Daemons.
Moonlight pierced the blood-smeared walls, keeping a heavy mist full of umbra. It wasn’t the mist from the Sea caused by the Fall of Eminence. No, this was the impenetrable void from Nocturne’s Pit. Evil void. Daemon void.
The white walls ran red with bloodied runes, drawn by hand. So much blood. The ground held puddles of the cruor; more runes painstakingly crafted in the language of the Divines. The blackened mist poured from the runes. It quirked, the mist, pulsed with dark magic. Magic that sought only one thing and one thing only: death.
Figures materialized from the darkened haze. Three, to be exact. Ratko and two other scourges of the Fallen. Ratko had a sickening, lustful look, one that either wanted her body or her blood, didn’t matter which order. Cadrianna ignored the scourges as they trailed on her heels as she followed the bloodied runes through the compound.
“I SMELL DEATH.”
“Observant, you.”
“AH, NOW THE ILLUSTRIOUS SCOURGE WITH A MAGNIFICENT BACKSIDE DECIDES TO BREAK HER SILENCE. ALL IT TAKES IS SIMPLE OBSERVATIONS.”
“Enough, Strix.” In truth, Cadrianna was in no mood for dealing with the daemon blade’s schtick, not at the moment. She was too consumed by her overpowering emotions.
All she knew was that she needed answers.
Of the bikrome who gave her the Strix back, who then betrayed Emre. Of Brynn with Lu Har on the dance floor.
None of it made any sense.
Nocturne, why was she struggling so? She’d known only one path that would lead her to her vindication. All she had to do was obey the Fallen and Brynn would be safe. But now that road was crumbling underfoot. Every choice she’d made all came back to haunt her.
Her belief that Emre had betrayed her and made Brynn suffer.
Her hatred and her love for Lu Har. Taking to his bed in order to save her daughter, only to fall in love with him in a sick, sadistic manner.
The bonding to the Strix, giving up her womanhood so that she and daemon were one. The only creature capable of knowing her turmoil, mentally and physically.
All of it for naught. All of it lies upon lies. A series of lies wrapped around herself to make her strong. Her savior and protector. Her shield.
“I might just ask the Fallen for you when he’s done with you, sweetling,” Ratko said, his putrid breath upon her neck.
She hadn’t heard him inch closer, so deep in her thoughts. Pulling up, she rounded on the scourge and he instinctively jerked backward, hand going to his sword. “You might want to remember your place, Ratko, before I let my blade claim your soul.”
The odious scourge chuckled into his thick beard. “O I think the times might be a changin’, lass. Your little show earlier didn’t sit well with the Fallen.” He leaned closer, mere inches away now. His face was bruised from her kick. “But for me, it quickened my cock.”
“Back off,” she said with force. She kept her back stiff, her hand off her blade. She dared not let him think her flustered.
The man raised his hands. “You might wish to curb your heat, sweetling. The Fallen is the void.”
“You’re a fool, Ratko, if you think I don’t know how to walk the void. Scourge you may be, but I am the Divines’ chosen.” She burned her Void Form; the edges of her body became like the mist around them. She felt the aether rage through her veins as she contained the magic within the mist, it begged for release. A letting, if it could be said.
Ratko tensed. In fact, Cadrianna was aching for a fight. Her blood boiled at the thought of spilling this man’s intestines, his soul being eaten by the Strix.
“CAD, YOU KNOW I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE HIS SOUL DIPPED IN MUSTARD, BUT NOW ISN’T THE TIME.”
Sensing that Ratko would hold his tongue, and his blade, Cadrianna whirled away. The scourge and his cohorts followed.
It wasn’t long before the bodies came into view.
At first, it was a well-dressed man donning a conical-shaped mask, his neck sliced clean through. Then it was a woman in a warm green stola of far too many pleats, gloves above her elbows, the bare skin of her clavicle stained red from a number of deep gashes. Each step brought more and more bodies, all apparent guests of the party. All Drenth-born. All dead in pools of their own demise.
The narrow hall gave way to a large antechamber in the center of the compound. Ahead was a throne, taller than a man was high, gilded about the edges. It was haphazardly set upon the remnants of what looked to be a toppled column. Bullet holes pocked the walls all around, as if someone had unleashed a row of hand-cranked rotating cannons. The angry mist curled about the throne. It was a large thing, the throne was, but it was dwarfed by the two ominous shadows looming beyond, red eyes within the shades of shapes. Unmoving, they were, but their purpose was unmistakable: they were guarding the figure who sat on the throne.
“I THINK I SPEAK FOR ALL DAEMONKIND, SOLANINE IS A CU—”
“Shhst.”
Solanine sat there. Part of Cadrianna was relieved it was the blooddrake and not the Fallen. She didn’t know if she was ready to confront Lu Har just yet. Solanine’s stola was covered in blood, hair matted with the ichor. Onyx gaze narrowed at Cadrianna’s entrance, heart-shaped face resting upon a blood-stained hand.
There were others in the room, Cadrianna noted. Many of them soldiers of the Imperium, some daemons like the two behind. A few stragglers she knew naught. One of the daemons lithely lying before the throne wore the midnight blue cassock of a vicar, her face twisted from the void. A man stood in the adumbration of the daemons. His face scarred and hairless.
Of the bikrome, she didn’t see her. You lied to me, Valeria Dunleith. Lied to Emre.
“Solanine,” Cadrianna forced out, going to her knees rigidly. The others behind her doing the same, echoing her revered salutation but lacking the sharpness of hers. She loathed to bend before Solanine, but this was no time to silently fight back.
“Where is she?” Solanine’s voice naught but the sweetness of honey and calm. It was disarming. “Where is the Godsblood?”
“She will be found,” Ratko groveled. The man’s face was pressed to the ground, forehead touching. “The contract remains, and we shall honor it. For you, O greatness.”
What contract? What is this Godsblood?
“CAD, THIS IS EMRE’S DOING…”
Brynn?
“Silence!” It was no more than a hiss, but the vehemence in Solanine’s tone was harsh.