In the end, there was no guarantee the cook still used the same cooking oil he had used when Tanag’s family had lived, and Tanag was loathe to smear himself in animal fat. Having been gnawed on once, he did not wish to encourage a repeat experience.

  The memory caused a shudder that had adjacent bones clacking against each other and Tanag had to concentrate to still them. It was a good thing the chainmail corselet muffled the noise, but he wore nothing below the waist and his knees seemed to be knocking loudest.

  With the garden guarded by the locked gate, the doors leading inside were easy to open. Tanag chose the one that would lead most quickly to the throne room. It did not even creak as he slipped inside.

  The succubus was waiting.

  “I knew one day, you’d come,” she said, but her dark eyes were full of laughter, instead of fear.

  Tanag did not answer. He drew his father’s blade and sent a quick prayer to Hredar, his father’s god. Tanag had worshipped Kren, but neither god had protected him in the end. Tanag sent a quick prayer to Kren, in case that deity would like to make amends. Otherwise, he’d settle for Staravan’s mercy.

  The succubus raised an eyebrow, and then stood, every movement as she rose from the throne languid, and filled with insolence—actions designed to enrage. Tanag gave her a grit-toothed smile, but doubted she would notice any change without flesh to give him expression.

  If she did notice, Lannara did not hesitate. She flung two balls of flame in his direction, green and reeking of acid. Tanag lowered the blade, bent beneath the missiles and bounded forward. Lannara smiled, and leapt toward the ceiling. Wings grew from her back and her skin altered from fair to dark before she was three feet from the floor. She was beyond his reach before he could bring the blade to bear.

  Tanag did the only thing he could. He threw the sword.

  Shirra, guide my hand, he pleaded, calling on the goddess Maietta had revered—this time he received an answer. Power, sure and strong, flowed along his arms, tempering his bones, firming his grip. He had found one to answer his need, at least. Maietta had, indeed, been loved by all.

  Bring Maietta’s soul to me, the goddess ordered, and Tanag watched as the blade lit with golden flame. Realizing he was weaponless, Tanag glanced around the chamber. It would be unlike the demoness to have left herself unarmed.

  He hurried to the throne, checked along its side, felt the axe invisible beside it and tried to visualize it. He had never seen Lannara wield an axe before.

  As he wrapped his bony fingers around its shaft, he heard the demoness shriek.

  That was going to bring the guards.

  Lannara screamed again, and the axe became visible as her magic faded.

  Tanag turned, aware of the sound of men shouting, and bootsteps running toward the throne room. He was surprised by the sudden clash of weapons beyond the throne room doors, as he grabbed the axe.

  The demoness had fallen, her wings folding in shock, but not fading. His family’s blade had struck home, embedding itself hilt-deep just below her breast bone, yet that was not why she screamed.

  Bands of golden fire wreathed themselves around her, and smoke rose where they touched her flesh. The goddess’s vengeance was thorough. Tanag knew the demoness would burn, but hefted the axe anyway.

  He did not hesitate, either, crossing from the throne to the demoness and taking her head with one powerful stroke. The rage within him purred, agreed to remain quiescent a little longer, and demanded more carnage. Tanag kicked the dead succubus’s corpse over, and pulled the sword from her body. A door opened across the room, and Tanag spun toward it, axe blade dragging, sword extended.

  The sight of his sister, clad in pale pink slippers and a nightgown of matching silk, stopped him cold.

  “Tanag?” She half-raised a hand toward him, her eyes fixed on the medallion hanging against his chest.

  “Maietta.” He said it on a breath, a sigh of relief.

  Maietta’s voice reflected the feeling in her next words, but her face held an expression of bewildered wonder.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “You killed her.”

  “She is not the one I came for.” Even as Tanag spoke, the shadows behind Maietta moved and Arrin appeared, draping an arm over Maietta’s shoulder, letting his hand drift down to cover her breast.

  Maietta looked up, but there was no pleasure in her eyes, only a studied blankness.

  “Arrin,” she said, and directed her next question to Tanag. “Will you kill him?”

  “It is why I am still here.” Tanag decided not to reveal Shirra’s hand in his continued existence, his gaze flickering over Maietta as he noted what he had been unwilling to see before.

  His sister was dead, and had been for some time. The form she wore now was courtesy of some magic, a veil of tangible illusion covering eyes filmed over with green, like scum-covered ponds, and fingers from which the flesh still hung in shreds. Whether the illusion was for Arrin’s, the servants’ or Maietta’s benefit, Tanag did not know—and neither, it appeared, did his sister.

  “What will you do when I am free?” she asked, and Tanag caught Arrin’s triumphant smirk.

  “I will move beyond death.”

  “And I will be alone again.” Maietta sounded so deeply disappointed that Tanag wanted to comfort her. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to lie, or reveal the goddess’s hand.

  “I will stay with you for as long as you need me,” he said, and felt a surge of approval from her goddess, confirming his suspicions—Maietta did not know she was dead. He turned his attention to Arrin. “Let her go.”

  Arrin smiled.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, brother-mine,” he said, his voice oily with the joy of thwarting him. “I rather like living in your palace and ruling in your stead, and I love wifing your sister every night, whether she wants it or no.”

  The rage inside Tanag roared, and for a moment, he could not see, could not hear. He called to Shirra in the vain hope she would hear and help him escape it, just a little longer. It would be so easy to turn against all the living for what had been done, now he knew Maietta was not among them. The goddess sent him a thread of calm, enabling him to see.

  You have but one chance, she told him.

  Tanag gritted his teeth, focused only on the usurper-king.

  “Nonetheless,” he said, addressing Arrin and grinding each syllable out as he clung to sanity, “it is time for you to die.”

  “But what of Maietta?” Arrin asked, laughing as he pulled Tanag’s sister close against him, and fondling her through the gown. “Would you kill your own sister to get to me?”

  Maietta’s eyes grew wide, but she kept her gaze firmly on Tanag’s skeletal face.

  Tanag did not hesitate; he lunged, plunging the sword through his sister’s chest and into the warrior beyond, driving it deep and pinning them together, killing them both—in Maietta’s case, again.

  Arrin’s face grew stiff with shock, his mouth rounding into a gasp of surprise as Maietta stepped forward, pushing against him to free herself, and taking the blade with her. She saw Tanag’s astonishment, and her lips quirked upward with wry amusement. Covering Tanag’s hands with her own, she helped him pull the blade from her torso, then turned to her tormentor.

  Arrin’s eyes said he did not understand, even as he gasped for breath, but could not find the words. He watched as Maietta reversed the sword, taking the hilt in both hands and lifting it from her brother’s grasp.

  She smiled, using her double-handed grip to swing the blade back and bring it sweeping in to cleave Arrin’s head from his shoulders.

  “Now, he is as dead as he made me,” she said, “and Shirra be praised for keeping me sane long enough to see it.”

  Tanag stared at her. He had taught her that move as a joke, telling her it was the fastest way to get rid of an unwanted boyfriend that he could think of. He continued to stare as the truth sank in. Maietta had known she was dead, had held the illusion of ignorance for Arrin’s benefit, and had trusted Tanag to do what was right.

  Her prayers for vengeance had coupled with his oath to bring him, unliving, to her rescue. Heart aching for her pain, he wound an arm around her waist as she lowered the blade.

  Safe in the curve of his arm, she leant against his side, and they listened as the sounds of battle died to silence outside the throne-room door. Theirs had not been the only skirmish that night.

  As they waited, Tanag heard a distant shout of joy. It was echoed by another, and then another, until the palace was alive with the sound of victory. With his family gone, Tanag did not know who would rule in their stead; he only knew it would be someone new—not a self-established demon king, nor a succubus’s puppet, and not a prince or princess from a long-lived ruling line. He hugged Maietta to his side.

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” he said, but she only looked into his eyes and smiled.

  “Tanag!” The cry made them both look around, Tanag tucking Maietta behind him.

  Herrish pushed the throne-room doors wide and hurried over to inspect Lannara’s body. Beside him loomed a man who could have been Devas’s twin. Tanag met his gaze, passing him the royal sword, hilt first..

  “I’m sorry for your brother,” he said, as the man accepted the blade.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No, the temple beasts did that.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “Now, I can finally rest.”

  “And your sister?”

  “She will rest with me.” Tanag could feel himself fading, saw the world slowly drifting out of focus, heard the thump of a body hitting the floor, accompanied by the equally loud clatter of falling bones. He kept drifting until the only reality left to him was the feel of Maietta’s arm around his waist.

  Shirra was waiting, and whatever lay beyond this world and the realm of undeath, they would face it together. Behind he heard Herrish address Devas’s brother.

  “Looks like it’s up to you, your majesty.”

  “But I’m no prince!”

  The man’s dismay almost made Tanag laugh, as did Herrish’s reply.

  “Yet, you accepted the royal blade.”

  A horse whickered, and Herrish was quick to drive his advantage home.

  “And Devas’s war horse agrees.”

  Tanag paused long enough to hear the brother’s muffled curse.

  “It’s a conspiracy.”

  “It has been decided by the gods.”