Erin Evans - The Adversary

“That’s how I talk to Temerity . It’s different.” She said nothing. “ You’re different,” he started.

She stopped in her tracks and pulled free of him. “Don’t. You owe me better than that.”

“I’ve given you better,” he said sharply. “I chose you over her back there. I was ready to let her attack me so you could get away. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

She looked away, at the lights of the streetlamps flickering in the gloom. “Not really. You have to choose me. I have the protection spell. Besides, which of us is the rarer heir?” Now she looked at him like she was making herself face all the ugly, sharp edges of their pact. Like she was daring him-or maybe daring herself-to tear away the veils of artifice and careful words.

I would choose you anyway, he thought and hated himself for it. There was no one else on any plane Lorcan would have counted on the way he did Farideh. Allies were dangerous, more ways for the hierarchy of the Hells to manipulate your actions and force your hand. This alliance. . he didn’t have any sense of how to manage it anymore. But he knew down in the core of himself that he’d take Farideh over every other warlock in his retinue.

And that he would never, never tell her that.

“Margarites,” he said.

Farideh blinked at him. “What?”

“You asked for the name of the warlock Temerity is descended from,” he said. “She was called Margarites.”

“Oh.” Farideh was quiet a moment, as if she were turning that bit of information over in her head. “Was she like Temerity?” she asked finally, though what she was thinking of, Lorcan couldn’t imagine.

“She was reluctant,” he settled on. “They say Margarites was one of the warlocks Bryseis Kakistos coerced. You ought to watch out for those heirs,” he added, as they approached the inn. “Some of them aren’t too happy with their lot.”

“How did she know who I was?”

Lorcan didn’t answer. He could hope it was an accident-a rumor gone ’round the ranks of his sister’s erinyes, the assumption of a rival that Lorcan would stick close to his most valuable heir, a simple guess born of Temerity’s envy and rage.

But there was one person in the Hells who knew for certain Lorcan was traveling with Farideh, and Sairché was not someone it paid to stand around wondering about.

Temerity stood watching the door to her shop, the air clotted with spices and brimstone and unspent magic. The sound of her breath, angry and flustered, was a roar in the room’s quiet.

Sairché stood in the doorway to the rear of the shop, several paces ahead of the portal’s opening, and flanked by two monstrous erinyes, female devils all armor and teeth atop shining hooves. She watched Temerity for several moments, noticing the rage shimmering through the tiefling. Lorcan had surely been here, just as surely as he’d gone.

When the erinyes began to fidget, Sairché sighed. Temerity startled and turned, rod high.

“Well met,” Sairché said. “I gather that didn’t go as we’d discussed. It’s quite all right,” she added when Temerity scowled. “I know he distracts you.”

“He didn’t distract me,” Temerity snapped. “ She was with him. She tried to kill me-you didn’t mention that.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

“She wasn’t just a girl,” Temerity said, as if Sairché hadn’t spoken. “You made it sound as if she were a novice, a nothing, and she tried to kill me.”

“I can all but guarantee whatever she threatened you with was a bluff. Every word.” Behind her, Sairché could hear her half sisters shifting, their hooves dragging on the floorboards as they restlessly reconsidered their stances. Not time to draw things out, she thought.

“Nevertheless,” Sairché said, “you’ve done far better than any of his other warlocks. We can consider our deal complete.”

Sairché pulled a scroll from out of a pocket and handed it over to Temerity. “Your agreement. You’re released from the Pact Certain.”

Temerity unrolled the parchment. “It’s real?”

Sairché smiled. “Of course. I keep my word.”

The tiefling regarded her warily. “ He doesn’t. Why should I trust you?”

The erinyes’ building annoyance was palpable now-annoyance at Lorcan, at Temerity, at their little sister playing dress-up with their once exalted mother’s mantle. Sairché was well used to skirting the edges of the hierarchy of the Hells, to plucking secrets and turning them into treasures. Excellent practice for parts of her new status, terrible for others-she had gained some measure of respect from her warrior half sisters, but these sorts of meetings, mortals who didn’t know their places, concessions that seemed out of proportion. . the erinyes talked.

Sairché gave Temerity a thin smile. “That isn’t my problem.”

“It will be your problem if you’re lying.”

“Well, it hardly matters. You’re going to give it up again.”

“I will not lose it,” Temerity snapped.

“Please. You’ll shift your pact now-you must if you want to keep your powers. You’ll find a new devil, a new patron, a new set of sweet words and promises-don’t deny it. We all have a type. What exactly do you think will go differently?” Sairché moved closer to Temerity and ran a friendly hand down her arm, feeling the tension of her biceps. “Accept it. Only this way, Lorcan doesn’t get the credit, so we can all be pleased by that.”

High spots of color marred Temerity’s creamy cheeks. “You cannot speak to me that way.”

“Have I upset you?” Sairché said, all too aware of the watching erinyes. “Here, let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a safeguard. A way to be sure no devil tricks you out of your soul. All right?”

The muscle of Temerity’s arm softened and her silver glare became wary. “How will you do that?”

Sairché drew the long stiletto blade from her belt and held it up, showing Temerity the gem-studded hilt, the delicate chasing. The tiefling bent a little nearer to see. “It’s a simple thing,” Sairché said. “Hardly takes a moment.”

In one smooth motion, she flipped the blade into a stabbing grip and plunged it between the tiefling’s ribs, forcing it past muscle and organ and deep into her heart. Temerity’s eyes widened, her mouth wide in shock as Sairché twisted the blade, locking it against the bone. Temerity clutched at the gushing wound, gaping up at the cambion.

Sairché turned to her guards, pleased at the faint look of approval they both wore. “When she’s done bleeding,” she said crisply, “do something about the body and get back to the Hells.” She turned back to the door and cast a simple spell to remove the spatter of blood marring her armor, before drawing her wings down and pulling her cloak over them. “I have to attend to our brother.”

If Farideh had asked for details, Havilar thought, lying tangled in the rough sheets and Brin’s arms, she didn’t know what she could possibly say to give it any justice.

Much like kissing, it wasn’t how Havilar had expected-it was stranger and worse and also far, far better. She sighed and settled her head on Brin’s shoulder, careful to avoid butting his jaw with her horns.

“I feel,” she said, “like I passed through another plane. But no one told me.”

Brin chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I like that.”

“And tired,” she added. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been this tired. I don’t even want to move.”

“I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment.”

And, she thought to herself, I didn’t throw up. I have a lover, and I didn’t throw up. A faint breeze stirred the dirty curtains over the open window, cool on their sticky skin. She wondered if anyone outside heard them, knew what they’d done. She sighed again, content.