.”

  Muscles tensed with hatred. “It was me! Why is she being punished for what I did?”

  “Because that is the way of things,” she answered lightly. “She is being punished for not beheading you for even suggesting such a thing, for not honoring her heritage. For not respecting her king.”

  “Then punish me!” He took a step forward. “Let her go.”

  “That is not how it works, Caster. She must be purged of her affections, of her weakness. We cannot be strong with love in our hearts. It makes us soft. A soft warrior is a dead warrior.”

  “Valkyrie isn’t weak!”

  Rather than answer him, she took a step closer, lowered her voice and for that split second, there was something almost human behind her eyes.

  “If you care about my sister, you will let her go.” She stared hard into Gideon’s face. “If you do not, Father will keep her down there in the darkness until the end of time.” Her voice dropped even further. “We are beings of light. We cannot survive in darkness. Valkyrie will not survive at all. She is too much like our mother. Her love for you will destroy her. He will destroy her to set an example for the others. He will never let her leave, Gideon. If you love her, as I know you do, you must protect her.”

  A cold knot formed in his stomach. “How?”

  Her expression was grim, but fierce. “Never allow her to love you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The summoning chamber was located at the highest point in the house. It was unclear even to them how many floors the manor possessed, but the circular room overlooked the entire structure and seemed to be about fifty stories from the ground. On dark, cloudless nights, it was like peering down into a bottomless chasm. The fact that the arched openings all the way around were windowless and the only way into the chamber was through a trap door in the floor made it feel like you could fall straight down into nothingness at a single gust of wind, which there was plenty of. Summer, or winter, it was the coldest place in the entire house.

  Gideon gritted his teeth together to keep them from chattering as he watched his mother light the four black candles around the rune carved with chalk in the center of the room. The wick caught almost instantly and sparked a dazzling shade of purple. While they shivered and held against the breeze wafting around them. His mother murmured quietly under her breath, whispering the incantation to opening the gate. The glow shone across the blue surface of her irises, tinging them purple and giving her an ethereal appearance. Aside from his father, she was the only one familiar with the chant, which suited Gideon just fine. Were it up to him, or his brothers, the doors would never open.

  With the last candle lit, his mother stepped back. She blew out the match and dropped it into the metal tin of sand she kept in the corner for that purpose. The chamber filled with the scent of sandalwood and death. Columns of gray smoke rose to the curved ceiling, choking the air with the sickly sweet stench of rotting meat roasting under the hottest summer sun. But even then, even as he had to stave back the urge to cover his face, or throw up over the ledge, under the rancid tang was the smell of night flowers, musky and laced with just the hint of a meadow in full bloom.

  From below, light lanced around the sharp edges of the life rune. It shimmered in the candlelight, a pale halo expanding from the gray stones. Instinctively, Gideon took a step back. His hands slipped into his pockets and he cursed when he found them void of his blades.

  His mother caught his eyes from across the altar. She offered him a small smile before focusi
ng once more on opening the gates of hell. She reached for the stack of applications she had set aside and took up the first one. Looking into the heart of the altar, she said the demon’s name out loud. The flames shuddered in response as though she’d blown on them. The very air thickened despite the cutting chill that seemed to swirl around them. Tendrils of his mother’s hair lifted and swept around her face and her shoulders. The papers in her hands fluttered like the frantic wings of a bird. She gripped them tighter. But her gaze remained level, firm as she watched the rune splinter and cave inward. The void left behind was an illuminated hole too bright to look directly into. A form rose from its depths, dark and hunched. Gideon couldn’t see the face it had concealed beneath the hood of its cloak, but its hands were gnarled, bent and scabby like lizard skin. There were no fingernails, or knuckles, just rows upon rows of bends. It drew in a rattling breath.

  “Mios,” his mother called the thing by name. “You have been granted a fortnight into the mortal realm. You must abide by the Black Laws and cause no harm to humans and you must return at the end of the fortnight. Failure to do so will result in your immediate capture and demise. Do you accept the terms?”

  There was a deep grumbling sound that Gideon took to be words. The hooded figure bobbed its head ever so slowly, but only once.

  “You must swear it in blood,” his mother said.

  The thing offered her its contorted hand, palm up. His mother turned her back and walked to the small table tucked away in the shadows. The thing held an assortment of different instruments, each one crafted to pierce the skin of different creatures. She found the one best suited for the job and returned to the altar. The creature never so much as flinched when she made a small cut over one of its fingers and held out the paper for him to mark. It pressed the wound, now oozing a thick, green substance, in the center of the box marked on the page.

  “Thank you,” his mother said, stowing the contract on the bottom of the pile. “Remember, return here in a fortnight.”

  The thing inclined its head once before rippling out of sight.

  His mother sighed and pushed a tendril of hair off her brow. “One down.”

  Gideon checked his watch. “The bar should be open,” he mused.

  “You don’t have to stay,” She told him.

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. So!” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them. “What unspeakable evil are we unleashing next?”

  His mother cast him a dry frown before peering down at the next application.

  Once the portal was open, the process was fairly quick. The demon was summoned, the rules were told to them, they gave their blood and left. But despite the tedious routine, Gideon remained vigilant, rigid and watchful, waiting for the slightest flicker to jump between the evil and his mother.

  At the last one, his mother moaned in exhaustion and moved to blow out the candles. She exhaled and turned to the table of dirty instruments.

  “I should clean these before I start the roll call.”

  Gideon moved to dump the tray of blades into the plastic container on the floor next to the metal stand and motioned for his mother to exit the trap door first. At the bottom, they walked in silence back to her office.

  “I’ll take these to the kitchen,” he told her. “Wait for me before you head back.”

  Mumbling that she would, she moved to her desk to file away the applications and find the ones for the demons returning that night, which was basically the same routine, but backwards. Gideon left to venture downstairs. Gorje was scrubbing the grill when Gideon made it to the kitchen. The raver never glanced up when Gideon dumped the container of blades into the sink and doused them in hot water. He added a sprinkle of trome to disinfect and shut the water off.

  Trome, a powerful powder demons used to stop bleeding was dangerous on its own, but a small dash of it mixed with different herbs, sand, and crushed animal bones made an amazing cleaning product. His mother used it on everything with even a speckle of blood on it. Strange thing was, on freshly laundered clothes, it smelled a lot like lemons.

  Through the takeout window, he could just make out the distorted shape of leathery wings, steel tipped talons, and the occasional shimmer of iridescent cat eye glowing. Some were searching for a table while others swayed in time to the lazy thrum of music wafting from the stage. Octavian was talking to a couple at the bar. He looked annoyed, which wasn’t so unusual, but he had his palms planted on the wood and was leaning a little too far into their faces. Then, just when Gideon wondered if he needed to step out, Reggie appeared at their older brother’s shoulder. The two exchanged words and Reggie turned to the pair. He said something and the couple rose and shuffled off to find a table.

  With them gone, Reggie placed a hand on Octavian’s arm, patted and said something that had Octavian jerking back as though he’d just been touched by a bugger. Then he burst out laughing and punched Reggie in the arm which assured Gideon all was well once more.

  Shaking his head with amusement, Gideon turned his attention to the other side of the bar.

  Under the torch light, the kieon sisters appeared almost otherworldly in their white gowns and flowing silvery manes as they spilled their magic over the crowd, wrapping them in the velvety whisper of violin, harp, and flute. Unlike the other occupants in the room, the sisters weren’t demons, not fully. There was a rumor that one of their parents had demon blood, but no one was stupid enough to verify it.

  Behind him, having finished his scrubbing, Gorje grunted, which was all the warning Gideon was about to get before he was kicked aside out of the other man’s way. One thing the raver had very little of, it was patience, something Gideon took great pleasure in.

  He turned, blinked innocently. “Am I in your way, Gorje?”

  Standing at an alarming seven feet, eight inches, Gorje glowered. He jerked his massive frame left in his attempt to step around Gideon.

  Gideon moved with him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need the sink?”

  Growling deep in his throat, Gorje shifted left.

  Gideon stepped left, blocking him yet again. “Oh dear.” He clicked his tongue. “We seem to be having some miscommunication problems, Gorje.”

  The raver stopped. He took a step back and stared at Gideon with a look that would have had most sane people running in the opposite direction, but as Gideon had practically grown up on the giant’s lap, the look wasn’t nearly as intimidating.

  “Boy,” Gorje said at last, voice deadly calm. “I don’t care what your mama says, I will cook you in tomorrow’s stew.”

  Gideon gasped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Gorje? Think of all the pretty girls out there who have yet to be ruined by me. You can’t do that to them. It’s just cruel.”

  Despite his best attempts to remain unmoving, Gorje’s mouth twitched. He raised a meaty hand instead and smacked Gideon upside the head. He must have been holding back, because it was barely a brush of his fingers over Gideon’s scalp.

  “Beat it.”

  Rubbing the spot anyway, Gideon sulked. “When did you get so abusive, Gorje?”

  “Since you drove me to drink,” the giant muttered. “Now git.”

  Making a face at the other man, Gideon ambled out of the way and headed to the store room.

  Magnus stood amongst the maze of boxes, looking supremely out of place with his death glare as he filled out a shipment order.

  “Hey, captain smiley pants,” Gideon greeted. “You busy?”

  “That depends,” Magnus muttered without looking up. “What do you want?”

  Gideon slumped a shoulder into the doorframe and folded his arms. “Mom’s doing roll call in a little bit.”

  Without waiting for Gideon to finish, Magnus dropped his clipboard onto a nearby box and walked towards him.

  “Let’s go.”

  They made it as far as the doors leading to the rest of the house when there was a scream followed by the shattering of glass. Magnus, born with the reflexes of
some lithe jungle cat, already had his blade out and was sprinting for the dining area. It took a Gideon a second longer to remember he didn’t have his blade, but that didn’t stop him from lunging after his brother.

  The room was quiet. The kieon sisters had ceased their playing and everyone was watching the figure on the floor.

  Imogen, rosy faced, looked up when the pair barged through the doors. On the floor in front of her lay an upended tray, the contents a shattered mess across the scarred hardwood.

  She winced. “I’m so sorry.” She looked down at the small destruction, then at the long gashes on her hands from where she had attempted to scoop the jagged shards of glass back into the tray. “I don’t know...”

  Gideon bent down and gently lifted her to her feet. “It’s all right, love,” he said soothingly. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.” He caught Magnus’ eye. “Wait for me?”

  “It’s fine.” Magnus looked past him. “I’ll take Reggie. Get her patched up.”

  Reggie didn’t even ask where they were going, but followed Magnus silently from the room.

  Octavian appeared with a broom and dustpan in hand. “I’ve got this,” he said. “Go.”

  With a nod, Gideon ushered Imogen into the kitchen. He pushed her onto a stool and left to dampen a rag at the sink.

  “You okay?” he asked, returning to her side.

  “Yes...” She winced when he took her right hand and gently rubbed at the gashes. “I’m such a klutz.” She looked up into his face, her blue eyes cloudy with fear. “Your mother is going to be so upset. She trusted me to help and I—”

  Gideon snorted, head still bent over his task. “Trust me, a few broken dishes won’t upset her. You getting yourself hurt ... that’s a different story.” Right hand as clean as it was going to get, he reached for the left and repeated the process. “Once I get these clean, I’ll run up and grab the ointment. I just want to make sure there’s no glass before we patch you up.”

  Imogen sniffled what sounded like a chuckle. “That would just be my luck.”