15 Flamerule, the Year of the Spur (1348 DR)
Seven miles beyond Bloodstone Pass
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If Bisera’d had her way, she would have left Alyona at the temple of Selûne in Darmshall, far, far away from the cave sunk into a cold rock face and the old man with the ram’s horns looking them both over like they were slaves in the market.
If she’d had her way, she thought, aware of Alyona’s arm twined around hers, she would have wanted her far, far from here, not holding her hand while she begged a boon she didn’t quite understand.
“I don’t need another whore. Or two,” the old tiefling said. “Those rituals are finished.”
Ever easy, Caisys clucked his tongue. “And I don’t undercut my own business, Titus. She’s not looking for coin. She’s looking for a path to more magic.”
Titus tugged his chest-length beard. “How’s that? You think this is simple? You think this is magic for gangly girls with soft hands?” He fixed Bisera with a wild eye. “Bet the most terrible thing you’ve ever seen is a hungry rat.”
“You’d lose that bet,” Bisera said. Alyona held her arm more tightly.
“Titus, you’ve said yourself,” Caisys went on, “you need an apprentice. She could be your apprentice.”
Titus snorted. “I said I need a clever apprentice, not some dewy-eyed girl who can’t go anywhere without having her hand held.”
Bisera grit her teeth. “You’re trying to make me angry. See if I want this badly enough. But since you haven’t even bothered to name what you’re offering, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I have better things to do with my time than simper and beg to a procurer in a cave who has yet to show even a spark of magic.”
A small, cruel smile curved the old man’s mouth. “Well, well. So she has a little pluck at least.”
Bisera shot a look at Caisys. She did not have pluck. “And what do you have, old man?”
“An agreement,” Titus said, dark eyes glittering. “Sit down, plucky. You want magic, I’ll show you magic.”
“I never said he was friendly,” Caisys said, as the old man busied himself with strange powders and crystals. “But he’s no dabbler. Used to be a sellsword before he took to magic too. You could learn a great deal.”
“What the hrast does ‘an agreement’ mean?” Bisera demanded.
“A pact,” the old man called back. “An agreement with powers greater than our own—greater, at least, on this plane. I daresay we have skills they would find, at the least, novel.” He set the crystals in a rough circle, where the remnants of some glittering powder remained on the stone’s rough surface. A repeat application of the same glittering powder followed.
“What sort of being?” Alyona asked.
“A demon lord.”
A twist of anxiety curled around Bisera’s heart. “You’re going to call down a demon lord in this cave?”
“Of course not.” Titus eyed her and sniffed. “You haven’t proven yourself worthy enough for that introduction.”
As Titus finished his preparations, Bisera kept her eyes on the center of the circle, imagining what sort of creature might appear there—all horns and flames, scales and tentacles, or all too human—and what she would do. Bet the most terrible thing you’ve ever seen is a hungry rat. She couldn’t quail. She couldn’t so much as flinch.
“This is a bad idea,” Alyona murmured in her ear.
“It’s not so dangerous as it sounds,” Caisys said mildly. “It’s an alliance. A transaction.”
“What’s the price?” Alyona asked.
“Leaves a mark on your soul,” Titus said, lighting candles with a punk. “Same as anything. You want, they’ll make a steeper trade. Give up your soul wholly.” He blew out the stick.
“Don’t go for that,” Caisys said.
Bisera moved a little closer to her sister. The casualness with which they talked about giving up a soul, letting yourself corrupt, made her feel small and young and untested. She made herself stand still as strange words poured out of Titus’s mouth and a column of sickly light flowed up out of the circle.
In the center of the circle, a creature of ethereal beauty hovered. She held the shape of a winged woman, a copper-skinned angel with tattered wings. But her eyes leaked shadow, and when she smiled, Bisera fought the urge to cover her bare throat. Succubus.
“Well met, Metynoma,” Titus said. “You grace us with your presence.”
“Titus,” she said, a voice like a dirge and a hymn all at once. “And Caisys—what a pleasant surprise.” Her shadow-eyes flicked over Bisera, over Alyona pressed close behind her, murmuring a nearly inaudible prayer. “What have you brought for me, Titus?”
“A supplicant,” Titus said. “She says she wants magic. A pact.”
Somehow the succubus’s eyes darkened. “Easily done.”
“I don’t know that I like your price,” Bisera said.
“Everything has a price.”
“And my soul is too steep for something I could gain by keeping at my spellbooks.”
Metynoma laughed, a sound that made Bisera’s veins ache. “The powers of the Abyss for a tiefling soul? I’d say that’s a cheap deal indeed. Or are there so many gods clamoring for tiefling souls, driving up the price?”
Alyona’s prayer dragged through Bisera’s thoughts. “If it’s dear enough that demons demand it, then I think it’s something I ought to consider my options regarding. Not everyone in this room is a copper-caught slattern.”
Titus went rigid. Deep in the succubus’s shadow-eyes, a spark began to grow. “Oh Titus, I think I don’t like your gift. I don’t think my lord Graz’zt will appreciate her at all.”
“Clearly she speaks of Caisys,” Titus blurted. “She cannot mean you.”
“She knows what she means.” Metynoma drifted toward the edges of the circle, flames between her fingertips. “And so do you.” Bisera held her ground, even though every part of her wanted to flee the encroaching demon. The succubus’s eyes glowed like coals now, shadows pouring off like smoke.
Alyona’s arms folded around her sister from behind, and a sudden flood of cool, silvery magic surrounded Bisera. The sound of a woman, very far away, singing in a language Bisera didn’t understand. The succubus flinched away from the moon goddess’s protection, flapping back to the farther edge of the circle.
“Go!” Caisys hissed, and before Bisera could protest, Alyona was pulling her toward the entrance, running from the demon and the warlock, through the cave, out into the cold, clear night. Bisera half expected the screech of the succubus to chase them, the demon itself to come flapping after. But there was only silence, and the knowledge that she’d fled.
“You cannot do that again,” Alyona panted. “Please—we’ll find something else for you. But not that.”
Bisera folded her arm around her sister’s. “Never that,” she swore. For all of Titus’s bravado, one thing was certain: The pact he bore was nothing like he painted it, an alliance of equals, a mutually beneficial transaction. He was beholden to that fickle creature, little better than a slave. And Bisera would be no one’s slave.
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