drew the blade, and pointed it at him.
"This dagger is mine," she said. "I take payment in advance. I will kill for you with this dagger. Give me a name, and he is dead. But I will not be your slave. Those women underground? Rape them if you will, not me."
Dies Irae lay looking up at her. His blood pulsed. "I do not want those women underground. I want you. I want your daggers in the night. I want your hands covered in the blood of my enemies. And I want your body under mine."
He reached up, grabbed her waist, and pulled her down toward him. Her dagger scratched his side, but he barely noticed. She snarled, and he rolled her onto her back and lay atop her.
"Get off me," she said.
"No."
Dies Irae was not a young man. He was twice this woman's age, but she made him feel young. He reached down and found her ready for him. She moaned beneath him, and snarled, and wrapped her arms around his back.
"You will kill weredragons," he hissed as he thrust into her.
"I will cut off their heads!" she cried and panted.
"We will kill the beasts and make them suffer like none have suffered."
She screamed.
Their voices echoed.
He rolled off her and stared at the ceiling. Gold and jewels covered that ceiling too. These chambers were the only place where glory and light still shone. The weredragons had destroyed the rest of the empire. But they will pay. They will pay.
Umbra nestled against him and ran her fingers across his chest. "For an old man, you have a lot of fire in you."
Dies Irae looked at her, silent. Suddenly he did feel old. Here beside him lay a woman half his age, a woman of midnight beauty. Her hair was silk, her eyes pools of shadow, her body lithe and tanned and intoxicating as summer wine. And him? An old cripple. Benedictus had taken his left arm; he wore a steel mace there instead. His brother had taken his eye too. Yes, he felt old. He felt ugly.
I should have beaten her, he thought. I should have made her bleed, made her fear me, and raped her as she screamed. Then it would not matter that he was old or deformed. Then he would be powerful, a tyrant to fear. But this.... She had given herself willingly. She had enjoyed it. That meant that she could judge him, see not only his power, but his weakness too.
Dies Irae looked away and gritted his teeth.
"How many men have you killed?" he asked.
"In bed?" She considered. "Three."
"I mean in a fight."
She snorted. "Your common soldiers fight. They hack and slash with clumsy blades, and wear armor that slows them. I don't fight, my lord. I sneak in the darkness and stab in the back. I poison and strangle. I have killed thirty men. Now I will kill weredragons."
Dies Irae rose to his feet. He stepped toward his window and looked outside at the ruins of his city. "A thousand mimics march toward Requiem. I know the weredragons. They will not stay to defend their home. They will leave. And I know where they will go."
He turned to look at Umbra. She lay on his rug, staring up at him hungrily.
"Where, my lord?"
"To darkness," he said. "To death. And to your daggers."
MEMORIA
They flew over plains of ice, snow, and rock. The clouds stretched like fingers above them.
"Remember your training," Terra said. Frost and icicles covered his bronze scales. "We've killed griffins. We can kill giants."
Memoria nodded. She let fire fill her mouth and dance between her teeth. Yes, she had fought, and she had killed. She had blown her fire, and lashed her claws, and bitten with her fangs. She had let blood wash her.
"We can kill giants," she agreed.
Her wings were steady and her jaw tight, but her insides trembled. Would giants beg for mercy too? Would they look at her with wide, terrified eyes like the boy she had killed? And, when their eyes met hers, would she find only hatred in her heart and fire on her breath?
Memoria stared ahead at the plains of ice and rock. No. Do not remember that boy. You had to kill him. If he was old enough to ride a griffin, and old enough to kill dragons, he was old enough to die. Giants will not have such large, frightened eyes.
They flew for hours. They crossed leagues. They soared over plains of ice, snow, and black