Still, the question of Azazel’s dark lineage haunted the back of my mind. Whatever this dreaded bloodline was, it was why people feared him.
And perhaps why he held a monster inside his skin.
7
Melisande
I felt eyes on my back as I rode Capheira back down to the Seventh Circle.
It wasn’t an unusual feeling. After being the center of attention in Belial’s arena for weeks, and then becoming something of an object of curiosity elsewhere, I was definitely used to feeling eyes on me.
But whoever was watching me… it didn’t feel normal or innocent. There was a creeping feeling of malice that made the little hairs on the back of my neck rise, along with the downy feathers along my wings.
I kept myself sitting straight up in Capheira’s saddle, trying to keep my wings from puffing up into a quivering mass, but the sense of malevolence from the unseen watcher was almost palpable. With one wing bound, I couldn’t take to the skies.
I was a sitting duck. Or rather, a duck sitting on a horse with absolutely no defense.
I pretended to look around and survey the damage, but I no longer saw the piles of rubble or raucous celebrations over the bodies of the dead. Instead I was scanning windows and rooftops, the shadows between buildings, looking for anything out of place.
The problem was, everything was out of place right now. Between the clean-up crews, demons were running amok or wandering aimlessly, burning still more effigies alongside the pyres, flying drunkenly across the open sky.
It was impossible to tell in the middle of this upheaval if anyone was stalking me. Whoever they were, they were good at remaining unseen, but it would also be the height of stupidity to start craning my head around on a swivel and looking for them openly.
I spent the whole ride downwards with my hands tense on the reins, half expecting an arrow to rip right through my chest.
By the time I reached the relative safety of the Seventh Circle, I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. The sense of malice was gone, but I didn’t relax until I’d passed through the gates of my arena and brought Capheira into the stable for her grooming and a treat.
I was dead tired, after all. Maybe I was just imagining things after exhausting my healing magic today and spending another hour on top of that memorizing a mind-bendingly enormous map.
I’d just released Capheira back into the cool waters of her lily pond when a Chainling appeared at my elbow, his hands folded neatly inside his voluminous sleeves.
“Your presence is requested within, Lady Wrath,” he said. He had a reedy sort of voice, and his chain necklace clinked with every movement.
I placed Capheira’s saddle on its rack, my arms trembling with the effort. Every tiny motion seemed to sap me of even more energy. “Right now? What’s happening?”
The Chainling sniffed disapprovingly. “Your guest is awake.”
All of my exhaustion was immediately forgotten. Michael was finally conscious?
I practically sprinted past him, only slowing down because the jolting motion of running hurt my wing, and almost ran into Belial at the arena doors.
He reached out and stopped me, planting his hands on my shoulders. “There you are. I was about to hunt you down.”
I pushed a wayward strand of hair out of my face and looked up into his aquamarine eyes. He looked tired, his arms still dirty with ash up to the shoulders, and several scratches had been ripped right through the front of his shirt.
“What did you get into?” I asked, looking him over. It looked more like he’d been in a fight than excavating the remains of his arena.
Belial shrugged one shoulder. “Just had to put a few old bones back to sleep. What took you so long in the Second Circle? Get a little distracted?”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but despite his teasing, he seemed distracted.
I just took his hand and led him inside. “Not in the way you’re implying. I found out a few things I’d like to look into later, but the messenger told me Michael’s awake-?”
I left it hanging on a question, waiting for Belial to confirm, but he just scowled.
“Are we upset that he’s awake?” I asked, confused by his reaction. This was supposed to be a good thing.
“If by ‘awake’ you mean eating all the food and drinking all the bottles of vintage whiskey this land will never see the likes of again… then