Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

I t was ten days later when the pain began.

The time was late morning, and Malissa was in the Royal Library, high within Drachenval's keep.

Perhaps the term "library" was somewhat grandiose. In reality, it was just a single room, not much bigger than Malissa's bedchamber, with bookshelves running along three of the four walls, and a few slit windows on the fourth to provide enough light to read by. A large oaken trestle table occupied the middle of the room.

The library had rarely seen any use over the past few years. That much had been obvious to Malissa the first time she had set foot inside it, shortly after her arrival at Drachenval. The shelves were veiled in cobwebs, the books were covered in dust, and on the one occasion Malissa had actually dared to crack open one of the volumes, she'd been startled by a pack of silverfish scattering like tiny thieves.

Malissa had decided to make the library her project.

Now that she knew she was going to be staying at Drachenval for a while, she needed something to occupy her time, and the so-called library seemed like the perfect place to focus her attention. She loved books, but until recently she'd been too preoccupied with other concerns—namely her own survival—to indulge her interest in reading. Now that matter seemed to be settled, and so was her mind.

Over the past week, Malissa had spent a few hours each day in the library knocking down cobwebs with a broom, dusting shelves, wiping covers with a dry cloth. She could have ordered the servants to do it, and they probably would have had the whole library clean in the time it took her to finish one section of the shelving, but she rather enjoyed doing it herself. It was nice having something to do for a change, and she could move at her own leisurely pace, pausing occasionally to flip through a book that caught her attention.

But on the day the pain started, she was working on something slightly different.

By the wall with the windows there sat a large wooden trunk laden with books. Malissa had brought that trunk with her when she'd first come to Drachenval several months before. It was a sort of parting gift from her father. A bitter one.

The books in the trunk had once belonged to Malissa's mother.

No one had actually told Malissa that, but it wasn't hard to guess. They certainly hadn't belonged to her father. Lord Herzog disdained the written word, and his knowledge of reading and writing barely extended beyond the ability to sign his name to the various decrees and contracts that came across his table. Besides, even if he had been a reader, Malissa didn't think he would be interested in books such as these.

Most of the books in the trunk were relatively tame. There were historical records, philosophical treatises, biographies of long-dead kings—but interspersed throughout were other works of a somewhat more scandalous nature. Collections of erotic poetry. Heretical texts. Books on demonology.

And, of course, the grimoire.

That slim volume had been sitting right on top of all the others, ensuring that Malissa would find it as soon as she opened the trunk for the first time. Her father had obviously placed it there to send a message, and Malissa had received that message, clear as a bell.

Lord Herzog had always refused to talk about his late wife. Malissa didn't know the woman's name. She didn't even know what she looked like, since there were no portraits of her hanging on the walls of her father's manor. The only thing Malissa knew about her mother was that she had died in childbirth. And that, Malissa surmised, was the cause of her father's icy resentment toward herself.

It was little wonder, then, that her father had been so eager to pack her off to be Wulfgang's thirteenth bride. King or no, most fathers would have been reluctant to hand their daughter over to a man whose wives had such a notoriously high mortality rate, but not Lord Herzog. He had been more than happy to be rid of the cursed child who had brought about his beloved wife's demise.

At least, that was what Malissa had thought…

Until she found the grimoire.

Apparently her mother had been interested in black magic, and perhaps it had been more than a mere passing curiosity. Perhaps she'd even been a practitioner. It was impossible to know for sure, but Malissa was now certain it was the reason her father had always refused to speak about her mother.

Lord Herzog was a cold, pious man. He would not have looked kindly upon her mother's taste in books. He no doubt thought her death had been a punishment for involving herself with unholy things—and, by extension, that Malissa was the physical embodiment of the curse which her mother had brought upon herself by dabbling in the dark arts.

That was the real reason he'd been so eager to get rid of Malissa, and that was the message he had been sending by placing her mother's grimoire right at the very top of the books in the trunk.

Ironically, it had ended up being the key to Malissa's survival.

Malissa knew it would be brazen of her to display her mother's books on the shelves of Drachenval's Royal Library, but she didn't care. Who would ever find them here anyway? Nobody used the library except for herself. Besides, if someone did find them, she could simply deny putting them there or claim ignorance of their contents. It wasn't like the king would put her to death for a few old books.

She was, after all, the mother of his heir.

Earlier, Malissa had cleared off a section of shelves by the windows. Now, she began unloading the contents of the trunk, placing her mother's books into the empty space. She arranged them by categories—poetry, history, biography.

And of course, all the books about magic and demons went together.

While she worked, Malissa's thoughts naturally drifted to Beliath. She'd gone back to visit him three more times over the past week. She would have visited him nightly if she could, but she had to sleep sometime.

She was looking forward to the equinox, when the demon would finally be freed from his prison. Then she wouldn't have to trek through the dark woods to see him. He could come to her instead. Of course, that sort of nocturnal visitation would present a new set of risks, but they were risks Malissa was willing to take.

She just hoped Beliath felt the same way.

They still hadn't spoken about it.

Malissa finished slotting the last of her mother's books onto the shelf, then she took a step back to admire her handiwork. At a glance, the books looked just like any of the other volumes innocently lining the shelves. Their leather spines gave away nothing about the unholy words written upon their foxed pages. No one would ever know what those books were about. No one but her.

She was just turning around to close the empty trunk when the pain struck—a sharp, shooting pain, low down in her belly.

Malissa doubled over with a gasp.

After a moment, the pain released her, but a moment later it returned, even harder and sharper than before. Something was stirring inside her, twisting, writhing.

The baby?

Even with Beliath's magic, she shouldn't have been able to feel the baby yet, but she could. She knew she could. Her maternal instincts told her so.

Something was wrong with her child.

Bracing herself against the bookshelves, Malissa stood up and tried to think. Should she go to Dr. Jaeger? No. She discarded that idea almost as soon as it arose in her mind. The alchemist's potions and herbal concoctions were too weak to even soothe the nausea she experienced most mornings. They would never help with this.

What Malissa needed was magic. She needed her demon.

And she needed him right away.