The Midnight Kingdom, page 54
Her heart sank.
“It’s you,” she whispered. “You’re Deia’s fulcrum.”
Yvri lowered his head. If you mean I am the receptacle into which she placed her crux, then yes. She said she was to fight a war. I could not be seen. More fire rippled along his sides. Could not be free.
Angelica’s fingers turned numb. She hadn’t been able to picture what the fulcrum would look like, imagining only a spherical, effervescent mass, something intangible she could ingest or merge with her body.
But no. It was in the form of a living, breathing thing with a will of its own. A will spawned from Deia herself.
Her thoughts raced. The stalactites—maybe if she cut off their points, she could catch the wyvern off guard, make use of his imprisonment to stab the point through his throat.
And then what? Would she lap up the blood he spilled, or else do what she had done to Eran Liolle and mutilate the beast to find its prized organs?
Nausea caught her in a vise. For some reason she thought of the tree that grew at Deia’s basilica, its growth stagnant, just as much a prisoner as Angelica was to her House. As Yvri was to this volcano.
They were two beings made and then scorned by their god.
Shoring up her resolve, she stepped toward the wyvern. “Do you want to be free?”
Does the river flow to meet with the sea?
Of course the wyvern spoke in fucking riddles. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you still have loyalty toward Deia? Your creator?”
Yvri exhaled a plume of sulfurous smoke. Toward the one who placed me here for centuries untold? I do not lick the hand that strikes.
The corner of her mouth stretched into a smirk. “Then I’ll cut you a deal. I free you, and in return, you and I will face her together. We’ll make her pay for what she’s done to us.”
Her plan had been to absorb the fulcrum and take Deia’s power. To create a portal big enough for them to flee Azuna and travel along the fault line to Deia’s Heart. She didn’t know if she could access the fulcrum’s magic if it was within another being, but she had to try.
She had to face her god on an even playing field.
The wyvern bared its fangs in a smile, fire pluming between the thick, sharp curves.
Deal, he rumbled.
IX
In the hours before dawn, the Revenants—led by Natsumi holding the Noctan portal sketch—headed for Deia’s Heart.
Dante warned them not to get too close. “There are beasts near the summit,” he explained. “As well as insects that can give you ash blight.”
Brailee winced.
“We’ll draw it a good distance away,” Natsumi assured him. “But where should the center be?”
“As close to Deia’s Heart as you can get without actually encompassing the volcano.” They didn’t need another Bone Palace incident. “Alma said he was going to take the refugee to a hill overlooking the volcano at sunrise. Be on the lookout for something fitting that description.”
After they departed, Dante paced with restless energy, waiting for Camilla to pack her things. Brailee and Saya sat on the couch and watched him like they were spectators of a racquet sport and he was the shuttlecock.
“I don’t want you coming,” Dante said. “But you’re going to insist, aren’t you?”
Brailee rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. If the portal’s opened, I need to be there.”
“You don’t,” Dante countered. “I can go in and bring Taesia back while you return to Nexus.”
“And what about Phos?” she snapped. “If I can reach Rian again, he might be able to resist the god’s thrall.”
“And I need to help the Revenants,” Saya said. “If you want your plan to work, that is.”
Dante made a mental note to never argue with teenage girls. “Fine. But if anyone or anything comes at you, run. You don’t fight, you don’t wait, you get out of there without looking back. Bee, were you able to reach Angelica and Tae?”
His sister nodded. “Angelica’s… in a tricky situation right now, but I told her about the connection between the volcanoes. Hopefully she can reach Mount Netsai in time.” She nervously played with her braid. “I tried to reach Tae, but it was hard. Nyx was impeding me. I think she managed to hear about the portal, though.”
“Well done, Bee.” He hesitated, knowing he was about to step into more sensitive territory. “I was wondering about something. Your power… Would it be possible to manipulate reality the way you do in dreamscapes?”
Brailee thought it over. “Yes. Something similar happened when Nyx p-possessed me. At Godsnight.” Saya scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her. “But I don’t think I’m there yet. Or if I’ll ever be. I’m sorry.”
Dante mussed up her hair, and she made a face at him. “Don’t apologize. Just do what you can, and that’ll be enough.”
Camilla finally came downstairs carrying a pack that must have held the grimoire. “It’ll take us at least two hours to walk there, and we have two hours until dawn. Let’s get going.”
“What, you don’t have thoroughbred horses lined up for us?” Dante drawled.
“If only. I spent the last of my money on this place.” Camilla lifted her hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Goodbye, the Blast Resort. I hope to never lay eyes on your dismal décor ever again.”
The predawn air was chilly, and Dante’s stomach was a riot of nerves that not even the rhythmic waves at their backs could soothe. Under their feet, sand turned to dirt and then to paving stones as they reentered the city proper.
While they walked they chewed on the stale corn flour flatbreads that Camilla had hoarded at the suite, Camilla complaining that they’d be better with sausage. Once they reached the manned northern city gate, Dante rolled his shoulders back and Azideh stirred.
“You do not perceive us,” he said to the guards on duty. “Open the gates.”
“I really hate when you do that,” Brailee mumbled as they passed through. “It’s like you’re taking away their free will.”
“It only lasts a moment,” Dante said. “And it’s to keep us safe.”
“But how is it any better—or any different—than Baron Alma’s manipulation?”
Camilla linked her arm through his before he could answer, lengthening their strides until the girls were behind them.
“You know as well as I do that Brailee is a gentle creature,” his aunt said. “With talons, perhaps, but an aversion to using them. You and Taesia were made different. You fight for what you want. You have the power to make meaningful change. And you understand that power has consequences.”
“Don’t lump me in with you. I wouldn’t betray my own family to further my goals. Speaking of which, how do you plan to revoke my sentence?”
“That will depend on if I can find my son.” Her too-casual expression hardened. “Once I get him on the throne, he can pardon you.”
For years Dante had been dreaming up a new vision for Vaega, one that didn’t rely on a gods-appointed ruler. A parliament focused on people, on infrastructure. If he allowed Camilla to bring Ferdinand’s true heir back to Nexus, that dream would be forfeit.
But he also remembered the mad grief in his aunt’s eyes in her dreamscape, the protective way she’d held her stomach.
“You… you don’t know his name, do you?” he asked softly.
She crumpled behind her mask. She quickly refortified it and said, “No. Ferdinand didn’t allow me to name him, nor did he ever tell me what he had chosen to call him.”
And Dante thought he couldn’t despise the man any more.
Deia’s Heart was about five miles inland of the coast, where the beaches vanished and high cliffs soared. The continuous ash cloud characteristic of Deia’s Heart—ash that enriched the soil that provided southern Vaega’s sturdy output of crops—was only a trickle, and he wondered if the volcano was losing its power as the realm deteriorated. The dome was darkened with dried lava and basalt. If he squinted, Dante thought he could make out the form of a stone giant shifting between the clasts.
The sun was just touching the horizon, spilling sheets of pinkish gold across the landscape. The grass was lush and the foliage abundant, but here and there were the sentinels of dead trees, a slow yet relentless rot.
He is here, Azideh said. I smell him ahead.
Dante looked to the southeast. There were tall hills in the distance, on top of which lay the remains of ancient castros. Scattered across the scenery were knolls and hills, as well as flat, grass-covered plateaus.
Standing on the edge of the plateau nearest to the volcano were three figures.
“Saya, go help Natsumi, then get into position,” Dante said. “Brailee, keep close but stay out of sight.”
The girls nodded and split up. He and Camilla made straight for the plateau, their demons forming at their sides with wide, ready grins.
Tapping into Azideh’s strength, Dante leapt while Camilla vanished. They both landed on the plateau, the sunrise at their backs.
Baron Alma spun around. He quickly took in both demons before narrowing his eyes at Dante. “You. Marizleh was right about having sensed two demons.”
Marizleh lurked at the baron’s side, tall and willowy with skin of cobalt. His hair, like Azideh and Shanizeh’s, was long and shiny, the strands white as bleached bone. His eyes flashed yellow like an animal who hunted at night, and he licked his lips at the sight of the others.
“Marizleh,” Shanizeh sneered. “It has been long since I’ve come across your stink.”
“Shanizeh,” the baron’s demon purred, one long, pointed nail scratching himself across his bare chest. “Still foul as ever.”
Dante ignored them and focused on the refugee. Her eyes were clear, and when he read her mind, he only encountered the calmness Alma had invoked in her.
“Baron Alma,” Dante said. “Is it true that you’ve been sacrificing innocents all these years?”
Alma sighed as if they had caught him in the middle of a meeting rather than an occult ritual.
“It wasn’t as though I wanted to,” he said lazily. “But the pact with Marizleh forbids me from stopping. A pact, by the way, that I did not choose. If you’re to blame anyone, blame my sires.”
“Your sires aren’t here. And you can stop this.”
Alma gave him the same smile he’d given the people protesting outside of Marcos Ricci’s mausoleum—tolerant, appeasing. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Lord Dante. And might I add: It’s lovely to finally meet in person.”
Dante felt his cheek twitch. So much for going unrecognized.
Alma half turned, indicating the volcano. “Allow me to better explain. These sacrifices also function as offerings to Deia’s Heart. To keep it active. If it dies, the farms that rely on the fertile soil it provides will suffer more than they already have.”
“All of Vitae is dying,” Dante said coldly. “You can’t fix it with ritualistic sacrifices.”
“I assure you, they feel no pain.” Although the baron faced two people he couldn’t manipulate with his power, he still spoke with the slick easiness of it. “I give them liquor to drug them before they walk into the underground niches Marizleh makes for them. They don’t feel a thing.”
“Nice method, still murder.”
Alma laughed. “So young and so headstrong. I remember when I was like you, thinking that running into walls enough times would tear them down. Eventually I grew to realize that some things remain tradition for a reason.” Again he swept his hand toward the volcano. “I do not do this out of some sick desire. I do this to keep us safe.”
Dante’s stomach knotted at the echo of his own words.
“Dante,” Camilla muttered. “Don’t let him talk anymore. Let’s get this over with.”
The Revenants had to have finished the circle by now. Steeling himself, Dante calculated how to best grab the refugee and deliver a fatal blow to Alma without using his abilities.
“No need,” Azideh said at his side. His horns gleamed in the oncoming dawn, his eyes burning jade. “Watch.”
Marizleh had put his hands on Alma’s shoulders, and the two of them seemed to melt into each other. The demon went into its cloud form to be absorbed by the baron’s body, drawing its presence into his very flesh. Alma grunted and doubled over as the refugee placidly watched on.
“What are they doing?” Camilla demanded.
“The pact has gone on for so long that they have formed an unspeakable link,” Azideh said.
The longer we are bound together, the thinner the barrier between us becomes, the demon had warned him. He glanced at Dante now with a knowing smile. “I told you the consequences would not be pleasant.”
The baron and his demon were merging into one monstrous entity, joints distending, bones popping. When Alma looked up again his eyes were pale yellow, his brown skin striated with cobalt. His body had grown larger, longer—less human.
“The only thing to do with such an abomination,” Azideh went on, fingers flexing and cracking, “is destroy it.”
With a growl, all three demons moved in for the kill.
X
Eventually, Phos found him.
“Bring the prince and his people to the atrium,” he ordered. He didn’t look as sickly as before; in fact, there was a glimmer of excitement in his bright, pale eyes. As if he really was growing stronger the longer he occupied Rian’s body.
Nikolas did not react or ask why. Pretended, despite the heaviness of his limbs and the ever-present pain, that he was fully under thrall. When he turned, Phos’s laugh was a soft, victorious breath. It winched the dread in him tighter.
Nikolas had to find a way to steal back the fangs, then deliver them to one who could use their power. In his mind’s eye they lay cradled between familiar brown hands, ones he would recognize down to the smallest scar.
Protect her, he had told Julian, unsure even then if it was possible.
He forced himself to tuck the thought away and touched his pocket where the slab of Orsus’s bone was hidden. Focus.
After the attack on Astrum, Phos had locked Fin in the same bedroom where he’d been chained before. He sat bound and gagged in the chair, chest heaving as if he’d been struggling to get free. At the sight of Nikolas, he jerked.
“It’s all right,” Nikolas whispered when he closed the door. He hurried to kneel by the chair, using Lux to undo Fin’s bindings. “I’m me.”
Fin relaxed. When Nikolas removed his gag, Fin took a deep, shuddering breath. Nikolas rubbed his sleeve over the dried tear marks on Fin’s face, their salt rubbing into every wound he carried, physical and otherwise.
“I’m sorry.” Nikolas swallowed. “I failed. I didn’t know he could take my wings like that.” A moment to brace himself against that aching loss. “And I’m sorry that Luis paid the price. He was a good man, and deserved better.”
Fin closed his eyes, another tear crawling its way down his sunken cheek. “It’s not your fault, Nik. Everyone knew the risks. If there was a chance of escape, of hindering Phos, we had to take it.”
It still wasn’t fair. Nothing ever truly was.
“Do you have the key to your shackles?” Nikolas asked, and Fin nodded. “Hold on to it a bit longer. Phos wants us. All of us.”
Fin’s brow furrowed. “For what?”
“I don’t know. He asked me to bring you to the atrium.” Nikolas took the bone from his pocket and slipped it into Fin’s.
“What’s this?”
“Wherever Phos ends up taking us, I’m going to make sure you and the others can break free. At my signal, you run.”
The furrow deepened. “That’s not—”
“I need to get the fangs from Phos. If Taesia is… nearby, maybe she can use them.” He tapped the bone. “But this needs to get to Julian. He may be the only one who can separate Phos from Rian.”
“I can’t let you take him on by yourself,” Fin argued. “Once I get my shackles off, I’ll help.”
“Who’s going to get the servants to safety, then? Or make sure Julian gets the tool he needs?”
There was denial and reluctance in Fin’s eyes, blue as morning, blue as a cloudless autumn. At last he gave a loud exhale and hung his head. “Fuck. Fuck. I don’t want to do this, Nik.”
For some reason, this brought a tiny smile to his face. “I don’t either.” And yet here he was, kneeling before a displaced prince. A small gesture in the grand scheme of things, and yet it reminded him of legendary knights who’d been swayed to pledge fealty, not because they sought death but because they had found a reason to live.
“I trust you to come back,” Nikolas whispered. The same words Fin had said to him, when Fin had been the one planning to stay behind.
Nikolas took Fin’s hands in his. He lifted one and pressed his lips against roughened, scraped knuckles. Fin breathed in softly.
House Cyr had been meant to breed soldiers, saviors, servants to the throne. How fitting that he would find himself here, on his knees with a solemn vow held in his throat like a prayer.
Fin turned his hand to cradle Nikolas’s cheek. “Nik, I…”
“After,” Nikolas insisted. “When we get through this.” When we get home.
So Fin looked him in the eye and said, “Then survive.”
Nikolas knew an order when he heard one.
XI
A pure, high note rang against the cavern walls and aimed at the chains around the wyvern—a blade of pure aether. Whatever the chains were made of, they were strong; it had taken multiple attempts to sever enough of them that, with this one final note, Yvri was able to stretch his wings and break the rest in a shower of shattered metal.
Angelica stumbled back as he unfurled himself. His wingspan was massive, easily the width of a house. As fire licked along his scales she saw his wings were thin and veined, the webbing crimson. He flapped them once, twice, buffeting the wind and stirring her hair.
I have not flown since I was put here to rot, he growled.
