And Bettina would have to forgive me. . . .
Raum, the apparent master of ceremonies, motioned for the crowds to quiet down. "Tidings to the Abaddonae, fiercest of all the demonarchies!" More cheers. "And also to those from offplane who've journeyed here for our-humble-little tournament." Laughs sounded. "Together with my cohost, the all-powerful Morgana, we welcome you."
When he indicated her with a jerk of his chin, she rose. Without a wave or gesture of any sort, she swept her gaze over the crowd as if staring down every single attendee.
Only when the crowd had grown utterly silent did she sit again. She whispered something to Bettina, something that made the girl nod warily.
"Now, the stakes of this contest are high. Each round is to the death, yet one will have no fighting at all. Perhaps a game of wits? Ah, but never a game of chance! You have to earn Princess Bettina's hand, proving yourself worthy of her line."
Raum held up a gold case-the one that housed Bettina's summoning medallion? "Yes, the stakes are high, but the rewards are commensurate. The victor will win dominion over the fair princess herself!"
Dominion. Trehan nearly growled.
Bettina's face heated, her fists balling. She was clearly unhappy about her circumstances; so why had she allowed herself to be offered up? Last night, she'd said, "They willed it."
Then Raum held up a crown. "And the right to rule the Deathly Ones."
An armored storm demon-from a demonarchy infamous for its harems-shouted, "I'm already a royal. I'm only here to plow the princess!"
Guffaws sounded. Bettina flinched as if struck. Just as Trehan tensed to attack the male, Morgana stood once more, with her braids coiling like whips. In a clear, ringing voice, she snapped, "Respect-is-not-optional." Swirls of sorcery radiated from her.
Raum gave Morgana a quelling look, then asked the crowd, "Now, have all the competitors been accounted for? The deadline nears."
Your female or your kingdom? Trehan stared hard at his Bride, compelled to be near her, to be touching her this very instant.
Just then, she glanced down at her twining fingers. When she looked up again, her eyes were watering, her little mask askew.
Should I protect her, even if she doesn't want my protection?
"We have two hundred and twenty-seven?" Raum said.
At the demon's words, Trehan's thoughts began to race. Entry about to be closed. Ready to feel thousands of gazes upon your back, Trehan? Think! Enter, and you will not be who you were. Which might be good. I only leave the coffin to kill.
Have I been moldering? Have I been as good as dead?
He was a loner by nature, with a sacred duty to murder, taught by experience to trust no one. Added to that, he lived in a closed, hidden society that worshipped reason and believed in the absolute control over one's emotions.
Surrounded now by all these new scents, sights, sounds-by all this life-he realized the answer.
Trehan had been a shade. But like the dead, he was the last one to know it. No wonder killing comes so easily to me. I'm halfway to the grave myself.
Yes, he'd been buried in the earth like some dormant thing-an unfeeling machine. What would await him should he decide to rise?
Remaining dormant was comfortable. No sharp emotions, no uncontrollable urges.
No regret for all his many years already wasted in that static state.
Think, Trehan! To pursue Bettina would mean forsaking everything he'd ever loved and embracing everything that had ever challenged him.
Your kingdom? Or the one who first awakened you . . . ?
Raum gazed around at the crowd. "Then the lists will be considered full-"
"Hold demon," a male called from the back. "You've one final competitor."
Bettina would have recognized that deep, accented voice anywhere.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The vampire was here, somewhere in the crowd. And he planned to compete?
Just when she'd thought the night couldn't possibly get worse.
Earlier when Cas had told her he would enter, with his shoulders back like some sigh-worthy hero of old, her heart had leapt. Then at the sign-in desk, he'd qualified his actions: "There, Tina. If I'm marked for death anyway, I might as well try to save my best friend from a nightmare marriage."
And now this?
"Is that another vampire?" Morgana murmured in an intrigued tone.
Bettina opened her eyes and drew a shocked breath.
There Daciano was, striding toward her, his face grim with determination. The light of the grand torches sheened off his black hair.
Tonight his clothing was more regal, the fine lines and cloth looking like they'd cost a pretty karat. He also wore a full-length trench coat of black leather that fitted flawlessly over his broad shoulders and narrow hips.
The fog seemed to part for him; the crowd certainly did. Even among the strapping Abaddonae males, his towering body stood out. He could have traced, but he chose to walk, heightening her suspense.
Last night, she'd asked herself, What foreign assassin would dare target a Deathly One in his home plane of Abaddon?
This one. Trehan Daciano. A professional killer.
This isn't happening. Why, gods, would he return? And why enter? Why not wait to finish his mission until after the tournament?
Her gaze slid to Caspion, standing slack jawed outside the ring.
Then she remembered: once seen like this, Daciano could never return to his home.
No wonder Cas was stunned!
The vampire hadn't spared him a glance, his attention solely on Bettina. Initially the Dacian's eyes had been a deep green. Yet when his gaze locked on her, they flooded with black.
As they'd been last night.
With his every step closer, awareness pricked her senses-the heat of the flames, the scent of her goblet of wine, the way the damp night air clung to her bare arms.
All she could think over and over: That vampire was in my bed, touching me as no other had before.
As he closed the distance, she felt increasingly weak and breathless, as if a flash-fever had taken hold.
How could merely looking at someone make her react physically? One word arose in her consciousness. Dalit. In Demonish, it meant lightning-in addition to another quaint, old-timey meaning.
"Who is that gorgeous male?" Morgana asked.
Chapter 14
Bettina had never heard her sound so interested in a stranger.
The vampire wasn't gorgeous to Bettina, but he was . . . striking.
"Oh, my gold, is he a Forbearer?" Morgana asked.
With his clear eyes, Daciano looked like one. No one would ever guess he was from the fabled Realm of Blood and Mist.
Once he neared the lower grandstand, Bettina subtly shook her head, warning him away, but he didn't break his stride.
Earlier when Caspion had approached the sign-in table, the crowd had cheered for one of their own. As the vampire approached, everyone grew silent.
Crickets. A dog barked in the distance. A demon cub gave a cry.
"Your name?" Raum asked in puzzlement.
"I'm called the Prince of Shadow," Daciano answered in that resonating voice.
"Where do you hail from? What is your standard?"
"I hail from nowhere you know." The vampire retrieved a beautiful antique-looking banner of red and gray from his coat, handing it to Raum. "This is my standard. I enter for the hand of Bettina."
He can't lie? Then he's not here just to kill Cas? He wants to marry me? She just stopped herself from fanning her face.
Why can't I catch my breath?
Her godfather cast him a studying glance. Raum couldn't bar the vampire entrance, but surely he would demand more information.
Instead Raum examined the standard, returned it, then offered Daciano the blade and quill. "Well then, Prince of Nowhere. Sign your name."
Still holding her gaze, the vampire dragged the blade across his palm, blood welling. Without hesitation, he signed, never looking down at the contract, never taking his penetrating eyes off her.
Bettina could tell Morgana was glancing from the vampire to her and back, but didn't acknowledge her godmother's curiosity.
Once Daciano's entry was complete, Raum announced, "The lists are filled! The tournament has officially begun."
Cheering sounded from the spectators before Raum quieted them once more. "Now, on the first night of the tournament, we will have a melee. All competitors will go in unarmed, race to reach strategically placed weapons, then kill at will."
"Oh, I've always enjoyed a spirited melee!" Morgana said, as if she were talking about a potato-sack race. Then she gazed past Bettina, her eyes gleaming with approval-no doubt ogling the vampire.
When Bettina refused to look at him, Morgana tapped her chin with a metal claw. "You don't appear to be an afterthought with that one, dearest freakling. You appear to be the only thought."
I've done it then. Trehan had stood up in front of thousands of gaping Loreans, pledging himself to winning Bettina. He'd stepped from his comfortable shadows directly into the spotlight, under the crushing weight of the crowd's scrutiny.
No longer was he the enforcer of Dacian laws. No longer did he live among books, merely reading about social interactions. He wasn't just an observer; he was present and involved, with an unshakable purpose: I will possess her.
He'd left behind all he loved, but he'd also shucked off his deadening existence. And at this moment, excitement over the future outweighed his regret of the past.
This close to Bettina, he could scent her light perfume and sweet skin, could hear her shallow breaths as she studiously ignored him.
Yes, I will possess her-and I'd do far worse than this for the privilege.
He almost looked forward to battling for her favor. Killing was what he did, was all he knew. And Caspion? He was a mere obstacle to be dealt with when the time came.
Somehow Trehan would devise a way to seduce her once more. I'm betting everything that she'll respond again. Perhaps he should do as the madman Lothaire did, and bargain with her?
Before the tournament began tomorrow night, Trehan would ready himself, gorging on blood and perhaps finally sleeping for an hour or two. Many of the demon lords would imbibe this eve, were already drunken. Tomorrow, they'd be compromised. Trehan would have another advantage. Not that I'll need it-
"But there's a twist," Raum announced. "Night one . . . begins in five minutes."
Gasps sounded. Those drunken lords sputtered their protests.
"Two hundred and twenty-eight will enter the Iron Ring before the gate slams shut," Raum said, his voice booming with finality. "You'll kill until the great horn blows. Though many of our contestants will never get to hear it. . . ."
As the competitors filed off to the ring, Bettina chewed on a fingernail, the fingers of her other hand drumming.
Just moments ago after Raum's announcement, Caspion had traced to her side, smoothed a braid behind her ear, then bravely set off to the warriors' sanctum.
Daciano had strode off as well, yet he lingered outside the ring. Awaiting something from her?
"So, Raum, who do you think will be the bettors' favorite?" Morgana asked.
Raum dragged his face from his tankard. "No Abaddonae would bet against their own."
Cas, my demon, who's about to be locked in that cage! Bettina started on another nail.
Morgana slapped her hand down. "I believe I'll put karats on the clear-eyed vampire."
Bettina's gaze darted to Daciano. His overall demeanor was bored. But she could see his cunning gaze taking in his enemies. She suspected she was about to witness the lethality she'd only sensed before.
Would he target Cas immediately?
Turning to Bettina, Morgana said, "I believe the Prince of Shadow is particularly motivated. He looks like his heart is in this. His beating heart."
Bettina stifled a gasp. Of course Morgana had figured out who Daciano's Bride was. But Bettina couldn't think about that now.
"The leech is blooded then?" Raum asked, taking another gulp from his mug. "Wonder what his Bride has to say about this?"
She's pissed! And terrified for Caspion. "If Cas can trace, he'll be safe in there, right?"
Morgana snorted. Raum uneasily pulled at the collar of his breastplate.
"Couldn't he just continually teleport around the ring if he wanted to?" Bettina asked. "Or if he got injured?"
"If he wasn't caught fast by a stronger opponent, then yes," Raum said. "But tracing is not without its perils. To strike an accurate blow you have to materialize fully for a split second. And whenever you disappear, you risk losing sight of your opponent, something no warrior is keen to do."
Morgana added, "Plus you run the chance that someone will predict where you will reappear and be waiting with, say, a raised mystical sword. I killed my last demon that way." She made her voice like an innocent girl's as she said, "Oh, no, please stop with your tracing! It's confusing my feeble female mind!" She abruptly made a chopping motion against the table. "Then SLASH."
Raum looked unimpressed with her theatrics. "It's also physically draining, especially for the injured. The ability is a great advantage, but it also brings great risk."
Talking around another fingernail, Bettina asked, "If a competitor gets into trouble, what's to stop him from teleporting back home or something?"
"The blood pact they signed."
So Cas was well and truly trapped? If he . . . died, she didn't know how she'd recover.
The highlights of her history with him flashed through her mind-all the things he'd done to win her heart. Cas taking her to her first baseball game and patiently explaining the rules. Teaching her to drive a mortal car. Escorting her to fashion shows and art exhibits, even when he was so bored he could barely stay awake.
He was young, and sometimes he could do stupid things, but he was bighearted. She'd recently found out that he'd been secretly giving food and clothing to other foundlings, using some of his newfound influence to set up apprenticeships for older orphans.
Everyone was always so dazzled by his looks that they never realized he had substance-and loyalty. She knew he would give his life to protect hers. . . .
Bettina's reverie was interrupted when one of Morgana's Inferi hastened over to the queen with a written message. The sorceress snapped, "What fresh hell is this?" then tore open the black seal.