Crown of Crimson (Underworld Gods 2)

“Why did you switch?” I ask.

He slowly takes off a glove before putting it back on. “I thought we would give them a show.”

My brows go up. “You’re going to fake the prophecy?”

“That’s right. Politics is all smoke and mirrors, little bird. After this round, we’ll stand up, Tuonen will call attention to us, and we’ll put on a show. I’ll touch you with my bare hands, you won’t die, and they will all know that the uprising, Louhi, and the Old Gods won’t win. Game over for them.”

It feels so disingenuous but at the same time…genius.

“Was this your plan all along?” I ask, a little in awe of his thinking.

“Part of it,” he says. Then he turns his attention back to the match just in time to see someone’s arm get chopped off. The opponent then picks up the arm and uses it as a weapon.

I watch the gruesome yet comical scene for a few moments, then I look back to the Shadow Self.

“Tuoni,” I say in a low voice. “Where are you right now?”

“Here.”

“And where else?”

“I’m in the dungeon.”

I frown. “Why are you in the dungeon? The dungeon where? In Inmost?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice sounding faint. “There is a dungeon underneath the ring. It’s where the opponents wait before they go up to the ring to fight, and where they go when they come out of the ring.”

“Why are you there?”

“I want to see who is worthy of joining my army.”

Makes sense. He did say that was part of the bigger picture.

“I also want to hear what they’re talking about. If anyone is part of the uprising.”

“Don’t they recognize you?”

“They can’t. I’ve cloaked myself.”

“You have an invisibility cloak?” No way!

“No. That’s just what it’s called. Cloaking. I can use magic to prevent others from seeing me.”

“Would it work on me?”

“I haven’t a clue. You’re part Goddess, so maybe not. Why? Are you getting ideas?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe.”

He falls silent. I expect him to laugh at that or come up with some kind of sexual comment. Even grunt. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

“Tuoni?” I ask. I lean over to peer at him closely. His eyes are completely white. I know they do that sometimes when he’s trying to access both bodies at once but, even so, it’s giving me the creeps. My scalp prickles. “Death?” I repeat.

“We need to leave,” he says.

Fuck.

“Now?”

He nods, getting to his feet and pulling me up with him. I look around for Kalma and Sarvi, so they can follow us, but I don’t see them anywhere. Below us the Forest Gods are intently watching the match, and Tuonen is still down in the arena.

Death pulls me along, the crowd parting for us, chattering to each other in awe and scorn.

“Where are we going?” I hiss at him. “Aren’t we going to show them the prophecy thing?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his grip grows stronger. Tighter. To the point where it feels like my bones are being crushed.

“Ow,” I whisper harshly to him, trying to pull out of his grasp to no avail. “You’re hurting me.”

I know my husband likes things rough and I’m usually game for that too, but if I ever tell him to stop, he stops. He’s not a monster, at least not to me (ignoring the oubliette thing, which I will be reminding him of for the rest of eternity), and he does respect me more than he probably cares to admit.

So when his Shadow Self doesn’t let up, even when I tell him once again that he’s hurting me, that’s when my skin crawls, pins and needles washing over my entire body, my gut twisting with panic.

Something is fucking wrong.

The Shadow Self brings me around a corner, away from the crowd. There is nothing but a dark hallway cut into the earth. A lone torch is on the wall further down, giving off little light, enough to illuminate the creature propped up against the wall. It’s like if a person and a spider had a horrible love child, and it’s hunched over with its hairy back to me, a row of black eyeballs down the spine. It’s eating something that whines like a baby, tearing into it with wet snapping sounds and savagery, and I think I see what looks like a tiny human foot fall from its mouth to the ground with a splatter.

The sight is so gruesome, so horrific, that I nearly forget what’s happening.

I reach for my knife, cursing myself for having to wear such a voluminous dress, and pull it out of the holster just as Death’s Shadow Self spins me around, pressing me up against the slimy wall.

He grabs my wrists with one hand, pinning them above me, forcing me to drop the knife where it clatters to the stone ground. I hold my breath, knowing how fragile the crystal is when it’s not in my possession, but it doesn’t break.