Lanthe answered, "Nothing at this exact moment. Of course, something could have come up since I came to the dungeon. In any case, Omort summoned you-I figured you wouldn't want him coming to search for you.

Sabine turned to one of her Inferi. "You. Come here." She'd promised the demon that he could be free to move about the cell and clothed. And she was feel­ing just guilty enough to allow him a pair of pants and some limited freedom.

As the attendant ran off with her instructions, Sabine and Lanthe hastened to court.

"Your eyes are still glowing, Abie. You might want to camouflage that before you see Omort."

Sabine wove a new illusion over her face. "It was ... nice with Rydstrom. Unexpected." A demon lover with eyes tike night-who looked at her as if nothing else existed for him.

"Are you falling for him?"

"Could there be a more doomed relationship? It is ridiculous even to contemplate." His husky voice . . . the way his smooth skin tasted. "He's just so... so good"

"I think that intrigues you," Lanthe said. "He's a male as strong as you, and one you can't defeat."

"Can we talk about this later? Perhaps after you tell me what's happening here?"

"Pravus patrols are returning with reports of small uprisings, increasing in number and intensity. Some of the rage demons even attacked the patrols."

"They've never dared before."

"They know we have their king. And evidently they also know Cadeon has undertaken the quest for the sword. Just like you'd said, it's become a rallying point."

"Can there be anything else?"

"Absolutely! I also heard that Omort has dispatched four fire demons to acquire not just a soothsayer, but the most powerful one in existence."

Sabine said, "Nïx."

The notorious Valkyrie oracle called Nïx the Ever-Knowing, or Nucking Futs Nïx, was rumored to be three thousand years old and exceedingly insane.

But her foretellings, when she deigned to give them, were always accurate.

"It seems she keeps eluding the fire demons," Lanthe said. "Oh! Almost forgot-we've heard word that vam­pires are converging in the forest outside the castle to

take Tornin."

"Lothaire's?" Was that why he'd been studying every­one, because he planned some kind of treachery? "We don't think so. His covenant is still intact." When they reached the grand double doors of the court, a snickering group passed the sisters on their way inside. "What in the hell is going on?"

"They know you haven't been able to seduce him." Her face fell. "The covenant." Actual evidence that she was still a virgin was available for all the world to

see.

Now everybody would be waiting for the tablet to break. The Sorceri males she'd been sexual with-the ones who could never talk her out of her virginity- would think it great fun that she couldn't even give her virtue away to the one she'd supposedly saved it for.

"There are betting pools," Lanthe muttered.

"Betting pools. And what are the odds?"

"You don't want to know. But we could make a mint if you can put a lock on this."

Everyone in the castle knew she was failing in her bid for power. And she was about to enter court-a ruthless jungle of backbiting and betrayals. Not only would this be damaging for her ego, but if she lost face badly enough in the power-worshipping Pravus, her very life could be in jeopardy.

Sabine heard more snickers. Hettiah and her coterie of worthless Sorceri friends strolled past the sisters on their way into court. Their mocking glances made it easy for Sabine to see she would have to strike out.

Lose face, lose life. This was her world. She hadn't gone through the effort of surviving in it this long just to be killed when she was on the cusp of something more. "I'm going to have to fight in there if challenged."

Though she and Lanthe had no battle sorcery, they both were scrappy and had become fair swordswomen. In battle, Sabine used her illusions to make them invis­ible, allowing them to run around the field, decapitat­ing merrily.

It wasn't very valorous, but then, only stupid people held valor over life.

"I know you'll have to," Lanthe said quietly. "And I can't be there with you."

"Hey, don't worry." Sabine held up her gauntlets. "I just had my claws sharpened." She rapped the metal together, and the smooth ringing tone was pleasing to the ear-

Without warning, Lothaire traced in front of them, peering down at them from his towering height.

Sabine raised her hands up to him, ready to draw his nightmares. "I've heard friends of yours plan to visit?"

"I'll trace away before you madden me, sorceress," he said, his words laced with a thick accent. Some said he hailed from Dacia, and had been a true Transylvanian.

Sabine's lips thinned, but she lowered her hands. He hadn't threatened her, and she wasn't supposed to attack Lothaire. Technically, he was part of the New Pravus.

One of the inner circle. His blood was in that tablet that hung on the east wall.

He said, "Just to be clear, I have no friends. And my soldiers are in the bailey downstairs."

"Then who lurks in our forest?" she asked.

"One of the splinter factions breaking away from the Horde since the old vampire king died. My spies indi­cate they'll attack tomorrow night."

Tornin had protections in place-basically a mystickal moat-so the vampires wouldn't be able to trace directly inside. At least, not for long. "What do they want?"

"The well."

The Well of Souls. Armies always sought to control it, because each faction of the Lore had its own legends surrounding it.

The Lykae believed it cured the madness that accom­panied the transformation to werewolf. The vampires believed it allowed them to be daywalkers and to turn human females into vampires for their potential Brides. The House of Witches believed it gave them the abili­ties of all five of their castes.

In truth, Sabine didn't know what the hell it did. Even Omort vowed he didn't. All they knew was that the well's power would be unimaginable-and unlocked only by Sabine's son.

"Who leads the vampires?" Lanthe asked.

"They have no true ruler, because they won't accept a commoner like myself."

The Horde was notorious for following only those born in the royal line. "Yet you lead the ones who've joined the Pravus."

"I might have mentioned to them that the well will resurrect the old Horde king to rule them once more. As soon as the Pravus wins."

Devious vampire. He rose another notch in Sabine's opinion. "What about Kristoff?" He was the old king's nephew and should be the true ruler, being of royal lineage, though not a drinker of living blood.

Lothaire shook his head. "They know he will make them abide by his laws. They have been lawless for so long, they won't be brought to heel that easily. Plus, they like the taste of human flesh." Had he licked his fang for a shot of blood? "This is a mere fraction of the army that will gather. In the next two nights, more will come. Many of them know this land from fighting the mighty demon king in ages past."

Everyone knew the tales of Rydstrom riding out in his fearsome black helmet, beating the Horde back from Tornin. His battles were legendary. "One would think you'd be able to persuade them to leave."

"Would one?"

"Sabine!" Omort yelled from inside. He was glassy-eyed, but when he saw her at the doorway, he seemed to rouse. Then he spied Lanthe beside her. "Be gone, Melanthe!" he ordered. "Back to your tower."

"One day . . ." Lanthe said telepathically, slinking off. "Goodluck."

As Sabine sauntered inside toward the throne, all eyes were on her. When she separated from Lothaire- lest others suspect them of a secret alliance-the vam­pire murmured, "Noted, sorceress."

Once she reached the dais, Omort was fiddling with

his poison ring. Sabine would give anything for the antidote to his morsus. Each poison was individual, and since Omort's was prepared by the Hag in the Basement, she was the only one who could cure Sabine.

But the Hag had entered into a covenant never to surrender the antidote to another. ...

"Cadeon the Kingmaker continues after the sword," Omort said.

In as soothing a tone as she could manage, Sabine said, "Yes, brother, but it could take him years to find the Vessel."

"Cadeon already has her!"

Sabine's lips parted. "Are you saying the Vessel is on her way to Groot?" With a male like him, that female would bear another ultimate evil. The world couldn't withstand another like Omort. "Send fire demons to assassinate her," Sabine said coolly.

"You think I haven't?" Omort yelled, spittle coating his bottom lip.

He disgusted her. Earlier, when Rydstrom had realized she was going to leave him, he'd inhaled deeply, visibly in pain. And then he'd gained control of himself. Who was more powerful, the quiet demon king she kept in chains or the mad sorcerer who could destroy the world but couldn't keep a single castle in order?

Omort snatched up a goblet, dashing it against the wall. "Those demons continue to fail us."

"We'll think of something," Sabine said. "I'll go after her myself if I need to. And I never fail you."

"You are failing me right now! You've been in the demon's cell again and again!" He slammed his fist on the throne arm. "We've been waiting days for some kind of progress-why can't you get him to do this?"

"Was there a time limit to my task?"

Hettiah said, "We've heard word that you go and do nothing but talk."

Once! "Your pet's making sniveling noises again, Omort. Shut-her-up!"

"I think you're not committed to this cause!" Omort snapped. "Perhaps I should withhold the morsus to spur you on."

Sabine's eyes narrowed. The chamber appeared to rock. "You keep threatening me with that, and you will not like the outcome."

"You dare-"

Four fire demons traced in front of the dais, just to her side. The court fell silent in shock.

The demons were beaten, bloody, and handless. Pinned to the shirt collar of one was a folded note stamped with an N in a black wax seal.

Nïx. The Valkyrie had sent them back with their hands lopped off-rendering them powerless.

Omort stormed down the steps to them and ripped the parchment free, tearing it open. As he read, a vein bulged in his forehead. "That bitch! She'll know my wrath and will learn to fear it!" he yelled, crumpling the letter and throwing it away. "I go for her myself!" In an instant, Omort raised his hands and smote the four to ash.

Stepping around the charred remains, Sabine scooped up the note, smoothing the paper to read:

Dear puss,

Is this all you've got? Why don't you strap on your big girl panties and come face me yourself? Unless you fear that the Nixanatar will spank Omort's wittle bottom.

By the way, you've taken one of the most respected leaders in our army. We're going to want him back. Especially since Sabine cant break him.

Bringing it,

Nïx the Ever-Knowing, Soothsayer Without Equal,

General of the New Army of Vertas.

Sabine whistled out a surprised breath. The Valkyrie truly was crazed.

Then she frowned. Can't break him? Again, was there a time limit? Style points?

And what was this Army of Vertas? Sabine had heard rumors that Nïx was placing factions together- the Lykae, the Forbearers, the noble fey, the House of Witches, a mix of Demonarchies, and many more. Had they all struck an alliance?

Perhaps they were using this letter to lure Omort into a trap. Sabine knew the other side had mystickal prisons, entire islands that were inescapable. Could they capture the deathless one?

Sabine stared at the script, her thoughts racing.

"Bring me the rage demon!" Omort commanded. 'I'll send Rydstrom's arms back to the Valkyrie!"

"No!" Sabine cried, her heart in her throat. Omort would butcher him. Rydstrom would regenerate the limbs, but the pain .. . "You will not-"

The sudden hit took her across the face, blood spray­ing out from her mouth over the marble.

Hettiah had attacked her? That cold, pure fury Sabine knew so well swept through her. Then came the bile, the nausea, that could only be allayed with violence. Self-preservation, survival.

A red haze covered her vision; Sabine spat more blood as Hettiah's friends surrounded her.

15

Rhydstrom was disgusted with himself. One blow job and he'd been ready to capitulate everything. Yes, it was the best one he'd ever received, but still...

He shook his head. It wasn't just what she'd done to him, but how. She'd been everything he'd ever dreamed of. And when the room had gone ablaze, letting him see the intensity of what she was feeling ... ?

What male wouldn't be tempted to do anything to have her?

So close . . . He'd almost broken down. If Rydstrom surrendered his will in this, he could impregnate her. And then, what if he couldn't escape before she killed him?

His child would be raised by her and by Omort, used as a pawn. They wouldn't understand a demon child's needs. As if they'd care. He would never subject a child of his to the hell on earth they promised.

She wanted a vow Rydstrom would not give.

For a rage demon king to marry, he would make a claim and a vow of self: "I claim the honor of protecting and keeping you. You are mine-my consort to touch, to guard, to cherish. You will rule beside me and create our dynasty. Accept my claim, and it will be so, now and ever after."

If his female accepted him, then they would be wed forever. But Rydstrom couldn't pledge his life to another under this kind of coercion. He would do it when he was ready.

And when she was worthy.

He heard footsteps, not hers. The attendants had already been here, leaving him free, clothed-

A guard of five vampires materialized in his cell. One was Lothaire, the Enemy of Old. He'd been a Horde general, but Rydstrom had never engaged his troops.

Rydstrom snarled, "What do you want-"

They attacked as one. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn't repel them with only his horns and fangs, couldn't keep them from shackling his wrists and ankles together.

When they traced him, he found himself in the court at Tornin. What Rydstrom saw there made his stomach clench.

The well, that purest power, was strewn with grisly body parts. The most evil beings in the Lore were gath­ered around it, dozens of breeds-the Neoptera, winged insectlike humanoids, the Alchemists, eternally old men with long, straggly green beards, the Cerunnos, ram-headed snakes....

In my home.

Omort sat upon a gold throne, smirking. When Ryd-strom lunged forward, fangs bared, the vampires held him fast. Can't break free . . .

"Welcome to my court, demon. The mighty Ryd-strom doesn't look so legendary now."

"Fight me, you fucking coward!"

Omort strode for Rydstrom, but then he stopped, turning his attention to the center of the court, as if helpless not to.

Rydstrom s breath left him in a rush. Sabine! She was surrounded by females, bleeding from her mouth. Every protective instinct within him flared.

When he grappled against the vampires, Lothaire gave him a sharp kidney punch. "Easy, demon," he mut­tered, his accent thick.

One of the lackeys with Lothaire said, "Hettiah will just erase Sabine's illusions. I'll bet twenty sovereigns

on her."

"A fool and his money," Lothaire sighed. "Sabine will thrash her. That one burns rage like kerosene."

Sabine's eyes did look glazed with a mindless fury. "What is this?" Rydstrom demanded.

"A mere feminine row. Hettiah-the one who vaguely resembles Sabine-and her friends intend to murder your female. They see her failure with you as a weakness. They'll keep attacking her." Under his breath, Lothaire added, "Demon, you're killing her."

"Release me so I can guard her!"

"Keep watching."

There were too many of them. She couldn't hold off a dozen. One snuck behind her with a dagger. "Sabine!"

Like a shot, she dropped down, dodging the blade, sweeping her leg around to take out the female's feet. Once the woman fell to the ground, Sabine snatched the knife, then raised her booted foot to crush her enemy's face with the heel.

She quickly turned to Rydstrom-looking shocked that he was there-before she made her face a mask. Their eyes met. Hers held a silent warning. He could do nothing to help her.

In an instant, she made her body appear to dissipate into hundreds of flying bats as she cloaked herself in invisibility. Hettiah raised her hands, seeming to wipe out Sabine's illusion. But it was too late; when Sabine was visible once more, she already had her claws dug into Hettiah's scalp.

Holding her in place, Sabine drew back her other gauntlet, made a metal fist, and punched Hettiah's nose. Bone crunched and blood sprayed with Hettiah's screams.

Sabine kept her hold, twisting her slim body as she dodged Hettiah's blows. With her other hand, she aimed her palm at the rushing opponents, exactly as she had with him when she'd pulled secrets from his mind.

The women shrieked in terror, clawing at their own eyes. She'd loosed their nightmares?

Then Sabine spun around with a kick, connecting her boot with Hettiah's jaw. The woman's body flew back, leaving a huge piece of her hair and scalp in Sabi­ne's clawing grip. She tossed it at Hettiah's unconscious body on the ground, then went invisible again.

The foes still standing darted glances but couldn't see her. One's throat suddenly gaped open. When another was stabbed in the temple, she dropped to her knees, then slumped facedown on the ground.

When all were felled, Sabine revealed herself. Ryd-strom gaped at her, as did everyone at court, except Lothaire, who was busily collecting coin.

She was sprayed with crimson, out of breath-and smiling. Until she caught sight of Omort storming for Rydstrom, yellow eyes wild with rage.

Rydstrom gave a roar, lunging forward against the vampires' hold. The sorcerer laughed-with one flick of his hand, Rydstrom was thrown back against the wall, pinned there by the throat.

With a shrug, Lothaire and his vampire guards traced away.

"Does Nïx seek to capture me?" Omort tightened his hold on Rydstrom's throat. "Tell me what her weak­nesses are!"

What in the hell had Nïx done now? Rydstrom grit­ted his teeth as bones fractured in his neck. He couldn't move to defend himself.

"Answer me, demon!"

The pressure began to lessen. "Fight me!" It increased once more. Black spots began obscuring his vision.

"What are you doing?" Sabine screamed as she swept through the crowd. She was like a furie in her wrath, with her bloody face and hair. Her eyes glowed like hot blue metal. Rydstrom focused on her. Stay alive . . . stay alive.

"Questioning my prisoner," Omort replied over his shoulder. "Before I take his arms for the Valkyrie."

With another snap of bone, Rydstrom's spine was severed. No feeling below my neck. Omort would keep squeezing until his head was forced from his body.

This is how it will end. His skin began to tear, and scenes from a long and wearying life flashed before his eyes. No woman, no offspring. His only legacy was . . . failure.

"Release-him-now!"

Omort faced Sabine. After a moment, Rydstrom plunged to the ground.

He lay paralyzed, his body motionless. As his vision began to clear, the court appeared to pitch and rumble, with winds rushing in. Sabine's wild hair tangled all around her head.

The beings within ran for cover.

"He's my prisoner, brother. And is under my protec­tion." Though so small compared to Omort, the sorcer­ess gazed up at him without fear. "I didn't want him hurt this way."

Omort took halting steps toward her, fascination plain in his rapt expression.

Omort. . . wants her? As a lover?

"Leave this court." She ordered Omort out, refusing to look at him. And the sorcerer was actually turning to leave.

There had been rumors of incest, tales that Omort loved one of his sisters unnaturally. Not her. No, don't let it be her.

But Rydstrom couldn't deny what was so obvious- Omort wanted Sabine.

Between gasping breaths, Rydstrom laughed bitterly, crazed. My court, my home . . . my woman. Everything is wrong, twisted. He rasped, "That has to sting, knowing a demon will be claiming your possession . . . knowing she'll always crave me over you."

Sabine's eyes widened. Omort twisted around. With another flick of the sorcerer's hand, an invisible force punched through Rydstrom's torso, ripping it wide open.

16

Rydstrom had no idea how long he'd been in and out of consciousness. He cracked open his eyes. He was on the bed in the cell? Pain as he'd never known assailed him, but only above his neck-below it, he couldn't feel anything.

"Bring the Hag!" Sabine ordered someone unseen. "Quickly!"

Who knew how much later, an old woman crept into the cell, carrying a roll of bandages and a dripping bur-lap bag. She sat beside him on the bed, scooping a thick paste of strong-smelling herbs from the bag, stuffing his wound with it. fie perceived nothing.

As "the Hag" worked, Rydstrom watched Sabine pacing with his eyes slitted so she wouldn't know he'd awakened.

"How long will it take for him to regenerate?" Sabine demanded.

"Tw6 days," the old woman answered, "until you can steal his seed."

Sabine didn't seem surprised by the woman's temer­ity.

Another female rushed inside. "The castle's abuzz! I heard you were screaming at Omort." She had black hair and was furiously biting her nails. Her features were similar to Sabine's. Another sibling? "Damn, Abie, do you want to end up like the oracle?" She swept a glance toward the bed. "Oh, your demon! No wonder you got so riled."

Sabine began pacing again. "Give us the cure, Hag. I know you can make it."

"I pledged my covenant." The woman began unroll­ing the bandages. "If I broke it, I'd be killed and you'd be given a new concoction."

"What would it take for you to give it to me?" Sabine asked in a lowered voice.

"One of those who entered into the covenant must release the other. Or die."

"There must be another way."

"You dream, sorceress," the woman muttered. "And dreams belong in slumber."

"I plot. And plots belong in every minute of every day."

The two stared at each other. What was happening here? Rydstrom blinked his drawn lids, and for a split second, the old crone appeared to be a young, elven brunette. What the hell? Sabine didn't seem to have noticed anything.

A choking sound broke from his throat, interrupting the tense moment.

Sabine whirled around to face him, approaching

the bed. "Don't look down, demon." Sabine, in all her fury, had prevented his death. For now. But did she not realize that Omort would return, would come after him again and attack like the coward he was?

She easily read his thoughts. "I will keep you safe. This won't happen again." She brushed his forehead tenderly, then frowned at her hand. She dropped it, hastily glancing around to see if anyone had caught her. "Sleep, demon."

He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. "Don't read my mind," he thought. "Do not..."

"I won't," she said.

"Give me your vow!"

"You have it." She murmured, "Now sleep, demon. And dream. Dream of what you need most."

His eyelids slid shut. And he did.

From a chair beside the fire, Rydstrom gazed at his wife in their bed,- Flickering light shone over her face as she slumbered peacefully. Their beloved son slept in a crib in their chamber.

Outside, an ocean storm boiled, whipping against the castle; inside, they were warm. Rydstrom watched over the two, protecting them.

Nothing had ever felt so good.

The pup sounded hungry, so Rydstrom crossed to the crib. Gently cradling him, he brought him to his mother's breast. Half-asleep, Sabine held their babe lovingly and murmured Rydstrom's name.

My family . . .

His efes flashed open. I need that most. And she is the key to it all-

At once, pain assailed him, agony stabbing at him all over with each breath. My spine's healed. How long had he been out... ?

Sabine swept into the cell just then. She was dressed in a different metal top than before, and her eyes were painted a navy blue. How much time had passed? "I can't stay long, just coming in to check on my colossally stupid demon."

He could tell she was on edge, the affectionate and soft Sabine of before gone. "How long was I out?" he asked with effort. He lay in bed with only one ankle shackled and his arms free, not that he could lift them yet.

"A day. Your body has been mending rapidly. Your spine and neck are already healed, as are your battered lungs if you can speak once more."

When he peered at the bandage wrapped around his torso, she said, "Your skin hasn't closed over the wound yet, but it will soon. You're lucky you weren't harmed worse. Why in the gods' names did you have to taunt Omort like that?"

"Because it felt good ... to finally do so."

"If I hadn't been there, you would've died."

Sabine's power and cunning had been indescribable. She was as powerful in her own right as Omort-more so even, because the sorcerer wanted her.

But did she return his feelings? Had they slept together? More disgusting things had happened within their numbers. Maybe that was why she allied with him.

Or was it because she couldn't quite kill him? With­out Omort's deathlessness, could Sabine defeat him? She might be plotting toward it right at that moment.

What if Rydstrom convinced her that the sword would work? Would she make her move?

The queen on the chessboard, waiting for her moment to strike.

Rydstrom could give it to her. What did he have to lose?

Sabine crossed her arms over her metal top. "I sup­pose you feel no need to thank me for saving your life. You're a very ungracious demon, in addition to being colossally stupid."

He'd never been more certain that he was about to die, and she'd prevented it. But . . . "It's because of you and your trickery . . . that I am here in the first place!" Pain erupted from his wound.

"It's because of me that Omort has spared you all these years. Have you never wondered why he hasn't pursued your assassination?"

Rydstrom had wondered, especially since he'd set­tled In New Orleans, staying for months in the same place. He liked his home there. It sufficed until he could reclaim his kingdom. Until he could take back Tornin-and scour it clean. His eyes briefly closed against the memories of what he'd seen last night. "Are you sleeping with Omort?"

"I am not sleeping with him. I'm sleeping with no one. There's an heir to be had, and I'd rather no one question its parentage."

She hadn't denied that she'd ever slept with Omort, but he sensed she hadn't. Or maybe he merely refused to believe it-because that would put her forever out of his future.

"Why did you fight Hettiah?" he asked. Each word was coming more easily now.