“Did you know that when I was a little boy I used to burn the other children? They told me to stop, told me that they’d feed me into the flames, and you know what? They did. I liked it.”
Myrmeen had heard the leathery voice before, in her nightmares. She was not surprised when the light before her grew more intense and a long, thin shadow suddenly stretched out, piercing the splash of yellow-white light that insinuated itself upon the stone floor.
A red-haired man covered in sweat turned the corner, his eyebrows and hair burning as smoke leaked from his nostrils and mouth. He wore a red shirt that was opened to the waist and belted with black leather, then ran to midthigh. The rest of his body was bare, revealing his intensely muscled physique. The patches of tight, curly red hair on his chest, arms and legs, glowed bright orange and seemed to smolder. Flames licked at his clenched fists. He smiled knowingly at Myrmeen as he said, “Your presence is requested.”
Although exhausted from her battle with Tamara, Myrmeen raised her sword. The fiery-haired man frowned and lifted his open palm, revealing a seemingly endless tunnel that appeared to be a gateway to a dimension of flames. A tongue of fire leapt across the distance separating them and flicked the sword from her hand. The metal was molten slag before it struck the ground and Myrmeen yelped as her brain registered that her hand was burned and soon would blister. She could feel the rush of displaced air and the taunting presence of unnatural heat even though the flames had retreated into the monster’s hand.
“That was rude,” he admonished, his features twisting cruelly as he fought to contain the murderous energy within him. The call of the flame rose to infuse his entire body with a white, pulsating glow. “But, then, I have not been entirely given to proper etiquette myself, have I? My name is Imperator Zeal. I have been instructed by Lord Sixx to escort you to a private audience. Please follow me.”
Myrmeen did not move. As the man before her spoke, she heard the skittering and laughter of creatures emerging from the shadows at her back and became determined not to look over her shoulder. Krystin held on to the fleshy part of her upper arm, the girl’s nails biting deeply enough to draw blood.
She also was trying not to look back.
“Do not make me repeat myself!” Zeal snarled as he pointed in their direction, his index finger losing its consistency and becoming a wavering line of fire. “Come with me or you both die!”
The corridor was becoming stuffy. The air was changing, taking on an unnatural consistency as the darkness drew closer. Myrmeen realized that in moments she would be enveloped by the living shadows of the night people.
“Are my friends with you?” she asked quietly.
“They’re all here!” he bellowed. “It’s a party! A celebration of our new beginning! Come one, come all—come now or I will boil the moisture from your bodies and have you dragged!”
Myrmeen shuddered involuntarily. The shadows surrounding her grew cold and she felt something that might have been a hand brush against her leg.
Imperator Zeal aimed his hand at Krystin’s face. “Come now or I will disfigure the child.”
“All right,” Myrmeen said quickly.
“Good decision,” Zeal said, his features relaxing slightly. “Besides, we don’t have far to go.”
They walked through the twisting corridor to the pit where Myrmeen had found Krystin several hours earlier. The chattering creatures at their backs occasionally nudged them on. Sometimes the monsters whispered taunts meant to provoke Myrmeen into turning and facing the gathering of darkness that followed close behind, but she ignored them. When she stepped into the open theater surrounding the pit, Myrmeen was not surprised to find a host of creatures every bit as grotesque as the ones she had imagined at her back. Most were human enough to stand on two legs and look out through lumps of flesh that could, from a distance, be mistaken for heads.
More than a hundred of the inhuman tormenters of dreams were gathered around the pit. Myrmeen saw beings with mouths covering their entire bodies, creatures that shook uncontrollably, and men and women with skin of every color—including one woman whose flesh changed color whenever she moved or laughed. Colors rippled through the voluptuous frame of the naked rainbow woman as she kissed a tall man’s arm. His flesh was covered with eyes that his black leather and armor were designed to protect with crystal coverings woven into his suit.
Lord Sixx was extremely relaxed and seemed only mildly interested when Myrmeen and Krystin were led into the room. Imperator Zeal’s entourage remained in the corridor’s shadows, then spread out to block every avenue of escape other than the shaft at the center of the large chamber.
Finally Sixx looked over and smiled, his arching brows and widow’s peak pointing at the three sets of eyes peering out from his skull. Zeal approached Lord Sixx with the prisoners, the fiery-haired man bowing as he reached the dark man who held dominion over them all. “Lord Sixx, may I present—”
“You may not,” Sixx said as he dismissed the rainbow woman with a gentle pat to her bottom and approached Myrmeen. “I know who this is, you idiot.”
Myrmeen noticed that not all of his eyes moved at the same time, and she was unnerved by the sight.
Imperator Zeal lowered his gaze and backed away. “Of course, milord,” he said.
“Myrmeen Lhal,” Lord Sixx declared in his rich voice, “ruler of Arabel, a fine city. Who sits upon your throne, Myrmeen? One of yours? Or one of ours, perhaps?”
The implication caused her heart to leap into her throat as she thought of Elyn, the Harper who had masqueraded as Myrmeen, ruling the city in her stead.
“Ah,” Sixx said softly as he tasted her fear, “sweet.”
Myrmeen understood her mistake.
“Don’t worry,” Sixx muttered assuredly, “your friend is safe. But you might be surprised to learn how many of our kind have replaced humans in positions of power throughout this world. I’ll give you a hint: Zhentil Keep is more for us than an excellent hunting ground.”
The Zhentarim, Myrmeen thought, the Harpers’ blood enemies. If the shadow people could infiltrate ranks such as those, then no agency in the world was safe from their spies. She considered that even the Harpers could be compromised.
“He’s lying,” Krystin said. “He always lies.”
Lord Sixx turned his gaze to Krystin in amusement. “Have we met?”
“That’s what Alden said,” she muttered.
Sixx shrugged happily. “Alden is a confused child. You can’t take his rambling to heart. It may prove fatal not only to you.”
Krystin looked away, something in Lord Sixx’s words seeming to strike home.
“Where are the others?” Myrmeen asked.
“Bring them,” Lord Sixx said as he raised his hand, slapping his fingers against his palm as if he were summoning a waiter in an expensive dining establishment. The crowd of monstrosities parted and the two remaining Harpers were brought forth. Myrmeen could tell from the fresh cuts and contusions lining their bodies that they had struggled bravely before they were subdued, but they were only flesh, and the members of the Night Parade were much more. Ord refused to walk of his own accord and had to be dragged. Reisz held himself with a quiet dignity, despite the roughness of the talons and claws that shoved him forward. Both men had been gagged with sashes of black silk.
“Let them speak,” Myrmeen commanded.
“No,” Sixx said lazily, “I’m tired of their ranting.”
Myrmeen looked at him, stunned to have been refused.
“Let me explain,” Lord Sixx said as he lowered his head like a snake inspecting its latest kill. “You are not in control here. You breathe because I wish it and for no other reason.”
“Do not anger him,” a voice said from behind Myrmeen, “It will only make it worse.”
The fighter turned, recognizing the voice of the mage she had presumed dead. When she saw his pallid skin, drawn lips, and blood-drenched smock, she knew something was terribly wrong with him. “Lucius?”