Wicked Abyss (Immortals After Dark #17) - Kresley Cole Page 0,56
as he’d promised the sorceress—and his own was the same size as before.
But New Skye was like a scourge in his realm, in his mind. His trickster nature urged him to test the boundaries of his vow to the sorceress, to punish her extortion. But how . . . ?
Test the boundaries.
Of course.
He could cut New Skye free of Pandemonia, leaving the new dimension whole, but unanchored. He’d re-create hell’s borders—without New Skye inside.
The Vrekener inhabitants wouldn’t know anything was amiss until someone tried to trace there and couldn’t find the moving dimension.
He who laughs last, Melanthe.
But gods, the process would deplete him, would be like severing a part of himself.
Bracing himself, he envisioned ripping away the new realm. He dug into his consciousness to mentally tear at New Skye.
His breaths heaved, his muscles knotting . . . finally he perceived the total excision of the Vrekener realm. Using the last of his strength, he sealed both planes.
When he managed to open his eyes, the room tilted. I’ve erred. Spent too much magic.
Over these months, as his appearance transformed, his sense of self had grown unstable, his identity eroded. Tonight, in the midst of this upheaval, he’d reached deep into himself and altered something that equaled his very being.
Like a snapped rubber band, his mind still resounded. Pandemonia was left weakened.
Just like the king of hell.
TWENTY-SIX
Lila didn’t know if the fawn was a waking dream, a hallucination, or magic.
She didn’t know why her ring had loosened right when hell was acting wonky.
But she did know that without that ring, she could now bail over the terrace edge, escaping the tower to get to Sylvan.
Would she jeopardize her life out in Pandemonia to warn her kingdom about the M?ri?r’s invasion?
Yes. Maybe they could evacuate or call on every Vertas ally to mount a defense. Maybe this was why Lila had been reincarnated.
All she needed was one sympathetic demon in this realm. . . . Ready to undertake this mission, she got busy.
In a blur, she ripped and tore and sewed. Not even half an hour later, she’d crafted coverings for her arms, hands, and feet out of the bedding, and a protective apron from the rug.
Once she’d completed her preparations, she changed into her dinner dress, the skirt now shortened to her knees, and fastened the rug shield over it.
Chip and Dale gazed on with curiosity. “I know how ridiculous I look,” she told them. “But desperate times . . .” She stuffed her pumps into her makeshift bag, along with her remaining fire-vine powder.
One last detail. She used ash to scribble a message on the back of Abyssian’s invitation to dinner. Then she left the note and the ring on her stripped bed.
With a final look around, she headed to the terrace railing. A fall from this height would prove deadly, but the risk didn’t deter her.
She saluted Chip and Dale, who skittered with disapproval, then swung her legs over. When she grasped the nearest vine, she gritted her teeth as she waited for the familiar pain to sear through her. . . .
Nothing! Her improvised mitts and footwear were working, protecting her from burns.
She began to climb down, picking her way among the crisscrossing tangle. Once she grew accustomed to the various strengths of the vines, she quickly descended the rest of the way.
On the ground, she wanted to scream her victory. Free! I told you I would escape, Abyssian. She would never go back to that tower. Never.
She drew her shoes out of her bag and slipped them on. After removing her mitts and rug apron, she stuffed them into the bag. They might come in handy again.
She surveyed her surroundings, spying not a single soul, nor any animals. Everything looked so different from down here. Matching landmarks against her memory, she headed along a black rock path to the lava river.
A three-way divide greeted her. Left would take her toward the sea Abyssian had spoken of. Right would take her in the direction of eternally punished demons. They couldn’t free themselves from this place much less her. Hoping for a happy medium, she chose straight, the path wending alongside the river.
She followed it for leagues, the rocky terrain turning into silvery grasslands. Wispy shrubs with razor-sharp thorns lined the trail, and the river tapered.
Still no sign of demons.
If she couldn’t find someone to teleport her, maybe she could locate the Pando-Sylvan rift. How big could hell be anyway? She’d only read estimates of its size.