All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [278]
“Eliot,” Louis called. He made a come-hither gesture and pursed his lips tight to indicate some urgency.
“I better go see what he wants. Are you going to be okay?”
Fiona considered a moment. “No,” she said. “But I’m not going to do anything rash. This is going to take a lot of thinking to figure out.”
Eliot reached out and gave her elbow a squeeze. The corner of Fiona’s mouth worked into a microscopic smile, then faltered and collapsed.
Something inside Eliot wanted to take his sister’s hand and run as far and fast away from this place as he could. Everything was changing around them. Literally. The land thawed and grass pushed up from the earth. The sun shrank to a golden orb. Iron gray thunderheads lightened and spread across the sky in a silver layer of overcast.
There was more. He felt it. But he couldn’t understand any of it yet.
“Eliot,” Louis called.
Against his better instincts, Eliot jogged to his father.
Robert met him halfway. “How is she?” he asked. “I didn’t know it was him.”
He meant Mitch, or rather, Mephistopheles. Every trace of Robert’s cool was gone. He looked worried and guilty and more than a little angry that he had supposedly delivered the winning blow in this war . . . and lost Fiona in the process.
“It looked like he was going to . . .” Robert’s forehead creased. “I didn’t know what he was going to do. I just knew that I had to stop him.”
Eliot wondered for a split second—if Robert had known it was Mitch, would he have stopped and let him take Fiona? Or would he have still thrown the sword and killed him? No—he dismissed that idea. Robert didn’t work like that.
“Fiona will be okay,” Eliot told him. “She just has a lot to think about.”
Robert took a step toward her.
“I wouldn’t talk to her yet, though. Seriously.”
Robert considered that, nodded, and wandered off.
Eliot finally got to Louis, who arched an eyebrow at how long it had taken him. He motioned for Eliot to stand before him, and Louis set his hands on Eliot’s shoulders and angled him at Sealiah.
The Queen gave rapid orders to her knights: “Release any souls in thrall—those loyal to Mephistopheles grind up to replenish the land—send runners for engineers and gardeners—strengthen our borders or we may lose the edges.”
Louis cleared his throat.
Sealiah turned and regarded Louis with distain.
“You,” she murmured, “. . . are still here. Why?” Her gaze softened as she took in Eliot. “And my young Dux Bellorum who coaxed out the sun out and won the day. Worry not. Our Jezebel shall be reconstructed, lovelier than ever.”
“I believe you said something about the ‘spoils of war’?” Louis said.
Her face grew cold. “Did I?”
“As one of your generals,” Louis said, “I claim my share in land.”
Sealiah laughed. “Why not wish for the moon, Louis? You barely fought. It was Eliot, Fiona, and Robert who deserve the glory.”
Louis shrugged. “Nonetheless, I played my part as your Dux Bellorum. It matters not the state of my cowardice or the quantity of blood spilled. I was here. I participated. I claim my right.” His sly smile returned. “Unless you wish to renege? I could take my dispute to the Board.”
Sealiah’s red lips turned white. “Name the domain from our conquered enemy,” she said. “But try not my patience, Deceiver.”
“I would never dare such a thing,” Louis replied with a nod. “I claim . . .” He cupped his crooked chin, thinking. “Just an acre or two from the Hysterical Kingdom—far from here, I assure you. The Mirrored City?”
Louis’s gaze traveled to the ground and he licked his lips. He bent over and found a mass of twisted, charred cloth at their feet. “The small bit as well,” he said to her. “After all, it was mine to begin with.” He shook the tangle out and ashes filled the air. Eliot thought it might have been the remains of a black velvet cloak. Mephistopheles’? It was hard to tell.
“Done,” Sealiah declared. “But take great care, Louis, not to push your city limits farther into the Hysterical