She spread her hands out, smiling a sideways catlike smile.
“What do you want, Lilith?” Belial demanded.
“Edom,” said Lilith. “Return my realm to me and I will remove my protection and power from Cordelia. You can slay her and end this business as you see fit. I wish only my kingdom back.”
“You would try to force me?” Belial demanded. His eyes were green fire. “You would try to make demands of me, you who never learned obedience? Who were cast out because of it?”
“I may have been cast out,” said Lilith. “But I did not fall.”
“You will never best me.” Belial raised his blade, and for a moment, he seemed to be Jesse—a young Nephilim warrior with a shining sword, gleaming in the sunlight. “Send your paladin against me. I shall give her back to you in pieces, and your realm in ruins!”
Cordelia felt James catch at her wrist; she thought he was trying to pull her away, perhaps to safety. She barely knew. There was no safety for her, would be none as long as she was the paladin of Lilith. There was only rage and emptiness.
“Cordelia,” Lilith said, her voice a low flame. “Take up your sword. Kill Belial.”
“No.” Cordelia forced herself to break away from James. She ought to look at him, she thought, try to show him she realized he was trying to help, that she appreciated it even as she knew it was hopeless. But her body had already begun to move on its own; it was as if puppet strings were bound to her arms and legs, jerking them into motion. She watched her own hand lift Cortana into the ready position, unable to stop herself, even as she bit her lip savagely until she tasted blood.
The vow that she had made to Wayland the Smith came back to her, repeating itself tauntingly in her mind.
I swear my courage. I swear neither to falter nor to fail in battle. Whenever I draw my sword, whenever I lift up a weapon in battle, I shall do it in your name.
Something silver flashed past Cordelia; James had hurled a throwing knife, with his usual unerring accuracy; it shot toward Lilith, who raised a slim white hand and caught the knife by the blade.
James swore. Cordelia could not look to see Lilith’s reaction: she was walking toward Belial, who stood smirking, his blade gripped in his hand. It was as if she were in a dream; she could not stop herself. She raised Cortana and, for the first time in her life, took no pleasure in the golden arc of the blade as it passed across the sun.
“Kill him,” Lilith hissed.
Cordelia flung herself at Belial.
Blade slammed against blade, metal grinding; Cordelia felt the same burning in her bones, the clang and crash in her heart that echoed the sounds of battle. But there was no joy in it now, not even that she could swing faster, leap higher, duck and parry and blow with the silent speed of a dream. Not even the dark joy of battling a Prince of Hell.
She raised her eyes and met the icy depths of Belial’s gaze. Was this how it was to be an angel who fell? Cordelia thought. To have once served what was good, and radiantly beautiful, and to find instead that every gesture was turned toward the service of evil and the Pit? Was there a screaming hollow place in Belial’s soul, the way there was now in hers?
Belial hissed, as if sensing her thoughts; the Blackthorn sword swept in from the right, slicing across her shoulder as she turned to duck it; she heard Lilith scream in rage, and suddenly she was spinning back, heedless of the danger, her sword whirling in her grasp—
James cried out. There was a flash of movement as something darted between Cordelia and Belial, arms outstretched wide to protect him.
Not something. Someone.
Lucie.
Cortana was already moving, ripping a path through the air that would cut Lucie apart. With a last, desperate convulsion, Cordelia wrenched her body sideways, against Lilith’s will. Her sword thrust went wide as she staggered, collapsing to her knees before pushing herself immediately upright again. She turned back toward Lucie, pain shooting through her like daggers. Lucie’s eyes were huge, pleading with Cordelia: Daisy, don’t do it. Daisy, no.
But Cortana seemed to burn in Cordelia’s hands, the blade whispering, demanding, telling her what to do.
It would be easy to make the pain stop. Just raise the sword and cut Lucie down.
It took everything she had to hold herself still. The pressure was brutal, pushing from the inside outward, clenching her hand around Cortana’s hilt.
“Lucie!” James called, starting toward his sister. “Lucie, get out of the way!”
Lucie shook her head wildly. She looked impossibly small and fragile, her arms flung wide, shielding Belial. “I know why you want to hurt him,” she said. “But you can’t—I summoned Emmanuel Gast, he told me everything—Jesse is innocent—”