The crew strode through Flutic.

  The fear was palpable in the streets. Averted gazes. Empty boulevards. A carriage abandoned on its side, traces cut, horses missing.

  Yet the city didn’t feel abandoned; Harald caught glimpses of faces watching their passage from between nearly closed shutters. Knots of strangers gathered on street corners melted away by stepping out of sight hurriedly at their approach. A bustling delegation from House Silvershield kept to the far side of the avenue as they crossed paths, the dozen raiders eyeing them warily.

  This wasn’t a city emptied, but rather a city locked down as if under siege. At least, so it was in the Angelus Quarter, where the wealthy could afford to stay home, eat stocks of food, their own wells or supplies of drinking water. As they made their way toward Vic’s cathedral, Harald imagined that life had to continue in some weary fashion in the other parts of town; people needed to fetch food, to work, to keep going. And most likely, the focus of this brutal civil war was here, in the noble quarter. The rest of the city must be slinking about, hoping to avoid notice, to let the Houses butcher themselves as they willed.

  The sun was setting over the rooftops when they reached the Avenue of Penitence. It was broad and flanked on both sides by a heavy arcade of arches under which vendors normally set up their stalls to sell holy mementoes, sacred tokens, blessed medallions and other such trade of the divine. The arches were quiet and empty, however, the vendors and hawkers were absent, so that the long procession to the huge cathedral at the avenue’s terminus felt eerie and abandoned.

  The sun was setting over the rooftops of Flutic, the air growing chill. The golden light washed over the cathedral’s facade, bathing the narrow towers and clustered spires in warm light, but allowing darkness to pool dramatically in its hollows. Every surface of the stonework was carved in pointed arches, traceried windows, deep recesses, and serrated shadows. A vast rose window the size of a carriage was placed directly over the main doors at the top of a flight of broad steps, and buttresses flanked the huge building like the legs of some vast insect.

  “Never liked this place,” said Sam quietly as they walked down the Avenue. “Always made me feel guilty, like it was some minor heresy on my part, but…”

  Harald eyed the shadowed alcoves on either side. Scale lanterns were set between them, burning with constant light of Copper Crescents, but that illumination failed to pierce the broad depths where the stalls should stand.

  “Something’s watching us,” he said.

  “Aye,” agreed Kársek. “Has been since we stepped onto the avenue. I imagine they’ll reveal themselves soon.”

  “One of Vic’s demons, no doubt.” Nessa’s face was pale, her bearing stiff. Harald could only imagine how much it cost her to set aside her personal quest after preparing herself to face her horrific past.

  “Any moment now,” agreed Harald.

  “I feel like my dramatic entrance has been ruined,” called a sultry feminine voice, rich in amusement and mockery. “Here I was, planning to shock you with my approach, yet you all stolen my thunder.”

  A woman was leaning against the inside of an arch just up ahead, arms crossed, white cloak hanging to her heels. There was no doubting her being a demon; huge ram horns of rich lavender emerged from sockets in her helm to sweep back from her head and curl upward at the last to form wicked points.

  But for huge skull-shaped pauldrons and spiked ivory vambraces chased in gray steel she wore no armor, but rather something akin to a high priestess’ vestments tailored for a bordello. A white corset hugged her full figure, and a lavender skirt panel fell from her layered belt, its cut accentuating her hips.

  She gave off a sense of refined brutality, of sensual martial dominance. Every aspect of her form betrayed her expectation to be seen, obeyed, and feared in equal measure.

  “You’d be one of Eclavistra’s demons,” said Harald, forcing a hearty tone into his voice on instinct. “Hello. We’re old drinking friends of Vic’s.”

  The woman’s face was hauntingly beautiful, her skin so smooth as to appear like polished marble, her lips black and glossy, her eyes blank purple chased in smoldering charcoal shadows. She smiled lazily, taking them in, completely at her ease. “Is that so? Old friends of King Carmine?” Her voice was a caress. “Come to rise his coattails to power?”

  Nessa stepped forward. “Come to speak with him. Are you going to bar our way?”

  “I might.” The corner of her lips crooked a little higher. “Sheerly for the amusement. I’ve been so bored lately. Perhaps you’ll offer me some sport?”

  “Enough.” Sam’s voice was a whipcrack, severe and disdainful in a way that Harald had never heard before. “Don’t toy with us, demon. I am a Netherwarden Knight and tolerate your standing there only because you’re in service to my friend. Take us to him, or I’ll extinguish you.”

  “Oh, how delicious,” grinned the demon, pushing supply off the wall to step out into the avenue. “A holy little warrior? So noble and pure. I’m going to ask Vic to entrust you to my care. I wonder how long it would take to make you squeal in pleasure?”

  Sam raised her palm skyward and unleashed a stream of bright, wondrous light that fountained upward to a height of some ten yards before spreading outward in every direction, only to fall back to earth and encase them and the demon within a dome of silvery light.

  Harald felt himself uplifted, his spirit renewed, his purpose strengthening even as the demon’s subtle scent of lavender faded and her eyes narrowed in displeasure, her smile replaced instantly in a frown.

  “Your last warning, demon.” Sam’s voice was rich with confidence and threat. “Take us to Vic, or I’ll lose my patience.”

  The silvery radiance played over the demon’s voluptuous frame, and in its light her glamor was lessened; she seemed diminished and less imposing, though Harald was lulled—he could sense on some basic level that she remained a truly formidable foe.

  “You think I bring every idiot who claims to know King Carmine to his throne?” She sneered. “Especially those who come only with threats? I should slay you for this impertinence alone.”

  “I’m sure Vic adores your sense of discretion,” said Harald, raising a palm as he moved up alongside Nessa. “But really. We’re old friends. Used to go to the Kitty Kat Club with him back in the day. Surely he’s told you about it?”

  The demon hesitated, her expression turning arch. “He may have suggested I’d have earned a fortune in Silver Starbursts if I’d worked there.”

  “That sounds like Vic.” Harald took another step forward. “Equal parts infuriating wit and devilish wit, am I right? We really are his friends. If you must, tell him Harald and the crew are here to congratulate him. Can you do that for us?”

  “Harald?” The demon narrowed her eyes. “Son of Darius Darrowdelve?”

  “Of course she’s heard of you,” muttered Nessa.

  “Yeah.” Harald gave an awkward shrug. “The same.”

  “You should have said.” She inclined her hugely horned head in mock deference. “Our sublime Lady holds you in high esteem. Be welcome at King Carmine’s court.”

  Sam lowered her arm, allowing the Starfire Bastion to subside. Kársek tapped Harald’s elbow and gestured toward the top of the far arcade. Another demon was watching them from above, cut from the same mold as the first but more slender and encased in cruel form-fitting plate armor, all of it spiked and hooked.

  “Oh, there’s four of us watching you,” allowed the primary demon, turning and beginning to walk toward the cathedral. “If you thought you could fight your way through, you’re sorely mistaken. Even the Gold-rankers in the city have hesitated at contesting us all.”

  “How many are you?” asked Harald, leading his companions after.

  She laughed, the sound like crushed velvet. “Oh, you wish to learn our logistics, tactics, numbers, and powers? I hate to disappoint you, but we ladies must keep our secrets close.”

  “Fair enough.” Harald scanned the archways as they passed, the rooftops, but so now others. “The coronation is still happening tomorrow evening?”

  “Assuredly.” Her tone grew clipped. “Of that there is no doubt.”

  “And then you’ll rule over Flutic like a… cruel mistress of the night?”

  She glanced back, only her eyes visible over her huge skull-shaped pauldron. “You mistake us, Harald. Vic will be the ruler. We are but his abject and willing slaves.”

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  “Right,” drawled Nessa in disgust. “Vic must be like a hog in a mud stye.”

  “What a flattering comparison.” The demon’s purple eye locked on Nessa and then flashed with a rich glimmer. “Coming from a self-loathing, glory-addicted, approval-craving cunt who would have killed herself years ago if she wasn’t such an abject coward.”

  Nessa’s eyes bulged, her jaw clenched, and her face drained of all color. Her hand dropped to the longsword at her hip, but Harald grabbed at her wrist, clamping it in place and preventing her from drawing her blade.

  “She’s just flirting,” he said, forcing his tone to remain light and breezy. “I mean, she’s a demon, right? Poor thing. She probably can’t help herself.”

  The demon laughed, the sound high and tittering, and resumed looking forward.

  “She’s dead.” Nessa’s tone was low and vicious. “I swear it on all that’s holy. I’ll claim her life before this is done.”

  “No objection from me,” whispered Harald, and released her.

  They mounted the broad steps. The golden light playing across the cathedral’s front was already dimming, growing blood-tinged. Up to the huge doors, its casement exquisitely carved with a throng of religious figures from the church’s past, and then through and into the dark.

  The gigantic rose window set high above the doorways had shown gray and lusterless from outside, but from within it blazed with glorious color in the last rays of sunlight, casting a stream of rich greens, reds, and blues upon the central nave that ran toward the distant altar. Candelabras were set upon the massive columns that ran the length of the nave, partitioning off the aisles on either side, but failed utterly to dispel the rich shadows that drenched the cathedral interior.

  It felt like stepping into a hallowed cavern that was steeped in the scents of wax, incense, reverence, and cold stone. The altar was an island of illumination, and even from the main doorway the throne that had been dragged and set before it was clear; a massive, ornate wooden affair, smothered in cushions and upon which Vic lounged, one leg hiked over a chair arm, his golden hair glinting in the candlelight.

  Three demons with lavender horns stood behind the throne, each sultrier and more beautiful than the last, clad in a combination of spiked plate, lavender hued leather, serrated gauntlets, chains, and flowing cloth. Their eyes burned like hovering motes of purple, even at this distance, and all were studying the new arrivals.

  A handful of people stood before Vic’s throne, clearly in the midst of negotiations that weren’t going well, for they had turned back to the main door with expressions of irritation and impatience.

  House Thornvale, from their colors.

  Vic shielded his eyes with one hand and leaned forward. “Who is that?” Harald realized he and his companions stood in darkness before the open doors; they had to be little more than silhouettes. Vic’s aside to a demon carried clearly, “Sythryxa, I told you to put some lanterns by the door. This is so annoying. I’m constantly squinting in here.”

  “It’s just us, Vic.” Harald pitched his voice to carry. “I was worried you might be busy but thought I’d check anyway to see if you had time for a drink at the Oak and Acorn.”

  “Harald?” Vic’s delight was obvious. “And is that Nessa and Sam and old Karsy with you? Wonderful! Get over here, let me introduce you to the girls!”

  “The angels wept, Vic,” muttered Nessa.

  They made their way down the nave even as Vic waved off the House Thornvale delegates. Harald couldn’t make out their protests, but Vic’s response rang out clearly with impatience. “Yes, yes, I know Silenthros is not to be trifled with, but he’s not here, is he? I don’t see him, at any rate. But you know who is here? Me. With a bevy of Eclavistra’s finest. So if I tell you to go stand in that chapel for a couple of minutes and wait, you get in that chapel, and you wait.”

  The four men in forest green cloaks drew themselves up, expressions pinched, and strode away stiffly.

  “Harald!” Vic bounded up from his throne, arms outstretched. “My fondest wish come true! I thought you down in the dungeon on angel business! What brings you to my Flutic? Sounds good, doesn’t it? My Flutic! Get over here, give me a hug!”

  Harald embraced the other man, who clasped him tight and pressed his mouth to his ear: “You gotta help me,” whispered Vic urgently, then pulled away to beam at him. “By the Fallen Angel’s sizzling nips you’re a sight for sore eyes. And Nessa! Why the frown? Is it the whole ‘Vic stealing the city while you’re gone’ thing? I can explain! And Sam! Oh. Not approving either, huh? At least Karsy’s in good humor. Put it there, Karsy.”

  And Vic extended his hand which Kársek shook with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  Vic eased back onto the throne and gestured at the three demons. “Introductions are in order! This delightful beauty is Sythryxa, a Harrowbride of Eclavistra. And this here is Glyzzandra, a Thorned Muse, and the delightful Paryxthia, another Thorned Muse. Ladies, meet my old friends.”

  Their original escort had remained by the door, Harald realized, but he forced himself to bow politely to the three demons who eyed him with avaricious hunger. “Ladies.”

  “Ah, really, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you all. Not that the Handmaidens of Eclavistra aren’t fine company.” Vic swiveled to smile apologetically to the three. “Wonderful conversationalists, absolutely insatiable in bed, and bound by contract to laugh at my jokes. Honestly, what more could a man desire? If you figure it out, tell me. I’ll append it to the contract.”

  “Vic,” said Sam warningly.

  Vic affected an innocent expression. “Yes, Sam? Oh. I haven’t offered you chairs. We’ve deliberately hidden them all to make the House delegations stand. It’s a power play thing, you see, I sit above them on a literal throne, they’re forced to stand below me like miserable little schoolboys in the headmaster’s office. But! That’s not our dynamic, is it. Chairs. Paryxthia, could we get a pew? Where did they all go?”

  “Of course, my king,” purred one of the demons, and strolled sensually away into the darkness.

  “Amazing.” Vic watched her go. “How does she do that with her hips? A mortal woman would dislocate something. Anyway.” He turned back, smiling bemusedly. “Drinks? I’ve got all manner of cordials; apparently fine vintages are most Houses go-to as conciliatory gifts—”

  “Vic.” Sam’s voice couldn’t have been more forbidding. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Vic froze. Blinked. “Is that a trick question?”

  Nessa was engaged in a staring match with Sythryxa. “You know it’s not. Stop playing the fool. Order these bitches away so we can talk.”

  “First off, they do like being called bitches, but only under very specific circumstances, and I don’t think this counts.” He swiveled again. “My apologies, ladies, my friends are a little sensitive about the whole ‘demonic conquest’ thing.” He turned back and raised both palms. “Look, fine. Yes, I may have waded into a civil war with a legion of Handmaidens and thrown the Church into a schism with some shocking revelations about their leadership, as well setting myself up in a cathedral, which I’ll admit, could be seen in poor taste. But! But!” He paused, as if daring Sam to interrupt him. “Do you know how bad things were when we arrived? There’s been no infighting since I issued my proclamation. I’ve got the Houses all united against me, mostly, though you’ll be absolutely devastated to learn just how quickly they’re all willing to bend knee. Listen. No—Sam, listen.” He leaned forward, manner intently earnest.

  “You asked me what’s going on? I’m putting things to rights. Things you all abandoned, remember? You’re all about the Celestial War now, which is great. Great! I love it. Go win one for the good guys!” He pivoted back to the two demons who were suddenly staring at him with narrowed gazes. “They’re going to weaken the big dogs so our mistress can finally get a foothold. That’s what I mean.”

  Neither demon said anything.

  Vic turned back. “But you left. You did. You threw the Crown away and left. And everything went tits up. A real farcical shitshow. It would be funny if there weren’t so many innocents involved. So, what did I do? I came back with some real heavy hitters and am now setting matters straight. No more wheedling and begging for the nobles to behave. Nope! It’s my way or the executioner’s block. I aim to cripple and knock down the Houses, distribute their wealth, reform the justice system, lower the taxes on the poor, possibly make it a proportional tax thing, you know, scaling with the amount of income and wealth—you’ll be shocked to hear how sharp these demonic ladies are when it comes to writing contracts—and basically setting things to rights.”

  “Vic.” Sam’s tone was measured and practically vibrating with her self-control. “You’re putting demons in charge of the city.”

  “Point of order!” Vic raised a finger. “I’m in charge. King Vic. They’re my enforcers, advisors, lovers, and best friends. We get along splendidly. I’d invite you to one of our sleep over parties, but—well. I already know you’re too much of a prude.”

  “Vic,” began Nessa, then cut off as Paryxthia appeared behind them carrying a lengthy pew in one hand. She set it behind them, mimed a mocking curtsy, then moved back around to stand behind the throne.

  “Sit?” prompted Vic.

  Nobody sat.

  “Oh, fine. Look. Yes. Yes, I’ll concede there’s a certain…” He sought the right word. “Demonic angle to all this. On account of these ladies being demons, Handmaidens of Eclavistra, etcetera. But! Lest you forget, I am also a servant of Eclavistra. I carry her Demon Seed. Right? So, in a way, this is all pretty logical. And I’m in control. I know that sounds like an idiotic boast, but I actually am. If I told these ladies to give us a moment alone, they would do so out of love and respect for me.”

  “Then do so,” said Harald.

  “I would, but I’ve nothing to hide from them.” Vic sighed happily. “We have exemplary communication skills. It’s the secret to a satisfying sex life, and a successful monarchy.”

  “Still,” said Harald. “I apologize if it’s rude. But I would appreciate a chance to speak with you alone. For old time’s sake.”

  Vic sighed dolorously. “It’s almost as if you’re not listening. I trust them, they trust me. Whatever you can say to me, you can say to them. Right, ladies?”

  Sythryxa, who seemed to be their leader, bowed her massively horned head.

  “Think of it as for old time’s sake,” insisted Harald. “If not for your sake, then ours. What I have to share with you comes from Vorakhar. He’d not be pleased if I said it before demons of Eclavistra.”

  “We could help lower your inhibitions,” said—was that Paryxthia? “Give us the chance, dear Harald, and we could make this a very enjoyable exchange indeed.”

  “No, no no no,” said Vic, sitting upright. “We’re not going to start corrupting my friends right away. All right, fine. Fine! Ladies? My sincere apologies. Out of respect for the old times, I’ll…” Vic sighed. “I’ll have a moment alone with the old gang. You understand.” He winked at Sythryxa. “I’ll update you all right after. Yes?”

  “Of course, my king,” purred Sythryxa, looking pleased and demure and affectionate all at once. “Your wish is our command. Sisters. Let’s give our king a moment of privacy.”

  The three demons quit the apse and faded into the darkness.

  Vic watched them go, brows raised, then stood as well. “Come on. If we’re to do this privacy thing properly—as you insist—we might as well use the Absolution Chamber.”

  “Absolution Chamber?” asked Kársek.

  Vic waved a hand. “It has magical wards that grant total privacy. You’d be shocked to learn how squeamish some of the old nobility were about confessing their darkest misdeeds to the priests in the old days. Right this way.”

  They filed after Vic into the darkness, crossing the nave into an aisle, then entered through a stout wooden door on which hung a graven image of the Fallen Angel. Vic stood to one side, waiting, whistling under his breath, then entered last, closed the door behind them, and slid the gigantic iron bolt home.

  The moment he did so the air filled with a low hum, and power swirled along the periphery of the room as a ward came to life.

  Vic’s demeanor instantly changed to one of desperation. He lunged forward and seized the front of Harald’s armor in both fists. “I’ve fucked up! Guys, please, you’ve got to help me. I’ll do anything, but by the Fallen Angel’s sweet grace, you must get me out of here!”