“What would you need in payment?” I asked evenly.
The smith looked at me like he’d forgotten I was there. “What you need to worry about is where to get the raw material.”
I must’ve looked confused, because the smith’s face broke into a wide, slow grin. “Ebonite, little angel. You’ll need ebonite for a sword like this.”
“Why would finding ebonite be an issue?” Belial had a dagger made of it. Surely there were more blades that could be used.
“Because you need raw, unformed ebonite.” The smith rummaged in a box and held up a tiny, pitted chunk of dark metal. “Ebonite that has already been forged with a purpose in mind is useless. It has metal-memories. You take a helmet of ebonite forged to protect the wearer and melt it down, all you have left is metal that will always protect its wearer. You could make a shield, make armor… but it would be useless as a sword. You take an ebonite cup made to never spill, melt it down, you end up with the most useless pile of shit any smith’s ever seen.”
“I think I get it,” I said, cutting him off before he could give me more examples.
It made sense. Belial’s knife had been forged to hurt those with angelic or demonic blood, like the Nephilim, but it was too small for my prey. To kill Satan, I needed a sword of awesome power.
“Where do we find raw ebonite?” Lucifer asked.
The smith tucked away his little chunk of metal again. “I could tell you to dig in the Deeps, but odds’re good you’d never come out, the lot of you, and I know of a much easier mine than that.” If anything, his smile got even wider, almost touching his ears. “It’d be my payment, as well. That, and the joy of knowing Gabriel is no longer the special snowflake he thinks he is.”
“Tell us. We’ll bring your payment if you can do this.” I wiped sweat off my forehead, almost suffocating in the heat of his forge.
“If I can do this? If I can do this? I’m Wayland the Smith! Of course I can fuckin’ do this, woman, otherwise I’d’ve sent you home when you first walked in my door.” He glared at me, the ruby twinkling. “It’d be my pleasure to stick it to that overgrown bundle of a goose’s ass-feathers. What you need to do is find the outcast oracle.”
“Where-”
“You’ll need to go to the City of Sight to find out where the ol’ bitch is living now. I once made her the most beautiful scryin’ mirror, and the hag never paid me. I want her hands and that mirror as payment, but when I was toiling over my stolen work, I saw that she had a cache of raw ebonite. It was enough for a sword. Bring me that ebonite, the mirror, and her hands, and I’ll make you the Sword of Mourning.”
A shiver ran over my skin as an odd sensation pulsed between us.
Whatever he’d done, it was a bound promise. A compact. Even the air of Hell had heard the promise of a Sword of Mourning and had stood still in anticipation.
“I’ll get you what you need,” I said, licking my dry lips, and ducked out of the hut as Wayland the Smith laughed.
The journey back was mostly silent. I hovered low and swooped over dunes, sticking close to Tascius. A sigh of relief escaped me when we hit the cool mist of the Fields of Asphodel, and Tascius turned his unicorn loose with a pat on the neck.
I landed in the grass and looked up at the three of them. “How long will it take us to journey to the City of Sight?”
Azazel gazed towards the wastelands, which were obscured by a veil of fog. “We’ll have to travel north along the River Styx and past Acheron. I’d say… three days by flight. A week on foot.”
I appreciated that he took walking into account. Tascius’s eyes had darkened at the mention of flying. I gripped his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Two weeks, then.”
“We can spare them.” Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest. “Belial will serve as regent for your half of the Seventh Circle in your absence.”
My lungs seemed to freeze. Two weeks, there and back, all the while leaving Belial far behind me.
“Well, we’d better be as quick as we can.” I pushed the grass towards the city. “I’m not giving Satan a chance to gather any more Brides.”
Azazel began to dissipate at my side, and I thought I felt him reach out to touch me. “I will wait for Vyra to awaken and make arrangements.”
“Good. I need to speak to my Chainlings. They’ll have to hold down the fort.”
I smiled up at him despite my weariness and sweat-soaked skin, and he leaned in to brush a careful kiss across my mouth before vanishing entirely.
We made our way to the edge of Dis and walked down the main thoroughfare, ignoring the stares of thousands of demons. I had zero illusions now that some of the bystanders reported straight back to Satan, and unless I missed my mark, Belial likely had spies tailing me, too.
The Chainlings were in an uproar when we arrived.
“I felt the links of the Chain shiver and tighten, my Lady,” the leader said. “You’re leaving us.”
I blinked, wondering if they’d felt that sensation of Wayland making us a pact, the promise to create a sword that might change the very landscape of Hell.
“Only for a few weeks. Prince Belial and Vyra will watch this half in my absence.”
The Chainling followed me inside, and I stopped dead in my tracks.
Haru Sakai was in my arena. He was stripped to the waist, revealing sculpted muscle, and wielding his katana against Blind Luck.
“What is he doing here?” I asked, and his pointed ears twitched.
He dodged a blow from Luck with a smooth
