Page 25 of Ringmaster (The Kingdom of Shadow & Bone #1)
Azrael
Ilead us both into the Ringmaster’s dimly lit office.
It’s like walking straight into the lion’s den.
He sits behind his desk with a smug expression, clearly gloating—relishing the fact that he’s taken the one thing that matters to me and condemned her soul to Hell.
Regret consumes my thoughts. What was I thinking?
How could I be so selfish? I’ve sold Mercy’s soul, sentencing her to an eternity tied to me.
But I didn’t have a choice. I fell right into his trap.
Do I actually feel remorse? This is exactly what I wanted.
I chose Mercy as my soulmate. It was bound to happen eventually.
Even though I want to blame Giselle for not doing her job, I can’t.
I know how hard it is to deceive the Ringmaster.
There’s still the matter of punishing her for failing—it can’t matter that she was destined to fail.
I’ll send for her later and inform her of the sentence.
Mercy will need to perform with the circus.
Giselle can teach her how to be an acrobat.
Once Mercy’s settled here, she’ll attend lessons with Giselle until she’s ready to take the stage.
We cross the room and sit in the tall leather chairs opposite the Ringmaster.
Malicor stands beside him, ready to attentively oversee the entire contract process.
The Ringmaster glances at an ornate pocket watch before stuffing it back into his breast pocket.
He cracks his fingers in a smooth, practiced motion.
“I see you took full liberty of my invitation to take your time. So nice of you to finally join us.”
A wicked grin slides over my lips. I get a sick amusement out of finding ways to annoy the Ringmaster—and keeping him waiting tops the list.
“Let’s begin,” the Ringmaster hisses, handing me a quill carved from bone and sliding an old, leather-bound book across the table.
The book of contracts. Magic crackles the moment my skin makes contact as I run my hand over the cover.
It opens to a set of blank pages, waiting for my entry.
Step one: record the contract in the book to bind her.
I scrawl Mercy’s name across the top, initial beside it, then lay the quill in the book’s center crease so it won’t roll off the table and shatter.
The next step is less pleasant.
The Ringmaster passes me the nocturn blade.
I turn it over in my hands, the weight of what I’m about to do pressing in me from all sides.
Forged in Hell, the blade shimmers in the flickering lights.
Runes and spells carved into the metal glitter as the magical blade awakens in my grip.
On the pommel sits a large crimson ruby.
Strips of worn black leather wrap over the prongs in the shape of a pentagram.
The blade is heavy in my hands as I turn to face Mercy.
It calls to me, a whisper so low I’m confident no one else can hear it.
“Dark prince,” it hisses, hunger dripping from every rune. “Oh, how I’ve missed the taste of your magic.”
I swallow hard. This blade always gives me the creeps.
It speaks again. “Slice her. Feed me.”
My grip tightens. My gaze glazes over, and I feel it stroking against my magic, coaxing me to lower my wards just enough to complete the binding. Reluctantly, I comply, opening a miniscule entry point.
“I’m starved. Take your sacrifice. Bind her soul to yours.” Its voice is hypnotic, taking hold of me until I’m barely in control.
It urges me forward, demanding I complete the ritual. It must sense my hesitation, not giving me a single second to reconsider the decision to take Mercy’s soul.
“Give me your arm, Mercy,” I whisper.
She flinches but slowly extends it toward me.
I don’t dare look at her face. If I do, it might break me.
Instead, I watch as the vein throbs against her skin up and down.
I’m so entranced, I don’t realize I’ve made the cut until the blood begins to trickle down her arm.
It covers her skin in a bloody stream of liquid.
My fangs protrude from my gums, starved for her blood—the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever experienced. Angel blood. I wonder if the Ringmaster smells it too. I chance a glance at him. He seems disinterested in the bloodletting ceremony.
Mercy whimpers, her arm trembling as the blood continues to run freely.
Turning my attention back to her, I lift a ceremonial metal bowl to her skin, collecting the blood to use as ink for the contract.
Once I’ve filled it to the brim, I place it on the desk next to the book.
The quill trembles, its magic awakening, but it’ll have to wait.
Step three in this ritual is the binding. Still clutching the dagger, I drop to the floor, kneeling before Mercy and her bleeding arm. I run my nose along her skin, scenting the blood like a beastly predator. It takes all my restraint to sit back on my heels and draw the blade across my own arm.
This time, I’m forced to meet her gaze. “Let the bonding ritual begin.”
She gulps, terror washing over her and permeating the air. My eyes are a cold black void controlled by bloodlust and the hunger for the soul she promised me.
“Repeat after me,” I instruct. “I give my soul willingly to the Prince of Shadow and Bone, the descendant of Lucifer, and bind myself to him for all of eternity.”
Mercy’s eyes widen. She repeats the words, her voice trembling. Her lips quiver over descendant of Lucifer, and a single tear slips down her cheek.
The moment she finishes, glowing red chains encircle our arms, binding us. They erupt in flames that race around our bleeding arms before exploding at the sight of the wound.
“Drink from me to complete the process,” I say, lifting my bleeding arm to her mouth.
She parts her lips, sneering in disgust, but squeezes her eyes shut and latches onto the wound. As soon as I feel her swallow the first mouthful, I bring her arm to my lips and lose myself in the bloodlust.
She’s more fucking delicious than I could have ever imagined. Each mouthful is more addictive than the last. If I’m not careful, I’ll drink too much. I slow my swallows, running my tongue across the wound to slowly heal it closed.
When I pull back, she’s ghastly pale but faintly glowing.
I kiss the wound tenderly, sealing it with silent promises.
With her soul hot on my tongue, I ease my way back into the chair.
Time to trap her for eternity in ink and negotiate the terms of the contract.
The one that can only be written in Mercy’s blood.
I dip the bone quill into the bowl of blood and it zings, drawing the magic together. It pulses through my fingertips, swirling in a sparkling gold mist around it. I slowly drag my eyes from the parchment and up to meet the Ringmaster’s satisfied smile.
“Term of the contract?” I ask flatly.
“Eternity,” he drawls, his tone taunting.
“Eternity,” I repeat, offering no challenge.
“Clauses,” I prompt.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Thinking fast, I offer a suggestion that might lean in Mercy’s favor. “To be determined by the Fates.”
“Agreed, clever apprentice.”
“Possession,” I continue down the page.
“Immediately,” the Ringmaster breathes.
I turn to Mercy, who’s curled into a ball, drifting in and out of sleep with her head resting on the arm of the chair.
“Mercy,” I say, rousing her.
“Mmmm,” she murmurs.
“How long do you need to say goodbye to your family?”
“A week,” she sighs.
“No,” the Ringmaster cuts in.
“Five days,” I counter.
“Four.”
“Four,” I agree, recording it.
“Ownership. Azrael,” I mutter, trying not to rub it in the Ringmaster’s face.
He nods, glowering at me.
“Well then, sign it and be gone with you both. Our business here is done.”
I dip the quill into the blood and sign my name. Magic flares, ancient and binding, as Mercy’s soul becomes tethered to mine. She’s mine now—to protect, and to love, for all eternity.
At the Ringmaster’s dismissal, I dip Mercy’s finger into the blood and press a perfect print to the bottom of the page. Then I repeat the process with my own, placing it beside hers.
I close the book, then scoop Mercy into my arms and carry her back to the barn. I’ll summon Sylis to fetch Zora, and together we’ll unfreeze the town. Inside the barn, I lay her gently on a soft pile of hay.
“Keep her safe until I return,” I tell Marblas.
He winks in understanding and lies down beside her protectively. I close my eyes and step into the darkness—off to find Sylis.