Page 17 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

W ith only a single day before our planned rescue of Zurronar and Banand, I wanted—needed—additional time to study the three Angel females.

Taking on their forms was essential to the mission’s success.

The execution had to be flawless, for my safety as much as everyone who was accompanying us to rescue the Demons imprisoned in the Angel camp.

You’ve got this, Assyria.

Rokath and I parted ways in the bone room, and I couldn’t help the flush that crept across my cheeks at the memory of the way he’d taken me on it a few days prior.

Tracing a path through the black tent, I found the caged females. In this back room, they were close enough that Rokath, Rapp, and the other officers were only a shout away, but far enough I could practice in peace.

Not that I would need anyone to save me.

With the bronze bangles on their wrists and ankles, their magic was locked away, and the bars of the makeshift camp prison separated them from me.

And my magic? Now, more than ever, it was an extension of me, honed like the edge of a blade and ready to draw at a thought’s notice.

“Honored by our divine creator,” I greeted them with the traditional Angelic words as I entered the sectioned-off part of the command center.

Three sets of blue orbs snapped to me. Only Esha narrowed hers.

Despite the stormy ocean color denoting her as the one with the least power among them, she acted as if she wielded magic like Araquiel, the most powerful.

Faeya’s eyes brightened when they landed on the bundle in my arms—fresh clothes.

They’d surrendered their armor for my use the same day we captured them. Surrendered wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like the males had forcibly removed it from their bodies. The white and grey clothing, now pristine, rested in my pack, ready for me to don as part of the final run-through.

“Those are for us?” Faeya asked in Angelic.

“Yes,” I replied, placing the pile on a stool so I could slide the straps off my shoulders. The bag thudded against the carpet, and I rolled out my neck, relieved of the burden. Then, I approached the cage.

Faeya and Esha shot to their feet. Araquiel remained seated, her back braced against the bars on the opposite side of the cage, knees tucked to her chest. She scrutinized me and her cellmates with a detached air.

To be fair, I’d studied the three of them with the same intensity, since knowing a bit about their personalities would help me respond appropriately should I be stopped by someone who knew them.

At this point, I was torn between taking on Faeya’s form or Araquiel’s.

Had the latter been more forthcoming, less calculated, she would have been the easy choice.

Being caged didn’t exactly allow them to show their true personalities though.

Was Araquiel as shrewd as she seemed? Or was it her survival instincts kicking in to protect her ?

Esha was a solid no with her eye color. She wouldn’t be in a position of importance in regard to the Angel’s prisoners. She was also the most openly hostile, and again, I wasn’t sure if it was borne of the situation or if that’s who she truly was.

Faeya seemed to accept her position by the second day.

She spoke Angelic with me despite not knowing why I was practicing.

While she hadn’t willingly offered up any extra information, she seemed to be the most congenial of the three.

From my time living under Vagach’s abuse, I recognized her behavior for what it was: fawning.

Yet it was far more helpful than the other two’s attitudes.

Stretching my arms to their max, I placed the clothes on the bars and retreated. After all, they were still Angels, and I didn’t trust them. This small act of kindness was due to my need to garner more information from them.

Truly, we were using each other.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked them.

“I need the latrine,” Faeya admitted as she stripped her dirty tunic off.

I studied her torso for any ink or birthmarks I might need to take into account. Noting a small scrawl on her ribs, I asked, “What does that say?”

She glanced under her arm while she pulled the fresh one overhead. “Myrr.” She spoke the Angelic word slowly, affording me time to hear the complexity of the sound. “It means peace,” she said in the common tongue as she pulled her long twist from the shirt and settled it over her shoulder.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Why would she want ‘peace’ permanently etched into her skin?

Tucking a few short strands of her platinum hair behind her ears, she faced me again. “You take me, or do one of the males go?”

Shaking myself out of my shock, I returned to the conversation at hand. “Can you repeat?” I asked her, thinking I misunderstood her the first time she spoke.

Enunciating each Angelic word, she said, “Will you take me to the latrine, or will you fetch one of the males?”

“The males,” I replied, relieved that I’d understood her that time. “How badly do you need to go? Can you wait?”

“Not she-tas-y, but say-tes-y,” Faeya corrected my pronunciation of the word for wait. “Sooner would be better.”

“Same for me,” Araquiel added, finally rising. “I will wait to change until I return.”

Nodding, I glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

The three watched me go. Outside, I found the two soldiers currently on guard duty and relayed the females’ needs. They followed me back inside, and I stood against the wall as they snapped additional chains around Faeya, then Araquiel’s wrists and led them away.

Locked in again, Esha eyed me with unveiled disgust. We were enemies, after all. To her, I was little more than a jailer and the Halálhívó’s whore. The Angels didn’t believe Demons could really have a fated mate, that it was some dark magic trickery offered by the Fates.

Silence stretched between us as we waited for the others to return.

To pass the time, I called on the shadows in my chest, stirring them to life.

Even if I wasn’t going to impersonate Esha, using my magic was still good practice.

Pulling on the threads of it, I wove her face first, focusing on the slope of her nose and slant of her eyebrows.

Once I was certain I had it, I went to my pack and fetched the mirror stowed there.

Glancing between my reflection and Esha, I made a few minor adjustments to her forehead before deciding I’d done enough.

Then, I stepped closer, trying to capture the creamy color of her hair.

Some more light would be useful .

Continuing to entwine the tendrils of my magic, I formed the rest of her around me. Her sharply pointed ears that reached to the sky, the rings that lined the bottom shell. All the while, she watched, face morphing from hostility to fear as she saw herself reflected back.

I hoped she witnessed the same ugliness I did.

Before now, I hadn’t shown them what I could do. A part of me was immensely satisfied with her reaction to my power. Rapp was right, it was fucking cool.

Esha whispered furiously to herself in Angelic while hooking her thumbs together and flattening her palms over her chest. She drummed her hands there, creating a rhythm to match her fervid words.

“Protect me, Goddess,” were the only ones I managed to catch besides “dark magic” and “Demon.” I didn’t need to understand each syllable to know she was praying for her deity to save her.

I wanted to exorcize her from this room. How ridiculous they were for not seeing that we were more alike than different. That Demons were just as worthy of living as they were. That we weren’t some evil spawn of different Gods.

A sharp breath tore my attention away from Esha.

Faeya and Araquiel had returned, along with the guards, to the sight of their soror’s distress.

I stepped back from the cage, maintaining my hold over my magic, while the males secured them again.

If it weren’t for my black leather clothing, they’d have mistaken me for her, no doubt.

The two males saluted me on their way out. Their whispers tumbled through the tent, though they were low enough I couldn’t discern what they said. Probably something to do with my magic, given how few had seen it in action—if they even knew of its existence.

I faced the females, finally releasing my hold and returning to my own frame.

“You have powerful magic indeed,” Araquiel stated.

Then, she turned her back on me and stripped.

Again, I searched for any important features, but her skin was as smooth as a frozen stream.

Not a freckle or a scar marred the surface.

It was almost…uncanny. Faeya finished changing and threw her dirty clothes between the bars, in the direction of my bag.

“She is cursing us by impersonating us!” Esha protested, her clothes still hanging on the bars.

“Better to be cursed and alive,” Araquiel shot back with more bite than I’d seen since we captured her. She shoved her short, messy strands behind her ears and flicked the rest out of the collar of her tunic.

Interesting.

I noted that bit of information away for later. The three squabbled, their voices too quick for me to understand more than a word here and there.

While they worked themselves into a frenzy, I went to the nearest flap and secured it back, allowing more light into the space.

Still not satisfied, I opted to stand on the stool and open one side from the top.

With the sun closing in on its zenith, the space illuminated enough for me to study all the small details of their features.

“Quiet,” I hissed when I jumped down, returning to the front of the cage. I needed to practice, and for that, I needed them still. “Araquiel, can you step forward?”

With an impassive expression, she did. The light glittered in her turquoise eyes, highlighting small flecks of gray. The contours of her high cheekbones would be the most difficult part of her to capture.