Wicked Abyss
Page 86
Then it sank. “When I left Calliope, she was strangling her emotions.” That chilling blankness. Kari had walked away and never looked back. “I told my mate it was all a game with her. I told her . . . I would war on her kingdom.”
He recalled his father’s advice: Only hit hard if you aim true, son. Sian’s aim had been false, and he might’ve swung a deathblow.
“You left her with nothing to do but sit in hell’s dungeon and solidify her hatred of you.” Allixta stroked behind her panther’s ear. “All the best with your reconciliation.”
Was he too late? A short jaunt to Tenebrous would equal hours gone by in Pandemonia. “I go now.” He traced home—
And came shooting back into the black-stone keep, hitting the wall. “What the fuck?” He tried again. Boomeranged right back. “I can’t trace into my kingdom!”
“Let me.” Rune teleported. A split second later he flew through the air, slamming into the glass, which began to crack anew.
The others stilled, but Sian couldn’t be bothered with that threat. His mind was too busy conjuring one nightmare scenario after another.
What if hell had been attacked? What if one among his countless enemies had taken Calliope? Killed her? Uthyr had better be giving his dragonic life to protect her!
“I can’t get to my mate!” Sian snapped. “What force is keeping me out of my own realm?”
FIFTY-SIX
If I’m going to visit the neighbors, I’ve got to look fabulous. When Lila entered her wardrobe, a purple gown appeared across the divan, a pair of glass slippers beside it.
She’d never seen such an exquisite garment. It was sleeveless with a stiff, raised collar and a neckline that would plunge almost to her navel.
The color was royal—and defiant, reminding her of her treason trial.
“Why shouldn’t I believe you were involved in your parents’ plot to take my crown?”
“Because it still sits upon your godsdamned head.”
She pulled on the gown with a shiver. The material—one she’d never encountered before—had such a pronounced sheen, it looked black in certain lights. She stepped into the glass slippers, and they molded to her feet.
After pulling her hair into a loose updo, she assessed her reflection. Not bad.
In the mirror, she caught sight of a box on the top shelf of the wardrobe behind her. She imagined the box disappearing and reappearing into her raised hands.
It . . . did.
Her lips parted at its contents: an eerie black headpiece—a crown. Power seemed to flow from it.
On either side of the circlet, a proud black horn jutted upward. Over the front, long fangs crisscrossed. Wispy vines twined around the crown. Like black fire vines!
Queen of nowhere? Not quite. Her inauguration wouldn’t coincide with her wedding or claiming.
But with her crowning.
She donned the piece, eyes going wide when it tightened to fit her head. Those vines slithered down, plaiting into her hair.
She faced the mirror once more. Her eyes glowed with purpose. That crown made her look as if she had horns. A true queen of hell.
Now for her accessory. She turned to the scepter she’d modified and lifted it.
Carefully. Her scepter wasn’t normally a weapon, but tonight would be no normal night.
Abyssian had made it sound like Saetth’s strength was something to be feared; she was counting on it.
Now all she needed was transportation. One of Uthyr’s portals would do nicely. With her new power, she no longer feared the Møriør dragon.
As she set out from the tower, the castle assisted her, its clockwork pieces shifting to provide the most direct route to the throne room.
When she entered, the imposing dragon was leaning against the terrace doorway, a contemplative expression on his scaled face.
“King Uthyr.”
He went motionless, except for his rippling tail. Then he turned his great body toward her and eased closer.
“I’m Queen Calliope.”
His brow furrowed as his gaze lighted upon her crown. He extended his long neck, leaning in, far too close for comfort. She cringed when he sniffed the crown. After lingering on the horns, he drew back his giant head with a thunderstruck look.
She’d sensed the uniqueness of her crown, but hadn’t thought other creatures would. “Abyssian told me you can create portals.”
He nodded. She could have sworn she saw both approval and amusement in his expression.
“I’m late for my fiancé’s gala, so you are going to open a rift to Sylvan for me.”
His canted head so clearly said: I am?
“I’m the queen of hell, the sole sovereign of Pandemonia. Abyssian won’t be returning. You may stay in my kingdom, if you serve me.”
Golden eyes gleaming, he drew back his wing and made a flourishing bow. —Then your wish is my command.—
She jolted to hear his strangely accented voice in her head. She’d understood his telepathy? She supposed it made sense, at least here.
—If you’ll just step back, my fair queen, I’ll get started on a pumpkin carriage. Of sorts.— He steered her aside with his tail. Inhaling a deep breath, he loosed a stream of white flames across the throne room.
After the smoke cleared, a circular portal remained, like a tunnel of fire. She could see Sylvan on the other side! Traitorous feelings arose. As much as she loved hell, she’d missed Sylvan.
Lila would seize both realms, uniting them under her rule!
Uthyr must’ve opened his portal into the royal gardens; the stunning castle lay just beyond, haloed by portentous gray clouds.
Torches lit the structure, candlelight beaming from the arched windows of the throne room. She gazed with longing at the ivy-covered spires, the giant evergreens flanking the palace, the trellised roses that painted one wall bloodred.
In Gaia, she’d dreamed of that place, yearning for her childhood home so much she’d haunted a facsimile of the castle. Memories from those years surfaced, dividing her focus, but she ruthlessly shoved them away.
Just as she shouldn’t think about Abyssian. Whatsoever.
But how could he have said those things to her? When she’d told him she loved him?
The dragon leaned in again. —Be back before Sylvan’s clock tower chimes midnight.— He winked at her. —In all seriousness, my portal will extinguish itself on the final stroke of twelve.—
He recalled his father’s advice: Only hit hard if you aim true, son. Sian’s aim had been false, and he might’ve swung a deathblow.
“You left her with nothing to do but sit in hell’s dungeon and solidify her hatred of you.” Allixta stroked behind her panther’s ear. “All the best with your reconciliation.”
Was he too late? A short jaunt to Tenebrous would equal hours gone by in Pandemonia. “I go now.” He traced home—
And came shooting back into the black-stone keep, hitting the wall. “What the fuck?” He tried again. Boomeranged right back. “I can’t trace into my kingdom!”
“Let me.” Rune teleported. A split second later he flew through the air, slamming into the glass, which began to crack anew.
The others stilled, but Sian couldn’t be bothered with that threat. His mind was too busy conjuring one nightmare scenario after another.
What if hell had been attacked? What if one among his countless enemies had taken Calliope? Killed her? Uthyr had better be giving his dragonic life to protect her!
“I can’t get to my mate!” Sian snapped. “What force is keeping me out of my own realm?”
FIFTY-SIX
If I’m going to visit the neighbors, I’ve got to look fabulous. When Lila entered her wardrobe, a purple gown appeared across the divan, a pair of glass slippers beside it.
She’d never seen such an exquisite garment. It was sleeveless with a stiff, raised collar and a neckline that would plunge almost to her navel.
The color was royal—and defiant, reminding her of her treason trial.
“Why shouldn’t I believe you were involved in your parents’ plot to take my crown?”
“Because it still sits upon your godsdamned head.”
She pulled on the gown with a shiver. The material—one she’d never encountered before—had such a pronounced sheen, it looked black in certain lights. She stepped into the glass slippers, and they molded to her feet.
After pulling her hair into a loose updo, she assessed her reflection. Not bad.
In the mirror, she caught sight of a box on the top shelf of the wardrobe behind her. She imagined the box disappearing and reappearing into her raised hands.
It . . . did.
Her lips parted at its contents: an eerie black headpiece—a crown. Power seemed to flow from it.
On either side of the circlet, a proud black horn jutted upward. Over the front, long fangs crisscrossed. Wispy vines twined around the crown. Like black fire vines!
Queen of nowhere? Not quite. Her inauguration wouldn’t coincide with her wedding or claiming.
But with her crowning.
She donned the piece, eyes going wide when it tightened to fit her head. Those vines slithered down, plaiting into her hair.
She faced the mirror once more. Her eyes glowed with purpose. That crown made her look as if she had horns. A true queen of hell.
Now for her accessory. She turned to the scepter she’d modified and lifted it.
Carefully. Her scepter wasn’t normally a weapon, but tonight would be no normal night.
Abyssian had made it sound like Saetth’s strength was something to be feared; she was counting on it.
Now all she needed was transportation. One of Uthyr’s portals would do nicely. With her new power, she no longer feared the Møriør dragon.
As she set out from the tower, the castle assisted her, its clockwork pieces shifting to provide the most direct route to the throne room.
When she entered, the imposing dragon was leaning against the terrace doorway, a contemplative expression on his scaled face.
“King Uthyr.”
He went motionless, except for his rippling tail. Then he turned his great body toward her and eased closer.
“I’m Queen Calliope.”
His brow furrowed as his gaze lighted upon her crown. He extended his long neck, leaning in, far too close for comfort. She cringed when he sniffed the crown. After lingering on the horns, he drew back his giant head with a thunderstruck look.
She’d sensed the uniqueness of her crown, but hadn’t thought other creatures would. “Abyssian told me you can create portals.”
He nodded. She could have sworn she saw both approval and amusement in his expression.
“I’m late for my fiancé’s gala, so you are going to open a rift to Sylvan for me.”
His canted head so clearly said: I am?
“I’m the queen of hell, the sole sovereign of Pandemonia. Abyssian won’t be returning. You may stay in my kingdom, if you serve me.”
Golden eyes gleaming, he drew back his wing and made a flourishing bow. —Then your wish is my command.—
She jolted to hear his strangely accented voice in her head. She’d understood his telepathy? She supposed it made sense, at least here.
—If you’ll just step back, my fair queen, I’ll get started on a pumpkin carriage. Of sorts.— He steered her aside with his tail. Inhaling a deep breath, he loosed a stream of white flames across the throne room.
After the smoke cleared, a circular portal remained, like a tunnel of fire. She could see Sylvan on the other side! Traitorous feelings arose. As much as she loved hell, she’d missed Sylvan.
Lila would seize both realms, uniting them under her rule!
Uthyr must’ve opened his portal into the royal gardens; the stunning castle lay just beyond, haloed by portentous gray clouds.
Torches lit the structure, candlelight beaming from the arched windows of the throne room. She gazed with longing at the ivy-covered spires, the giant evergreens flanking the palace, the trellised roses that painted one wall bloodred.
In Gaia, she’d dreamed of that place, yearning for her childhood home so much she’d haunted a facsimile of the castle. Memories from those years surfaced, dividing her focus, but she ruthlessly shoved them away.
Just as she shouldn’t think about Abyssian. Whatsoever.
But how could he have said those things to her? When she’d told him she loved him?
The dragon leaned in again. —Be back before Sylvan’s clock tower chimes midnight.— He winked at her. —In all seriousness, my portal will extinguish itself on the final stroke of twelve.—
