Page 82 of Fate and Fury

Well, this was new. Perhaps Gadreel had, for once, realized that the threat that confronted them was more significant than their mutual enmity. Wonders, indeed, never ceased.

The water stilled, growing transparent, and Sammael cleared his throat. “Gadreel, I need to speak with you,” he said. “There are pressing matters, and we need to put aside our differences for once and discuss them.”

The Wall of God didn’t deign to reply, and Sammael sniffed, irritated. “The least you could do is answer me,” he said. “Why bother to let me in if you’re not going to be polite enough to speak?”

But Gadreel still didn’t say a word, and when Sammael peered into the water, he could see why: he wasn’t there.

A prickle of unease ran along Sammael’s spine, juddering along his shoulder blades, over the skin that concealed his wings. This wasn’t the sort of trick Gadreel played. His pranks were usually far more intricate, and involved considerable amounts of bloodshed.

But if Gadreel wasn’t here, then why had Sammael been granted access to his throne room?

Sammael gazed more deeply into the pool of water, his gaze sharpening. And then he froze. His dark eyes widened.

Gadreel’s usually-impeccable throne room wasdestroyed.His throne of bones and velvet still had pride of place, but at the center of the room, where his statue of lesser demons kneeling at the Watchers’ feet and his collection of torture implements usually stood, there was nothing but a massive pile of rubble, extending as far as Sammael could see. Human bones protruded from the wreckage, and the rotting carcasses of horses, and what looked like an entire village?—

Wait a minute.

Sammael stepped closer, dropping to his knees by the side of the fountain. He peered as closely as he could. And then hesaw what he could have sworn was impossible: the margin of a rune of protection, etched deep into the splintered bits of a windowsill. The harder he looked, the more of them he noticed.

This was all that remained of Drezna and Satvala. He would have sworn his wings on it.

By all the infernal fires, what was the wreckage of the two villages that had been devoured by the Darkness doing in his arch-enemy’s throne room?

There was only one answer to this question: Because Gadreel had done something to make them materialize there. And whatever he had done, it hadn’t gone as planned. Gadreel was many things—bloodthirsty, faithless, vain, power-hungry. But one thing he wasnotwas careless. His throne room, with its chair made from the bones of his victims, was his pride and joy. He would never willingly have brought such devastation upon it. Nor would he have left it this way, if he had to look at it every day.

Which begged the question…wherewasGadreel?

The abomination of a demon had followed Sammael, Elena, and the Shadow when Dimi Ivanova had nearly blasted them all back into the Void with the force of her magic. Somehow, they had landed in the wasteland between the realms, and Sammael had had to conjure a collar and chain to put around the Shadow’s neck, because he’d leapt at Elena as soon as all four of his paws had touched the ground and made a concerted effort to tear out her throat.

Gadreel had laughed and laughed. And then he’d knelt by the Shadow and whispered something into the beast’s ear before rising with a self-satisfied smirk, winking at Elena—winking!—and vanishing back to his own realm.

At least, that was where Sammael had assumed he’d gone. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He leaned closer still, almost pressing his eye against the water, scrying for all he was worth. And then he saw it, seeping ink-black and insidious through cracks in the walls, swarming like clouds of incensed bees around the edges of the massive hole that the collapse of the two villages had made in the ceiling.

The Darkness was reforming itself in Gadreel’s throne room. It had made itself at home there, as if that was where it belonged.

A sickening feeling took hold of Sammael. Because there was only one answer to this unasked question, too.

The Angel of War had called upon the Darkness, and the Darkness had come.

All of this—everything that had happened—was Gadreel’s fault.Hehad unleashed the Darkness, doubtless in an attempt to defeat Sammael once and for all, and he’d lost control of it.Hehad let loose the force that had razed the two villages, not because his gifts had grown so strong, but because he had lost his grip on a power greater than any fallen angel could ever hope to harness.Hehad threatened the survival of both their worlds.Hehad corrupted Sammael’s beautiful, innocent Vila. He was responsible for all of it.

Sammael got to his feet, vibrating with rage. He tilted his head back and howled, the sound so filled with fury, it shook the foundations of his scrying room. Paintings fell from the walls. Books tumbled from the shelves. High above, the crystal chandelier shattered, its shards falling like rain. And Sammael’s wings burst from his back, obsidian and massive, his body assuming its natural form.

He would make Gadreel pay for this, wherever the hapless Watcher might be. He would rid himself of that troublesome Shadow and gain control of the Darkness. And then he would have his Vila for himself, and together they would accomplish great things.

Staring down into the rippling image of Gadreel’s decimated throne room, his bloodied wings beating against the glass-flecked air, the Venom of God began to formulate a plan.

50

KATERINA

Katerina rubbed her eyes, which burned with exhaustion. She had spent the past twenty-four hours reading everything she could think of. She’d gone through every book in Kalach’s small library and Baba’s cottage. No matter how she searched, she found nothing to indicate that a dilemma such as hers had ever existed. In all the tomes she had perused, there were no clues to breaking a Dark curse laid on a Shadow’s soul. How to lay a Shadow to rest, once slain in battle, yes. There were blessings aplenty for that. But not for this.

She slumped in her chair in the library, suppressing a yawn. It didn’t help that all she’d eaten was watery potato soup, flavored with the last of the herbs in her personal store. It had only been a few weeks since the beginning of the blight, but already her hipbones pressed outward beneath the thin material of her gown.

This couldn’t go on. They would all starve.

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