Brimstone Angels

guarding the larger treasury and armory, Lorcan knew it was no time to play the odds. He needed Invadiah to give him permission. He lingered in the doorway a moment.

Exalted Invadiah, champion of Glasya and leader of the pradixikai-the erinyes who carried out the archduchess’s justice-sat in a chair made of burnished bones, her mane of deepnight hair cascading nearly to the floor. Instead of her usual char black armor, the erinyes wore a gown of chain and hard, carapace-like plates of such a vibrant gold they seemed to smolder. Her black nails tapped a beat that made the screams that lilted through the window seem musical. He could see her face in profile, her jaw as it ground.

“There is not another devil in the Hells as useless as you,” she snarled.

Lorcan started to protest, but then a dark shape fluttered past the lamps.

“Useless?” a voice as mellifluous as an angel’s said. “We are nearly there. He is in my grasp.”

Invadiah surged onto her feet-hooves that had crushed demons and broken souls into dust-and bellowed up at the rafters, “Your grasp? And what is that worth?”

Her eyes tracked the graceful female form that dropped to the ground, her dark wings raised. Red hair curled around the creature’s lovely face, as if the strands were alive.

“Much, much more than what you have without me,” the succubus said. “Every other agent has fallen or been discovered. I’m all you have, because I’m the best.”

The erinyes growled. “You are replaceable.”

“By whom?”

Invadiah towered over the succubus. “By anyone. By my daughters with their swords flaming.”

The succubus chortled. “The time it takes to draw a breath, and the whole of Neverwinter would be screaming if your lovely daughters appeared. Trust me. You need one who can pass unnoticed.”

“You’re taking too long with your skulking and secrets. I would be rid of you gladly.”

The succubus shook her head, setting her ruby ringlets shivering. “I know too much,” she said saucily. “I might tell someone.”

Invadiah moved like a striking serpent. She seized the succubus by the neck, her long black nails pressing into the creature’s pale throat, and slammed her against the wall. The succubus squawked.

“Do you think that wise?” Invadiah purred.

The succubus struggled and kicked her long, lovely legs, but the erinyes didn’t flinch.

“You may be the archduchess’s only agent in Neverwinter, but you will always be replaceable, Rohini,” Invadiah hissed. “You don’t threaten Glasya. You don’t threaten me. And you don’t fly in my presence. Ever. Again.” She let the succubus fall to the floor and Lorcan’s stomach dropped.

Rohini.

Hells, he thought. He wondered if his mother knew just who she was picking a fight with.

Rohini stood, rubbing her neck, her chest heaving. “I … beg your pardon, Lady Invadiah.” She made a tidy little curtsey. “I will press forward. The priest will have the proper connections within a few days.”

“When you get back,” Invadiah corrected.

Rohini’s red eyes flickered. “That will be dangerous. He isn’t Anthus. We cannot risk the Old Ones-”

“Do not tell me what we cannot risk!” Invadiah said. “This is my undertaking. I know where we stand. If your initial target is dead, then you must make do with what you have. There is a reason Glasya chose you.”

It was as close to a compliment as Lorcan had ever heard an erinyes bestow upon a succubus. Rohini’s eyebrow twitched-as close as he’d ever seen a succubus come to acknowledging the compliment of an erinyes.

Unattractive succubi didn’t exist-as mutable as their forms were, how could they? Succubi were the consorts of archdevils, the infiltrators and spies of the lords themselves, corruptors of many on the mortal planes.

Fantastic lays, Lorcan thought.

But long ago, before Lorcan was born, the Hells had been at war against the demons of the Abyss … and in that time, the succubi fought on the demons’ side, the polar opposites and sworn enemies of the erinyes.

That mad, demon spark, as far as Lorcan and most of the Hells were concerned, still lingered. You could see it in their eyes. It didn’t matter if they’d turned traitor just as Asmodeus rose to the godhood, ceding their blood and their offspring’s blood to the lord of the Ninth’s control, and-the rumors went-giving Asmodeus the last bit of power he needed to hurl the Abyss to the very farthest reaches of the Elemental Chaos, ending the war for good.

Lorcan had his doubts about that-everyone claimed to have been the lynchpin of Asmodeus’s ascension. Sycophants, all of them.

A slow smile curved Rohini’s lovely lips.

“You have a visitor,” Rohini said softly, “Lady Invadiah.”

His mother stiffened and looked over her shoulder. “Lorcan.”

“Mother,” he said, stepping into the room. “And Rohini.”

Rohini gave him a long, appraising look, as if she were assessing a cut of meat. No, he thought with a suppressed shudder, as if she were deciding which of his bones she should pluck out and suck the marrow free of first.

Sycophants or not, succubi were dangerous. Especially-if the rumors were true-Rohini. Lorcan had heard the archduchess had sent Rohini alone into Stygia, the layer of Hell ruled by one of Glasya’s most hated enemies. What the succubus had found or done on those frozen plains, Lorcan didn’t know, but he’d heard she’d returned to Malbolge covered in blood and carrying the severed hands of one of Archduke Levistus’s prized commanders. There might be a spark of madness in her eyes, but she had to be devilishly clever to manage something like that.

Lorcan knew better than to let her more obvious charms sway him. Rohini would eat him alive just to irritate Invadiah.

Invadiah glared at him. “Where have you been?”

“Toril.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Out playing with your warlocks?”

He didn’t react. “Something like that.”

“Warlocks?” Rohini said. “How interesting.” Lorcan tensed.

“He has a set,” Invadiah said, and as ever, Lorcan couldn’t tell if she was proud or mocking or enjoying putting him in a little peril. “A full thirteen.”

“Well, well,” Rohini said. “A Toril Thirteen? How ever did you manage that? I’d thought the Kakistos line was all claimed or dead.” Lorcan tensed-Rohini didn’t collect warlocks, he was almost certain. But much like Sairche, she might very well collect secrets.

“You really don’t expect me to tell you, do you?” Lorcan said and immediately regretted it. Her eyes took on an especially predaceous glint.

“Oh, I expect you’d tell me anything I liked.”

“Rohini,” Invadiah said. The succubus stopped, but the force of her charm hung in the air like a thousand darts caught midflight. The room was silent but for the screams of the damned outside. Lorcan held perfectly still.

“You interrupted us,” Invadiah said.

“My apologies,” he said. “I was merely coming to visit-which I see you don’t have time for; a pity-and to see if I might borrow one of your baubles.”

“What do you want?”

“The Rod of the Traitor’s Reprisal.”

Invadiah frowned. “Are your toys fighting?”

He shrugged. “I do have a rather rare heir to protect.”

Invadiah stared out the window a long moment, drumming her nails against the armrest again. “Fine. Put it back when you’re done.”

“Of course,” Lorcan said. He turned to go. Invadiah reached out and seized his arm in her iron grip.

“What did you hear?” Invadiah asked.

He cleared his throat. “I merely overheard you giving Rohini here, ah, lessons of etiquette.”

Invadiah and Rohini both fixed him with burning eyes, and it was only the training of his entire life that kept him from flinching. He returned the gaze, if a little more insouciantly.

“What benefits us, benefits Asmodeus,” Rohini said.