Chapter 37

Ursula sat next to Bael in his living room—one of the few intact rooms remaining in his manor. Zee sat cross-legged on the floor, while Cera busied herself making tea.

The oneiroi sighed over the steaming tea kettle. “After you all left, Abrax and his golems attacked the grotto. Xarthra led the defense against them, but there simply weren’t enough oneiroi to fight back. Abrax’s forces are too strong.”

“What about her new soldiers?” asked Bael. “The ones who’ve been drinking her blood?”

Cera shook her head sadly. “All killed in the battle. The rest of the oneiroi are hiding in the mushroom forest. Others are in the deep caverns below the grotto. Abrax is hunting them like animals. That’s how he thinks of us, you know.”

“Why did you come here?” asked Ursula.

Cera handed her a hot cup of mushroom tea. “Because I knew this is where you’d go first when you returned.”

Ursula rubbed a knot in her forehead. “We can train here in your manor. Zee can help to glamour us from prying demon eyes.”

Bael nodded. “This is the last place Abrax would look anyway.”

Ursula frowned, not understanding. “But your manor is in shambles, and worse, it’s completely exposed. The first demon that flies by on a bat will see us.”

Zee ran a hand through her short, blonde hair. “I can glamour the exterior, but not indefinitely.”

“We’ll only need a few days,” said Bael.

He stood, his perfect jaw firm. “Cera, do you think you can rendezvous with the remnants of Xarthra’s army?”

Cera nodded. “Yes.”

Ursula found herself staring at Bael, at his deep golden skin. His dark hair swept over his forehead, and his straight black eyebrows furrowed as he fell deep into thought. Eyelashes dark as the void, and eyes pale as the morning sky over Byblos. Bael had looked this beautiful for ten thousand years. Ten thousand years of perfection.

And if she was going to stay with him, he’d watch her grow old, wither, and die. A cold shudder danced up her spine. She had more immediate concerns than her future mortality, but it chilled her to the bone nonetheless.

Ursula woke tangledin the bedsheets, in what might have been morning. It was always hard to tell on the moon. Last night, she’d slept wrapped in Bael’s powerful arms, dreaming of Byblos.

When she woke, she found herself alone in his stark, gray room. Starlight streamed through the window, bathing his room in silver.

Hunger drew her out of bed—hunger and the scent of food. Given that it smelled delicious, she knew for certain Bael wasn’t cooking.

Wrapping a soft, black robe around her shoulders, she opened the door and walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

Cera knelt over a small stove, stirring something in a pot. “Hungry?” she asked.

“Famished,” said Ursula.

“Well, come here, then,” said Cera. “It’s mushroom stew. Your favorite, if I recall.” She ladled a heaping portion into a chipped ceramic mug, then handed it to Ursula. “Drink it. It’s good for you.”

Ursula took a long sip. The stew was warm, with the same rich mushroom flavor she remembered.

With the stew warming her stomach, she dropped into a chair across from Cera. “I thought you were going to look for survivors.”

“I only just returned.”

Ursula blinked. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A day at least. Bael said not to disturb you. That your journey to Mount Acidale had exhausted you.”

“Where is he?” asked Ursula.

“In the caves, helping find the remnants of Xarthra’s army.”

“And Zee?”

“On the roof. Glamouring the whole place.

Ursula took a sip of her stew, crossing her legs. It seemed everyone had a role to play.

“You want something to do, don’t you?” asked Cera.

“Bingo.”

Cera clucked her tongue. “Well, you can’t go around just wearing a robe.”

“Not a lot of options.” Ursula looked down at the bathrobe she’d taken from Lucius’s quarters. It was now covered in soot and bat sweat.

“Come with me.” Already, Cera was bustling into another room.

Ursula slid her soup onto the counter, then followed Cera into the next room, where a number of baskets and hampers lined the wall. Cera muttered to herself, rummaging about in one of the hampers until she produced a pair of leather pants, a form-fitting black top, and a pair of boots.

Ursula smiled. “Ah. Perfect. I believe I left these behind the last time I was here.”

“I thought they might be useful.”

“I’m going to grab a shower.” She frowned, remembering something Bael had told her the night before. “Bael said the hot water was broken?”

Cera let out a long sigh. “Now that he’s decided that we’re all on equal footing around here, he insists on doing everything himself, except he doesn’t know how.” She followed Ursula into the dark-tiled bathroom, then fiddled with the knobs, and steam began to fill the room. “Let me know if it’s not warm enough.”

Ursula laid her clothes on the tile counter and pulled off her robe. She stepped into the scalding water, watching her skin turn pink under the punishing stream. She grabbed a bar of silver-flecked soap and began scrubbing at her skin.

After a few minutes, she stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her body. After drying off, she pulled on her clothes.

She found no sign of Cera when she crossed back into the living room—just Honjo, sheathed and lying on the sofa. She strapped her sword around her waist, feeling herself again with her blade on her.

From the floor below, voices in the atrium drifted through the air. She crossed to the balcony, catching a glimpse of Bael and a small group of oneiroi, some of them lying on cots, bleeding.

Bael looked up, catching Ursula’s eye, his forehead furrowed with concern. “Ursula. Can you help?”

Ursula’s pulse raced at the sight of blood, and she ran to the elevator, pulling open the metal door. As the elevator creaked down to the atrium, she wrapped her hands around the bars, staring down at the pitiful scene on the tiled floor.

The closer she got, the worse it seemed. Blood leaked through hastily wrapped bandages, and some of the oneiroi on the litters appeared to be missing limbs.

When the elevator reached the floor, she yanked open the door. “What happened?”

Bael shook his head. “One of Abrax’s golems found their hiding spot. These are the survivors. They need to be healed.”

Without responding, Ursula crossed to the closest oneiroi. Blood oozed from a deep wound on his scalp, and his eyes held a dazed look. She knelt by his side and began incanting Starkey’s Conjuration, the magic tingling over her skin. As she spoke, the man’s wounds began to knit together. He didn’t speak when she finished, instead staring at her with clear, silver eyes.

Another oneiroi moaned nearby, and she turned to help, the words of Starkey’s Conjuration already on her tongue.

Slowly she moved through the group of oneiroi, incanting the spell as quickly as she could, the magic tingling over her body. Bael helped, too, bringing in more wounded oneiroi and directing the process.

By the time she’d finished, her limbs felt completely drained, and the sensation of Emerazel’s fire in her veins held a dull pain of its own.

Worry nagged at the back of her mind, and she met Bael’s gaze. The golems were ruthless. “We need to fortify the manor. It’s only a matter of time before Abrax realizes we’re here and sends his golems in.”

Beal scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “Already working on it. And I expect there will be more injured survivors.” He pointed to a group of oneiroi clustered around a table. “Cera has already set up a food station for survivors.”

From the crowd of oneiroi, Cera bustled over to Ursula, thrusting another mug of hot soup into her hands. “You never finished yours. I won’t let you starve here.”

While Ursula sipped her soup, Bael got to work directing some of the oneiroi to help fortify the manor. She watched him directing one group to fill in holes with rubble, and another to erect scaffolding near a particularly precarious part of the manor’s walls. Cera was right. Bael was a natural leader, but she knew it wasn’t enough. An army this size made up of injured oneiroi could never defeat Abrax.

Where the hell is Lucius?