Chapter 2

Even in his human form, Abrax sent an icy trickle of fear through Ursula’s chest. He wore a black velvet jacket buttoned up to the neck and dark gray pants. He moved like a predator, each step calculated to require the barest minimum of effort. Like a cat preparing to pounce. His gunmetal-gray eyes pierced the dim light of the cell, cold as death. “Ready for a little chitchat, Ursula?”

“I don’t have anything new to tell you,” said Ursula, remaining exactly where she was.

“We’ll see about that,” Abrax snarled as he motioned for his oneiroi to enter the room. The guards split, one to either side of the room, so that they flanked her.

Ursula felt fire kindle in her veins, but before she could summon her power, Abrax flicked his wrist. Tendrils of shadow magic leapt from his fingers, wrapping around Kester’s throat.

Shadows slid through Abrax’s eyes as he turned to Ursula. “Either you extinguish your fire, bitch, or the hound dies while you watch.”

Kester clutched the tendrils at his throat, his lips already turning purple. It took all of Ursula’s self-control to quench the fire in her blood.

“Fine, we can talk.” She took a step closer to Abrax, desperate to beat the shadows right out of him.

“That’s close enough, Ursula darling,” Abrax purred. “Kneel and hold out your hands.”

Ursula hesitated, but a choking noise from Kester’s throat spurred her to her knees. She knelt on the stone floor. When she lifted her hands, one of the oneiroi drew a pair of glowing manacles from under his cloak. Once Abrax clasped the manacles on her wrists, he smiled at her.

His pale eyes glinted in the gloom. “This is going to be fun. We have so much to talk about.”

“I suggest you release Kester.” Flames began to flicker around her fingers. “These manacles might be immune to my flames, but they won’t prevent me from burning you to a crisp.”

“I’m bored of this now.” Abrax flicked his wrist again, and the cords of shadow magic that bound Kester disintegrated. “But start any fires, and the hound’s dying cries will haunt your nightmares.”

Ursula studied Abrax as she considered her options. Obviously, going with him wasn’t optimal. For one thing, he’d tried to consume her soul on multiple occasions, and then there was the whole torture thing she’d just learned about. Time spent with Abrax probably was unlikely to be among her happiest memories.

Her chest tightened. What else could she do? She wasn’t about to let him kill Kester.

“All right. I’ll come with you,” she said through gritted teeth.

She followed Abrax into the hall. Once through the cell door, the oneiroi guards assumed positions on either side of her. Each held a short sword with a lethal-looking edge.

Abrax walked ahead. His shadow magic had receded, giving him an almost human appearance. Still, she’d seen him assume his demonic form enough times to know he could eviscerate her in an instant if he felt like it.

As Ursula followed, she allowed her fire to begin to kindle in her veins. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough so she’d have it ready at her fingertips if anyone attacked her.

Her footsteps echoed off the sleek walls, and she surveyed her surroundings. Abrax’s manor was sparsely decorated, the bare walls a sterile gray. Maybe Abrax took Nyxobas’s edict for austerity and asceticism seriously.

The manor was deathly quiet, and she would have thought it empty if not for a few glimpses she caught of oneiroi servants slipping into doorways as they approached. Even with Emerazel’s fire warming her, she shivered. Abrax’s own servants found him terrifying.

When they reached the central hall, Abrax led them down a staircase with steps of black marble. At the bottom of the staircase, they stepped onto the floor of the great hall. While Bael had decorated his floor with an enormous mosaic of a lion’s head, Abrax’s was lined with simple slate tiles.

As if reading her mind, the incubus gestured at the gray stone. “Ornamentation and embellishment are for the weak-minded.”

“Wanker.” Frankly, right now, she couldn’t think of a better response.

The oneiroi to her right made a little noise that sounded remarkably like a laugh, though Abrax didn’t seem to notice as he started across the room. Ursula frowned at where they were going. A jumble of scaffolding stood propped against the cliff face at the far end of the room.

“After my visit to your boyfriend’s manor, I decided to do a little excavating myself. I think you’ll want to see what I found.” Abrax reached the scaffolding, then lifted a tarp to reveal the mouth of a tunnel.

Ursula glared at the ragged hole cut into the rock. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

“Someplace private where we can chat.”

Bollocks. “We can chat perfectly well right here. Just send your guards away, and I will tell you anything you want to know.” She channeled a bit more of Emerazel’s fire into her blood.

Abrax flashed the guard next to her a look, and instantly the cold steel of a sword pressed against her spine.

“We’ll chat where I say that we’ll chat.”

She grunted with frustration, her gut churning with nerves. With the blade directing her, she followed Abrax into the tunnel.

Inside, Abrax conjured a glowing orb, revealing crudely carved walls and a floor littered with debris. Ursula sniffed. It had that familiar lunar smell: creosote and rock dust. Abrax hadn’t been lying—this tunnel had just been hewn from the cliff face. A cold fear threatened to quench the fire in her veins. Where is he taking me?

Abrax led them farther into the bowels of the cliff. After a hundred yards, the walls seemed to close in. Ursula had to duck as they passed through a narrow gap in the rock and into another tunnel. Here, the floor was clear of debris and the raw smell of rock dust much fainter. Ursula reached out to touch the smooth stone walls. In this part of the tunnel, they were moving through an older space. She glanced behind her, seeing only impenetrable darkness.

Abrax led them deeper into the side of the cliff, the light from his orb revealing curling patterns and runes carved into the rock. The same ones she’d seen in Bael’s manor, carved by the same people. The passage twisted and turned, deeper and deeper into the side of the cliff.

Ursula’s jaw clenched as they walked. She hated the idea of ending up in a remote place with this smarmy, torturing prick. But she wasn’t holding any cards in this scenario.

Around them, veins of violet crystal began to streak the rock, and Ursula reached out to touch one. Icy shadow magic hummed against her fingertips. For a moment, she glimpsed Nyxobas’s void yawning before her. A voice rose from the depths of her own mind. Who are you, Ursula? Who are you really? Fear washed over her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know who she was—she craved the pure, sweet oblivion of the void. The emptiness—the freedom.

As suddenly as the vision had arrived, it was replaced by a vision of Emerazel’s infernos—so realistic she could taste bitter ash on her tongue. She yanked her hand back as though burned.

She must have yelped, because Abrax spun round.

“Keep your hands at your sides,” he growled.

Ursula felt the sharp point of a sword at her back again.

As they moved deeper down the passage, the cool hum of shadow magic flickered over Ursula. More of the purple crystals glinted in the rock around them. Emerazel’s fire thrummed in her veins, yet her skin felt frigid—like she was standing outside on the coldest day of winter.

Something wasn’t right. Shadow magic had never felt this icy, this foreign, before. When Bael had taught her how to wield it, to shadow run, it had been a powerful energy flowing within her. Now, it was something entirely different, as alien to her as the harsh lunar landscape.

Just up ahead, Abrax disappeared from view as the tunnel cut sharply right. When she reached the turn, her breath caught as a wave of frozen air washed over her. I could really use a warm coat right about now.

The tunnel opened up into a large cavern. Like the interior of a geode, violet crystals lined the floor, walls, and ceiling. In between the crystals grew enormous luminescent mushrooms. Their light shone through the translucent stone, illuminating the room with indigo light.

Abrax strode to a platform in the center of the cavern, his arms folded over his chest, and mounted it. Despite the stillness of the air, thick clouds of shadow magic swirled about him. Violet light sculpted his exquisite face. He was striking—except the fact that he was a murderous arsehole kind of detracted from his beauty a bit.

“Now, this is a nice place to talk,” he said.

A frigid chill rippled over Ursula’s body, and her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Shadow magic wafted and curled between the crystals like swamp gas among the roots of ancient trees.

Slowly, the magic seemed to penetrate her body, filling her with an icy, gnawing emptiness. Ursula’s legs gave way to quavering spasms, and she fell to her knees.

“Now you see the true power of Nyxobas,” intoned Abrax.

“What is wrong with me?” Ursula managed. Her body was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering so hard she thought they might break.

“That is what I intend to find out,” said Abrax.

One of the oneiroi guards grabbed the chain between her manacles and began to drag her toward the center of the cavern. As she neared Abrax, Ursula saw that he stood on a platform carved from pure shadow-crystal. Shadow magic floated over its surface in a dark miasma. Every fiber of her being wanted to run, to sprint back down the tunnel, but her entire body trembled uncontrollably, like a fish flopping on a fisherman’s dock.

She was unable to so much as throw a punch as the guards lifted her up. When they dropped her onto the crystal platform, shadow magic seared her skin, as if she’d been thrown into a bath of liquid nitrogen. Pain screamed through her body. Get me the fuck out of here.

With the chain that bound her wrists, Abrax yanked her into a sitting position. “Who are you?”

“Ursula,” she said through chattering teeth. “You know this, you useless knob-end.”

Quick as a snake, Abrax slammed his boot into her chest and pushed her down to the crystal. “Tell me where you come from.”

“I-I don’t know,” Ursula stammered. The icy shadow magic was so cold she could barely string the words together.

“Who taught you to use shadow magic?”

“Bael…” He’d trained her to channel shadows. Once, it had seemed second nature to her. She had no idea why it was hurting her so much now.

“I’m asking you again. Where are you from?”

“I’ve told you before. I have no memory before the age of fifteen.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Look, a hag woman from the river told me something, but I have no idea if it’s true,” Ursula blurted out as a searing pain lanced between her shoulder blades. The crystal was so cold she could hardly breathe. “She said I’m from Mount Acidale.”

Abrax lifted his foot slightly. “Where in Mount Acidale?”

“I don’t bloody know!” said Ursula frantically. If he didn’t let her up, she was certain the air was going to freeze in her lungs.

Abrax pressed down again with his heel, and pain screamed through her chest, so sharp she could hardly take a breath. “If you want the pain to end, you will answer my questions. Where are you from in Mount Acidale?”

“I…don’t…know,” said Ursula, her mind swimming with agony. “I can’t breathe. If you don’t let me up?—”

Abrax shook his head. “Pathetic. Kester put up more of a fight.”

With a jerk on the manacle chain, so hard it threatened to rip her arms from her sockets, Abrax pulled her to her feet.

She shivered in the frigid air of the cavern. Someday, Abrax, I’m going to stop your withered heart. “You know I’m engaged to Bael. The laws of Nyxobas protect me.”

Abrax jerked her chain so hard she stumbled toward him. He grabbed her hair, so that her face was only inches from his. “Let me be clear, Ursula. In my domain, nothing protects you.” He traced the sharp edge of a fingernail along her throat. “No one even knows you’re here.”

“Kester—”

“Kester will be dealt with.” Abrax pushed her away. “If you want to live, you’re going to need to start answering my questions. Tell me about Mount Acidale.”

Ursula shook her head. “I don’t remember anything. Agnes gave me a piece of my mother’s blouse. Covered in blood.”

Abrax’s eyes narrowed. “Agnes? The hag of the Thames you mentioned?”

“Yes.”

Abrax stepped toward her. “What did Agnes tell you?”

“She told me she was dead.” She should have felt a bit more of a pang at that memory, except Ursula couldn’t remember her mother at all. It was hard to grieve for someone when you didn’t even know what they looked like, couldn’t remember their voice or their smile.

“Is that all?”

“Agnes only allowed me to ask three questions.”

Think, Ursula, think. She needed to find a way to get out of here.

Abrax paused, his eyes unfocused as he considered what she had said.

Now standing, Ursula took the opportunity to scan her surroundings. They stood on a platform in the center of the cavern, entirely ringed by violet crystals. The platform itself had been carved from the stump of an enormous crystal, its surface inscribed with more of the twisting runes she’d seen in the tunnel. If it weren’t for the freezing shadow magic, it would have been astonishingly beautiful.

Ursula glanced at the pair of oneiroi guards stationed at the base of the platform. They watched her with silver eyes, their faces expressionless. If she made a run for it, she’d have to get past them. And she was nowhere near full strength right now.

Before she could conceive a plan, Abrax pulled her hair so that she looked into his steel-gray eyes. “You said Agnes showed you a piece of your mother’s blouse?”

“Yes. She had a rag that she said had been my mother’s. Why do you care?”

“What did it look like?”

Ursula tried to envision the scrap of material. Everything from that time on the shore of the Thames seemed blurry, as though she’d been wearing glasses with the wrong prescription. The hag had given her the scrap of blouse, and later she’d stuffed it into a plastic bag. What had it looked like, exactly? Slowly, the memory bloomed in her mind.

“It was purple, I think. With gold embroidery. Covered in blood.”

“Your mother was a member of the royal guard?” Abrax’s face cracked into a vicious smile. “One killed in uniform. I wonder if she was the one Nyxobas recruited.”

“Recruited for what?” Ursula stared at Abrax, trying to decipher what he was talking about.

“Now I understand why Kester and Emerazel didn’t tell you anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Panic crept into Ursula’s voice.

“In the battle of Mount Acidale, we turned one of the king’s guards. The woman worked for us. When Bael gave the signal, she attacked the king, just as she was supposed to. She only managed to kill the queen. If Kester hadn’t been standing next to King Midac, she would have killed him, too.”

Ursula’s pulse raced. Bael had ordered her mother to kill a king? When she cast her mind back, she remembered Bael’s disturbed reaction to learning she was from Mount Acidale. But was this even true, or just more bullshit from Abrax? “You’re telling me that my mother tried to kill the king.”

Abrax’s voice was as smooth as a serpent’s hiss. “Exactly. And that blood you saw on her shirt came from Kester’s blade running through her heart.”