“All right, I’ll see if I can find out how she’s doing it,” he says. “But we have slightly more pressing matters right now.”
Hearing him saying it out loud makes it easier for me to redirect my mind at last, shutting out thoughts of a certain redhead and focusing on what lies ahead of me.
Lady Jing, prompt as ever, is the first to arrive. She’s dressed elegantly but still practically, in loose, mustard-colored pants that cinch in at the waist and ankle and a sweeping leather coat. As she sits down, she adjusts her elaborate black braids so they trail down the back of the chair.
“Good afternoon, Lady Jing,” I say, offering her an incline of my head.
“Save the pleasantries for the old folk, Lord Syrus,” she says with a smile which shows her fangs. Some might feel being the youngest lord of Infernum would put them at a disadvantage. Lady Jing wears it like a badge of pride.
Second comes Liege Damein. As usual, they’re draped in swathes of fabric, their loose robes giving little indication as to the shape of the body underneath them. I’ve never seen their full face, and, as ever, a black veil covers the lower half of it today. Though Damein is the oldest among us—nearly 600—the yellow eyes peering out over the veil are sharp and knowing.
“Lord Syrus, I hope you’re well, and if not, that the ourani shine brighter on you soon,” Liege Damein’s voice is soft and croaky, except as they shake my hand, it’s impossible not to feel the strength of their clawed grip. You don’t survive ruling a demon domain for half a millennium by being weak.
“May they shine brighter on all of us, Liege Damein,” I say. Damein loves to talk in vague idioms and riddles, and I find it best to simply respond in kind rather than try to decipher them.
“Truth is a faithful friend, Lord Syrus, even when it mocks us,” Damein continues as they settle down in their seat, and then, as if it was the logical segue from this declaration: “It may be pertinent to mention that Lord Kaliban was the one who insisted we call this meeting.”
“You’ve done it this time, Lord Syrus,” Lady Jing says, cold pleasure in her striking eyes—red irises swimming in a pool of black.
“Always my most loyal supporter, Lady Jing,” I say with a smile. She bares her fangs in return, half amusement, half challenge.
The edge of aggression between us is nothing new. As the ruler of Baine, the mountain mines that dominate her domain are one of Infernum’s most precious resources. But the Morphos beats it, and for that reason, I think she’s always seen herself in competition with me to be the most influential lord. She loves it when Kaliban and I are at odds—it serves to weaken my position and benefit her. Not that Kaliban is much into harmony either way.
The marching of several pairs of heavy boots has us all turning toward the door. Damein and Jing will have brought a few of their people each, as isstandard protocol, but Kaliban always likes to turn up with a contingent of soldiers to remind us that he’s the head of Infernum’s army—as if it was possible to forget.
“There he is,” Kaliban announces as he strides through the doors. We’re more or less the same height, but Kaliban is much broader, built like a carthorse, with bone-colored skin striped with war ink—a record of battles won. His long silver hair is pulled back from his face, exposing curling red horns. “Why in darkness’s name do you look likethat, Kaldare?” he demands, looking over my largely human appearance.
I shrug like I hadn’t even thought about it, even though I very deliberately kept my wings on display for the sake of this meeting. Kaliban might be bigger in some aspects, but my wingspan has always outmatched his, and I know he finds that…grating.
“I wanted a change,” I say casually, gesturing for Kaliban to sit. “Liege Damein has just been telling me thatyouwanted this meeting, Lord Kaliban.”
“I did,” he says, direct as ever. “Because I want to know why the fuck you’ve suspended the snare deals.”
“More importantly, without consultingus,” Lady Jing adds.
I keep my voice controlled, but firm. “You’re welcome to hear my reasoning now, Lady Jing, since you’re all here and no doubt curious. But I won’t apologize for making a decision aboutmydomain.”
“You don’t rule over every snare in Infernum, Lord Syrus,” Lady Jing points out, eyes narrowed.
“Only most of them,” I say. “But that’s beside the point. We all know I’m the guardian of the lake, and I decide who gets access to it. If the soul snares want to keep making deals, they’ll play by my rules.”
“After all, the miner won’t be told where to dig by the fisherman, Lady Jing,” Liege Damein says, and Jing throws them an annoyed look, though she stays silent. Obviously, Jing wouldn’t accept any of us trying to tell her how to run Baine’s mines, so she can hardly do the same to me.
“Forget that,” Kaliban grunts. “I need souls. I needsoldiers. How do youexpect us to crush the ephilium when you’re robbing us of the fastest way to make more able demons?”
I don’t miss the way Lady Jing rolls her eyes. She’s never been a big proponent of the war, thinking it stifles trading opportunities with the humans.
“You already keep the snares muzzled with all those rules of yours,” Kaliban continues, crossing his huge arms across his chest. “But then I suppose a demon who’s never fought in the war doesn’t give a shit about those who lay down their lives so he can live in peace.”
My jaw clenches and I flex my hands, itching to use them in some creative way to make Kaliban take that back. I can’t afford to show him that he’s hit on a sore point for me.
“You know I don’t have a choice on that front, Lord Kaliban. And I remember standing with you when I could, when it was yourown blooddisturbing the peace.”
Kaliban’s red eyes flare with anger, and his hand goes to his waist. For a moment, I think he’s reaching for his weapon, and then I recognize the buckle on the sheath he’s wearing. It belonged to his son, Grata—he was wearing it when Kaliban killed him. The demon lord touches it now, though I’m not sure if he’s conscious of doing it.
Ten years is nothing to a demon, and so Grata’s betrayal must seem like only yesterday to Kaliban. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming. Raising his son like just another one of his soldiers bred a contempt for his father and a desire for power in the child. But Grata’s attempted coup caught Kaliban so by surprise that it was only the help of Malice, Baine, and Vyle that kept him in control.
Not that any of us are particularly fond of Kaliban. But he’s a good general, and we would all rather see Infernum’s army led by someone with proven experience.
