Lincoln: Angelbound Book 2 with bonus novella, Duty Bound

by Bauer, Christina;

  This has officially become a form of torture. “Not following.”

  “The Ryder mansion has a library here with tons of books. Supposedly there are ones here that you can’t find anywhere else in the after-realms. Shall we go there … alone?”

  The alone part is not all that interesting. That said, the prospect of finding unique books on the Tithe is rather intriguing. And it’s also excellent way to redeem this time with Adair. If I get a good book out of the situation, my day won’t be completely wasted.

  “That’s an excellent idea,” I say. “Lead on.”

  * * *

  It takes a while to find the library itself. Turns out, Adair is an act first and ask questions later kind of person. In this case, that means meandering around the grounds while Adair insists the library was just ahead. At last, we run across the Ryders, a lovely couple who give us quick directions to the spot in question. They even offer us to borrow any book we fancy. We then meander even farther off path until we run across the Ghoul Minister. Fortunately, Gasbag was able to give us exact directions on where to find books on the Great Scala. After so much wandering to just reach the library, I’m happy to know how to quickly find the book we need.

  And it only cost me another basket of worms.

  Eventually, we reach the top floor in the mansion, which is where the library may be found. The place is a maze of freestanding bookshelves that wind across the floor. Bay windows line the far wall of the space. Everything is freshly painted and gleaming. All in all, a lovely spot.

  I make a quick scan of the shelves. A section marked Tithe sits by the front door. Sadly, there are no titles there that I haven’t already received. There’s a shelf for new arrivals, though. Nothing sit there now, but I make a mental note to check it another day. In fact, I’m so absorbed in my thoughts, I don’t notice that Adair has snuck up behind me. When I step away from the bookshelf, I almost knock her over.

  “Lincoln, don’t!” She giggles yet again. “You’ll muss my dress.”

  “Apologies.” It really isn’t like me to miss someone creeping up on me, so I don’t have much experience in these situations. That said, I know it’s polite to say something kind. My thoughts race until an idea appears. “It’s such a lovely dress too.” Adair goes back to blinking and making smooching faces.

  Uh, oh. Perhaps that was too kind.

  I clear my throat. “The minister said the Libra Scala would be over here.” With those words, I take off to the shelf in question. Adair follows closely behind.

  “Oh, I think I see it.” Although the volume sits at shoulder-height, Adair hops up and down, her fingers twiddling toward the book. “Oh my, the shelf’s soooo high. Could you please pull the book down for me?”

  “Of course, Lady Adair.” I remove the volume for her.

  “Thank you, your Highness.” More giggling. Is it me, or is her laughter turning more shrill with time?

  “You’re welcome.”

  “While we have a moment, I want to say something. I was so honored that you invited me to join Verus at the Arena match.”

  Actually, Mother invited all the nobility in my name, but that’s beside the point. “My pleasure,” I state. “I thought you’d enjoy the battle.”

  “The fighting was fine, I suppose. But I really enjoyed seeing you act so graciously afterwards.” She tilts her head in a movement that says, anything to add?

  Once more, Adair is acting as a spy for Aldred. She’s testing my interest in Myla. It’s enough to make my blood boil. Much as I want to tell Adair in no uncertain terms to leave Myla alone, that will only paint a target on my girl’s back. I’ve played an anti-demonic douchebag before, I can certainly do so again. Especially if that performance keeps Myla safe.

  “You mean when I gave the demon an award?” I ask.

  “Yes. That demon girl was so lucky you didn’t kill her.”

  “Well, I–”

  “Demons don’t stand a chance against real thrax warriors.”

  Adair steps closer to me, and I take a corresponding movement in the opposite direction. “It’s not really fair to compare a thrax and a demon girl, Lady Adair.”

  “I don’t know if you’d think me too forward, but–”

  “But what?”

  “May I feel the muscle of your arm?”

  Now, playing a rogue is one thing. Allowing Adair to touch me is another. “I’m not sure, Adair.”

  “Just for one second? Please.”

  Steeling my spine, I offer Adair my arm. She grips my biceps and squeezes rapid-fire style, like she’s milking a cow.

  Awkward, thy name is Adair.

  “Oooh! So strong.” Adair exhales a dramatic sigh. “How could any girl ask you to ‘name the time and place’ to fight?”

  Now, it’s one thing for me to play the rogue. It’s another for Adair to critique Myla in any way, shape or form. All rational thought fades from my mind as I level Adair with my most serious gaze. “We need to return to the others now, Milady.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean …That is, I didn’t think …”

  Without waiting for my so-called companion, I take off for the gardens once more.

  Fun time with Adair is officially over. Forever.

  13

  My plan is to avoid Adar forever. The reality is that there’s this blasted Scala heir awakening ceremony I must attend. All of which is why I’m now riding Nightshade into the parking lot outside Purgatory Arena. Beyond the asphalt, there stand industrial buildings made of chipped brick, broken up by warehouses made from corrugated metal.

  Night whinnies. It’s her way of saying, stop stalling.

  Leaning forward, I pat her neck. “All right, girl.”

  Night scrapes at the ground. She’s excited about something. “What is it?” I ask. “Show me.”

  My horse takes off at a gallop, pausing by a back access doors. This is the same place she dropped me off when I saw Myla fight.

  “We’re not here to watch her,” I say. “This is another ceremony today.” And yes, I asked around to confirm. There are no arena fights as part of the awakening. All that will happen is Verus performing the ritual to transform lady Adair into the Scala Heir.

  Night wags her head from side to side. You’re wrong.

  I slide off Night and step toward the door. “How do you know?”

  In reply, Night sniffs. Loudly.

  “You smell her?”

  In a broad movement, my horse arcs her head up and down. Yes.

  A jolt of excitement moves through me. Myla is here. I pat Night’s neck again. “Thanks, girl. Appreciate it.” Pulling on the back door, I slip into the access corridor. Once again, it’s a bit of winding path to my chosen passage to the arena floor.

  Garbled voices echo in from up ahead. This could be nothing. Then again, I might learn something useful. Call it a hunter’s instinct, but I creep in closer, careful to keep in the shadows.

  “You’re certain he doesn’t know?” I can’t see the speaker, but there’s no question who’s talking right now. Aldred.

  “Positive,” replies another familiar voice. Adair.

  My brows lift. Aldred and Adair? From a reconnaissance perspective, this is a major coup. Someone’s getting an extra bucket of oats when I return to camp.

  “It was all Verus,” continues Adair. “She kept it a secret.”

  My pulse speeds a bit. What secret?

  “Nobody knew that demon girl would be here today,” adds Adair.

  I wind my mouth into a Cheshire Cat grin. I love this secret.

  “You know tight-lipped the Queen of the Angels can be,” finishes Adair. “Not even Octavia knew about it.”

  “This can work,” says Aldred. “I’m not angry you didn’t know the she-demon was coming. What’s important is that we found out before Lincoln. Now run through the plan with me.”

  “I’ll be awakened as the Scala Heir.” Her voice takes on a dreamy tone. “Lincoln will be confirmed as my Angelbound love. Then he’ll b
e mine, just like you promised.”

  I shake my head. The Earl of Acca is unhinged. Who is Aldred to promise me to anyone? It’s true that my father gives Aldred whatever he wants, but that doesn’t include me. Father may not have a spine, but mine’s more than intact.

  “And what else?” asks Aldred.

  “We’ll walk off the arena floor and pass the demon girl. I’ll make sure she knows that Lincoln is mine.”

  “I’ll be close by. I’ve been talking to the major houses. Spreading rumors about Lincoln and the demon girl. If he decides to court a demon, there are some thrax who might just start a hunting party.”

  Rage zooms through my nervous system. Hunting party? Aldred is still on that? I clutch the wall so hard, I’m surprised I don’t pull out a brick.

  “Don’t say that,” warns Adair. “My Prince gets super angry when you talk about hunting quasis.”

  “That’s why we’ll keep this a secret, just between us. Trust to me and I’ll make things happen. Remember, if Lincoln does anything that hints at caring for this she-demon—anything at all—then you let me know.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Good girl. We better rejoin the others. It won’t do to appear suspicious.”

  The crunching of footsteps sounds as Adair and Aldred step out from the corridor and onto the arena floor. Normally, I’d spend a few minutes thinking through the implications of Adair and Aldred’s conversation. But the prospect of seeing Myla is just too enticing. The moment those two are out of earshot, I slip up to exit archway and peer out.

  Indeed, my girl is here.

  In her dragonscale fighting suit.

  Playing rock-paper-scissors with her tail.

  Marvelous.

  And such a Myla thing to do. Anyone else might stand around, yawning. But Myla finds ways to stir up activity and excitement, even if it’s merely hand gestures against her tail. Watching her, a weight lifts from my soul. Gazing upon my girl today? That’s a gift I never expected.

  A group of warrior quasis stand near Myla. Verus must have asked them here as an honorary guard from Purgatory. Which makes sense, considering how important the Scala is to sorting souls.

  It might be a moment or an hour, but I’m content to simply hide in the shadows while watching Myla goof around. What would it be like to stand beside her and actually join the fun? I picture Erasmus and Chione at the garden party. They strolled along, held each other’s hands and shared smiles. A band of sadness tightens around my rib cage.

  What would I give to have that with Myla, if just for an hour?

  I shake my head. That’s not something I can consider at this point. Adair and Aldred’s conversation returns to mind, the memory pressing in like a vise. Once again, I must play the villain to keep Myla safe. Aldred has determined that Myla may be the biggest impediment to his beloved marriage treaty.

  He’s not wrong. I might have signed that horrible document before I met Myla. Still, I definitely would have skipped inking that thing after I met Adair. All in all, that betrothal treaty was always doomed. My parents say that love has no place in a royal marriage.

  Well, loathing has no spot, either.

  New voices echo in from the arena floor. Most are asking some version of, Prince Lincoln, where are you?

  Leaning against the passage arch, I soak in my last look at Myla.

  Time to play a rogue. Again.

  I retrace my steps in the passageway, then navigate through other underground tunnels. Soon I reach the spot where all the thrax are gathered. It’s a large stone chamber that’s a staging area. Members from all the great houses wait here. In some ways, the awakening ceremony is a lot like the awards ceremony, only in this version, there’s a bit where I show off the battle practices of our great houses.

  Warrior displays are my thing, so I go through each group and review what they’ll do. Before I know it, it’s time for us to march onto the arena floor. A familiar scene greets me there. On one side of the arena, angels fill the tiered stone benches. On the other, there are demons. Verus and Armageddon keep their typical balcony seats.

  Only difference? Myla and the other quasi warriors stand by the periphery of the arena floor. I make a point of not staring in her direction. Aldred’s words are too clear in my mind.

  If he decides to court a demon, there are some thrax who might start a hunting party.

  Once the warrior display is over, there’s a painful section where Adair makes a great show of swooning and claiming our never-ending love for each other. Not feeling it, personally. Adair then claims to wield igni, the magical power of the Great Scala. I recently saw Maxon Bane wield true igni—he summoned thousands of tiny lightning bolts into a whirling column. What Adair calls look more like sparkles than igni, but what so I know? Verus seems convinced.

  At last, it’s time to process off the arena floor. Sure enough, Adair makes a beeline for the archway next to Myla because. Aldred’s other command echoes through my mind.

  If Lincoln does anything that hints at caring for this she-demon—anything at all—then you let me know.

  All of which means one thing. Adair is doing this as some kind of love test. Is there any kind of deeper hatred than loathing someone? When it comes to Adair I’m really starting to explore that question.

  As I close in on Myla, fresh tendrils of energy ricochet between us. This time, the sensation flares between interest, connection and pure rage.

  Walker was right. She’s learning to hate me. Only the process isn’t complete.

  Yet.

  Adair moves to stand beside me, wrapping her arm around mine. Normally, I’d gently brush her aside. Not this time. It’s better if Myla thinks my heart is promised to another, even if that person is Adair.

  This isn’t about me. It’s to keep Myla safe.

  Maybe if I keep thinking that, this won’t hurt so badly.

  As we walk past Myla, Adair gives my arm a squeeze. “What do they call these lesser demons again? Partials? Semis?”

  It’s a reflex reaction for my gaze to land on Myla. The pure fury in her face feels as painful as a punch. It’s an effort, but I keep my features unreadable. “I’m not sure.”

  “Whatever they’re called, I’m glad they saw ‘real warriors’ in action today.” Adair does that move where she speed-squeezes my bicep. Not my favorite.

  For a moment, I debate telling Adair that a real warrior stands before her. Myla Lewis. But then, I think back to the alternating waves of interest and hatred I felt from Myla. My caring for her places her at risk, either from attack or heartbreak. I recall that Vantys demon, steel my soul, and do the right thing.

  “Yes,” I say in a loud voice. “I’m sure it was quite an education for the poor creatures.”

  The look of pain on Myla’s face strikes me through. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt her, and yet, it seems as if that’s what I must do, time and again.

  14

  After this morning’s encounter with Adair and Myla, I spend the remainder of the day leading battle training. The autumn tourney ground is getting reseeded with grass, so our practice had moved to a nearby clearing.

  Right now, four young lords stand before me: Acton from Acca, Husani from Horus, Francesco from Striga, and Birju from Kamal. Of all these houses, it’s Acca that still needs the most help. The dissolus outbreak in their territory is skyrocketing. Sure, dissolus are invisible to the human eye. But if enough of them merge, that might change … And humans don’t react well when confronted with proof of the demonic world.

  Which brings me back to battle training. These lords need to learn how to hold a sword before they can master the nuances of fighting a goop monster.

  I hold a wooden practice sword before me. “You each hold a practice sword.”

  “Why not a real one?” whines Acton. Of course, it’s Acca that wants to start off deadly.

  “Prove yourself with this first.” The way I say that statement, there isn’t an opening for further argument. “We begi
n with stance. Don’t face your opponent straight on—that creates too large of a target. Instead, present yourself at an angle.” They all stare at me, open mouthed. “Why don’t you all try? Assume I’m the opponent.”

  The four lords angle themselves. Essentially, they shift their shoulders a little and that’s it. Based on the nervous glances to the sidelines, I can see the problem.

  It’s Adair.

  The Scala Heir and her ladies now stand beside the practice field, whispering and giggling. That’s no distraction to a seasoned warrior, but these four have never been cloud-side on demon patrol. They’ve no idea what they’re doing, so every movement feels like it’s under a microscope. I know. I remember the sensation as well. Only I was five when I started battle training, so girls were still yucky in my mind.

  Behind Adair and her friends, Mother waits on the sidelines as well. She has her scheming face on today, which involves narrowing her eyes while thinning her mouth.

  Well, Mother can plot away. I have battle training to finish.

  I go from lord to lord, grasping their shoulders and moving them into better position. “That’s it,” I say at last. “Again, I’m the opponent. Now you present a far smaller target.”

  Once more, the laughter strikes up from Adair and company. Tension moves through the bodies of the four warriors. It’s as if someone exploded a bomb nearby, not a bunch of giggles. Leaning in, I lower my voice. “I realize our audience may be distracting, but it’ll be worse when your spectator is a ten-foot tall demon.”

  The lords all nod and refocus. Excellent. Practice is back.

  I swipe the air with my sword. “Your practice weapons are weighted to match their metal counterparts. There are six key slicing motions you must practice. Learn these until they’re deep in your muscle memory.” I scan the lord’s faces. Unfortunately, they’re all distracted again. Only this time, they aren’t looking over at Adair and her ladies. I follow the line of their gazes, and there she is.