THE BLOOD DRAINED from Nathaniel’s face. For an instant he looked years younger, a frightened boy on the verge of losing everything once more. “Silas?” he asked.
The chains shifted. Silas looked up at Nathaniel, his eyes clouded with pain. The ePort of even that small motion seemed to overwhelm him. He subsided against the marble, his eyes sinking shut.
Nathaniel stared. Inch by inch, his expression hardened, like the portcullis of a vault winching down. When he was 1nished, he had no expression left at all. He took a step toward Ashcroft. “What do you want with Elisabeth?” he demanded, each syllable as sharp as glass.
“Haven’t you 1gured it out? To reach Frendergast, naturally. I know Miss Scrivener can access him.” Ashcroft smiled blandly at the horror on their faces. “You aren’t the only ones with a scrying mirror, you know. You really should look into your household wards, Nathaniel. Some of those old spells haven’t been updated in centuries. And you might want to tidy up your study as well.”
Elisabeth’s stomach roiled. As clearly as day, she saw the devices on the desk of Nathaniel’s study, with their many lenses and mirrors. All those evenings she had thought herself safe by the 1re—Ashcroft’s presence now darkened those memories like a stain. She struggled to wrap her mind around the violation.
“You were just pretending in there,” she reali>ed aloud. “You wanted us to think that we had won.”
“Not the most agreeable experience, granted, but it hardly matters. In a few days, no one’s going to care about ballroom gossip.”
Blood sang in Elisabeth’s ears. Her grip on Demonslayer tightened.
Without thinking, she moved.
“I wouldn’t,” Ashcroft warned, halting her in her tracks. He twisted the gryphon’s head on his walking stick, and a sword slid free, brilliant in the moonlight. He placed the edge against Silas’s white throat, where it sent up a curl of steam. Silas didn’t move or make a sound, but his eyelashes Auttered, as if he were struggling to remain conscious.
“This one wasn’t easy to subdue,” Ashcroft went on, “even with a trap in place. I have half a mind to kill him, simply to rid myself of the trouble.”
“Wait,” Nathaniel said, his voice raw. Ashcroft looked up, expectant. The sword shifted minutely from Silas’s neck. From a distance, Elisabeth heard Nathaniel 1nish, “I challenge you to a duel.”
“A sorcerer’s duel?” Ashcroft laughed. “Good gracious. You do know those were outlawed by the Reforms. Are you certain?”
Tightly, Nathaniel nodded.
“Oh, very well,” Ashcroft said. “This should be novel.” “Nathaniel,” Elisabeth whispered.
He met her eyes. Deliberately, he Aicked his ga>e toward Silas. Then he pivoted on his heel. He strode all the way to the opposite end of the pavilion, where he turned to face them again, ga>ing at Ashcroft across the long expanse. His voice rang out as he rolled up his sleeves. “The rules of a duel are thus: we may not involve our demons. No weapons, aside from sorcery. Once we begin, we 1ght to the death. Do you accept?”
“On my honor,” Ashcroft said. His ruby eye twinkled. He slipped his sword through his belt and strolled forward, placing himself opposite Nathaniel.
Ashcroft wasn’t planning on playing fair. But neither was Nathaniel. The moment Elisabeth freed Silas, it would be three against one. She tensed, preparing herself. As Ashcroft and Nathaniel bowed to each other, the time between each heartbeat stretched to an eternity. Neither of them rose from the bow. She glanced between them, uncertain. Their eyes were shut in concentration; under their breath, they were both murmuring incantations.
Nathaniel was the 1rst to 1nish. He straightened with a whip of emerald 1re in his hand, its Aames spitting green embers onto the marble. But when the whip lashed across the pavilion, Ashcroft sliced his hand through the air
and harmlessly swatted it aside. A torn sleeve revealed that he had transformed his arm: the skin was armored in golden scales, his 1ngers tipped with claws. When he smiled, his canine teeth lengthened into fangs.
She didn’t have time to watch what happened next. She dove for Silas, falling to her knees beside him. Her hands roved over the chains that bound his wrists behind his back, encircled his chest, his waist, his legs. Wherever they touched his bare skin, they left raw, steaming welts. He stirred beneath her touch, but didn’t seem in full command of his senses. Her heart skipped a beat when his cuPs rode up, exposing blackened marks on both sides of his arms, as though they had been impaled on an iron spike.
No matter how frantically she searched, she couldn’t 1nd a weak spot, a join, or even a lock holding the links in place. It was as though the chains had wrapped themselves around his body and seamlessly fused together.
Silas drew in a labored breath. “Miss Scrivener,” he rasped. “Behind you.”
Elisabeth spun. An elegant 1gure was draped over the rail, leaning against an arbor lush with late-blooming roses. A stray beam of moonlight revealed leisurely 1ngers dangling from a knee, their lacquered claws the color of blood. The rest remained indistinct, veiled by blossoms and shadows, but Elisabeth knew who this was, even before she spoke.
“Do you take my master for a fool?” Lorelei’s voice dripped with satisfaction. “He would not leave Silas unguarded. Though I confess, I enjoyed watching you struggle.”
Elisabeth raised Demonslayer between them. Nearby there came the crack of Nathaniel’s whip, and shortly afterward a choked-oP cry of pain. She couldn’t tell whether it had belonged to Ashcroft, or Nathaniel. She didn’t dare take her eyes from Lorelei.
“Lay down your sword, darling,” the demon said. “We don’t have to 1ght. If you surrender yourself, my master will take you back. You’ve already had a taste of how well he treats his guests. New gowns every evening, chests full of jewels, and as many plum dumplings as your heart desires. Doesn’t that sound tempting?”
“No,” Elisabeth said. “He would use me to reach Frendergast, and then he would kill me.”
Silk slithered against stone as Lorelei slid from the railing and emerged into the moonlight. She wore an obsidian dress that shone with jeweled
undertones, like a starling’s feathers. The Aickering green of Nathaniel’s sorcery, intertwined with the gold of Ashcroft’s, reAected in the depths of her crimson eyes.
“Not now that he understands your value,” she breathed, her ga>e 1xed hungrily on Elisabeth’s face. “A girl who can resist magic—how special. Just imagine how useful you could be to him: able to see through any illusion, impervious to the inAuence of demons. That will be an advantage in the coming days.” A smile curved her scarlet lips. “And if you stood at his side, he would reward you. I promise.”
“What do you mean, the coming days?” Elisabeth shifted her hold on Demonslayer, and felt sweat slicking the pommel. “What does Ashcroft want from Frendergast?”
“Oh, dear.” Lorelei’s lips curved in an enigmatic smile. “Did I say too much?”
It was no use listening to demons, Elisabeth told herself. They were liars.
Deceivers. Untrustworthy to the core.
Except when they weren’t.
A scraping sound came from behind her: Silas attempting, in vain, to rise.
She adjusted her stance, putting herself between him and Lorelei.
“What are you doing?” Lorelei’s eyes narrowed, trying to pu>>le out Elisabeth’s actions. Shock registered on her face, followed by dawning delight. “You foolish girl! You care for him!”
Elisabeth answered not with words, but with her sword. Demonslayer’s edge whistled through the air, passing within a hairsbreadth of Lorelei’s stomach as she took a dancing step backward, her long black hair streaming around her.
“This is even better than I had imagined,” she said, alight with glee. “Silas doesn’t return your tender feelings, you know. You will understand that one day.”
Elisabeth swung again and again, relentlessly driving Lorelei back against the railing. The demon laughed, a tinkling, rapturous sound, as she dodged each strike. She was baiting Elisabeth, toying with her. But not for long. She underestimated the strength of Elisabeth’s resolve—and the next moment she gasped, her hand Aying to her cheek. She stood fro>en, staring wide-eyed at
Elisabeth. A single rivulet of blood trickled out from beneath her 1ngers. Demonslayer had cut her face.
And now, its point rested at the hollow of her throat.
From this angle, Elisabeth could see the other battle raging across the pavilion. Black streaks charred the marble where Nathaniel’s whip had scored the ground. Both men were out of breath, but still standing. Relief Aooded her. Although Nathaniel’s sleeve had been sliced open, and his collar clung to his neck with sweat, he didn’t appear injured. Above the unraveling cravat, his face was a mask: 1xed with concentration, dark hair tangled, his eyes and the streak at his temple the same shade of lucent silver.
His whip snaked out again, the tongue of emerald Aame licking toward Ashcroft, who struck the spell aside, then cried out and fell to one knee, catching himself with his demonic hand.
The strike had been a feint. While Ashcroft had been focused on Nathaniel’s whip, the rose vines climbing across the balustrade had come to life and lashed themselves around his ankle. When he moved to tear through them with his claws, more vines snapped out, binding his wrist. The thorns squee>ed tighter, pulling his arm taut. Grimly, Nathaniel advanced.
Demonslayer rested at Lorelei’s throat, unfaltering. A heartbeat passed.
And then, impossibly, Lorelei was no longer there.
Elisabeth stumbled forward. She whirled around. Lorelei stood balanced on the railing several yards away, petals swirling in the bree>e created by her preternatural speed. As Elisabeth watched with a sense of dawning horror, Lorelei brought her 1ngers to her lips and whistled.
An answering growl echoed across the pavilion. Elisabeth ducked just in time. The arbor exploded as though struck by a cannon, spraying torn blossoms and slivers of painted wood in every direction. A 1end hurtled past her and skidded to a stop on the marble, shaking loose the leaves tangled in its horns. Then it exhaled a steaming breath and 1xed its red eyes on Elisabeth. Several more 1ends loped up the stairs, bone and sinew rippling beneath their scales.
She spun, trying to anticipate which of the demons would attack 1rst. She aimed Demonslayer 1rst at one target, then another, the sword’s point wavering with desperation. She couldn’t face the 1ends and Lorelei at the same time.
Seeing Elisabeth cornered, Nathaniel paled. He hesitated midincantation.
This was the reaction Ashcroft had been waiting for.
Time seemed to slow as a seam of golden light appeared in the air in front of Ashcroft, and as he thrust himself into it, through it, vanishing from the place he had knelt to appear behind Nathaniel instead. The vines that had bound him unraveled to the ground like cut ropes.
Nathaniel turned. Elisabeth screamed. Ashcroft’s clawed hand swept through the air, each talon as long as a knife. The blow struck with enough force to knock Nathaniel a step backward.
At 1rst Nathaniel appeared unharmed, and Elisabeth entertained the mad hope that the blow had somehow missed him. He wore an expression of surprise, almost pu>>lement. Then he stumbled back another step. He looked down, where spots had appeared here and there on his shirt, small at 1rst, but spreading, blooming like poppies, soaking through the fabric until his entire chest was slick and red. The whip in his hand 1>>led out. He dropped to his knees.
Elisabeth’s vision blurred. She threw herself forward, striking blindly at the 1end that crouched between her and Ashcroft.
Iron bit into scales. The 1end howled as she yanked Demonslayer from its shoulder and struck again, and again, barely conscious of her body, the wild strength that 1lled her at the sight of Nathaniel stupe1ed and bleeding. With one last yelp, the 1end collapsed. Elisabeth leaped forward, using its toppling body as a springboard even before it struck the ground. For a moment, she seemed capable of Aight. Demonslayer shone like liquid moonlight, wreathed in steam; Nathaniel’s coat billowed out behind her, and the wind whistled in her ears.
But she never 1nished the leap. A weight slammed against her in midair, bowling her back to the ground. Her world dissolved into a jumble of rank breath, obsidian scales, a splatter of hot saliva across her neck. Demonslayer spun from her hand, striking sparks on the marble as it skittered out of sight. Just as she began to make sense of the second 1end’s attack, a clawed foot pressed against her ribs, pinning her to the ground. Spots swam before her eyes as its weight crushed the air from her lungs.
At a ninety-degree angle, she watched Ashcroft draw his sword. Nathaniel was bent forward now, one hand braced on the ground, the other gripping
his chest. Blood twisted in a stream down his wrist.
Hopelessness grayed her thoughts. She saw no way they could survive this. No, not they—for she would survive, stolen back to Ashcroft Manor as the Chancellor’s pri>e. She reali>ed, in despair, that she would rather die at Nathaniel’s side.
“I must admit,” Ashcroft said, “it’s a shame to see you go. The 1nal heir of the great House Thorn, cut down before his prime.” He considered Nathaniel as he ran his thumb down the sword’s edge, testing its sharpness. “Then again, you always were determined to be the last, weren’t you? You would do anything to prevent another Baltasar—another Alistair.”
Nathaniel’s shoulders hitched. His other hand struck the ground, catching his weight, leaving a gory imprint as his 1ngers shifted. Ashcroft watched him pityingly.
“So I suppose,” he said, raising his sword, “that in a way, I’m merely giving you what you’ve always wanted.”
Nathaniel looked up, his eyes clear and cold. On the marble, using his blood, he had drawn an Enochian sigil. And it was beginning to glow with emerald light.
Ashcroft’s expression went blank. So that’s mhat he loobs libe mhen he is tvuly taben by suv9vise, Elisabeth thought. The sigil bla>ed brighter and brighter, and he fell back with a shout of pain, throwing an arm over his eyes. She squee>ed her own shut, feeling the magical shock wave ripple over her as a rush of tingling sparks.
The ground heaved. Marble cracked and crumbled. When she opened her watering eyes, it was to the sight of the rose vines, now as thick around as tree trunks, shedding fragments of the balustrade. The pavilion had been imprisoned in a tangle of thorns, unearthly in the moonlight, like something from an old tale. The colossal spines pierced stone and demons alike. As she watched, the vines continued growing, curving and twining, wrapping the bodies of the 1ends as their gleaming points stretched toward the starry sky.
She didn’t smell blood, or charred Aesh, or anything else foul. Only the sweet, wistful scent of the roses. The pressure on her chest had lifted, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw the 1end that had attacked her being enveloped by vegetation. The light faded from its eyes as buds unfurled into leaves, hiding it from view.
Ashcroft staggered, disoriented and blinking. He bumped into the interlocking thorns that had grown around him like a cage. Elisabeth had eyes only for Nathaniel. As she watched, he swayed and passed out, collapsing in a pool of blood.
With a cry, she started forward. And in doing so, she stumbled straight into Lorelei’s waiting arms.
The demon folded her in a cold, hard embrace. A glamour’s numbing calm enveloped Elisabeth, forcing her thoughts to slow and her muscles to relax. She became an insect, caught in a spider’s web.
“Relax now, darling,” Lorelei murmured into her ear. “It’s almost over. Once my master frees himself, he’ll make short work of the Thorn boy. Do you hear his heartbeat fading? I do.” Claws skimmed down the side of her face, over her ear, stroking her hair. The hands turned her around. “Watch him die.”
That was a mistake. At the sight of Ashcroft smashing through the thorns to reach Nathaniel, Elisabeth felt everything at once: the sting of her cuts and bruises, the blood pumping through her veins, the night air 1lling her lungs, the bree>e cooling her wet cheeks. Her surroundings grew sharp-edged and crystal clear as Lorelei’s inAuence faded to cobwebs.
And there was Silas. At some point during the battle, he had managed to drag himself up into a crouch. Though agony fogged his yellow eyes, he watched her calmly, with meaningful intent. Demonslayer lay beside him, almost touching his bound hands. He looked at the sword and then back at her. He was waiting for her signal.
Elisabeth couldn’t nod. Lorelei would see. Slowly, like a cat, she blinked.
Demonslayer slid across the marble. When it came within reach, Elisabeth stomped on the hilt, Aipping the sword into the air. She ignored the bright slice of pain as she caught the naked blade in one hand and thrust it backward, deep into Lorelei’s body.
There was less resistance than she expected. Lorelei choked, coughed. Her claws tightened convulsively on Elisabeth’s arms. “You,” she gritted out. “How dare you—”
And then she was gone. The death of a highborn demon was not like that of a 1end. No body remained, just tendrils of steam that wisped around Elisabeth, entangling her in a 1nal embrace, smelling faintly of brimstone.
Without thinking, she staggered to Silas. She thrust Demonslayer through a link in the chains and twisted, levering the sword with all her might. Metal groaned. The link warped and split open.
Too late. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ashcroft raise his sword above Nathaniel’s chest. She couldn’t get there in time. And Silas, weakened
—
The chains clattered to the ground, coiled empty on the Aagstones. Ashcroft’s sword Aashed in the moonlight, inscribing a downward arc.
And the point emerged red, protruding from Silas’s back, where the weapon had speared him through the heart. In the span of a breath he had appeared between Ashcroft and Nathaniel, using his own body as a shield.
The world went still. Silence descended like frost. Silas’s loose hair hung down, hiding his face. After a moment his pale hand rose to touch the length of iron that entered his chest, almost curiously, though in doing so, his claws sent up wisps of steam.
“I don’t understand.” Ashcroft spoke haltingly. “He didn’t command you to do that.”
Silas looked up at him. Their expressions could not have been more diPerent. Silas was a carven saint, his marble countenance beautiful, impassive, untouched by emotion or pain. And Ashcroft was a mortal confronted, for the 1rst time in his life, by something he couldn’t comprehend.
“Had you let him die,” Ashcroft said, “your bargain would have been ful1lled. The life he promised you—you would have received it. But now you’ve lost everything.”
“Yes,” whispered Silas. “I feel it. It is gone.”
Ashcroft’s eyes were wide. “Tell me why, demon! Tell me what you stood to gain—”
A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Silas’s mouth, shockingly red against his white skin. He closed his eyes, seemingly in relief. Then, he vanished.
The moment Ashcroft’s sword came free, Elisabeth was there to meet it. Iron clashed against iron as she forced the Chancellor back, sparing none of her strength. He managed a series of clumsy parries; then Demonslayer
locked with his sword’s hilt and wrenched the weapon from his grasp, sending it Aying out of reach.
Fanic Aashed across his face. With a jolt, Elisabeth reali>ed that both of his eyes were blue. Not only had his demonic mark vanished, his right sleeve hung in tatters over a normal arm. In Lorelei’s absence, he was no longer a sorcerer, just an ordinary man.
Slowly, he lifted his empty hands in surrender.
“Are you going to kill me, Miss Scrivener?” he asked, his face uncharacteristically solemn. “If you do, it will change you forever. It will set you down a path from which you cannot turn back. Believe me—I know.”
Demonslayer drooped. In Elisabeth’s moment of hesitation, Ashcroft’s boots scuPed against stone. Moving faster than she could have predicted, he dodged between the vines and vaulted over the edge of the pavilion.
She dashed forward and caught herself against the crumbled balustrade, heart pounding, tensed to give chase. She could overtake him easily: he appeared to have twisted his ankle leaping down, for he stumbled as he Aed through the tangle of roses. She could pursue him, and catch him, and end his plot for good.
Or she could run in the opposite direction, and 1nd the help she needed to save Nathaniel’s life.
