The task that lay ahead of me tonight made my stomach churn: charm a king and convince him I was a succubus. Fail, and my best friend would be murdered. And I’d die in a literal fire.
I let out a long breath, scanning the scene around me. From here, I could see the bridge that crossed the Acheron River—the Bridge of Harrowing, according to the map. On the other side of the river, shadows pooled in the darkening woods. A warm breeze rushed from the south, carrying with it the mossy scent of the wild forests.
Nowhere had I seen the star I was looking for, and I desperately wanted to ask about it. I couldn’t just bring it up cold, though. Not when Orion himself was a suspect.
In the City of Thorns, I was like an undercover cop.
I’d once watched an old Keanu Reeves movie called Point Break where he played a cop infiltrating a gang of surfer bank robbers. He blended in, got to know their culture, and waited for information to come to him. He didn’t just start interrogating the other surfers. Only when he got them to trust him did they reveal their secrets.
As I sipped my wine, staring out at the Acheron, I mulled over the horrible but real possibility that Orion was the killer. What if he’d known exactly who I was when he found me in Cirque de la Mer? What if he’d dragged me here under false pretenses to spy on me after killing my mom four years ago?
But the theory didn’t really hold up. Why would he spy on me? He had lethal magic at his fingertips and zero empathy. He could torture answers out of me if he felt like it.
My heart kicked up a notch as I realized that Lydia, the tattooed woman, was sitting at the table across from me. Her lip curled as she stared back at me, and my blood turned to ice.
I couldn’t let her actually see that I looked nervous, though, so I kept my expression bland and gazed at the flowing river.
“Mortana?” Orion’s deep voice pulled me from my musings, and I turned to see him. In the sunset, his beautiful face was bathed in rosy hues. “It’s time to get ready for your meeting with the king. And I’m afraid tonight might be a more difficult than I’d imagined.”
My stomach sank.
Orion and I approached the outer gates of the Tower of Baal, arm in arm. The palace looked ancient, the outer wall carved with arrow slits. A sandstone path led to an arched gateway. From here, I could just about see the former king’s head impaled on the outer gates above the first entryway. My blood turned cold as my heels echoed off the stone.
In the past hour, we’d taken a cab back to Orion’s house in the Luciferian Ward, and I’d readied myself. I’d picked out a gorgeous dress—long black lace with a slit up the thigh and a neckline so plunging that a bra wasn’t an option. I never wore stuff like this, but Mortana did. And you know what? Mortana looked fucking hot.
While I’d been fixing my hair, Orion had dropped the bomb. There was so much controversy about the return of the succubus, I wouldn’t be meeting the king alone. In fact, I’d be meeting a whole council of demons, and they would decide my fate. The whole Infernal Quorum would be in attendance—a duke or duchess from each of the city’s wards.
Including Lydia.
And if any of them sensed I was an imposter, I’d be thrown into a pit of fire right there in the Tower of Baal.
As we drew closer to the outermost gate, I considered why the king would need the input of a quorum. He had the ultimate power here. But my guess? He wanted to be able to blame other people if Mortana turned out to be a royal disaster. After all, it was their decision, too, right?
Powerful people—even when they had total control—were great at blaming others.
My heels clacked over the stones, and I tried not to dwell on the flames. It was just that of all the methods of execution, that was the one that really scared the shit out of me. But I was doing this for Mom, and now for Shai, so no matter what happened, I had to get it right.
When we got closer, I could see that the old king’s head looked remarkably well preserved, with a full head of black hair and his skin still smooth. But his eyes were closed, and his facial muscles looked slack. Torches fixed to the walls cast wavering light over the sandstone walls, and the dancing shadows almost made King Nergal’s head look like it was moving, the dead lips gibbering. I let out a long, slow breath.
With my arm looped through Orion’s, I leaned in to whisper, “Is this normal for demons? The severed head?”
He looked at me with confusion. “Of course not.”
Thank God. So they weren’t all sociopaths.
Then he added, “There would be no reason for other demons to keep a severed head above their gate. It’s only because he was the former king. It’s a reminder to the world that King Nergal was defeated by someone stronger, and that Cambriel is the rightful king. Vae Victis, remember?”