Trickster

4. Myla

4

Myla

Aldred parks his big old butt on the center of the gym floor, ready to open his massive yap and cause trouble. Everyone hates the guy, but they say zero. Why? Aldred has a talent for gathering blackmail. The earl has something on every major house, and a bunch of minor ones too. I don’t even want to know what he’s keeping on Lincoln’s father, but Connor does whatever Aldred commands. All that’s missing are the marionette strings.

Note to self: see if there’s a way to slow down magical healing for creeps like Aldred.

The earl sets his fists on his hips. “I had a lesson to share today as well. Everyone here should have seen how a true thrax disciplines those under him.”

Viva la irritation! Aldred couldn’t have set me up better if he tried.

“Seriously?” I gesture across the balconies. “Did y’all really want to watch Aldred punch some poor orphan in the head? No?” A long pause follows, which I take as a big yes. “Good.”

Aldred’s beady eyes focus in on me. “You’re not queen yet. There’s no tradition that allows you to voice your uninformed opinions. Stand aside.”

That comment won’t land well. My fiancée gives new meaning to the word protective.

Sure enough, Lincoln steps forward. Every line in his body is tight with rage. “What did you say?”

I rest my palm on the center of Lincoln’s chest. It’s a movement I’ve used before and it says, I got this. Where before his eyes were bright with fury, Lincoln’s gaze now gleams with held-in amusement. My guy is the best.

“I should step aside… where?” I ask Aldred sweetly.

“Wait by the water bucket.”

That would be in the far corner.

“Humph.” I don’t move a muscle.

“Well?” Aldred lifts his chins.

“This is me, standing wherever I freaking want to.”

The chamber falls so silent, my breathing seems to become super-loud. For their part, all the nobles stay totally glued to the Myla V Aldred Show.

“Freaking?” repeats Aldred. “Freaking?! What did you say to me?”

“Sorry, did I say freaking? I meant to say this.” I clear my throat. “This is me, standing wherever I fuuuuuuckinnnnnng want to.”

There, that showed him.

A long pause follows where Aldred’s beady little eyes scan between me and the nobles. He’s judging their reaction. The silence is pretty much a big fat stamp of You Go Myla from the court. Even Connor and Octavia stay quiet. Considering how Connor fears Aldred—and Octavia’s all anxious about her lady nobles—I consider this another item for the Myla win column.

“Fine,” huffs Aldred. “Stand wherever you wish. I only wished to spare you the embarrassment of being beside me while I shared my news. My next announcement shall upset you.” Aldred shoots me a smarmy look that says, here’s the part where you beg for mercy.

I shrug. “M’Kay.”

“You wish to become Queen of the Thrax,” declares Aldred. “That means you’ll have a say in battle matters.” He points right at my nose. “Do you deny it?”

“Nope. Guilty as charged. I absolutely plan to boss you around.” Some chuckles sound from the balconies. I tally another win for moi.

“Good,” Aldred states. He so thinks he’s got me by my lady balls. “Therefore, per the First Rixa Treaty of Acca, my house may test your battle worthiness. I can even invite others to add their own ideas, including your home realm of Purgatory. The testing shall be called… the Trials of Acca!” Aldred slaps on a simpering grin. “Sorry if that saddens you.”

Wow. If this is Aldred’s big plan, it sucks ass.

“Let me get this straight,” I state. “These Trials of Acca are supposed to test my battle skills as future queen?”

“Yes,” answers the earl.

“And maybe these trials have a little something extra thrown in? Like non-combat stuff?”

Aldred bobs his overly bushy eyebrows. “Possibly.”

“So that’s another yes.”

“Come now,” says Aldred slowly. “This news must concern you slightly.”

“Let me put it to you this way. When I was growing up, Purgatory was run by ghouls. I wasn’t much older than Baptiste when they chucked me into the Arena to fight a Class B demon to the death. No warning. No training. I skewered the beast through its rib cage and went on to win three more matches.”

My tail perks up to tap my shoulder. “Excuse me, my tail skewered the first demon.” I slap the arrowhead shaped end in a modified high five. Go us.

“Bring on your trials,” I continue. “I won’t cower. What’s tougher than a class A demon? Not much. And I’ve killed so many of those on demon patrol, I’ve lost count.”

“Thirty-six,” deadpans Lincoln.

I do a double-take. “Really?”

“I’ve been keeping tally for you.”

My heart melts. “Aw, thanks.”

Knowing Lincoln, he’s probably recorded all the battle details, too. Perfect. I haven’t updated my demon notebooks in weeks. My father, the archangel Xavier, and I do that together. It’s like father-daughter scrapbooking only with demons and death. Good times.

Aldred’s cheeks turn pink. I love it when he gets all pissy. “If you fail the Trials of Acca, you may not be queen. That must worry you.”

I allow a long pause to follow because drama plus earl equals fun. “Oooo? I’m so scared of the big bad Aldred?”

Come on, douchebag. Spill whatever it is you’re really up to.

“You speak of yourself as a great warrior,” says Aldred. “Yet the Trials of Acca shall display my combat prowess.”

I make my eek face. “Your battle skills? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Didn’t you get a ton of warriors killed when you mistakenly went after…” I snap my fingers, trying to remember.

“A soul slasher,” finishes Lincoln.

“Right. So not good.”

Aldred rolls his eyes. “That was one time.”

“Then you shot a limus with a crossbow,” I add. “Those demons are like evil gummy bears. The bolts zipped right through.”

Aldred glances away. “I recall no such a thing.”

“Oh, I find that incident hard to forget,” injects Lincoln. “The limus consumed you whole. Myla saved your life.”

Aldred’s pink cheeks now flare into a bright shade of red. When the earl next speaks, little bits of spittle fly from his mouth. What a lovely sight.

“You two think yourselves so clever,” snarls the earl. “But when it comes to the Trials of Acca, I shall be the smart one. Me.” He pounds his chest, as if anyone was unclear about the me in this scenario.

At this point, I could shut my yap and give Aldred a chance to cool off. That might even be the mature and queenly thing to do. In fact, there’s probably a traditional speech for leaving this whole scene behind. The infamous Rixa Way.

Nah.

Besides, there’s still a bigger Aldred-centric scheme here. I can smell it, the same way that I scent the mothballs and stinky feet from Aldred’s direction. It’s on the tip of the earl’s sausage-like tongue to blab his true plan. One more sarcastic nudge in the right direction and he’ll snap.

“Go on,” Lincoln whispers. “Break him. You know you want to.”

And with that, it’s clear I have the best fiancée in the universe.

I step super-close to the earl. Take that, personal space.

“Lay it on me, Aldred.” I gesture to the still-packed galleries. “In fact, show us all how smart you really are.”

There, that should do it.

“Open the gateway,” calls Aldred.

I frown. The way the earl said the word gateway, it’s clear that’s his true plan. Yay me. Trouble is, I have zero idea what Aldred’s yakking about.

A gateway. What?

Here’s the deal. Ghouls can create portals, which are door-like holes that connect one part of the after-realms to another. When it comes to undeadlies, that’s really their only serious skill. Even then, ghoul portals are pretty limited. For instance, you can’t open one directly into Antrum. But gateways? Beyond the sort that connect to white picket fences, I’ve got nothing.

An electrical charge fills the air. Orange-colored mist pools around Aldred’s feet.

Magic.

I take a half-step backward. Whatever this gateway is, it’s definitely not of the white picket variety. We’re talking some serious spellwork here. Yet since when does Aldred wield magic? The man can barely shoot a crossbow. Plus, no one in Antrum uses orange power. There’s purple for thrax wizards. Red for demons. Even white and blue for angelic stuff.

But orange? What the WHAT? Who’s casting this spell anyway?

The colored haze swirls into a round and flat disc that stands ten feet tall. My breath catches. This is definitely veering closer into ghoul portal territory, meaning this gateway looks remarkably portalesque, only it’s bigger, rounder and way orange. A woozy feeling settles into my stomach.

“Any moment now,” says Aldred. “This spell shall reveal the Primeval!”

My mouth falls open in shock. I’m talking the kind of wide open that only happens when a dentist scrapes random gunk off my molars. I thought we were maybe dealing with a mega ghoul portal. Perhaps something that allows outsiders to sneak into Antrum, which is a big no no.

This is much worse. Aldred has found a way to connect our reality to a totally different world. And not a happy place called Butterflyland or something. This is the freaking Primeval, AKA the place that already spat out nothing less than Rufus the battle lion.

Crap on a cracker.

Forget sexy battle-gaze time. Now Lincoln and I have a new goal in life: dealing with Aldred’s Trials of Acca while preventing him from opening a gateway into trouble.