Ashes of the Tyrant (Brimstone Angels) by Erin M. Evans

Author:Erin M. Evans [Evans, Erin M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786965830
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2015-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

YOU ARE HERE for a reason, Lorcan told himself as Havilar faced him down, as if she were planning to pin him to the wall with her glaive. Zoonie settled herself along the wall and watched him with softly glowing eyes. He rubbed his thumb against the flat gold ring he wore around the second finger of his left hand. “I’d assumed your sister would be joining us.”

Havilar’s glare deepened. “I’m not cheering you on,” she said. “Don’t think I am.”

“Odd—weren’t you the one giving me advice on how to warm her feelings to me again?”

“Don’t. You made her cry again. You want her back, you have to stop being awful first, otherwise there’s no point.”

While crying wasn’t good—though one didn’t cry about something they were truly finished with and without care for—the fact that in only a span of days she’d gone from refusing to look him in the eye to nearly falling into his arms again was promising enough that he felt sure things weren’t as hopeless as Havilar painted them. You can fix this, he told himself. The shape of what they had was there. Only to nudge her back into it. Brin came in and shut the door behind him.

“While that’s all very interesting,” Lorcan said, “I meant it would be useful to her. If one of you needs to wait for Mehen to return, why not the one who has no business fighting demons?”

Brin looked to Havilar, who didn’t break her glare, and chuckled. “She asked to be the one to wait for Mehen. She doesn’t want to be in here with you.”

Lorcan smiled to cover the sudden fury that wrapped around his heart. That’s how you get into trouble, he told himself. You have to act human. “Fine. This should be quick enough.”

He turned away, twisted a magic ring onto his left hand. A shimmering appeared beside him and he plunged both arms into it. He withdrew a case as long as a bone devil’s thighbone, made of joined wood and decorated all over with cinnabar and gold-filled runes of Nar. “Here,” he said, offering the Scepter of Alzrius to Havilar. “Just remember, if you’re going to vomit, don’t do it on my mother’s treasures, if you please.”

She eyed the box with plain distrust. “What is it?”

“It’s an Abyssal artifact,” Lorcan said. He unlatched the case and opened it. Havilar winced at the golden scepter, heat shivering the air over it. “It should give off the same sort of power or energy you’re reacting to. Just sit with it a few times a day, until you get used to it.”

Havilar frowned, the skin above her lip speckled with sweat and her face a little drawn. “It’s not that bad,” she said, although her voice was a little choked. “I think I could handle that a lot longer than the demon. Don’t you have anything stronger?”

Lorcan snapped the case shut. Shit and ashes, he thought. He had prepared for this, but really, there was no preparing.

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