Chapter 29

Afew hours later, Ursula and Bael stepped down from his carriage and onto the marble, on the very top level of the crystal spire. The sun burned bright in a black sky—thankfully, not at its zenith, yet.

She wore a gown of shimmering white silk, with a plunging backline, now covered by a pale blue cloak.

She stole a quick glance at Bael. “Remind me again why we’re here?”

“As lord, I’m required to attend dinners at the spire.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And remind me why I needed to come?”

“Because your presence will distract everyone enough that I won’t need to speak to anyone.”

She cocked her head, the wind whipping through her hair. “I’m not sure that I distract everyone. I think that’s just you.”

He shook his head slowly. “Everyone watches you.”

That’s disturbing. Steeling her nerves, she glanced out at the dancing swarms of lunar moths. Asta’s purple light shone through their wings, as they wove and dodged silently around the spire. For some bizarre reason, she felt strangely at home here. At peace.

She reached into her cloak pocket, rolling the silver ring around in the palm of her hand.

“We should enter,” said Bael.

She turned to see him pulling open a black door that led into a dark hall. She stepped inside, walking at Bael’s side. Some insane impulse overtook her, and she slid her arm through his.

She felt his muscle tense as she touched his elbow, but he kept silent.

The hallway opened into an enormous rectangular hall, the walls painted silver. A spray of ravens had been painted over one of the walls. Black chandeliers, lit with candles, hung from ceiling above two long, onyx tables.

The lords sat in silver chairs around the table—apart from Hothgar, who sat in an enormous, throne-like chair at the head. The wives sat at the other table.

A small oneiroi servant bustled up to Ursula, beckoning her forward. “This way, milady.”

The servant led her to an open seat at the wives’ table, then held out her hand for Ursula’s cloak.

Ursula pulled it off. “I’ll keep it with me, thank you.” She wanted to keep the silver ring as close as possible. She’d need her little good luck charm to get through tonight.

As she draped her cloak over the chair, a hush fell over the group. Eleven pairs of eyes locked directly on her, taking in her pearly gown. And as before, she was seated near Viking, Goth Princess, and Talons.

She glanced at Viking, dressed in a sea-green gown. A deep purple bruise discolored her chin. She nodded to Ursula.

The other women weren’t quite so friendly. Goth Princess turned away, showing Ursula her pale back, clad in black lace.

Talons scowled at Ursula, tapping a long red claw on her silver goblet. Talons’s silver hair tumbled over a violet gown. “Who invited the dog?”

Ursula narrowed her eyes. “The name is Ursula.”

Viking twirled her champagne flute, shooting a sharp look to Talons. “Easy, Budsturga. We’re not supposed to make a scene.”

So that was Talons’s name—Budsturga.

Goth Princess shot her a dark look. “It upsets the balance to have a human in here. And the smell is unbearable.”

Ursula cocked her head. You want to do catty? I know how to do catty. “That’s funny. Your husband Abrax doesn’t think I’m human. Apparently, that’s what he likes about me.”

Princess glared. “He has a perverse fascination with freaks.”

Ursula plucked her glass from the table. “Doesn’t speak well of you, does it?”

Viking slapped the table. “I said, we’re not to make a scene. Honestly, ladies. Who is the real enemy, here?”

Budsturga’s face was incredulous. “What in the heavens are you talking about? The oneiroi?”

Viking leaned in, whispering, “When was the last time you saw a woman fight? Our husbands say we must do as they say because women are weak.” She gazed right at Ursula. “But Ursula is proving them wrong. If they are wrong about Ursula, maybe they’re wrong about all of us.”

Goth Princess crossed her arms, practically pouting. “What makes you hate your husband so much, anyway?”

Viking shrugged. “I hate yours, too. He is a monster. But Hothgar is the one I have to live with. You see this?” She pointed to the purple bruise on her chin. “That was because I lost a bet on the melee.”

Budsturga stabbed her talon into a canapé. “Men are brutal, yes. Best avoided.”

Viking turned to Ursula. “Surely Bael is different. He’s unmarried. But I’m told he does like women. Is it true what they say about him as a lover?”

Ursula cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t know. We train together. That’s it.”

The furrow in Viking’s brow suggested she didn’t believe this. “Of course, ladies of the Shadow Realm would never bed a man before marriage. But I assumed a woman such as yourself...” Her sentence trailed off.

Ursula’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t realize demons had rules about sex before marriage.”

“Not all demons,” said Goth Princess. “Only the nobles of the Shadow Realm.”

Ursula nodded. “And let me guess. It only applies to female nobles.”

“Of course,” said Budsturga.

Viking leaned in close. “It really doesn’t seem fair. We should get to try them out before committing. The first time I kissed Hothgar was at our claiming ceremony. It was a horrific disappointment, but by then it was too late.”

Ursula took a sip of wine, nearly too engrossed in the conversation to notice the waiters bringing bowls of steaming mushroom soup. “What’s a claiming ceremony?”

Viking slurped her soup. “It’s the ceremony when a husband claims his wife. It is the one tradition the warriors of Nyxobas adopted from the oneiroi. And because it comes from the beasts, it’s positively savage.”

Ursula shook her head. “But what is it?”

Budsturga stabbed another crudite with her talons. She’d have a hell of a time eating soup. “When a warrior claims a woman, they exchange rings. Then, the contract is sealed with a public display of lust. Nothing too far, Nyxobas wouldn’t allow that. But the warrior must show sexual domination over his woman.”

“As you can imagine,” the Princess sighed, “Abrax took things a bit far.”

“It’s a marriage ceremony?” asked Ursula.

“More like an engagement,” said Budsturga.

Viking’s cheeks reddened. “Hothgar proposed in Asta’s spire, then forced his tongue down my throat in front of the other lords. He ripped off my top. Frankly, that was the last time he showed any interest in me, and that was over a thousand years ago.”

Goth Princess shrugged. “Men only want what they can’t have.” Her dark eyes slid to Ursula. “The forbidden flesh. And yet you’re telling us Bael has no interest in you?”

Ursula’s cheeks warmed. “Apparently not.”

Viking wiped the soup off her chin, staring at Goth Princess. “Asharoth. Why does your husband hate Bael so much?”

Asharoth—apparently, that was her name—cocked her head. “He is the son of a god. He demands worship. And Bael has never been sufficiently submissive. His role as Sword of Nyxobas always rankled Abrax.”

Viking threw back a long gulp of wine. “Hothgar isn’t even a demigod, and he demands worship. You should see the inside of his temple.”

Ursula ate a spoonful of her soup. This sounds good. “And what would I find in the inside of his temple?”

Viking giggled. “We can’t always get humans here in the Shadow Realm. They simply die so easily. But when we run low on human slaves, Hothgar has his dolls.”

Ursula leaned in over her soup. “What does he do with his dolls?”

Viking held her hand to her face, whispering. “He gets drunk on vodka, and uses his magic to animate them. He has them bend down to worship him, calling him Nyxobas. One or two he declares to be heathens, and he crushes them beneath his feet.”

“And the whole time,” added Budsturga with a wicked smile. “He has his lunar staff out.”

“And I thought my husband was perverse,” said Asharoth.

Ursula’s lip curled. “And you’re not allowed to have any fun with other men while your husbands do whatever they want?”

Asharoth’s jaw dropped. “Of course not.”

Ursula sipped her wine. “You ladies are getting a raw deal.”

Asharoth shrugged. “It’s not all horrible. As soon as a man claims you, you are protected. No man may touch another man’s wife. No one may harm us. And men are forbidden from killing the women they’ve claimed.”

Ursula stared. “That’s it? They can’t kill you? Like I said, you’re getting a raw deal.”

Before anyone could respond, a commotion erupted at the lord’s table.

Bael stood. His dark magic whipped the air around him. “Abrax attacked me in my manor. He crossed my threshold uninvited.”

Hothgar held out his hands, a placating gesture. “I know you’re angry?—”

“I’m not angry.” And yet, icy wrath laced his voice. “But I want the fealty to which I am entitled.”

Hothgar waved a dismissive hand. “As I said already, you killed his champion.”

“His champion attacked me like a wild animal. If Abrax hadn’t invaded my house, his champion would still be alive. I’m owed a fealty.”

Hothgar rose. “And as I said, your killing of his champion is fealty enough.”

“I know you two are colluding. A lord’s manor is sacrosanct. A real Sword of Nyxobas would never allow this transgression.”

Abrax leaned back in his chair, studying his nails. “Maybe you should have been more careful and not lost your wings.” His gaze flicked to Bael.

“If you weren’t Nyxobas’s son, I would have slaughtered you months ago,” Bael snarled. He turned, walking from the table and out of the hall.

Abrax’s gaze slid to hers, and Ursula’s stomach turned. Time to get out of here.

Budsturga leaned in to her, whispering, “I think you should follow him.”

Ursula rose, yanking her cloak off the back of the chair. You don’t have to tell me twice.