by Erin Evans
“Shit and ashes!” Lorcan spat and drew his sword. “Kulaga, wait!”
“Laesurach!” All instinct, Farideh pointed the rod and with it pulled a vent of lava into existence, making a barrier between them and the stone golems. The guardians stepped backward, considering the sudden fountain of molten rock. Farideh turned from them to the barbed devils rushing toward them. Lorcan’s sword met the first of them, slicing deeply into its spiny shoulder. The devil threw itself into the strike though, and the barbs caught Lorcan, piercing his forearm. He cried out.
Farideh turned a blast of flames on the barbed devil. Fire splashed across its thorny skin, and it turned to regard her as if she were flinging pebbles at it.
“This isn’t what you think!” she shouted.
A second barbed devil slashed at her with its claws, catching her armor and throwing her shoulder painfully back. She threw another bolt of fire and yanked hard on the powers of the Malbolge, opening a rent in the planes and stepping back through it to reappear on the other side of the room.
“You have always lacked foresight,” Kulaga chided. “Fire, fire, fire—what would Exalted Invadiah say about her feckless son imbuing his warlocks with such misdirected skills?” The logokron’s forward hands filled with dark shadows. “Oh, I suppose nothing. She’s rotted into the layer by now.”
Fire doesn’t hurt them, Farideh realized. She drew her sword, ducked under a ball of flame hurled from the nearer barbed devil’s hand. The fire bolt, the rain of brimstone, the blast of eldritch energy—only the last wouldn’t count as fire. One of the stone golems had sunk to its knee in the lava. The other made its way around the still-burning patch of stone.
“Adaestuo!” she shouted, flinging a burst of energy toward the golem. Retreating, Lorcan parried his barbed devil’s claws on his silvery sword, both spattered in black blood Farideh didn’t stop to assess the source of. She held the rod parallel to the ground, perfectly still, even as the barbed devils stalked toward her.
I’m sorry, she thought.
“Chaanaris!” she hissed, yanking the rod up. The floor seemed to boil, as spectral hands reached up through the polished stone. The hungry souls of the Nine Hells grasped at the barbed devils, trying to pull them back into the Hells, trying to draw energy out of them, the souls they once possessed. The spirits yanked one of the barbed devils coming for Farideh off its feet, pulling it flat against the ground and screaming. More clutched at the other barbed devils—none touched the golems as they made their stomping way through the lava.
Suddenly Lorcan cried out. Two of the souls had ahold of him. He slashed at their ghostly hands as they pulled, dark red energy flowing out of him and into them. Farideh yanked on the powers of the Hells again, tearing the fabric of the planes again so that she landed lightly beside Lorcan.
A hand brushed her calf, an unholy cold spreading up through her body as it did. But Farideh gritted her teeth, grabbing hold of Lorcan’s arms and tearing the planes once more, to pull him through and land, dizzy and off-balance, out of the reach of the grasping spirits. Lorcan stumbled as she landed, one leg buckling under him as he collapsed to the floor.
“Well, well,” Kulaga said. “The little fraud can fight.” He raised his hands as if to hurl the balls of shadows at her. “So let’s make this a fight worth counting.”
“Stop!” Farideh shouted. “I want to talk to my mother!”
That gave Kulaga pause. Beside him, Adastreia Tyrianicus regarded Farideh, unmoving.
“Your life may be in danger,” Farideh said to her. “So please, it’s not what you think.”
“Clearly.” Kulaga let one of the spells collapse, holding up the other forward hand in a fist. The barbed devils, climbing to their feet as the hungry souls faded back through the planes, held their positions. “When did you get yourself a daughter, my dear?” he called out.
The tiefling beside him wavered like a reflection in a pool, then vanished without so much as a sound.
“I don’t have a daughter,” a woman’s voice said. “She’s lying.”
Farideh glanced at the wall to the left, before one of the panes of frosted glass—now black as a sheet of obsidian. Adastreia’s double stood there in the same crimson gown, the same necklace of coral and topaz and a fat black pearl—no, Adastreia in the flesh. Her eyes were no warmer than the illusion’s had been.
“The young lady seems very insistent,” Kulaga said. “So why is that?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lorcan drawled, despite his wounds. “Twenty-seven years ago, your Kakistos heir decided to dabble in treachery.”
Adastreia blanched. “What sort of treachery?” Kulaga asked.
“Aiding Bryseis Kakistos’s ghost,” Lorcan said, “in an attempt to resurrect her and dethrone Asmodeus. That’s where mine comes from—that little ritual made sure your Brimstone Angel was left in the family way. Did you know?”
“Someone else had my pact then,” Adastreia said.
“But you didn’t mention you had heirs,” Lorcan said. “Otherwise, I assume you’d have a greater collection, Kulaga.”
“So far as I knew, they were dead.” She turned to Farideh. “Did you know about the other one?” Adastreia said, as if she meant to wound Lorcan with the fact.
Farideh swallowed her anger. “My sister. Yes.”
“Two?” Kulaga asked eagerly.
“Twins,” Adastreia said. “And since she was meant to hold the Brimstone Angel’s soul, I’d tread lightly, Kulaga.”
The logokron considered Farideh with new eyes. “Why do you say my Kakistos heir’s life is at stake?”
“Bryseis Kakistos is going to attempt it again,” Farideh said before Lorcan could stop her. “She needs a Kakistos heir to manage it, and we think Adastreia might top her list. Might I have a word in private?” she said to the tiefling.
Adastreia’s eyes darted back to the logokron. “Whatever you say to me—”
“Do you really want him to hear all of it?” Farideh asked quietly.
She fell silent a moment, eyes locked on Farideh. “Very well.” Adastreia turned to her patron. “Kulaga, excuse us, please. I think you’re finished here.”
The logokron’s ruby eyes narrowed. “And risk my Kakistos heir?”
“If you’re going to insist on staying,” Adastreia said, “then I’m going to insist on your binding word that you will not take matters into your own hands with either the cambion or the girl, particularly not before I know what I want to do about this. Which would you prefer?”
The shift of power came so abruptly it left Farideh startled, unsure of where to look. Lorcan moved carefully to his feet behind her, the stillness of his expression so intent, so calculated she knew he was surprised too. Kulaga made a noise deep in his throat and the barbed devils vanished from the plane in three bursts of acrid-smelling smoke.
“I’ll wait for you in the library,” he said, and left the room in a clatter of armor.
“Can you walk?” Farideh murmured to Lorcan.
“Oh no,” Adastreia said, holding up a hand. “If I don’t have my devil beside me, you certainly don’t have yours.” She nodded to the golems. “Keep him comfortable. You, girl, hand him your sword and rod for the moment, and come along.”
Do not take risks here, Lorcan mouthed as she handed him her weapons. Farideh said nothing, but followed Adastreia across the room, toward another pane of the strange glass. She let a little of the Hells flow into her, flexing her hands against the thrumming strength of the magic. Not too risky, she thought.
Fighting at all had been far riskier, she thought. If Kulaga hadn’t held, there was no way they would have survived the battle. A part of her missed the powers of Asmodeus—how much would the fear she’d inspired have evened the field?
The black glass pulsed as they passed through it, as if it were a living membrane, releasing them into another chamber, this one overlooking a waterfall deep underground. Another stone golem took up a place before the entryway, a not-quite-livin
g door. Adastreia stood with her back against another of the panes of glass.
“Thank you,” Farideh said. “I know it’s not—”
“No,” Adastreia interrupted. “First: How do I know you aren’t her? The Brimstone Angel.”
“I don’t know,” Farideh admitted. “I hardly know Bryseis Kakistos. Maybe you could listen to me first and decide that second?”
“I already heard what you told Kulaga. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe here.”
“Do you really believe that? You know her better than I do, what she was capable of then—”
“I’ve been hiding for twenty-five years,” Adastreia said. “Give or take. She hasn’t found me yet. I think I’ll stay.”
“And you know she wasn’t her whole self—she is now,” Farideh said. “She has a body. She has comrades. She has an opportunity that she won’t have again. If you come with us to Djerad Thymar, we can protect you,” Farideh said. “And perhaps we can draw her out, make sure that she can’t succeed.”
Adastreia cocked her head. “Why in all the planes would you assume I care if she succeeds?”
Farideh began to protest that it would mean the destruction of Azuth, the collapse of any sense of order in the Nine Hells—maybe worse. That if they didn’t intervene, Asmodeus surely would come after Havilar, killing her to forestall Bryseis Kakistos’s plans.
But Adastreia’s eyes were so cold. She wouldn’t care about any of that. She’d said it herself—she was safe enough here. What did everyone else matter? What did her daughters matter? It broke through the armor around Farideh’s heart and lit a fierce anger in her. Maybe she would get no love from her mother, maybe she couldn’t have acceptance, but the bare consideration due another person? No, she wouldn’t get that either.
She imagined knocking Adastreia out and just dragging her back through the portal, where she’d be safe and where she might set a decent trap for Bryseis Kakistos. Adastreia might have more spells than her, but Farideh didn’t doubt she was stronger, quicker—quick enough to get a few well-placed strikes in. It would be easy. It would get through this mess.
It would make you a kidnapper, Farideh thought.
“It’s your decision,” she said instead. “Only I’d hate to find out you’d been obliterated just so Bryseis Kakistos can tweak Asmodeus’s nose. They make pawns of us, the devils.”
“She said that too,” Adastreia pointed out.
“Well, she’s leaped in right alongside them. She took my twin so she’d have a body. She’s not thinking about how this plays out. And she doesn’t care about who gets harmed when she tries to dethrone Asmodeus.”
Adastreia frowned, but she didn’t answer. “If you won’t come,” Farideh said, “then at least tell me what you remember. Did she have the staff of Azuth then?”
Adastreia shook her head. “That wasn’t part of it. Maybe she meant to use it later.”
“Do you know the other heirs? Where they might be, which of them might help her?”
“Not well. And no—I’ve made a point of staying away from them.”
Farideh bit back a curse. “Names? Anything?”
She blew out a breath. “Chiridion, Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Livulia, Naria, and Alonzo,” Adastreia recited. “Although I’ll save you a little trouble—I know Alonzo’s dead. And then, Caisys, though obviously he wasn’t an heir.”
“Who’s Caisys?” Farideh asked.
“Caisys the Vicelord. One of the Toril Thirteen,” Adastreia said, as though it were common knowledge. “Bryseis Kakistos’s confederate. He was the one who found us. And he was the one who took you away. Where were you?” she asked. “I’d assumed he was headed for the nearest river.”
Farideh gritted her teeth. “Somewhere safe.”
A fragment of her dreams came back to her out of nothing—You were supposed to be safe, one of the ghosts had said. He gave you that, at least. Be careful. Farideh paused. The way Bryseis Kakistos had talked when she’d taken Havilar, it sounded as if they’d ended up in Arush Vayem by accident, as if Adastreia’s expectation were the outcome she’d been hoping for.
But Caisys had brought them to the village in the mountains. And the ghost in her dreams had said they were supposed to be safe. Maybe he’d had a care after all.
“Are you through?” Adastreia asked.
“No.” Farideh turned back to her. “Does Bryseis Kakistos have a twin?”
Adastreia blinked at her, as though she couldn’t have expected a less sensible question. “I don’t know. She was dead when I knew her. I assume any twin would be more so. Why would you think she had a twin?”
Farideh didn’t answer. It would explain why the ghost in her visions and dreams was sometimes cruel and sometimes kind. It would explain—perhaps—why the resurrection ritual had gone awry, how two souls made two bodies. “Who would know?” she asked. “Any of the heirs?”
Adastreia snorted. “As I said, I don’t exactly keep up with them these days.”
“Caisys?”
“I most certainly don’t know anything about Caisys.”
Farideh rubbed a hand over her face. This was going nowhere. “Fine. I’m through. Thank you for your time.”
Adastreia nodded, but didn’t move toward the door and the portal beyond. “Your devil,” she said after a moment. “Why in the world didn’t he establish clearer terms of parley before you came?”
“He’s distracted,” Farideh said. “He’s got some sort of curse on him or something. He won’t tell me what. Fortunately, I can take care of myself.”
Adastreia’s silvery eyes flicked over her, and she reached up to fiddle with the beads of her necklace. “Perhaps you should stay the night.”
Farideh regarded Adastreia suspiciously. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you?”
“Please. You’ve had all the time in the world to try that in here. Kulaga thinks your devil’s simple, you tell me he’s cursed—I’m concerned you or he might be hurt, and there’s every chance that something in my contract will lead from that to my punishment, and there is very little these days that makes such things worth the risk. At the very least, I’ll have to take it up with Kulaga, and he exhausts me these days.”
Farideh peered at Adastreia—it was such an odd line of thought. Was this what other warlock pacts were like? Adastreia fiddled with her rings. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“My father.”
Adastreia let out another snort of laughter. “You did not learn that from Chiridion.”
The name struck another blow to the shell around Farideh’s heart. Again, she could almost see the man—tall and brown-skinned with the same prominent nose. “I mean my father,” Farideh said stiffly. “The man who raised me.”
Adastreia looked away. “My mistake. Go … Go see if your devil wants to stay. I’ll convince Kulaga to accept a proper parley. You can leave in the morning.”
Farideh considered her wounds and Lorcan’s—how long it would take to bandage and brace and salve them. They could leave in a few hours. When she went back out into the larger chamber, she amended her time line. Lorcan looked as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet.
“What is going on with you?” she demanded when they were alone again. A stone golem had led them up into another pane of strange glass, to a set of rooms already prepared for guests. Immediately, both began checking the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“Nothing I want Kulaga to know about,” he answered. Then, “Please, just trust me. It’s not … It’s temporary.”
Farideh pulled open a cabinet—only a bowl and ewer of water inside. “You said Dahl did it.”
“Did I?” He kept his eyes on the tapestry he was looking behind. “Well, I’m sure it wasn’t his fault entirely. How was your mother?”
“Terrible,” Farideh answered. “Why are you not telling me what happened? Where is Dahl?”
His dark eyes met hers. “Darling, I know you don’t want to hear it, but your brightb
ird tried to kill me. I left him behind, because as much as I … care for you, I don’t want to die. Now I could go the rest of my life without hearing the name Dahl Peredur, especially from your lips.” His wings twitched in an irritable way as he surveyed the rooms. “Did you convince her to come?”
Farideh looked away. “No. You were right. She’s too afraid.”
He sighed. “Pity. How careless the gods have to be to give a coward such courageous issue.”
Farideh felt a blush threaten her cheeks. “Have you got any other spells I can use?” she asked. “That was too close before. I need to be better prepared before we do this again.”
Lorcan hesitated. “I might.”
He said nothing more for so long that Farideh’s temper began to fray. “What? Do you want something in return? Now?”
“Don’t be silly. Even if I could wring something from you, you saved my life before.” He beckoned to her and she moved to stand closer—too close, she thought. You’re giving him the wrong ideas, leaving open the wrong doors. Lorcan took her hands in his, formed a bowl of air between them. Stared at her palms for long moments.
Farideh focused on the arch of her fingers, not on his hands pressed over hers, the heat of him too close. She waited and waited for the familiar flood of magic, the sudden appearance of another spell at her fingertips, tense and uneasy. Sometimes the spells were simple things—bursts of magic or flame. Sometimes they were the hungry spirits damned to the Nine Hells. She hadn’t asked what was coming, and maybe that was foolish.
But no spells came to her.
Lorcan dropped her hands. “I … I think I’m tired again. The spell with the souls …”
It wasn’t just the spell with the souls though, Farideh felt sure. The sleeping and sweating, the strange bursts of emotion. It was as if something fundamentally part of Lorcan had been stripped away. She covered his hand in hers.
“You ought to lie down,” Farideh said. She swallowed. “The protection spell—if you can’t connect to the Hells, maybe it’s safest. The rooms … I think it will stretch far enough.” If it didn’t, she could sleep on the floor between them.
