“The nightmares are growing stronger,” her lady’s maid muttered, her thick northern accent both jarring and comforting. Demelza flicked her gaze over to the open window where a cat-sized raven perched. A diamond brooch sparkled between his orange claws. “‘Tis demons.”
Ravius cocked his head, returning the glare. His silver eyes were way too human for Haven’s liking, and they glinted with fury, leaving little doubt about Ravius’s feelings on being called a demon.
Not that he needed gestures to make his thoughts clear. Something that Stolas failed to mention—one of his countless omissions—was that Ravius could talk.
At least, to Haven.
The bird squawked at Demelza, but only Haven heard his enraged voice as it rattled off in her head. Witch, you should be flogged for your insolence.
For the thousandth time, Haven responded inside her mind, rubbing her temples. She’s not a witch.
Ignoring Haven, Ravius spread his wings wide and puffed out his chest, making himself as large as possible as he faced down Demelza. I am Lochran O’Beirne. Greatest Asgardian warrior of old. How dare you challenge me, witch. Bow before me or face the consequences.
His voice had the alluring brogue of an Asgardian and the disdainful lilt of a royal.
Stolas, if you can hear me, Haven thought. You owe me big time.
“Hand over that jewel you thieving Netherworld demon!” Demelza roared.
Ravius was only a raven, but Haven could have sworn a smile curved across his black beak as he bent down and snatched the brooch in his mouth. Then he proceeded to wave it back and forth.
Stolas had also failed to mention Ravius’s penchant for hoarding sparkly things. She’d recently found a rather large cache of jewelry—stolen from Goddess knows how many nobles—inside a hollowed-out portion of the loveseat by the window.
Having none of it, Demelza snatched a wooden-handled broom from the corner and charged across the room toward Ravius.
An indignant squawk was all Ravius got out before he was flung out the window.
As Haven watched the angry bird disappear into the still-dark morning air, she felt some of the tension lift from the room.
“Like I said,” Demelza grumbled, setting the broom back in its place and dusting off her hands. “Demons.”
There was no point arguing with her maid that demons didn’t lurk inside the mortal realm anymore. At least, not in the way they had been thousands of years ago, when lower demons were supposedly as plentiful as stray cats.
Now the demons were bound to the Shadeling in the darkest pits of the Netherworld. The few still here—like the djinn from Lorwynfell—were summoned before the Shadeling’s imprisonment. A remnant of an era when kings had powerful enough light magick to bind demons deep below their castles to guard royal treasure.
Blowing out a breath, Haven settled her head back onto the floor. From this vantage point she could see the thick layer of dust collecting beneath the iron frame of her small bed.
“Demelza, when was the last time someone cleaned this room?”
Demelza clucked her tongue. “They refuse. Because the demons.”
“For the last time, Demelza. There are no demons.”
“Hmph.” Demelza leaned down to wipe Haven’s face again. “Says the girl sprawled on the floor like a fool.”
Haven batted away the attempt before jumping to her feet. Demelza shuffled after her, thrusting the wet cloth out like a weapon, but Haven waved her off.
“It was a nightmare, Demelza. Last I checked, you can’t wash those away.”
“No, but you sweat when you dream.” Demelza tsked as if the very idea was offensive. “And sweat not only stinks, it attracts demons.”
“Goddess save me,” Haven muttered as she lifted her sword hand for inspection. Even though she knew her nightmare wasn’t real, her body lightened with relief as she took in the absence of a dagger—or Bell’s blood.
Demelza straightened, the painful curve of her hunched shoulders smoothing out. After rifling through the tall oak wardrobe by the window, she retrieved some hideous collection of clothes they both knew Haven wouldn’t wear and laid the ensemble on the rumpled bed.
“I will find you a runecatcher for your dreams,” Demelza offered, “and then you must put it above your bed. Yes?”
Her words came out closer to an order than an offer.
Haven repressed the grin forming over her jaw and said, “Thank you. I’m sure it will help.”
They both stared at the clothes on the bed, unwilling to admit the obvious—the runecatcher would do nothing. Haven’s nightmares were beyond the reach of anything in this mortal realm.
They had been for months.
The only thing that stopped them was Stolas. Whenever her nightmares became too much, she would find herself inside his dreamscape. Her terror gone. No more horned, seeing, talking dagger. No more killing Bell or Archeron or Surai.
Except, the last few weeks, his dreams were closed to her, along with the small comfort they brought.
She tried not to worry over Stolas’s absence as she dressed in uncomfortable silence. Demelza didn’t so much as scoff when Haven overlooked the creamy gold gown and slippers for her leather pants and favorite worn boots. But she did make grumbling noises as Haven holstered small daggers at her wrists, thighs, and waist.
To appease her maid, Haven donned her newest cloak—a bright red wisp of sable—and fastened it to her tunic with a shiny gold pin shaped like a dahlia.
More daggers went into the pockets she’d sewn into the lining, and Demelza’s gaze narrowed once again.
“A lady of the court should not jingle with steel,” Demelza pointed out.
“Good thing I’m not a lady, then,” Haven answered, brows knitted as she finished stuffing a vial of oleander poison into a hidden pocket just over her heart.
Lastly, she reached for the gilded dagger on her nightstand. As her fingers brushed the hilt, an image of the dagger from her dream flashed in her mind, and dread unfurled in her belly.
It was the same damn dagger every time. Right down to the striations etched into the huge horns and the eerie eye throbbing with magick.
The figure, on the other hand, was entirely new.
“Demelza, in the future, you will lock my door from the outside at night, and if I try to break through it, even if I seem asleep—especially if I appear asleep—I want you to take a sword and run me through. Understood?”
Any other person might have hesitated. Or at the very least feigned an unwillingness to murder so easily.
But Demelza had lost her entire village to the darkness that now rooted in Haven’s soul. And even if Haven hadn’t told anyone her secret—that she possessed both light and darkness, good and evil—a part of Demelza must have known anyway. Must have sensed it the same way she did her imaginary demons.
Demelza gave a grim nod and said, “Straight through the heart, m’lady. ‘Tis a promise.”
“And don’t be sad afterward.”
“No worry of that nonsense, m’lady.”
“Wonderful.”
Haven squared to face the dressing mirror in the corner.
For a flicker, a heartbeat, the reflection from her dream stared back. A girl wholly strange and unpredictable, ruled by a darkness she could never begin to control and a bloodlust stronger than any good that might be left inside her.