Dire Blood (#5) (The Descent Series) (31 page)

He took it and tested the weight in his hand. Falchions were small, as far as swords went; the curved blade was just over two feet long. Perfect size for a child. “Thanks.” Nathaniel stepped toward the portal, but hesitated. White light haloed his messy hair and darkened his face, making his expression hard to read. “It’s okay. I mean, I get it. I’m not mad at you.” He didn’t look at James when he spoke, which made it clear exactly who Nathaniel blamed for James and Hannah’s estrangement.

The door slammed open, and one of the nightmare guards ran in, skidding to a stop on the sleek black tile. His face was unusually pale, even for a demon. “We’ve been found,” he said. “Palace security is coming down the stairs. You need to go
now
.”

“Come with us,” Nathaniel told Elise.

“We can’t,” she said.

Shouts from above, the slamming of doors. The walls shook. Dust showered from the roof and vanished in the brilliant white portal.

“Hurry,” James urged, pushing Hannah toward the portal. “There’s no time.”

“But—”

“Go!”

Abraxas strode into the room, carrying the cane under his arm as if he had never needed to rely on such a thing. One of the other nightmares followed and slammed the door behind them. Its face was splattered with ichor.

“They must have followed you, daughter of Yatam,” Abraxas said with an ugly scowl. “Our sanctuary has been violated.”

Fists pounded on the other side of the door, making it shake on its hinges. Hannah wrapped her arms around Nathaniel.

“We’ll see you soon,” Elise said.

Hannah stepped over the line of the circle and pulled her son through the portal. Their two figures became one shadow in the center of the storm. The energy intensified, glowing so brightly that Elise could see nothing else for a single, burning moment.

With a clap of thunder, the circle of power ignited. Then the light vanished, and they were gone—and so was the circle.

The door exploded open an instant later.

Metal flashed, a scream broke the air, and the nightmares that had been guarding Nathaniel were gone.

Bodies flooded into the room.

“Get on your knees!” a woman shouted. It was Veronika, the nightmare from the Palace. There were a dozen other demons with her, all wearing the same leather uniform. A basandere, two aatxegorri, more nightmares, even an incubus.

Abraxas spat at her. “Fuck you.”

He disappeared.

Elise jerked her other sword out of its sheath, backing up against James as the Palace guards filled the edges of the room.

“James Faulkner,” Veronika said, pushing through the line of guards, “you’re under arrest for violation of the Treaty of Dis. Again.”

“You can’t contain us,” Elise said, and she could feel her skin rippling, like her body was nothing more than a heat mirage on the pavement. All it would take was a thought, and she would disappear into shadow, untouchable and immense.

James focused on something over Elise’s shoulder.

“Watch out!” he yelled.

Elise didn’t react quickly enough. The basandere whipped the chain off of its belt, flung it over her head, and jerked it tight against her throat. Magic and light sparked, showering down her flesh.

Her skin suddenly felt too tight against her bones, as if it had contracted. Her glimpse of freedom was gone.

She tried to grab the chains, but they burned like reaching into the center of the sun. Raised burns striped across her fingers.

“Got her,” the basandere said triumphantly.

A red-robed figure entered the room.

His hood covered his face, and there was no way to tell the shape of his body under layers of voluminous cloth, but there was blood on his knuckles. He radiated with power. It left a sour taste in the back of Elise’s throat, and she knew that it had to be Metaraon, dressed as the judge.

“I have him, sir,” Veronika said, sweeping a hand toward James. “What should we do with everyone else we find?”

“Arrest as many rebels as you can,” Metaraon said. “Kill the ones that resist.”

“And this one?” the basandere asked, jerking the chain tighter against Elise’s throat. She gurgled.

“Bring her to the Palace, too. I have special plans for her.”

He swept out of the room, robes trailing behind him.

J
ames had known
that they were going to have to return to the Palace of Dis, but he hadn’t planned on being taken to the gates as a prisoner again. It was even more intimidating to be forced to kneel in front of them when he knew what was waiting on the other side.

The basandere never eased up on Elise, even as it forced her beside James. The glowing chain chafed at her throat and left scorch marks on her flesh.

The black doors swung wide.

Metaraon swept into the courtyard first, and the rest of the security team followed. James was jerked to his feet again and pushed forward.

The courtyard still bore all the markings of James’s escape. The wall had been reconstructed, but the new stone was a different color, and the hole he had burrowed through the earth still gaped like an open wound. The flora of the flesh orchards were leaning toward it, as though hungry for its warmth.

The Palace’s inhabitants had collected to watch them arrive, and they stood around the path as Metaraon led the prisoners toward the grand tower. James scanned the crowd for Isaac Kavanagh, but didn’t see him or his wife.

“Move aside!” Veronika barked, and the path to the door was cleared.

They entered the tower. Once the doors shut, Metaraon addressed the guards. “Take her to the portal,” he said, indicating Elise with a gesture. Then he pointed at the demons surrounding James. “Veronika, stay with me. We’re going to court immediately.”

The basandere dragged Elise down the hall, still choking her with the chain. It reminded him eerily of being separated from Hannah when he first arrived in Hell, but Elise wasn’t helpless, she didn’t cry out, and she didn’t look afraid. The promise of violence swirled in her black eyes.

She couldn’t speak with the chain jerked tight around her throat, but she held up her forefinger, as if to tell James,
just a minute
.

And then she was taken around the corner by a dozen guards, and he was alone.

James was taken in the other direction by Veronika, following the swaying hem of Metaraon’s stolen robes into the cage of a lift.

“I know your secret,” James said to Metaraon’s back. “I know who you are.”

The guard’s fingers tightened on his bicep. The point of her knife pressed against his spine. “Be quiet.”

But the hood of the judge’s robes turned to face him. There was nothing but darkness inside, but James struggled to pick out something, anything—a hint of that hooked nose, those cold eyes, the frowning lips. “You know who I am, goddammit,” James growled. “Acknowledge me.”

“Very well. I acknowledge you, James Faulkner.” He almost sounded amused as he added, “It’s been many years.” The voice rumbling from the depths of the hood was painfully deep, and it resonated over James’s skin as the lift dropped. It was hard to make out the words over the loud pumping of the hydraulic pistons.

Chills rolled down James’s spine. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed Abraxas’s claim that Metaraon was the judge, but he hadn’t wanted to. And having confirmation of the truth—that there was an angel in Hell—made him sick.

What other parts of the Treaty had been violated?

He swallowed hard. “You know that I’m not a half-demon. You know who I am, and what I do.”

No response. The hood turned away from him again, and Metaraon folded his hands behind his back.

Their lift arrived, one of the other security guards opened the cage, and James was pushed through the dark hall.

James had been blindfolded on his last trip through the Palace, so he didn’t recognize the murals painted on the black walls, though he knew from his studies that they were meant to depict epic battles throughout history between demons and angels. He did recognize the quality of the air, the sound of his footsteps on the floor, the way his ears popped at the change in pressure.

James was being taken back to the courtroom.

The doors at the end of the hall were twice as tall as he was, and built from heavy black stone mined from the mountains. Leering faces were carved into its surface, and the massive handles were made of heavy brass in the shape of flames.

Metaraon pushed the doors open. Light flooded the hall.

The courtroom was the same as the last time he had been there: a tall stadium with a judge’s stand and a ring of chairs. There were more people in the audience this time, and they weren’t all demons. The watching human faces were somehow a thousand times more terrible than the others. They stood and bowed as Metaraon mounted the stairs to the judge’s stand, sat down, and settled his robes around him.

There was more motion around the edges of the room. James couldn’t see through the darkness, but his crown prickled and the unpleasant sensation of biting ants crept down his chest and arms.

It was the feeling of angels. Powerful ones. But it wasn’t coming from Metaraon—James still felt nothing from him. His robes must have concealed his energy. The new creatures had no such protection. The Council didn’t seem to notice.

The trial was a trap, but not for James.

“Let’s begin,” Metaraon said, and the room grew darker.

Another woman—a human woman—stepped out of the shadows behind Metaraon’s chair.

For a dizzying instant, James thought that it was Elise. Her dark curls hung to her waist, and her full lips were curved into that familiar frown. But then he remembered that Elise’s hair was no longer curly, and that she hadn’t been wearing a black dress like that, and that Elise seldom cried.

Ariane Kavanagh’s eyes were puffy and her cheeks were damp as she descended to the floor, skirts gathered in both hands. She knelt beside the circle.

“Ariane,” he said, but she didn’t look up at him. Judging by the streaks of tears on her face, she had been crying hard, and for a long time. And no wonder: when she leaned over one of the grates, James saw that her face was covered in bruises.

She touched the lines carved into the floor. A flare of energy punched through James’s stomach.

“Ready,” she said.

The nightmare shoved James into the circle. Ariane snapped her fingers, and energy flared again.

Trapped.

Ariane straightened. She finally looked at James, and her expression was one of pity. He begged her with his eyes, trying to silently communicate his plea for help, but she turned and ascended the stairs without responding.

“Veronika,” said Metaraon from the judge’s stand. The nightmare guard with the severe features and butcher knives at her hips stepped into James’s line of sight. “Prepare the prisoner.”

It wasn’t any easier to be kicked to the ground and have his clothing sliced from his body a second time. She pulled his shoes off, cut his shirt, and left him naked and cold on the ground. He didn’t even have a protective coat of dust on his skin this time. Somehow, it was so much worse to be exposed when he was clean.

She grabbed his hair and hauled him onto his knees again. “He’s prepared,” she said in a clear voice that echoed off of the stands.

“Listen to me,” James whispered urgently, trying to twist around to catch her eye. He could feel the hair ripping from his scalp as he fought against her grip. “This is a trap. That’s not Judge Abraxas. It’s an archangel, and he’s planning to—”

The guard whipped the hilt of her butcher knife across his face. Pain exploded in his jaw.

“High trial begins,” Metaraon said. “Witnesses, identify yourselves.”

Voices rose from around the room, one by one.

“I am Baphomet, infernal touchstone, and I bear witness to this trial.” Her voice was silken, and came from the chairs in the stands to James’s left.

And then, from the right: “I am Felix Block, mortal touchstone, and I bear witness to this trial.”

More than a dozen voices spoke up. One for each precept of the Treaty of Dis.

They were all there. Every single goddamn demon and human touchstone. There should have been a few angelic touchstones, too, but they wouldn’t have attended a trial in Hell—and James doubted any of them were still alive, anyway.

It took a few minutes for everyone to chime in, and when they were done, silence followed. Metaraon’s hood bobbed slowly up and down, as if pleased to acknowledge that every touchstone was there.

James struggled to speak through his gag. Veronika smacked him again, and it felt like his brain bounced against the front of his skull. His vision swam.

“James Faulkner,” Metaraon said. “You have been brought before the Council and all standing touchstones to be indicted for crimes against the Treaty of Dis. You have violated the purity of blood and endangered The second law. How do you plead?”

He could only mumble in response. Nobody really cared if he thought that he wasn’t guilty, anyway.

“Bring forth the seal,” said the judge.

As the audience watched, Ariane stepped into the circle once more, carrying a stone disc the size of her hand. Through James’s vision as both a witch and kopis, he could see that it was an infernal artifact painted with human magic. The marks around the edges would illuminate when in contact with the skin of non-human creatures, but it was dark in Ariane’s grip.

Veronika held her knife to James’s throat as the witch approached. He struggled anew, but there was nowhere to go.

Ariane pressed the seal to his chest.

The marks illuminated.

XVI

T
he basandere pulled
Elise through the halls of the Palace of Dis. A dozen demons escorted them, and they stuck so close to her that she could barely see her surroundings. She still tried to memorize her path by focusing on the engraved ceilings and rafters, but she quickly lost track of them. It was hard to focus with burning chains wrapped around her throat.

Even so, Elise decided that she was going to kill her guards, and then she was going back to James.

Her captor was going to have to release her at some point, and he would die first. She thought she might choke him with his own chain—it would hurt to touch the metal, but the idea of it was all too satisfying. He was carrying her falchion anyway, and she wanted that back so that she could decapitate the other twelve.