Chapter 45
Bael brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Ursula? I need you to wake up.”
She opened her eyes, blinking at the starlight. The Earth, nearly full, hung bright in the sky.
Her throat felt dry, her mind foggy. Around her, the crowd roared.
Hothgar’s voice cut the braying crowd like a foghorn.
I’m still here. Lacus Mortis.
She licked her lips, then swallowed. I need water. “What happened?”
“You slayed Bernajoux, but he injured you terribly. I healed you, but you missed an entire round.”
“Who fought?”
“The Gray Ghost and Chax of Azimeth.”
She was pretty sure she already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “Who won?”
“The Gray Ghost.” He frowned. “I’ll be fighting next. I don’t expect it to last long. Will you be ready to fight after?”
No bloody way. “Of course.”
“Good. You fight the Gray Ghost—”
Hothgar’s voice cut him off, announcing his name. “I must go.” His pale gaze pierced her, and she watched as he rose, pulling on his silver helm. “You’ll be fine.”
She didn’t get a chance to ask him what exactly he knew about the Gray Ghost. As she pushed up onto her elbows, he was already walking toward the center of the arena.
Ursula rose unsteadily to watch the fight. She shot a nervous glance at the man next to her. Despite having already fought a battle, the Gray Ghost’s clothes still shone a pale gray, like the skin of a corpse.
A shudder crawled up her spine, and she turned her attention back to the duel. Inth—the knight—stood opposite Bael. He held a new, unbroken pole arm. His armor gleamed in the starry light, good as new. I guess I wasn’t the only one who’s been healed.
Hothgar gripped his gong. “For the next battle, Inth of Alboth versus Bael the Fallen.” He slammed the mallet into the gong with a thunderous clang.
Immediately, Inth began to charge up his weapon, twisting the spearhead in a complicated pattern. Bael stood opposite him, his body perfectly still, sword held casually.
Inth’s pike sparked with dark magic. He swung it in a sharp arc, blasting magic from the tip. But Bael effortlessly sidestepped, holding his sword loosely at his side.
Inth unleashed another bolt. Again, Bael sidestepped. Didn’t break a sweat, nor use shadow magic. Didn’t even bother to wear armor. Cocky bastard. She was beginning to understand why he’d been so confident before the battle.
Worse, a growing certainty bloomed in her mind. The vision of herself lying against the dirt, Bael’s knife pressed against her heart.
It wasn’t just a fear. It was a premonition.
Inth’s pole arm glowed white-hot, and he took a tentative step toward Bael. Meanwhile, Bael stood still as the statue of Nyxobas
Ursula had learned that the stiller Bael’s body, the more deadly his thoughts.
When the knight lunged, thrusting his blade at Bael’s chest, Bael leapt into the air. Wisps of shadow magic trailed behind him as he cleared the tip of the pole arm. He soared over Inth’s head, gripping his sword with the blade’s tip pointing down. With a single, vicious thrust, he plunged it through the top of the knight’s helm.
Bael landed gracefully on the sand. As Inth crumpled, Bael wrenched his blade from the knight’s skull with a sickening crunch of bone.
The oneiroi ran onto the field of blood to drag the body away, and the crowd booed. Another execution.
As with Zoth, the entire fight had lasted only seconds. Bael turned, stalking back to his spot at the edge of the field of blood. Again, his glacial gaze flicked to her for just a moment, his face devoid of emotion.
Her knees were going weak. This was it—she had to defeat two more demons before she could live. The Gray Ghost—a reanimated corpse.
And Bael.
“Congratulations, Bael, on reaching the final duel,” said Hothgar, his voice quavering. Was that fear? If Bael were going to resume his position as the Sword of Nyxobas, Hothgar had every reason to be afraid. Bael’s vengeance against those who had wronged him would be swift and ruthless.
“Emerazel’s whore will now fight the Gray Ghost on the field of blood. The winner of this round will fight Bael the Fallen.”
Ursula’s heart pounded like a battle drum, her blood pumping hard as she stepped into the center of the arena.
The Gray Ghost prowled forward, taking his spot across from her.
Hothgar sounded the gong, and her nerves blazed with anticipation.
She gripped her katana, keeping her gaze on her opponent. Her stomach throbbed where she’d been stabbed, but otherwise it seemed to be fully healed.
She’d seen the Gray Ghost fight when he’d first announced his participation in the tournament. She’d seen him slay five demons in the melee, and not one of them had touched him.
And yet, she’d also seen Bael revive him in the mushroom forest. So what the hell had happened there?
The wind toyed with the gray scarf wrapped around the Ghost’s face and he stood, still as a corpse. Which, perhaps, he was.
When she’d seen him fight before, every movement had been precise, like he was thinking multiple steps ahead of his adversary. Just like Bael, he’d waited for his opponents to attack first, then countered.
Maybe she could throw him off.
Hothgar’s voice boomed over the field of blood. “The fight is supposed to begin.” He sounded the gong again.
The Gray Ghost raised his blades. Pearly light sparked off them, but he didn’t move.
Ursula lifted her katana, her palms sweating. Any minute now.
The icy lunar wind rippled over her skin, and she could hear her blood pounding in her ears.
Maybe I can goad him into attacking.
She pointed her blade at his chest, slowly approaching. When she got within striking distance, he stepped back. She followed him, but he stayed just out of range.
She feinted, and he immediately parried—one of his blades flashing up to deflect hers, metal sparking against metal. Her sword vibrated in her grip.
For a corpse, he was strong. Very strong.
She backed away. Maybe he will come after me now. Instead, he simply stood there waiting. She feinted again, and he parried, their blades clashing.
“Why won’t you fight me?” said Ursula.
The Gray Ghost simply watched her from behind his scarf. She’d seen how he’d baited Vepar into tiring himself out. Only when his opponent was thoroughly exhausted did he attack—diving for the tendons behind his ankles to immobilize him.
A brilliant thought sparked in her mind—what if she faked fatigue?
She feinted again. When he parried, she immediately followed up with another strike. To conserve strength, she didn’t attack with full velocity, but with each strike, she allowed herself to be a little wilder.
The brethren loved it, chanting her name: “Ursula! Ursula! Ursula!”
Slowly, she began to drive the Gray Ghost toward the far wall. When they reached it, she pretended to falter at the end of a particularly wild strike.
She’d made herself an inviting target. Would he take the bait?
He dove at the ground, but she’d anticipated his strike, leaping into the air. She swung her katana low, but the Ghost had rolled out of reach.
He crouched, blades drawn, ready to strike.
She began backing away from the wall. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The Ghost stalked toward her. His daggers didn’t have nearly the reach of her katana, but he had two of them, which meant he could throw one. Also, she might need to dodge if he launched a swift counter-strike.
Abruptly, she lunged forward, slashing at his head. He ducked, then dove for her ankles again. She leapt to the side—but not fast enough. One of his blades slashed into her calf, and the pain shrieked up her leg.
Hot blood dripped down her skin inside her trousers.
The Ghost advanced on her.
His posture had changed. He leaned forward now, his knives pointed straight at her. He’d wounded her. Like any good predator, he sensed when a kill was imminent.
And maybe she could make him a little more confident then he needed to be...
Grimacing, she forced herself to yelp with pain, hobbling on her leg. Without a moment of hesitation, he dove into his roll—just as she’d expected.
As soon as he was in range, she slashed down, ramming her blade through his throat. And not a single drop of blood spilled from the wound.
Her hand shook as she leaned down and pulled the scarf from his face, and her stomach turned at what she found beneath the cloth.
The thing that looked up from the sand wasn’t human, and Ursula was pretty sure it wasn’t a demon, either.
So that was why they called him the Gray Ghost. He had no face, just a smooth expanse of gray skin. No eyes. No nose. He had a mouth—now hanging open—but no teeth.
Her blood ran cold.
“A golem!” Hothgar’s voice boomed. “Who has entered a golem into the tournament?”
Ursula yanked her sword from the creature’s neck. A sticky, gray substance covered the blade.
She glanced at Bael, her next opponent.
She’d seen him raising one of these creatures in the mushroom forest. So what, exactly, did he know about this? From what she could remember of the demon books in her New York library, golems did as their masters commanded.
As she walked across the field of blood, Hothgar’s demon guards circled the golem where it lay on the sand.
“Destroy it,” Hothgar shouted.
Ursula turned to watch the action.
Around the golem, the guards chanted in Angelic. A chill rippled over the crater as air thickened with shadow magic. When the demons incanted the final words of the spell, the magic condensed into a sphere no larger than a marble.
The sphere hovered above the golem’s body. The gray flesh seemed to lift and bend up toward the marble. A crack reverberated over the crater, the golem’s body snapped, condensing. The sphere of magic sucked the golem into its darkness. An instant later, nothing remained of the golem but a few lonely pieces of gray cloth fluttering on the sand.
Chapter 46
The soldiers cleared the field of the golem’s ichor.
It was just her and Bael, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Right now, the thought of him terrified her.
Pain splintered up her leg. The cut in her calf wouldn’t kill her on its own, but it would slow her down considerably. That in and of itself was probably a death sentence. Especially given her opponent.
She stole a glance at him.
He kept his eyes on the horizon. He didn’t want to look at her, either.
Hothgar spoke, “Great men—and a golem—have bled their last on the sand today. Before the final duel begins, let us honor the sacrifice of these champions of Nyxobas.”
A great cheer rose from the crowd.
Hothgar continued, “I would have never believed it myself, but the final duel will be between Bael, the Lord of Abelda, and Ursula, the hound of Emerazel.”
Finally, at least, he was using respectable names.
“This will be a clash of the fallen versus the filthy…” Hothgar continued.
Anger simmered. Okay. Fuck this guy.
“...Of night versus fire.” His voice boomed over the crater. “Neither worthy of the House of Abelda.” He raised his hands to the sky. “But let us hope that it will be epic!”
Ursula glanced up at the Earth, bathing the crater in a blue light.
From beneath Nyxobas’s statue, Hothgar declared, “Step forward onto the field of blood.”
Ursula looked down at the blood-streaked sand as she walked, her heart a hunted animal. Only when she’d taken her place in the center of the arena did she look up at Bael. He wasn’t even bothering with his helmet for this fight, and she could see his grim expression, his lips pressed tight. She tried to catch his eye, but he looked past her like she wasn’t there.
Instinctively, she scanned his weapons a final time. The silver sword, still stained with Inth’s blood. Right now, he was probably thinking about how much power he was about to regain. He’d claim back his wings, his manor. His immortality. All he had to do was slaughter her.
And given everything she’d seen tonight, he hardly had to break a sweat.
Dark terror clawed at her ribs, and her legs began to shake. She knew what was coming—Bael’s dagger in her chest. The slackened jaw, her skin as gray as the golem’s. And then, the void.
Don’t give up yet, Ursula.
Her teeth chattered, and she gripped the katana tighter, her palms sweating.
“The final duel.” Hothgar gripped his mallet.
Ursula’s calculations gave way to raw panic, and her mind raced, desperately searching for an escape. But this place wasn’t built for an escape, and it wasn’t like she could flee unnoticed with this crowd watching.
The katana shook in her hand. I need to focus. I need calm so I can think straight again.
She imagined her fingers wrapping around the silver ring in her pocket, feeling its smooth solidity. Just like her white rock. Her breathing slowed, and her gaze flicked to Hothgar.
He slammed his mallet into the gong with a thunderous crash, and the sound vibrated through her bones.
She kept her eyes locked on Bael—that perfect, godlike face. His chiseled chest. He stood unmoving, shadow magic flickering about him.
And if there was one thing that terrified her about Bael, it was his stillness.
His eyes bored into hers. He wasn’t going to move until she attacked. She’d already watched him fight.
The other champions had tried to attack him first, and that had backfired on all of them. Brutally. Like the Gray Ghost, she needed to get him to move.
“Are you going to fight?” she yelled.
He didn’t stir. Not a single twitch of a muscle.
She tightened her grip on the sword. “It was me, by the way. I broke into your quarters.” A risky move. He might give her a painful death now instead of an easy one, but she wanted to throw him off balance.
The sad truth was—even though she knew he’d come here to kill her, that he’d do whatever he could to reclaim his manor—she still couldn’t bring herself to drive her sword through his chest. Not unless he was coming for her, his sword drawn.
She still wasn’t thinking like a real predator. And how could she? She’d saved his life—but he’d saved hers countless times. He’d healed her wounds, taught her magic. He’d brought her a sword, freshly sharpened.
So how the fuck am I supposed to muster up any bloodlust?
She swallowed hard. His wife. Cera had told her what he’d done—he’d murdered his own wife. There simply wasn’t a good explanation for that, no matter how much she wanted to like him.
She let the words play in her head like a mantra... Wife-killer...wife-killer...wife-killer....
She needed to shatter that cool, impenetrable exterior. If she wanted any hope of saving her own life, she had to light a fire in him, to see the real Bael.
A chill spread through her body, and she looked him dead in the eyes. “Don’t give me any of your false chivalry,” she said in a cool, even voice. “The women in the Shadow Realm are just property, isn’t that right? Nothing more, nothing less. I thought maybe you were different, but now I know the truth.”
A muscle twitched in Bael’s jaw, and a deathly silence fell over the arena. Maybe the Brethren knew what she was talking about.
“Nice of you to keep Elissa’s portrait up there for a while.” A gnawing void seemed to open in her chest as she spoke. This wasn’t her—but it was a role she had to play if she wanted to live. She had to let the ice take hold of her heart. “Until you stuffed her back into your storage room.”
Across from her, Bael’s muscles tightened. The shadow magic flickered around him, thickening into a mist. At that moment, Ursula knew she h
ad him. Her pulse raced hard, and her fingers gripped the hilt so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Because what would you be without your guilt?” she said. “Forget Abelda Manor. Regret is your real home, and you’d be nothing without it.”
With a terrifying roar, Bael charged, shadow running right for her. Ice rushed through Ursula’s veins. But she was ready. At the last possible instant, she ducked, and brought her katana up, spearing him in the gut. Hot blood pumped onto her hands.
Her eyes flashed to his sword hand, searching for a counter attack.
But he hadn’t brought his sword. He’d charged without his weapon.
The world seemed to sway below her feet. What the fuck have I done? “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tilting her head to look up at him.
He stared at her, his eyes wide.
Her hands shaking, she pulled the blade from his gut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
He clutched his stomach, blood pouring between his fingers. But he didn’t fall. Instead, he stood, staring at her, his eyes darkening to a wrathful black.
Now, she no longer saw Bael looking back at her. Near death, the primal part of his mind had switched on, and the void itself stared back at her.
Chapter 47
The Bael she knew was gone. And now, she’d meet the real predator.
Faster than a heartbeat, one of his hands clamped around her throat. And in the next moment, she fell back, her skull slamming against the ground.
The knock of her head against the sand dizzied her, and she looked up at Bael. He pinned her to the ground, a dagger pressed into her heart.
Despite the damage she’d done to his stomach, he seemed to be at full strength. Obviously, she wasn’t a real predator. She’d missed all the organs.
Panic ignited. This is it. This is what I’ve known was coming.
The crowd roared, but Ursula could hardly hear them over her own rushing blood. She wouldn’t be able to move an inch without Bael thrusting his dagger into her heart. He had her completely pinned to the ground, under his control.
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