Lorcan held up the portal ring, glad at least for a plan even if he didn’t particularly enjoy it. “To begin with,” he said, “add to our list of allies.”
Sairché wasn’t sure at first that she’d woken. The world around her was little better than her nightmares: the bars of the cage, the dark shadows of the cave, the meaty gape of its mouth revealing Malbolge’s virulent landscape beyond. And between her and escape, Lorcan, scowling at her. Holding a red ring.
The cage’s control ring.
“Was I always meant to be a part of the deal?” he asked curtly. Sairché fumbled for words, finding splinters of glass instead. She gagged and spat the remains of the portal bead. “What. . deal?”
“The deal you made with Farideh,” he said. “Did you intend to include me? Was that in the offer?”
Deal. . Sairché shut her eyes and leaned against the cage’s bars. Asmodeus.
Dangerous. .
A crackle of electricity jolted through Sairché’s frame, throwing her off the bars, her muscles all contracting painfully. She fell backward, against the cage, too penned in to drop to her knees.
Lorcan released his grip on the ring. “Was I always meant to be part of the deal?” he repeated.
“No,” Sairché said, panting. “It was a possibility. But I’d hoped to avoid it. I’d hoped she’d take the chance to rid herself of you.”
“What did you give her?”
“Protection until her twenty-seventh birthday,” Sairché said. “For her, for the sister, and for you. In exchange for two favors.”
Lorcan goggled. “Two favors?”
“There was a premium for including you,” Sairché said, mustering a bit of venom. She looked around the cave, remembering the fight in the forest and the portal bead. She ran her tongue over her ragged gums. “How long have I been here?”
Lorcan held up the control ring. “It’s still my turn. You have to protect me under her deal? That’s why you didn’t fight back.”
“She wouldn’t budge without it,” Sairché said. “Besides, I was half hoping you’d come out mad enough to kill her or make her kill you, solve all my problems in one blow.”
Lorcan stared at her for so long that Sairché wondered what she’d stirred up in his thoughts. “You know something,” she said. She took in her necklace of magical rings, hanging around his neck like a badge of office. “Her Highness made you take over.”
Lorcan smiled. “Indeed.”
“So that’s why you woke me? Can’t handle the hierarchy alone?”
“You and I both know this is bigger than the hierarchy,” Lorcan said. “I want to make a truce. I’ll let you out. We’ll help each other get out of this. You can’t kill me, and you can’t set me up to be snared by another devil-not till her twenty-seventh birthday. But you do what I say and I’ll return the favor.” Sairché smiled. “Or what?”
“Or Glasya makes you suffer for your failure.”
“She’ll kill you too.”
“ ‘Too,’ ” Lorcan said, “being the operative word.”
Sairché considered him, considered the gaps that existed in the deal. Her thoughts were still slow and syrupy. But the alternative was unavoidable: stay in the cage until someone came to kill her.
“Fine,” she said, slipping a hand between the thorny bars. “Until next Marpenoth.”
Lorcan clasped it as though he’d rather crush it. “Not a heartbeat later.”
He took a step back. “Which of these unlocks it?”
Sairché would have dearly liked to point to the diamond circle nestled in the right-side stack. But even thinking of suggesting her brother slip on the cursed ring made her prior agreement prickle at her brain. She was devil enough to be bound by her agreements-at least he would be too. “The control ring will do it. Flip it over so the dark side is closest to you, and put it on your other hand.”
The door sprang open, and Sairché stumbled from the cage. It could only have been a few days since she was trapped, and even still her muscles were confused and sapped. Lorcan made no move to assist her.
“Start with the wizard,” he said.
“What about him?” Sairché said. “He’s a nuisance and I can’t wait to see him dead.”
“What in the Hells is he doing?”
Sairché frowned. “Glasya told you nothing?”
“Little enough that I can guess she wants me to fail.”
Sairché hissed. She glanced around the cave out of habit, but any watcher would be subtler than that. “Not here,” she said. She took a few, tentative steps-the stasis cage’s effects still clung to her nerves. “Do you have control of the portal still? Is it working?”
“That thing in your chambers? Yes, it’s working.”
Sairché stretched her wings. They’d hold her weight-she hoped. “The forest,” she said. “The one you’ve almost surely met Magros in? It will be easier to talk. The magic makes scrying hard.”
“No,” Lorcan said, heading for the palace. “Straight to the fortress.” Sairché scowled at him. “Who are you to give orders?”
“The one holding all your magic rings, to begin with.”
“Those weren’t a part of our agreement.”
“No,” he agreed. “They weren’t.”
Sairché fumed. “I would have thought of that if I’d had a moment.” Lorcan gave her a nasty smile. “I suspect we are about to come across all sorts of situations that will make you reconsider having made such a quick agreement.”
From Osseia, the portal dropped them this time on the sharp, black glass battlements of the tower’s highest level and into the middle of a heavy snowfall. Sairché cursed. “That shitting wizard.”
Lorcan looked around. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, that’s what,” Sairché said. “I’ve told him a hundred times if I’ve told him once to fix that stupid barrier so it stops throwing off my portals.”
The clouds hung low enough, Sairché imagined she might be able to drag her fingers through their icy coats if she stood on tiptoe. The snow they dropped collected in the dips and grooves of the obsidian tower, in between the irregular battlements. Sairché shook her wings off and curled them over her head. “You shouldn’t start with Rhand,” Sairché said irritably. “He’s incidental.
Disposable. You ought to start with Farideh.” She glared at Lorcan. “She can’t leave. Not yet.”
“Not until you declare her favor complete.”
“I am not trying to trick you-you try and spirit her out of here, and we’ll all suffer for it. This is dangerous terrain.”
Lorcan gave her a significant look. “These are the plans,” he said, “of Asmodeus.”
Sairché blew out a breath-so he knew that much. “All the archdevils’ actions are within the plans of Asmodeus,” she said carefully. “Of course,” Lorcan said after a moment’s pause. “It would be suicide to do something to upset His Majesty’s plans. Especially plans that seem to be as complicated and delicate as these.” He looked over the jagged battlements, as if considering the swirling snow. “But you must admit, these are particularly complex plans. One might say unnecessarily complex. From the outside, it seems as if you are aiding the Netherese in something. Something involving a great deal of divine power. And you have Stygia at your side-of all the layers-secretly recruiting Red Wizards and assassins.”
“Red Wizards?” Sairché said.
Lorcan smiled. “Oh, was I not supposed to mention them? Give my apologies to Magros when you see him next. And tell him I am not such an idiot as to kill his Chosen for him.” He pulled a strange, long blade out of his scabbard and held it up to Sairché. His eyes darkened. “He is such
an asset.”
“Half right,” Sairché said dryly. She considered the blade. “Is it just a sword?”
“So far as I can see. He doesn’t think much of us, does he? He suggested I kill the agent and the wizard, and leave Farideh to take the blame. Presumably so he could then act surprised I was driven so mad with rage.” Lorcan rubbed his arms. “Apparently he’s through with his agent. Shall we go in?”