Devil's Punch

“Yes.” His voice went warm and husky with relief. “You returned my keys.”

This didn’t seem like the time to admit I didn’t really remember, experienced none of the nostalgic emotions that colored his beautiful features. I had an attachment to him, but it was an echo of the woman in the back of my head, a haunting of something lost.

His demeanor warmed, and he drew me back into his arms, careful to avoid my injured side. Eventually the dog pushed out of the bag and investigated the courtyard, and then christened a corner of it. Charming. We stood like that in silence, mourning the dead, until Greydusk returned.

“It took multiple stops,” the Imaron said by way of greeting, “but I collected everything you need.”

I nodded, but didn’t thank him, and stepped away from Chance.

The ritual took hours. First I deployed the ingredients in proper order, then drew all the sigils, infused them with magick, and etched the body with matching runes using special ink rendered from blood. By the time I finished, I was panting and exhausted. Here I had no secret source running through the stones. Finally, I backed away from the meat that had been my father, and I spoke the command words in demontongue.

The sigils flamed with darklight, incinerating his flesh in mighty bursts. I did Albert Solomon’s bravery the honor of not turning away. I watched every horrific moment, each puff of smoke, each breath of ash, until there was nothing left but cinder and char, chips of bone, and a great ruby that had been his heart.

Sorrow crowned me as I bent and plucked it with careful fingertips. It burned with a cold, eternal fire. From this jewel, I would have a necklace made, something exquisite, so I never forgot this moment. My enemies would see it glimmer at my throat and fear my resolve.

“Did you wish to speak a few words?” Greydusk asked.

I shook my head and drew my athame. I pulled the power that wreathed me in sweet darkness and summoned a wind to scour the courtyard clean. The broken moon had risen, shining silver and blood, by the time the breeze died. It was wrong that Albie Solomon’s mortal remains should be scattered here, but I’d saved his soul, at least. If there was anything left of my mother, he could find her. The thought comforted me.

“Let’s go inside and find a place to sleep,” I said.

“I brought food,” the Imaron ventured. “I know this is not what you are accustomed to, my queen—”

I moved my shoulders in a careless shrug. “It will be grand again. In time.”

“When you have crushed your enemies,” he finished.

“Precisely so.”

The three of us passed from the courtyard to the darkness within. Greydusk unloaded a few parcels—the food he’d mentioned—and I found shards of metal suitable for my light spell. Soon the room I chose as the least wrecked offered a semblance of cheer in the form of tattered fabrics piled in a makeshift pallet.

“Some queen,” I said with a bitter smile. “Of rats and rags.”

Together, we ate in a primitive picnic. I didn’t wonder about the nature of the meat. It only mattered that it would sustain me and give me the strength to push forward with my plans. Tomorrow, the city would know the queen had ascended.

Greydusk lay down outside the door, and Chance pulled me into his arms, offering his body as a shield against danger. It was an instinctive maneuver, driven by his imprinted instincts as first male, but I appreciated it nonetheless. Generally, chosen consorts were more concerned with personal gain and status. In my long memory, I could remember no one who offered such devotion—and it moved me.

When she sleeps, I wake. But I can’t wrest control away permanently. Even those moments with my father were given to me like charity, not a result of my own strength. I can hear Chance breathing beside me. I can’t tell him that his loyalty touches me. I can’t control my own body anymore. This isn’t what she promised.

I’m a spectator in my own life. We’re not a new person, joined. We’re two opposing forces, fighting for control. I can see everything she does, hear everything she says. But I can’t change it. I can’t protest.

It’s dark here. The weight presses in on me, making me feel small and tiny. I can’t move. I never thought I could feel more helpless than I did in Oz’s hands, but I do now, sleeping in the arms of the man I love.

In the morning, I woke alone, and I heard voices in the corridor beyond. Chance pitched his words low, but they carried. “What can you tell me about her new…personality? Is this permanent? Can she be fixed?”

Fixed? As if I were a defective piece of machinery. Anger rose to an icy point.

“Her Majesty will never be human again.”

From Chance’s sigh, those were not the tidings he’d hoped to hear. “Damn.”

The demon sounded surprised. “You don’t find her strength more appealing?”

“This incarnation has a certain…something. But she’d hate this, if she really knew, if she was herself.”

“She made the choice.” Puzzlement laced the Imaron’s tone.

“Sometimes she does things that are better for other people. You know she fought so we wouldn’t be harmed. And at some point in the battle, she had to let the queen in…or she would’ve died. I don’t believe she would’ve done that under any other circumstances.”

“Be that as it may, it is done. There is no way back from here.”

Those words resonated; they felt true.

But Chance didn’t think so, apparently. “Really? I doubt you’d tell me even if there was some way to reverse this—to help her. You’ve always wanted the queen, and now you have her. You’re her right-hand man, and she’ll step on your throat to give you that special, irreplaceable thrill.”

This could easily escalate. Chance sounded like he wanted a fight, and I couldn’t afford dissent when I had so few foot soldiers. I made a conspicuous noise as if I were just awakening. Silence fell.

Then Chance stepped into the doorway. “Ready to start the day?”

If he persisted in such informal address in public, I’d have to chastise him. For now, I let the intimacy stand. I gave my first orders.

“Greydusk, issue a formal announcement. The palace is hiring. I will consider all comers, even those with cases waiting to be reviewed by the Eshur. I will accept murderers and thieves, so long as they are entirely mine.” I smiled, anticipating the day. “And who knows? Perhaps such minions will prove useful.”

“As you say, my queen. What more?”

“Procure suitable amenities at once. Furnishings, art, carpets, clothing. Confiscate all private Saremon holdings…you should encounter no trouble so long as you bear my seal.” I turned, still disheveled from the night, and went in search of the ruined study, where I had once signed proclamations and reviewed proposed amendments to caste law.

My ancient desk had been reduced to splinters, but I remembered where I had hidden my seal from untrustworthy ministers. I opened a rosette in the stonework, where rested at its heart a ring graven with my mark. It had been centuries since this graced anyone’s hand. I passed it to Greydusk with proper reverence, and he fell to his knees. Chance stood propped against the doorjamb, watching with a troubled furrow of his brow.

“Rise,” I commanded the Imaron. “You chose wisely when you promised to serve me. Your word remains sufficient, now and forever. You are my second, Greydusk of the Imaron caste. There is no station higher, even should I invest you with the mantle of a knight’s power.”

Greydusk drew in a sharp breath. “You would slay the Imaron knight?”

“If he displeases me or will not swear. Does that trouble you?”

The demon displayed a toothy smile. “If he is foolish enough to resist you, my queen, then I would be honored to assume his role.”

“Once you have done my will, send runners to each of the castes. Tell them I will expect them to swear to me in two weeks.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Carry a special message to Caim. Tell him he is to attend me at once…and that he should bring a gift, lest I grow wroth.”

Greydusk inclined his head. “The human girl?”

“Precisely so. No one touches what is mine.”