Originally, she had wanted a deal. Seeing him now without his wings, though, it filled her with a dark sense of glee. She hated Pride. Hated the princes of Hell. And exacting a little bit of revenge felt more satisfying than she’d imagined. Still, it would be remiss of her to not hear him out. Her daughter’s happiness was what truly mattered. She ran her attention over him.
“Pretend I’m entertaining the idea of a bargain, one small opportunity for you to break the curse and earn your wings back. What are your terms?” Sursea asked.
“Six years, six months, and six days.” The king of demons’ voice was low, dangerous. He’d not hesitated with his response, which indicated he’d thought it through before offering. Not that she expected anything less from the battle strategist. Before she could agree or inquire further, he added, “Time will be measured in the Seven Circles. Not any other hell dimension. During that period, you will not set foot in mine or any of my brothers’ Houses of Sin unless invited. If you do, then you risk a curse of your own. One I shall not reveal until it’s too late.”
Sursea eyed the devil speculatively. The bargain was relatively simple enough, but she recognized the dark gleam in his eyes. Knew the deceptiveness it hinted at. Wrath was no fool. And neither was she. There was great risk by agreeing to it, but the potential for an even greater reward was too tempting to pass up. “I want a guarantee that no one associated with you or your brothers will try to make an attempt on my life or cause me harm in any way. And if you cannot break the curse within that time, it shall never be undone. No magic, no trickery, no bargain will matter. For all eternity, you shall never have what you love most.”
“When I do break it, and when I decide I no longer wish to have you taint this realm, you will be banished from the Seven Circles. And you must erase the memory of this conversation.”
Sursea considered all angles. It didn’t so much matter if he won, as long as she got what she’d been after all along. Six years, six months, and six days ought to grant her enough time to see her plan through. Though in other realms it could be closer to twenty years. Regardless of how much time she needed to endure, if she never had the misfortune of dealing with princes of Hell again, it was a small price to pay for eternity.
She didn’t need to remember this conversation in its entirety, she only needed to recall her goal of protecting her daughter. An idea was stirring. She’d heard rumors the Crone had been using magic to shape the memories of anyone who tried to cross a particular mountain range to the south. But her interference was only directed at one particular, enigmatic House of Sin that stood apart from all others. It wasn’t ruled by demons, but something much worse. And it was the one stipulation the king of demons forgot to include in his bargain.
Perhaps it was time to pay House Vengeance a visit.
“What of the Shifting Isles?” she asked. “They technically are their own dimension.”
The king seemed to consider this. She’d heard rumors that he disliked the isles but wanted confirmation. “If you’d like to be banished there, in true Hell, be my guest.”
“You know,” she made her tone sound bored, “some believe six-six-six to be the sign of the beast. If I purge this memory, how am I to trust you won’t break your word?”
“You know full well it symbolizes balance. Natural order. Don’t feign ignorance, Sursea. I can scent your lies, and they reek of shit.” He called for a servant, then pulled a clear, smooth piece of quartz from inside his jacket pocket. Sursea did her best to not look surprised. The devil had come prepared to do battle. A moment later, that same servant reappeared with a contract and two blood quills. Unease trailed a finger along her spine as the king handed her the stone. “Purge the memory and we’ll sign the oath.”
The memory abruptly ended, and I was thrust back into the here and now. My clothes were soaked through, the water frigid. Yet I was consumed with an inner fire that had the air glimmering from the sudden heat. I glanced at my hand, at the pulverized crystal in it. The memory hadn’t stopped, I’d crushed it in my fist.
Six years, six months, and six days. Wrath never mentioned a clock counting down our time to break the curse. But he had wanted me to swear a blood oath to him, for six months. And then Anir had also mentioned his having six months left to regain his full power. Then, of course, there was Sursea’s snide comment about time moving quickly in the throne room.
I swore, using every foul word and phrase I knew. Given Sursea’s glee, we probably didn’t have much time left.