Fiery Edge of Steel (A NOON ONYX NOVEL) (18 page)

Delgato, meanwhile, studied each of us with his eerie, iridescent cat eyes. He finally settled his gaze on Rafe. “If you’re the hornpipe for this group, get on with it, then. Burr’s dinner is only getting colder and Russ has been on deck since sunup. He’s looking forward to me—and one of you—relieving him.”

Most Angels couldn’t resist a bit of showmanship and Rafe was no exception. As he introduced us, he infused each of our names with just the slightest ping of magic.

“
Raphael Sinclair
,” he said, gesturing to himself and bowing. “Son of Roderick and Valda Sinclair nee Gotzon of Etincelle.”

“
Fara Vanderlin
,” Rafe said, gesturing to Fara. “Daughter of Friedrich Vanderlin, Archangel of the Fifth District and Guardian of the current executive of the Demon Council, Karanos Onyx, and Mary Gamboge of Etincelle.” Fara also bowed, and then couldn’t resist adding her own bit, from the Book, of course: “‘And thus it was said at the End and in the Beginning, friends are now enemies and enemies are now friends. The demons were, are, and ever will be Legion. Welcome, demon. Welcome, friend.’ Joshua, one, one.”

Delgato appeared unimpressed by this recitation but he nodded politely and turned toward Ari, who was next.

“
Aristos Carmine,
” Rafe said. “Adopted son of Steve and Joy Carmine of Bradbury. Former demon executioner for Executive Onyx.”

“Bradbury, Mr. Carmine?” said Delgato. “A strange place for a member of the Host to grow up, eh?”

Ari gave an almost imperceptible shrug. I’d been horrified upon hearing that Joy had found him as an infant, floating in a basket on the Lethe. I’d asked him several times since whether he was at all curious about his birth parents, who had apparently sent a child out on the Lethe to drown. But every time, Ari always said that as far as he was concerned, he was born in that basket.

“
Nouiomo Onyx
of Etincelle, daughter of Karanos Onyx, the current executive, and Aurelia Onyx nee Ferrum of the Hawthorn Tribe.”

I nodded to Delgato. I’d learned that Host didn’t bow to demons, at least not to lesser ones like Delgato. Historically,
they’d
served
us
. He eyed the alembic around my neck and then his gaze dropped to my demon mark.

“So you’re Rochester’s
Primoris
,” he said, creeping toward me. “A woman with waning magic? I’m not sure I believe it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What else would I be?”

Delgato smiled and I could see that, though he’d taken human form, he’d retained some of his beastly attributes. He still had four razor-sharp canines. “A demoness? Halja is full of them.”

I snorted. “I’ve never shifted in my life.”

“So you say,” Delgato growled, but it was really more of a low grumble.

“And this is Ferenc Delgato,” Rafe said, finishing up the formal introductions. “Captain of the dahabiya
Cnawlece
and Patron Demon of Shadows, Stealth, and Hiding.”

Delgato gave me a low bow and said, “I adore and abhor secrets.”

Ah, so Delgato
was
a patron and not just a captain. I suppose it made sense for the demon of hiding not to be listed in the Demon Register.

Virtus, who had hidden beneath the table when Delgato first appeared in the doorway (some demon fighter he’d make!), chose that moment to come out. Tail up, ears forward, he trotted over to Delgato and sat right in front of him.
How remarkably similar they look,
I thought.
Pointy ears, furry paws, sharp teeth, and those glimmering cat eyes, each pair staring at the other.

Delgato bent to scratch the tiny tiger behind the ears. “And who is this?”

“Virtus,” Fara said proudly.

Delgato laughed then, a deep rumbling sound. The cub looked positively blissful under Delgato’s ministrations. “Who’s a pretty kitty?” Delgato crooned. Then he turned around and yelled into the kitchen:

“Burr, bring in the fish!”

*   *   *

A
s Luck would have it, the fish dish that night was charred red snapper. Unbelievable. What were the odds? Did Burr the Cook know Alba the Third? I stared at the blackened, nasty-looking thing with its bulging eye and reached for my filleting knife. I might hate filleting, but there was
no way
I was going to ask Ari to do it for me. So I spent the better part of the first half of dinner hacking off the fish’s head, ripping out its bones, slicing its skin off, and generally being glad my dress was black so no one would see the fish goo I was splattering all over myself. Luckily, the fish meat turned out to be delicious. I was so hungry, I ate every bite. A fact that pleased both Delgato and Burr immensely.

After dinner, Burr—a short, stocky man with a ready smile and big, thick, white scars on his hands that may have been the result of galley burns . . . or something else—brought in coffee and sautéed sweet plantains. They were savory, but my eyelids were beginning to droop. That is, until Delgato suggested an offering to Estes.

Now, in and of itself, the suggestion shouldn’t have caused much alarm. First off, it was just plain good manners. We probably should have made an offering to Estes long before now, probably when we’d first pulled away from the dock. But with the storm and the loading up, it had slipped my mind—and obviously everyone else’s. Second, Estes was one of the most popular patron demons in all of Halja. Offerings were made to him all the time, even by nonsailors. Sailors, dockworkers, and fishermen all made offerings, as well as commuters, travelers, shoppers, vendors, and even restaurant owners like Alba. But there was something in Delgato’s tone of voice that sounded a warning. And there was a slight uptick in his signature that portended trouble.

Virtus had curled up on Fara’s lap sometime during the dessert. She sat absently stroking him, only half paying attention to the conversation. (Her focus was likely off somewhere between Joshua 1:20 and Joshua 27:11.) Rafe looked bored—no surprise there. Ari, however, appeared as attentive as I. What I couldn’t tell, however, was whether Ari’s attention was due to the change I’d sensed in Delgato or because Ari also felt that we should make an offering to Estes posthaste.

Estes was the hearth demon for every single family in Bradbury. The Hyrkes who hailed from Bradbury were all blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth types who built ships, fished, and worked the docks. With my own eyes, I’d seen them burn their most cherished possessions in offering to Estes—because they had faith that Estes would return those offerings three times over.

Ari, the magical and mysterious boy Joy had pulled from the river, had been raised as a hero among his people. Coming from Etincelle, where magic is almost mundane, I hadn’t understood. Until Ari’s neighbors had asked me to participate in one of their offerings. Only after seeing their rapture . . . their renewed belief . . . their
need
for faith in magic and the satisfaction thereof, did I understand.

“I’ll make the offering,” I said, getting up. “I have something that would be perfect.” The fish dish and thoughts of Alba had made me think of it. “I’ll be right back.”

It took mere seconds to exit the dining room and walk to my cabin. Quickly, I found what I was looking for: Alba’s black onion. I stared at it in my palm. I had to admit, it didn’t look like much, just a small, black, irregular lump, which was starting to flake and peel. But inside it was an answer. An answer to a question anyone on this boat might ask.
Any
question.
Any
answer.

I ran back to the dining room, slightly out of breath. I slowed to a walk and approached Delgato. As Alba had done with me, I slowly scooted my hand across the table toward him, palm down, until I was only a few inches away. Then I opened my hand, dropped the onion, and backed away.

Delgato stared at it.

He looked up at me, perplexed. “A rotted vegetable? That’s your offering?”

“No,” I said quickly, now suddenly wanting to make sure Delgato understood. The last thing I’d ever want to do is offend Estes. I’d given my blood as an offering to the mighty patron demon. I’d
burned
things in his name. The last thing I would want anyone thinking is that this gift didn’t matter.

“It’s a black onion. A real one.”

Everyone in the room (save Virtus) stared intently at it. Delgato picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, peering at it as if it were a gem. I could almost read his mind:
If only he had a jeweler’s loupe, maybe he could see the answers to his questions right through the onion skin. He might never have to peel it. Then he could ask, and receive answers, over and over and over again.

“And you’re willing to just throw this into the river?” Delgato asked me. I paused and then nodded. Delgato stared queerly at me. Almost reluctantly, he put the onion back down on the table and shook his head.

“It’s the perfect offering,” he said, smiling up at me, canines gleaming, gums black as the onion, “for the wrong demon.”

Right,
I thought, Delgato
is the Patron of Shadows, Stealth, and Hiding. The one who both adores and abhors secrets. What better gift for him than something that would reveal someone else’s deepest, most private secret?

“The onion’s not for you, Delgato. It’s for Estes.”

Delgato’s eyes hardened. That little sliver of fear I’d felt earlier started ripping open. How stupid I’d been.
Never show a demon something he desperately wants but can’t have.
If Rochester had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times. I walked over to Delgato.

“It’s a true offering,” I said, snatching the onion back.

Before I could completely withdraw my hand, however, Delgato’s paw closed tightly around it. One of his claws pierced the base of my thumb and a tiny drop of blood welled. I couldn’t tell if it was an accident or not. Ari was at my side instantly. Both Rafe and Fara leapt to their feet. Virtus hissed his displeasure at being dumped from Fara’s lap and ran under the table.

“Release her,” Ari said. I swallowed, desperately hoping Delgato would. How many miles from New Babylon were we already? More importantly, how many miles to go? Despite my increasing concerns regarding our captain, I still hoped we could keep sailing to the Shallows. People there needed our help. A girl was missing. And besides, wasn’t Delgato an old friend of Rochester’s? Of course, now that I thought about it, that fact gave me absolutely zero comfort.

I gentled my signature, my expression, and my voice.

“You’re right,” I said to Delgato. “The onion’s not an appropriate gift for Estes. It’s yours at the end of this trip . . . if we all make it back safely.”

I could tell Delgato didn’t like that last bit. Apparently, it really was unlikely we’d make it back without at least one death. His expression stayed cold and his paw still gripped my hand. Ari’s signature expanded. Rafe and Fara moved in to flank us. I could not allow the trip to become a disaster this early on. And for something so minor. I cleared my throat to steady my voice.

“If we’re still making an offering to Estes, what do
you
suggest?”

Delgato continued holding my hand. In fact he squeezed his claw tighter and the drop of blood coming from my hand became a slow trickle. Ari fired a blast at Delgato’s paw. Delgato howled and let go. Ari was a moment away from blasting Delgato with something heavy, something that might irreversibly change the direction of our trip.

“Stop!” I shouted. “I’m fine.” I turned toward Ari and grabbed his arm. “My hand only stings. Delgato’s a
bully
,” I said, glaring back at him, “but I’ve given Estes my blood before. It’s no big deal. In fact, I’m happy to do it if it makes this trip faster or safer.”

Ari grunted, which was probably the closest thing I’d ever get from him as an affirmative response when it came time to giving demons blood sacrifices. He’d never done it and didn’t agree with me doing it either.

“Blood is fine,” Delgato growled, “but after your
partner’s
reaction just now, I think it would be more interesting to watch you offer a sign of peace.”

“Okay,” I agreed just as Ari was saying my name in warning. I shrugged back at him.
How bad could a peace sacrifice be?

Delgato grinned, but with his canines it looked more like a grimace. He shook his injured paw and turned toward Ari. “I sense a
signare
on both of your marks.”

A
signare
was like a magical glaze over a waning magic user’s demon mark. Ari had explained them to me last semester. Apparently, demons use them to mark their mates. It was, as Ari had put it, like pressing a thumb into a lover’s heart and leaving a thumbprint. The
signare
was branded into our marks by our lover’s touch. It took reciprocity, both magical and emotional, in order for the branding to work. I don’t know what it was like for others, but the effect of Ari’s touch on my mark had never really lessened. The branding was still exquisitely pleasurable, and not a little painful.

“From what Rochester has told me and the way you’ve acted toward one another tonight, I assume you’ve each marked the other with a
signare
?”

I glanced at Ari. There was no reason to hide it. It wasn’t any of Delgato’s business; but then again, what was the purpose of a sign if no one saw it? I suppose
signares
were like Hyrke promise pins. It was just a way of publicly declaring your commitment to each other.