The Sultan wore no jewelry and his usual ostentatious style was muted—he wore only dark leather trousers and leather bands around his wrists. His muscled, naked torso was covered in blood and little bits of torn flesh. Ari dropped her gaze, feeling her stomach turn.
“I’ve laid out the consequences,
Ari.” Azazil looked back at her now and that fist of anxiety twisted in her chest. “Are you sure you understand what I’m saying?”
She nodded. “I understand. Are you saying you’ll grant me the favor you owe me?”
His lip curled at the corner, his eyes glittering. “I should either kill you or applaud you for using the oath of a favor against me. This is no ordinary favor. It will affect us all … and I am unusually blind to the consequences. I see vague images that I cannot make sense of.” His features hardened. “All I can feel is that if I grant you this favor, something of great immensity will come to pass. Something that will affect my realm and the mortal one, not just me and you.”
His prophecy made her stop. It was one thing to suggest the possible consequences and another to prophesize an actual gigantic change. “In what way?”
“I told you I cannot know for sure.”
“So it could be good or bad?”
“Is anything ever just good or bad?”
The man at her side groaned again, and Ari winced. “I don’t suppose you’d let this guy go too as part of the favor?”
Azazil scowled. “I grant you this favor and I might not be able to do much of anything for a while.”
That in itself was reason enough to do it. Ari nodded. “Do it.”
The Sultan crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know whether to risk the consequences of breaking my oath to you or go along with this insanity.”
“I thought you liked insanity. It’s entertaining, right?”
That produced a slow, wicked grin from her grandfather. “This is true.” He dropped his arms and strode toward her, the majesty of his power threatening to blow her off her feet. “You win, Ari. I’ll grant you your favor.” He smirked. “Let the realms have mercy on us all.”
Suddenly, nausea took hold of Ari as her vision went in and out, the room shaking in a jarred blur back and forth. But as her vision refocused and the nausea retreated, Ari realized it wasn’t her eyesight. With a shiver she glanced around her new surroundings.
Azazil had shifted them both to a huge bedchamber she assumed was the Sultan’s.
“Privacy,” he murmured, and that was the last thing he said before he braced himself against the elaborately carved fourth post of the mammoth bed.
Uncertain what was happening, Ari opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Azazil closed his eyes.
She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
His body flickered in and out as his fingernails dug into the wooden post. “Arggh!” he groaned between clenched teeth.
Shadows pooled into the room, filled with the hiss of electricity. Ari’s breathing grew shallow and she took a tentative step toward the Sultan only to feel an immense, painful pressure push in on her temples.
The pain blinded her and Ari cried out, falling to her knees. Her arms folded over her head as she tucked it into her body, praying for the pain to stop. She let out another scream, trying to relieve the pressure … but it seemed to go on forever, until her body began to sway toward the black …
Yes … the black where there was no pain.
And then it stopped.
The whole room stilled beneath her and Ari let her arms fall, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lifted her heavy head and gazed up at Azazil. What she saw shocked the very breath out of her.
“Your Highness?” she whispered hoarsely, still feeling the throbbing waves of remembered pressure at her temples.
Azazil glanced over at her as he slumped toward the floor. “Done,” he whispered.
He was so pale. And not just pale. Hollows sunk beneath his eyes, shadows stretched across his torso, a torso once powerful and muscular, now lean and frail.
“What have I done?” Ari murmured, more tears falling.