“There are victors and victims. Decide who you want to be. Or the choice will be made for you, witch. And I doubt you’ll like it.”
I threw my head back and groaned. “It’s a game of scopa, not a battle between life and death. Are you always this dramatic?”
Wrath scowled from behind his hand-painted cards. “Valuable lessons are often learned from games of strategy. Only fools discredit them.”
“And only an ornery creature from Hell gets this serious over a simple card game.”
I plucked another cannoli from the plate Wrath had set on my bed. When I’d come out of the bath wrapped in my new silky robe, he’d been waiting with the dessert and cards. He subtly watched as I devoured another one, seeming pleased he’d done an acceptable job at remembering the sort of human food I loved. I’d mistakenly assumed more relaxation was part of his master plan to restore me to optimum health and well-being.
I had no idea we’d be playing at war games. I suddenly longed for the bath again.
The elemental blessing worked wonders for my emotions. I was ready to get back out, and solve the mystery surrounding my sister’s murder. And find my missing amulet. At least in theory. In reality, I was petrified of running into another prince of Hell. Each one I’d met thus far had been worse than the last.
“How long does it take for a demon prince to restore themselves after they’re—”
“Gutted?”
“I thought you aimed for his heart, actually.”
“I punctured a lung. Maybe broke a few ribs.” His tone was filled with disappointment. “I imagine he’s almost healed already.” He looked me over. “He won’t bother you again.”
“Right. A prince of Hell who delights in tormenting others by removing all happiness and pleasure will suddenly grow a conscience, and never attempt that nasty trick again.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely try again. But you’re going to stop him.”
I gulped down the last bite of my third cannoli, suddenly feeling queasy. “Is there a spell or charm that mitigates demonic influence? Irish carve crosses from rowan wood and wear them to keep fae away. You must have objects that offer protection from you, too.”
He was silent for an uncomfortably long beat. I glanced up, and fought the urge to flinch. It was becoming too easy to forget what he really was. Then, there were glimpses like this, which made me worry about when he might be the one to turn his influence loose on me.
“Me and mine make monsters wary, witch. I do not fear, I am fear. Twigs and berries and iron imprison the weak. Do you think I’m weak?” I shook my head and Wrath bared his teeth in a grin that was downright petrifying. “Are you scared?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
He stared at me for a minute, but didn’t call me on the lie. “My world is broken down into one simple principle: I believe I’m powerful, therefore I am. If I am convinced of my abilities, others will pick up on my confidence. It will give them pause, if only for a second, while they reevaluate a potential threat. Any advantage you can give yourself will be helpful when dealing with my brothers. Their motto will always be ‘know thy enemy.’ Make that difficult. So to answer your question, no, you do not need a spell or charm or trinket of false protection. You need to trust in yourself and your power. Or they will torture and taunt you for eternity.”
Once my heart stopped thrashing, I flashed him a skeptical look. “You think I can achieve all that by playing cards?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, let’s say you’re right. How can a game of scopa prepare me for successfully battling a prince of Hell?”
“Life often deals you a hand you didn’t choose.” Wrath settled back, the tension in the room releasing with him. He studied his cards carefully, then placed one on the table. A sweep. I cursed. It was the third time in a row he’d done that. “It’s how you end up playing it to your advantage that counts.”
I scoffed. “That was luck, not strategy.”
“Both are needed. But it can be argued that luck improves with a well-thought-out strategy.” He glanced up. “You live by archaic notions of light and dark magic when power is neither good nor bad. It’s intent that really matters. By not studying all power, you’ve closed off options. Not honing each weapon in your arsenal is a poor strategy on your part.”
“Nonna would love that advice.”
His gaze hardened. “If your grandmother is against you learning to defend yourself, I’d start asking questions.” Wrath took a steadying breath, his tone turning more pleasant. “If you want to become a real player in this game of murder and deceit, start by studying your opponents. Know who they are, what they want, and watch them closely. Once you’re well acquainted with their habits, you’ll easily spot lies.” One side of his mouth lifted as I lost another hand and cursed the devil. “Work on your emotions. You’re ruled by fire—and are easily angered and excited. Qualities that are not bad in certain instances, but are detrimental when facing your enemy. Do not make it easy for them to read you. They will certainly be doing everything they can to thwart your efforts at uncovering their truth.”
“Have you ever considered teaching classes in Hell? You certainly love to give lessons.”
“Mock me all you like. It doesn’t negate the fact I’m right.”
“And oh so humble about it.”
“The world and its inhabitants are constantly changing, therefore we princes of Hell continue to sharpen our minds and skills. It is the absence of arrogance that allows us to remain the most feared. We do not believe we know all, we believe in adaptation. Adopt those same principles or you’ll end up extinct.”
“I believe you love the sound of your own voice. Maybe you should let me teach you about experiencing a wider range of emotions.”
“One day, maybe I will.”
He set his cards aside and studied me. I couldn’t tell if the dark gleam in his eyes was that of a predator circling its prey, or the sign of mild interest for other purposes. Or maybe . . . maybe he was admiring me in that way that someone did when they were noticing you for the first time in a different light. Stranger still, I wasn’t sure which one I hoped for more.
A flash of my desires on the beach crossed my mind.
My pulse ticked faster as he slowly leaned forward, his gaze searing into mine. For one moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He abruptly sat back. I released a breath.
“When you first stepped onto the beach, I imagine you sensed demonic influence. Being aware is the key to fighting it. Our power lies in sensing your emotions, inflating the ones we thrive on. Once you realize that, you have the power to shift your focus and feelings elsewhere. At any moment you could have walked away from Lust’s gathering. You just needed to believe you could.”
“Are you suggesting what he did was my fault?”
Wrath stood. I hadn’t noticed how finely he was dressed, or the care he’d taken with styling his hair. He wore an inky black jacket with gold snakes embroidered on the lapels, black trousers, and boots that gleamed from a recent buffing. A few rings even glittered on his fingers. Onyx and gold, his favorite colors. He looked . . . good. He noticed where my attention had shifted and one side of his mouth edged up.
“I’m suggesting you have untapped power, Emilia. Twist my words, twist the meanings all you like. Such is the mortal way.”
“I’m not twisting and I’m not human. Your brothers are sadistic.”
“Princes of Hell are neither good nor evil. We just are.”
“Yeah. They just are malicious monsters.”
“And yet, you keep saying ‘they’ and don’t include me in your assessment of my brothers.” Wrath shook his head. “Why is that?”
“I . . .” I inhaled deeply. “Because so far, Greed, Envy, and Lust have all done terrible things. You haven’t. But that’s probably just because of the spell I used on you.”
Wrath no longer looked amused. “Practice reading people, especially when their expressions seem cold or remote. Look for their mouth tightening, their eyes darting away. Any wince or minute sign of their true feelings when you’re asking uncomfortable questions.”
“Any other tips, adaptable one?”
“You live in a realm of free will—accept that and you’ve already defeated your foes. You always have the power of choice, even when those choices seem limited. Never forget that.”
“Oh, really? Always?” My anger flamed. “Did my sister have a choice to live or die? Because I’m pretty sure someone else decided that for her.”
“There are worse fates, witch.”
“Such as?”
“Living in my world.” He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. If you get bored, check the dresser by your bed.” He paused in the corridor and glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suggest leaving the palace tonight.”
“Why not?” I called after him.
He didn’t bother answering, he was already gone. I wondered about his clothing, about the way he’d combed his hair. He looked like he wanted to make an impression.
I got up and paced around the room, peered out the window, then plopped back onto the bed. I absently twisted a lock of my hair, thinking about everything he’d said about victors and victims. Then I started thinking about free will and choices. And then I started to get annoyed that he was being a hypocrite by infringing on mine.
I sat for twenty minutes, contemplating why, if I had free will, I was listening to him. I had important things to do and had wasted enough time. I dressed in a simple dark gray sleeveless gown he must have recently acquired, and stole into the quickly falling night.
