On one side of me, a canal ran between stone walls, sparkling with gold morning light. On the other side, vine-covered stone homes lined the cobbled road, their roofs sharply peaked. I paused to look in the window of a shop selling curiosities and magical items for witches—a human skull, vials of blood, and large books of magic, their spines etched with silver writing.
Mortal witches learned magic from demons at Belial University and at universities in other demon cities. If a mortal became very, very good at magic, he or she could become a witch.
And for the next trial I had in mind, we would be summoning a powerful dead witch from the underworld. Thus, I had nine days to master necromancy.
I pulled the door open, listening to the tinkling of bells as I stepped inside. The walls in here were painted black, and bell jars lined crooked shelves—stuffed birds, a brass hand with contorted fingers, and jars of herbs and potions.
A mortal man with a long beard sat behind the counter, staring at me. “Shadow scion…” he muttered.
When the bells chimed behind me, I turned to see Kas in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattoos of stars on his forearms. His chin was tilted down, and a smile ghosted over his lips. A lock of his messy blond hair fell before his eyes. “Shadow scion,” his deep, rough voice rumbled over the room. “We’ve been looking for you.”
My eyebrows rose. “We?”
He turned to step outside and held the door open for me. “Shai and Legion. Breakfast awaits you.”
I followed behind him, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Do we have plans?”
He turned back to me with a little smile. “We do. I’m making us pancakes and coffee, and then we’re going to figure out how to make you queen.”
Intrigued, I walked beside him. “You told me not to trust you.”
“Absolutely do not.” His eyebrow quirked. “But I’m going to help you anyway.”
9
ORION
It felt haunted in here, in the old brick mansion where my family had once lived. My footfalls echoed off the dusty tile floors. I could have this place cleaned, but something stopped me from bringing it back to life. It was a mausoleum now, the air musty and stale. This home was a grave.
So why the fuck was I in here?
I supposed this was the only place where I could douse the fire of my lust for Rowan. Because when she was around, I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe when her image came into my mind. Every time I thought of her, my heart stopped. Her deep brown eyes, with the faint ring of gold at the edges. Her full lips painted red, the tiny smattering of freckles on her nose, the curve of her hips. The way she’d moaned when I’d fucked her—
Anyway, what sort of king would I be if I couldn’t get my mind off her?
This was the only place I could find respite from thinking of her. Sadness twined through this place like a heavy mist.
From the tile floor, I eyed the old busts in the hallway alcoves, their faces smashed, some shattered on the floor.
I felt the world tilting beneath me as my gaze roamed over the deep red stain on the floor. That was where my brother, Molor, had been murdered while I watched.
My breath sped up, and I couldn’t quite get enough air in here.
He’d tried to stand in front of our mother because he was so strong—
At least, my older brother had seemed so large and powerful to me then. I was shocked that the soldiers had knocked him down. Back then, I’d thought of him as a god. A titan. Someone who would always protect me. And maybe that was why I hadn’t unleashed the fire I had in me, because if only I’d been thinking clearly, I could have burned the mortals to ash. They’d weakened our power before invading, but I’d still had some.
But surely Molor would stop them.
Molor had been the one to teach me curses, and he’d tried to teach me to land a punch. Every time he’d left the house, I’d screamed that I wanted to go with him.
In a daze, I walked through the hallway to his old room. He’d always been tidy, and it was neat even now, despite the dust and cobwebs. His was a simple, elegant room with white walls and dark wooden beams across the ceiling, an old flagstone floor and a threadbare rug. Stags’ antlers jutted from the wall above the mantel. His bed was a four-poster, the mahogany posts etched with thorns. Pale light streamed in through mullioned windows onto a desk stacked with old books.
I opened his wardrobe, stunned to see how small his clothes were. Had he really been that small?
And the children’s toys in here—a doll in a white dress with black beads for eyes, and a wooden top with black numbers on it. I picked the top up, turning it over between my fingers. If the mortals hadn’t come, Molor would have taught me how to play this game. As it was, I had no idea what it was for.