Page 143 of Ballad of Nightmares

He stepped over to the circular window overlooking the front, and the sight of twenty or more people all driving maniacally up to the castle filled his vision. His heart knotted, that so many of them had answered the call without questioning why. Just that their king needed reinforcements, and the thrill had driven them to help.

“Ready, boss?” Rolfe asked.

Sam took another moment to watch the demons stepping off their bikes, stretching their arms and chatting with one another. A few he recognized immediately, flashes of how he’d once turned them filling his mind.

“They’re here for you,” Millie said, stepping up on the other side of him. “Did you think they had forgotten?”

“They owe me nothing,” Sam said softly.

Millie reached to his chin and turned him toward her. “And that’s why they come.”

As the front door opened, Sam, Millie, and Rolfe made their way down the grand staircase. The horde all emerged inside, all staring up at the walls and the great foyer before them, taking note of their surroundings in a place no one had ever ventured.

And when their eyes landed on Sam, a few of them nudged the others, and one slowly stepped forward.

“Sam…” A dark-skinned man with his twisted hair pulled high away from his face approached, and Sam smiled at him as he extended a hand.

“Thorn…” Sam acknowledged him. “You don’t remember my face,” he continued. “But you remember the day you chose this.”

Thorn’s thick chest swelled with something akin to pride, a surge of memory filling his head and reminding him of who he once was and everything he’d been through.

“I do,” Thorn replied. “I remember that trench and the fire around us. I remember this—“ he pointed to the burnt skin up his arm. “And I remember the choice.”

“A new beginning or a chance at revenge,” Sam said. “All you had to do was trust me.”

Thorn’s chin lifted, and a woman stepped forward, her hand sliding onto Thorn’s shoulder. Sam remembered her, too. As he did each of the people whom he’d sat with and given a choice.

“Is it time?” the light, brown-skinned woman, Vera, asked.

Sam looked between them, then to every other demon that had come at Millie and Rolfe’s requests. No questions asked. No questioning loyalties or why they’d been sitting on their asses for centuries…

All of them were there for a unified reason: that it was time to take what had once been theirs.

The door flew open again, and a vulture flew inside. The beast twisted in the air, and when she landed, a woman had replaced her. She pulled her hood off her head, revealing her stark white curls, blindingly pale skin, and blue eyes lined with white lashes. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a painting, though Sam remembered well the day he’d turned her too. Her jagged stare landed on Sam, but she stalked to Rolfe.

Sam took a step back, his eyes washing over each person, and then he settled his hips against the foyer table, fingers creasing around its edge.

“Firemoor has decided they want something that is mine,” Sam said slowly. “As has Ironmyer. The Spine. And Windmoor. Last week, one of Prei’s assassins tried to take her. And last night, one of their spies succeeded.”

A few of the people exchanged glances, confusion on their expressions.

“Her name… is Deianira Bronfell,” Sam continued.

Murmurs broke out… murmurs that Sam knew he would hear, but as his eyes searched the men and women in front of him, he did not see disdain or wariness.

“I know most of you have heard her name and the destruction that happens in her wake,” he said. “And I know some of you may be wondering why I would defend someone like her…” He reached behind him and picked up the small box of matches from his back, pulling one single match from the inside. “Deianira is my match,” he declared. “She’s here, and she wants the same revenge as we do. She wants to watch these undeserving leaders suffer for the pain they have caused not just people like you but the people you once were. The ones being cleansed and told you did not belong. Everything she has done has been to get here so she could use Death as her mercenary for revenge, without ever knowing the vengeance she craves is the same as ours.” He took a long pause as he searched the changing expressions.

“Deianira Bronfell is your Queen,” he declared. “Firemoor has taken her.”

“Where is she?” Vera cut in, her weight shifting as a look of anger flashed in her eyes.

Sam looked to Rolfe, who stepped forward. “She’s being held where sunlight broke the shadow border in the south, at the intersection of Firemoor, Windmoor, and the Spine. It will take us a few hours to get there—“

“What are we waiting for?” Thorn asked.

Shadows swirled Sam’s feet as he stared at the ground, feeling his chest swelling at the sight of the people in front of him already willing to go to battle.

“When we leave this castle, the war begins,” Sam said slowly. “The moment any of us cuts one of their soldiers, the peace this realm has felt for centuries is over.” His eyes rolled up to Thorn. “All of you have a choice in this. I will force no one to spill blood in my name if you do not want to.”