Page 51 of Chained to the Devil's Daughter

“I feel I’m in good hands, then.”

I assisted Nielara in tending the wounds. All the while, the man sat back, head tilted up, eyes closed, a light smile on his face.

“All done here, Keeper. You can lay here and rest, or, if you prefer, I’m sure our big, bad, void-wielder here would carry you home.” Nielara thumbed toward Ash’ren at the tent flap, who nodded once. “You must stay off your feet for three days.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze roved to mine. “And if I stay here, do I continue to have the company of our young queen?”

“I travel between the healing tents daily. I’ll be sure to stop by each time.”

He nodded, satisfied, and leaned back to close his eyes again. Nielara and I glanced at each other, then took it as his signal he meant to stay. The healer left the tent first, followed by Ash’ren, but I hesitated, picking up the water carafe from the side table.

“How do you remain so calm?” I asked. For a long, awkward moment, I believed he had fallen asleep, and I moved to duck out of the tent.

“I have seen the outside world,” he replied.

My breath hitched. “You’ve been through the portal?”

“Yes, and no. In my dreams, I travel to the lands of my ancestors. They guide me. The things they’ve shown me—war, famine, desolation—I know what humans are capable of. To return to a world we don’t understand, a world we don’t belong to any more than we belong here. . . I fear we would be doomed.”

“Surely humans weren’t the cause of all that.”

“Certainly not. But we need the balance. To fight for what is right instead of power over others is a revolution. This is not my people’s homeland, but it is where we’ve been planted. I choose to believe we will grow to the occasion. And you, Your Majesty,”—he finally opened his eyes and they burned into mine as though some ink on his skin had warned him of this very moment—“are the harbinger of peace in Hell.”

I choked on a snort, but someone nearby scoffed on my behalf, drawing my attention to the previously sleeping lump on the cot across from the prophet. By all appearances asleep, a lithe man with kohl expertly painted on his eyelids and a smudged sheen of glitter highlighting perfect cheekbonessmirked in our direction. He opened his mouth as if to speak, coughed, and snarled.

“One True God, damn you all, and yada yada. Could ya keep the religious bullshit to a hush for a few fucking seconds, old man? I need my stars-blessed beauty sleep.”

“If this is how beautiful you look without rest, I think you’d do Hell a favor to wake up now.” I teased.

“Tell that to my boss, the stuck-up cunt. No matter how much business I bring in—wait, are you trying to be a notch in my bedpost?” Eyes still closed, a sensual presence settled over his features. “I’ve never fucked a harbinger before. Plenty of lords, but never a queen. Maybe The Almighty Priss-Bitch would give me a damn night off.”

He devolved into a fit of laughter and coughs, as though the thought of a night off was hilarious. He must be from Ring Six. I couldn’t imagine my life as a revolving door of rich nobles using my body every night without rest. “How can you stand to live that way?”

“A lady doesn’t share her secrets,” the man cooed. His eyes remained closed, his voice growing tired already. “Survival mode is a funny thing. I’ve got a love-hate relationship with it.”

He coughed again and I hurried to pour water from the carafe into a glass, pressing it to his fingers. He took a sip without fully raising his head, then passed it back. “Thanks, toots. Fuck! I can’t believe I’m stuck here.”

“It sounds like the universe thought you could use a break.”

He snorted. “The universe doesn’t give half a rat’s fucking ass for me. If it did, it would be dishing out better karma right now. I was only in this fuck-forsaken ring to donate some jewelry to the rebel cause. Fucked around and got the footrot!”

I giggled. “What’s your name?”

“What a charmer I am. I’m so glad my misery is funny enough to suit a queen,” he ribbed, his tone teasing, reinforced by the upward curl of his ruby-red lip. “Tayman.”

“It’s not your misery.” I smiled wistfully at Tayman’s black-painted eyes, the same way Elodie always had hers. “You remind me of someone.”

“Someone sexy, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I shook my head. “Get some rest, Tayman.”

His features were already softened with sleep again, and he murmured something that definitely had a curse word in it before his hand went limp over the cot.

I glanced at the prophet, ostensibly asleep for real this time, and exited the medical tent. A yellow-horned child almost bowled me over, sprinting away with a black-orbed torch.

“Wait-wait, stay in the bounds! Markel, stop him!” Ash’ren chased after the kid, sending me a worried glance as he ran past.

Laughing, I peered around for Nielara. Between the adorable sight of Ash’ren playing with little ones and the refreshing conversation with Tayman that felt strangely like talking to an old friend, I could almost forget the chilling words of the Keeper and the crushing weight of responsibility on my shoulders.

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