The palace of Kur was labyrinthine, with passages branching off into darkness and going God knew where, but I committed everything to memory. In some alcoves, more black sphinx statues stood, staring down with snarling faces that seemed alive under the flickering torchlight.
Ereshkigal’s throne had been spun on its axis and now sat on the broad balcony, her back facing the roomful of corpses and despair. I felt a pulse of sadness from Inanna’s body as I walked beneath her, but I had no time to spare for the semi-dead goddess.
Lucifer was fighting, and all of Kur was watching.
The balcony looked out over the arena grounds. An enormous ebonite pillar had been raised from the river souls and stood in the broad gap in the center of the city, its sides a stark drop-off of over a hundred feet. This was where Lucifer fought, amusing the Queen at her leisure.
Ereshkigal lounged in her throne, her claws tapping out an offbeat cadence as she watched the fight on the arena floor below.
Beside her, in a smaller throne of ebony, Satan sat with one leg flung over the arm of his chair and his thick black hair pushed back.
He’d adapted to King Nergal’s body as swiftly as I’d adapted to my role of handmaiden, luxuriating in the power and beauty of it. Even now he shunned shirts, preferring to expose the dense slabs of muscle under his bronze skin. Every once in a while, Ereshkigal would reach over and run her claws over his bare torso, opening thin red lines that healed as quickly as they appeared.
When she licked his blood off her talons, I had to look away.
Fortunately, she’d left off on the bloodplay while I fetched her wine. I carefully unstoppered the bottle and poured the ruby liquid in her cup, and put the bottle down to offer her the cup with both hands, kneeling at her feet.
“Your wine, my Queen,” I murmured, disguising the sheer hatred in my voice under a flimsy veneer of deference. It was easier if I kept my head bowed and face down, the way she preferred.
Her claws traced over the back of my hands before she took the cup. “Sit beside me, pretty songbird.”
If I didn’t know what she was truly like, her voice would be my undoing. She always sounded so sweet and caring, almost motherly.
I obediently knelt between the thrones, taking a deep breath before I faced the arena.
A young manticore the size of an elephant circled Lucifer, who was hobbled with chains around his wrists and wings. He’d been given a flimsy spear, the wood warped and spearhead rusted, but at least his feet were unbound.
The worst of his bindings was the plain ebonite collar he wore. His was under a different enchantment, one designed to drive a wedge between us: Lucifer was able to leave Kur whenever he liked. The enchantment didn’t bind him here.
The only magic imbued in the collar prevented him from raising his hand against Ereshkigal herself.
But he wouldn’t leave without me. Ereshkigal’s gamble that Lucifer would take his chance at freedom without me had failed.
He danced away before the manticore struck out with its scorpion tail, ducking under the lethal stinger. In the flickering light of Kur, his black wings gleamed with the rainbow colors of an oil spill, his hair a rich gold.
He was as well cared for as I was, one of Ereshkigal’s most precious pets. The whirling lines of his dark tattoos almost looked like the war-paint the Irkallans wore, but the white gash of the scar over his chest filled me with relief and glee every time I saw it.
As long as that scar remained whole, cutting through the lines of his soul-bond tattoos, Satan would never have him back.
A hand descended on my head, interrupting my reverie of watching Lucifer fight.
“Isn’t he a beauty?” Ereshkigal stroked my hair, running her claws through the newly silky strands.
I remained silent. She wasn’t waiting for an answer from me.
“The light of the dawn shines from him.” She gave a small, wistful sigh. I heard her drink from the goblet, and as she shifted in her chair, a lock of her pitch-black hair fell into my lap.
The touch of it made my skin crawl, but I made no move to push it off me. Not while her hand was resting on top of my hand, the tips of her claws pressed gently against my scalp.