Devil's Punch (33 page)

The day of the ball I spent with my dressers. It took hours to curl my hair just so, apply cosmetics, and tweak my gown so that the fit was flawless. In this game, appearances mattered. I must prove that the Once and Future Queen had ascended and that they could dislodge me from my rightful place when Sheol froze over.

Hours later, I stood in the ballroom with my hand on Chance's arm. He was resplendent in black and silver, his suit tailored to match my ornate gown. I wore my father's heart about my throat—an enormous ruby fit for a queen on a hammered silver chain. Its bloody shine
brought out the highlights in my artfully arranged hair. Together, we watched the assembled crowd. The Hazo stood at the perimeter, scrutinizing the guests.

Along with the knights, I'd also invited a mixed swath of important persons, those who had influence within their castes. Some hadn't been born when the archangel stole me from my rightful throne—therefore, they could not look on this frail form and find it lacking in comparison—but I saw flickers of doubt in the countenances of old demons, who had known me before.

“…pretender,” I heard someone whisper.

But when I turned, the crowd was too close and thick for me to make out who had spoken. My nails bit into Chance's arm. In an easy motion, his palm covered my fingers, stroking lightly.

Then he spoke in my ear. “You
are
their queen.”

It was enough. I lifted my chin. When the guests paused, I led the way through the crowded ballroom to where Greydusk stood. He too had donned black and silver for the occasion to differentiate himself from other Imaron in attendance. Before the festivities began in earnest, I had two important matters of business to conduct.

“Greydusk, step forward.”

The Imaron did so, hands clasped behind his back. We had rehearsed for the occasion, so this should go off without a hitch. “Before these gathered nobles, I do formally commission you as my Baron of the Exchequer, responsible for all matters of trade and finance pertaining to Xibalba. The title shall be hereditary, passing in perpetuity to your heirs. Do you accept this office?”

“I do, my queen. On behalf of my son, I thank you.” He sank to one knee, dazed with delight, though he had known this was coming, formalizing his reward for believing in me when I had been a stupid, worthless human of uncertain potential. As our work together had begun with a pledge of faith, I did not ask for the ritual that bound him to his promise; I trusted that his loyalty was absolute.

“Greet your new baron.” I stared out over the crowd, registering the waves of hatred and envy.

I'd created a higher rank than knight; now Greydusk, once a lower-class Imaron, had leapt over those older and more powerful. It would goad them—and I intended it to. From their subsequent treachery, I would uncover those conspiring with the Saremon and decapitate them all in one stroke.

From the crowd, Heartsblood began the applause with loud, deliberate slaps of his oversize palms. Part of me thought I should be shocked at the monstrous faces staring back at me. I was at a ball full of
demons
, acting like it was no big deal. Deliberately I shut that voice down, but it was a little harder each time; the human girl gained purchase each time I let her in. Others joined the ovation until the room rang with unwilling approbation. Greydusk rose and accepted his due with a nod.

“Before I release you to enjoy my hospitality, I present to you the king consort, Chance Yi.” A rumble of mixed reactions ran through the crowd. I spoke over them. “Thus the succession is secured. There may be an heir on the way, even now.” I touched my belly for effect, noting the way Chance tensed beside me. “Now enjoy the party!”

The newly minted Baron Greydusk cued the players at the far end of the room.

When the musicians sounded the first notes, I stepped into the first turn with Chance. The court let us dance alone for a few moments in a gesture of respect and then they joined us on the floor. Tension buzzed along my skin as he spun me. I registered the dark looks and speculative, watchful eyes.

“So,” he said conversationally. “At what point did you plan on telling
me
you're having my baby? Oh, wait.”

His knife-edged disrespect, laced with anger, secretly amused me, but I leveled on him a stern look. “The queen controls all such matters.”

“I'm just a sperm donor, then?” A tremor ran through his hand, where it held mine. He twirled me in time to the music, his face pale. “Is this
really
happening?”

I'd spoil him with such behavior, but I answered anyway, in an undertone, “Not yet. It would be unwise to
bring our heir into such an unstable situation. I merely used the possibility as an agitant.”

“I can't even follow your train of thought anymore,” he admitted, his voice low.

That didn't trouble me. My chosen male didn't need to be brilliant, or even capable. He only needed to be virile and loyal. By comparison, Chance was surprisingly adroit in every respect. He would sire a fine daughter to rule in my stead someday; and perhaps his divine blood would compensate for my human deficiencies.

“Those who have the most to lose will actively strive against a firm succession,” I whispered.

That was all I needed to say. He understood my plan and approved it with a quick nod. But he still looked shaken. I might make his head explode if I didn't consult him regarding our reproductive schedule when the time came. It surprised me that I didn't entirely mind. If I'd had such a powerful bond with my consort when the archangel's call came, I might have denied it. I might have resisted temptation. If I hadn't assented in my own destruction and accepted the pull, none of this would have come to pass.

That was my deepest shame. I had abandoned my people for a seductive summons—for a taste of new, intoxicating power. And it cost me everything.

This time it would be different.

The band played on. Drink followed and laughter outpaced the whispers. They had forgotten the glamour of a queen's court. I'd spent an hour in here before the ball, leaving little traces of magick to make the night gleam a little brighter, encouraging frolic and recreation.

Shannon waved to me from across the room; she was dancing with Greydusk, surprisingly enough. At least she had the sense to keep away from the Luren. One of them would have her naked in an antechamber before she knew what he was doing. She looked lovely in a black gown with blue accents. I lifted a hand from Chance's shoulder as he spun me. When we twirled, she left my sight.

“Thirsty?” Chance asked eventually.

“A bit.”

Waiters circulated with trays of shimmering golden wine, but I led him over to the crystalline bowl filled with an effervescent red liquid.

He eyed it with skepticism. “What is that?”

With a half smile, I indicated the room, full of monstrous company. Some had wings and horns, odd-colored skin; others looked more or less human, apart from extra bits like tails or claws. And others were more beautiful than any human could hope to be. Such a diabolical assembly—and they belonged to me, one and all.

“Devil's punch, what else?”

Chance laughed quietly. “What's in it?”

“Best not to ask.” I recited what had become a running joke with Greydusk.

Before I took a sip, a capering Noit tested it for me. As queen, I had a taster, and this little idiot had volunteered. I watched for a few moments, but it showed no ill effects, apart from the bad manners of smacking its wide mouth and burping. “More!”

“The rest is mine.” I took a sip, and the flavors burst on my tongue.

After I drained the glass and Chance sampled it, he swept me back out into the dancing, mostly as a defense against the encroachers who inched closer while we stood idle. I found his protective nature…delightful. Other consorts had proven less than concerned about my welfare.

I did not dance with anyone else that night. And so I was in Chance's arms when the hammer fell. The ballroom filled with wintry mist and beneath the fog lurked cold shadows hunting me—oblong smudges of darkness with icy hunger at their hearts. They hated the living and they drank our energy like a fine wine.

I knew who had sent them; I
didn't
know how they had gotten past my wards.

Traitor.
The word whispered in my head, even as the guests screamed and fled. A panicked Noit tripped a Luren female in a lavish gown, which tangled about her graceful feet. She fell to her knees and a shade consumed
her. Her ivory flesh went blue and then crackled with ice. Soon, it shriveled and went dry like a husk, and when the shade drifted on, it had gained form and solidity. Across the room, an Aronesti took flight, sailing above the crowd toward the doors. A shade rose and swallowed the demon. First came the muffled screaming, and then silence, which was worse.

Quickly I cast to counter the freezing fog, making it harder for the shades to find living bodies to drain. Even demons lived; these creatures did not. They came from someplace darker and colder than Sheol, and that sent a chill straight through my body. The shades were new monsters, ones with which my pitiful human half had more experience than I. The Saremon had sent them; of that I had no doubt.

Warm steam filled the room, confusing the shades. Darkness swirled amid the white, steamy bursts. The guests fought one another to reach the exits, maddened by danger and terror, skills and magick made unreliable by too much liquor. Across the room, Greydusk huddled protectively over Shannon, fighting toward the doors. His body rippled, and then shifted; the Swordwraith took his place, and he threshed the girl clear. My last sight of them came when she turned to lift her chin at me, an acknowledgment that she was safe; then Greydusk changed back and led her away.

“I'm getting you out of here,” Chance said.

I was torn. It would send a stronger message if I stayed and fought, but I already had several caste knights, including Heartsblood and Zet, and my Hazo guards battling the invading spirits. Staying meant risking everything for pride. While I weighed the factors, he took the decision from me. He swept me into his arms and pushed toward the exit. The Hazo saw the consort coming and cleared a path with their magickal axes; they didn't seem to care who got in the way of their swings, and at the moment neither did I.

Someone had betrayed me. There was no other explanation.

I couldn't count this, definitively, as an assassination
attempt. Instead, it acted to shake my people's faith in my ability to govern, since I couldn't even keep my own perimeter secure. Really, it was a brilliant first maneuver in a guerilla campaign against me. I admired the executor, even as I considered the best way to eliminate him. I had to find Oz. And kill him.

In my chamber, I activated the preventive wards on the doors. They'd fry anyone who attempted to pass through without my permission. Butch raised his head and stared at the crackling gold energy and then yapped at me as if in question.

To my surprise, I answered. “It's a mess downstairs, but we're safe in here.”

That seemed to be enough reassurance. He went back to sleep.

The next thing I knew, Chance was kissing me, passionately, furiously. He drew me against him, hard, his whole body shaking. For a few delicious seconds, I fell into his need, before setting my hands against his chest.

“Flattering, my darling, but this isn't the time. We must—”

“You must
stay safe
.”

Ah.
The imperative to protect must be overwhelming him with sexual instincts. The Hazo, if chosen as consorts, were prone to such behavior. How interesting—a male as beautiful and elegant as Chance shared those primitive urges.

“Please,” he whispered, pressing hot kisses down my throat. “Greydusk will alert us when the danger's passed.”

“And you propose we make love while monsters run amok in my demesne?”

“Better than fiddling while Rome burns.”

“But not by much,” I said softly, stepping away.

A visible tremor shook him and he turned to brace his forearm against the ornate carved bedpost. He dropped his face against his arm and compassion sparked, a foreign instinct. For the first time, I saw what I was doing to him. I touched him lightly between the shoulder blades.

“Is it bad?”

He exhaled. “Yes. You consume me. I exist for
you
…and I don't even know who the hell you are.
Not
Corine, that's for damn sure.”

“I was Corine. And I was Ninlil. Now I encompass us both, although not comfortably so. Does it trouble you?” I hadn't given any thought to his feelings or his state of mind as I went about my business. That wasn't the unusual bit; the odd aspect of this conversation was that we were having it at all.

“It did. Not so much anymore. And that bothers me.”

“Because you don't loathe me? In your heart, you told yourself that you love
her
, not me—that you could esteem nothing in a creature like me.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“And now?” His reply mattered.

“You know the answer.” His face grew taut and desperate. He didn't want to speak it aloud.

“Give me a truthful response and we'll go to bed.” Manipulative, certainly.

“I love you,” he bit out. “You're the same to me. These days I don't care who I'm talking to, whether you're fierce, ambitious, and powerful, or sweet and soft. I love both sides, and I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

“You love me?” Shock reverberated through me. Consorts did not love the queen; they submitted to her will. They obeyed. They hoped for favor.

But love? Never.

Until now
.

“Awfully,” he said. “Endlessly. It's a torment.”

My heart shifted. Softened. The human woman pushed, pushed, until she surged forth, spinning me away.