All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [280]
“I can claim any piece of land?” he asked the Queen.
“Eliot,” Fiona said, a warning edge to her voice. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing—”
Sealiah held up one hand indicating that Fiona be quiet.
Louis’s grip on his shoulders tightened, and Eliot was glad for the extra support as he felt his knees tremor. He was about to do the smartest and bravest thing—and possibly also the stupidest thing—he’d ever done.
“You may claim any land that belonged to the enemy,” Sealiah corrected. Her tone was deadly serious.
“But,” Eliot countered, “Mephistopheles conquered all these lands—right up to your Twelve Towers. So every piece of land here belonged to him.”
“That is technically accurate,” Sealiah said.
Eliot inhaled and then let out all the air, trying to steel himself.
The land. The power. The souls attached to the land. All dominoes set up and directed toward one inevitable conclusion—one that if he set in motion could not be undone.
But what else could he do? Not take the chance?
Not be the hero he’d always dreamed of?
No. He had to do this.
“Then,” Eliot said, “I claim for my part in this war as your Dux Bellorum the realm of the Burning Orchards.”
Sealiah’s gaze held steady, but the slightest flicker of irritation crossed her eyes. “You have that right.”
If Eliot had that land, he’d control all the souls therein . . . including Jezebel’s, the Duchess of the Burning Orchards. He could set her free.
“No,” Fiona whispered, horrified. “Eliot, you can’t. That’d make you one of them.”
“There’s no other way,” he said.
Fiona’s features hardened. She looked at him as she had looked at their father, like Sealiah—like he was the enemy.
Sealiah crooked a half smile. “You have all that you could ever wish for now,” she said. “Well played, Eliot Post . . . our newest Infernal Lord.”
68. Tectonic Theory of Infernal Dominions. The word tectonic normally pertains to either (1) construction or building or (2) relation to, causing, or resulting from structural deformation of the earth’s crust. Infernal tectonics incorporates both definitions. The mythohistorical record provides evidence that the borders of Infernal Lords’ domains expand and contract with their masters’ power. The nature and reality of those realms are plastic, subject to the personal tastes (some would argue the psychosis) of their rulers; their borders, however, are not. These boundaries are subject to the counterpressure exerted by surrounding Infernal lands. Additionally, which realm borders which is not fixed, but dependent on political treaties, alliances, and vendettas. See additional entries on the higher-dimensional nature of the Infernal spaces for details. Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13, Infernal Forces. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.
SECTION
VIII
GRADUATION
82
SECOND TIME IN THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE
Light streamed through the wall of windows and lit the black-and-white checkerboard floor of Miss Westin’s waiting room. It was ordinary sunlight, but Fiona winced at it. She wasn’t used to real light yet.
Eliot sat on the padded lounge next to her. He squirmed in his school uniform, but then smoothed out the wrinkles and look halfway comfortable.
Fiona shifted uneasily in her uniform, too. Even one of Madame Cobweb’s custom-fit creations felt wrong on her today.
Then again, everything felt wrong this morning.
She scooted away from Eliot and got out her phone. She checked the time: five minutes before their appointment. They were early for once.
Although this one time, she wouldn’t have minded being late. Very late.
She checked the time again, though, just to be sure, because she didn’t trust any clock since they’d been in the Poppy Lands. Fiona thought they had been there a day—two days, tops—while they got the railroad tracks fixed and then rode that creepy Night Train back to the Market Street BART Station.
But the time on Earth?
They’d been gone fifty-eight days. More than eight weeks.
Mr. Welmann told