Redeemed by Rubies (A Dance with Destiny Book 6)

by JK Ensley

  “Think about it, Arch.” She matched his glare. “Am I not the most irritating little enigma you have ever come across? Doesn’t even the sight of me cause you the greatest stress? Perhaps my sole purpose in being created was simply to drive the fallen ones mad. I mean, did you see what shape Apollyon was in when I stepped into this forever-damned darkness? And just look at the mighty soul-eater over there.” She nodded toward Ahriman. “Did you ever think the day would come when he would be foaming at the mouth, his cold demeanor gone, groveling at your feet like a dog begging for treats? Look what I have done to him. His very existence is now plagued with constant torment.” She looked the flaming-haired Arch straight in the eyes. “And what of you, great Shamsiel? What have you become? The proud commander of countless legions… begging help from hell’s Sage, whining and crying saying why, why, why. You have fallen the farthest, Brother. Oh, if Uriel could only see you now.” She smiled sardonically. “Perhaps that’s the secret Father shared with me. Perhaps He told me to go forth and bring epic pain and torment to all who had betrayed Him. If that is my purpose for being created…” She casually shrugged her shoulders. “Then, I am happy with that destiny. It has been ever so much fun.”

  Shamsiel didn’t even growl before slapping her across the face.

  Jenevier immediately tore into the Arch, trying her best to scratch out his blood-colored eyes.

  *****

  When Ahriman managed to finally pull her off the Arch, Shamsiel was laughing. Bleeding from the corners of his mouth, yes… but laughing, all the same.

  “There’s a bit of that fire, eh?” He wiped the blood from his chin, wincing when he brushed across his busted lip. “Good. It will serve you well here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Shamsiel stood up, dusting off his clothing. “What I’m talking about… is your bite. But you’re going to have to sharpen up your teeth a bit, if you plan on winning.”

  “Winning?” She furrowed her brow. “Winning what?”

  “Yourself,” Ahriman whispered close to her ear.

  Jenevier jerked free of the soul-eater and stood toe-to-toe with Shamsiel.

  “Explain yourself, Arch.”

  “I thought I already had.” Shamsiel casually shrugged his shoulders. “I will win the tournament, of course.”

  “Tournament?”

  “Yes.” He winked at her then. “No matter who you once were, tiny Angel… you are no longer that creature. Your fierceness has been sorely diminished. That being said… I will win you and trade you to Father for Talia.”

  “You are mad.” Jenevier shook her head. “Seriously, Great Grandpapa… you have gone completely around the bend.” She met his fiery, maddened gaze. “Tell me true. How is it you see this all playing out?”

  Shamsiel didn’t answer.

  “Let’s say your wicked plan comes to fruition,” she continued. “Let’s say that maybe—just maybe—you best me and talk Father into meeting your demands. What then?”

  “What do you mean, what then?”

  “Exactly as I said.” Jenevier smiled. “What then? What if Father really does give you Talia? Do you think she will be pleased with you?”

  “Of course she will be pleased with me.” Shamsiel sort of snorted. “Talia loves me. She will be overjoyed to be wrapped within my worshipping embrace once more.”

  “That’s truly what you think, isn’t it?” Jenevier half chuckled. “Yep, crazier than a cream-drunk Fairy.”

  Shamsiel grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. “What are you mumbling about?”

  “Think upon it, Arch,” Jenevier spat. “Talia is not in hell, is she?”

  “No. Of course she isn’t.”

  “Then… where is she?”

  Shamsiel didn’t answer.

  Jenevier jerked free of his grasp. “I can tell you from experience… the only thing worse than Sheol is hell itself. If Talia isn’t there, she damn sure isn’t going to be happy with you dragging her out of whatever paradise she has been living in and bringing her to this Godforsaken Otherworld. You’ll be happy, yes. But great-whatever-grandmother… not so much.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Fine.” Jenevier held up her hands. “Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Grandpapa.”

  “I don’t sleep,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Yeah, well that just gives you all the more time for whining.”

  Ahriman grabbed her hand. “Please, Jenevier. Please don’t goad him so.”

  Jenevier jerked free. “Why?” She snorted out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you are scared of this sorry excuse for a Seraph. Come on, Ahriman. What’s happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—where the hell is that fierce soul-eater I once knew?”

  When Shamsiel chuckled, Jenevier turned to him.

  “You think this is all pretty funny, huh?”

  Shamsiel just shrugged his shoulders again.

  “Very well, then… where do you want to fight, old man?” Jenevier glanced around. “You pick the place, and let’s get this ball rolling. I have no intention of hanging around here a moment more than is absolutely necessary.”

  “As you say.” He mockingly bowed toward her, motioning with a wave of his hand. “Right this way, Empress.”

  *****

  Hell itself was outer darkness. Jenevier remembered it well. A dark so dark you could feel it. If she would have had to describe Sheol, it was more of an eerie darkness. It wasn’t light by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t complete darkness either.

  “I wasn’t expecting to be able to see in Sheol,” she mumbled.

  “It’s the witch-vines,” Ahriman said, pointing. “See there?”

  Jenevier focused on the strange clump growing closest to the trail they now walked.

  “Vines?” She half snorted. “Looks more like tentacles, to me. To call them vines would imply that leaves were involved.”

  “They are only called witch-vines. In truth, they are roots. Not vines. But the way they twist and grow and spread… I can tell why they are named thusly.”

  Ahriman tried to take her hand, but Jenevier jerked free.

  “I suppose they would be sort of a vine,” he continued, unfazed. “If we were above the ground. Since we are not, they are roots.”

  Jenevier glanced sideways at the soul-eater. “We are underground?”

  He nodded. “Not only is Sheol a far different realm than you have ever visited before… it is subterranean as well.”

  “So… you can dig your way out of Sheol,” she mused.

  Ahriman furrowed his brow. “No. What in the universe would make you think that?”

  “Ahriman, to say that Sheol is underground implies that there is also an above ground. Such being the case, one could dig their way out of here.”

  “How very logical sounding, Angel.” He chuckled. “But false. You cannot dig your way out of Sheol because there is no out. It’s just ground. No skies. No stars. No fresh air. Just… underneath.”

  When Ahriman once again tried to take her hand, Jenevier nearly punched him.

  “Can you please just shut-up now, soul-eater? Oh, and quit trying to touch me. It makes me want to vomit.”

  Ahriman stopped walking then, pain twisting his ridiculously handsome features.

  “Why would you say such a thing as that?” he whispered softly. “Why would you joke about our love?”

  “Our love?” Jenevier snorted. “There is no love between us, Angel. What we once shared was a magical lie. You know it, and I know it. To act otherwise is simply ludicrous.”

  “But… on Earth you—”

  “On Earth I was enamored, spellbound. As were you, Brother.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You helped me complete a summons I had lost total control over. You saved me, yes. For that… I am grateful.” She glanced away. “The closeness we shared during my crucible there… i
t caused us—caused me—to become lax in my purpose. Your forced absence has changed all that.”

  “…The bracelet,” he mumbled to himself.

  Jenevier nodded. “When you gifted me that shackle, you did more than just save me from you… you opened my eyes, Vybius. You gave me the chance to see clearly.”

  His eyes brightened, hope sparking within them. “And what is it you saw, little one? In my absence, what were you able to glean?”

  “Hatred… Disdain… Shame…” She met his pain-filled gaze. “I saw who you truly are, Vybius. What you truly are. And… what I almost sacrificed because of you, because of my weakness for you. That is one mistake that will never happen again.” She turned from him then. “You saved me from Valencia—meted out punishment worthy of her crimes. Gratitude, Brother. For that favor, for the smiles we shared, for the poetry and laughs and tenderness… I will stay my hand at killing you. For the kindness you once showed me, I will suppress my vengeance… for now.”

  The soul-eater stood there, silent, as he watched her walk away. By the time she had caught up with Shamsiel, Ahriman’s bitter tears had soaked through the collar of his elegant tunic.

  “Hey, Red?” Jenevier said. “What’s with all the statues?”

  Shamsiel abruptly stopped, then slowly turned to face her. “What did you just call me?”

  “I called you by your color. I figured Ruby sounded too feminine.” She motioned with a nod. “So… what’s with all the strange artwork?”

  Shamsiel growled before glancing in the direction she was looking. “It isn’t artwork, you trifling little nuisance.”

  When she giggled at his attempt to insult her, the Arch just rolled his eyes. Instead of waiting for his answer, Jenevier strolled over to the many odd statues surrounding them.

  She pecked on one. “Is that… Prisalyn?” She touched another. “Granite? And… this one feels like marble.”

  “That’s because it is marble… idiot,” Shamsiel mumbled.

  She turned back to him, sent him a troubled, questioning look.

  Shamsiel rolled his eyes again. “They are now what they were,” he said, exasperated.

  She raised a single brow. “Wow… Thanks for clearing that up, Brother. You’re about as helpful as a wooden skillet.”

  Ahriman silently approached her, head bowed. “They are creatures from Sheol,” he said in a low voice. “These are their remains… after the battle. What they were, they are.” He gently touched the same one she was. “This was once a Guardian.”

  Jenevier’s eyes went wide. She jerked her hand away from the cold marble statue.

  “…A… Guardian…” she whispered, in unbelieving awe.

  Ahriman nodded. “The stone ones are either Gargoyles or Vargalites. You can tell by looking at the face. Vargalites have these lower protruding tusks. See?” He touched one as he spoke. “The black granite ones are mostly the really ancient races: Tospians, Krendors, Lanunes, and the like. Trolls turn into hardened clay—sturdier than you might think, though.”

  “I didn’t understand half of the words you just used,” she said, gently touching the forearm of the large sculpture in front of her. “This was once an Angel, wasn’t it?”

  Ahriman approached her. “Yes. Most Angels turn into Prisalyn. Not all.”

  “But… why?” She turned to him. “Why are they like this?”

  “They lost in the arena.” He touched one of her curls, but withdrew immediately. “You can never leave Sheol. Once you are sent here, you wait. When these creatures were defeated in battle, their souls turned to what you see here. They will now continue their wait in this form.”

  Jenevier bit her bottom lip and looked away.

  “It’s not that bad,” Ahriman said softly. “If one must wait for eons on end, why not do so as a silent statue? The agonizing time must pass quicker this way,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

  Jenevier gazed at the soul-eater’s sad profile a moment, before shaking her head and turning away.

  “When was there a battle?” Jenevier looked then to Shamsiel. “When did war come to Sheol?”

  “Not war, Empress… sport.”

  “Sport?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “These were brought here from the arena. Don’t feel bad for them. They chose this. If you are not the victor, your remaining time will be spent in silence.”

  “Arena? Chose this?” She shook her head. “Why would you choose this? What does the winner get?”

  “They get to continue on… live to battle another day,” Shamsiel said.

  “Yes, but why?” Jenevier turned to Ahriman. “What are they all fighting for? What is so valuable that you’d risk this?” She motioned toward the frozen creatures surrounding them.

  “I thought we had already been through this,” Shamsiel said. “They get… you.”

  Jenevier spun back to face him. “What did you just say?”

  “They are fighting for you, Angel—the whole of Sheol. Well… fighting for the chance to get to use you.”

  “Use me? How?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “However they see fit. Ahriman, there…” He nodded toward the other Angel. “…wishes you his eternal lover. I already told you what I want with you. As far as the others… who knows? Perhaps they fight out of boredom. Perhaps they just want to see who is the strongest. And then… perhaps there are a few who simply wonder what you taste like.”

  When Jenevier grimaced, Shamsiel started laughing.

  “The tournament started the day Rixx was sent to watch over you,” Ahriman said. “From that day until this, the arena has been open.”

  “You mean, the inhabitants of Sheol have been at war… all these years? Fighting for something they didn’t even know for sure would happen?”

  “Oh, we knew it would happen,” Shamsiel said. “We just weren’t sure when it would happen. It took a while to set all the pieces into play, as you can well imagine. Now… here you are.” He smiled. “Come, Milady. Follow me to the tournament being held in your honor. Count these many statues along the way as tribute to your pricelessness.”

  Shamsiel chuckled as he went on ahead, leaving Jenevier and Ahriman to stare after him.

  Chapter 22

  Ardune

  (arr-DUNE)

  The arena was enormous, almost completely covered in witch-vine. It glowed so brightly, they could see it while they were yet afar off.

  “Isn’t it magnificent?” Shamsiel said as they entered the grandstands. “Welcome to Gilbad, Your Highness, ancient arena of the old ones.”

  “Well now… who do we have here?”

  When he spoke, Jenevier turned to the dark-skinned man with flowing white hair.

  “Seems Shamsiel has brought us a new contestant,” he said, smirking. “Will you be joining the games, my Lady?”

  Jenevier looked the stranger up and down, same as he did her. The small man with grey pupils stood eye-to-eye with her. When she smiled at him, his shock was obvious.

  “Nope,” she said. “I didn’t come here to fight. Well… I might kill Ahriman… eventually.”

  The man glanced over her shoulder at the Angel, and then back to her. He smiled.

  “So… what are you?” She almost giggled. “I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before.”

  “And I have never seen anyone quite like you before, either,” he said. “Are you Angel?”

  “Not anymore.” Jenevier shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m just a girl now. Just a human.”

  “You are not just anything, my Lady.” He bowed slightly. “I am a Drowl—dark Elf warrior to the high King, Thacius.”

  “Thacius, his kingdom, and all its people, have long since passed,” Ahriman said. “Eons ago they inhabited a large portion of Dimthe Leard. When their time in this universe came to an end, Father sent the Drowl here… until He decides what to do with them.”

  “…Drowl…” Jenevier whispered the strange word.

  “Thacius named them that,” Ahriman sa
id. “Because of their onyx skin and those large, bright eyes. It’s short for dark owl—Drowl. Kind of looks like one, doesn’t he? Oh, and they are not Elves. They were labeled thusly because of those extremely long, pointy ears.”

  When Jenevier didn’t speak, Ahriman leaned over her shoulder and said to the Drowl, “This one is but a babe, Ardune… hasn’t even seen her first century. You are an oddity to her.”

  “I see…” Ardune took her hand and gently kissed it. “Then allow this oddity the honor of introducing you to some more creatures you have probably never seen before.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Shamsiel said. “When this battle is over…” He motioned to the combatants on the arena floor. “…I will make her introduction myself. You may go now.”

  Ardune bowed again, then whispered, “Human girl… if I had a heart, I would love you.”

  “Then be glad you are not burdened so, Drowl,” Ahriman said. “This human girl plays hell with those cursed thusly.”

  “Ahh…” Ardune smiled. “So you are the girl who managed to get that wicked soul-eater off torture and darkness, eh? Wow. You must be a rare creature indeed.” He glanced over her shoulder, toward the smirking dark Angel. “Ahriman, tell me. Where did you meet this fabled unicorn?”

  “Skipping through hell,” Ahriman said. “Where’d you expect?”

  Ardune bit his bottom lip. “Skipping through hell… Pffts. I would have loved to have seen that for myself.”

  “And just who the blazes are you smiling at, Ardune?” a tall, willowy man said with his approach. “Stop it. Your face looks like you just ate a sour bug.”

  “…Sour bug?” Jenevier whispered, then shivered.

  “I believe this is the girl,” Ardune said.

  “The girl? The girl?” The willowy man laughed. “Ha! You mean, the one who prances about the universe believing in Fairies and wishes and destiny?” He laughed again.

  “Fairies are real,” Jenevier mumbled under her breath.

  “Let me get a look at her.” The willowy man bent down closer. “Hmm… Tell me, little girl. Do you ride about on a pink Pegasus… pissing magic and bleeding leprechaun tears?”