She wanted to make him watch it, live it, have every crime torment him in the nightmarish fashion the potion had. That broken part inside her felt as if it gushed with righteous anger.
Rhand did not seem to hear her at first. He stopped mid-sip, swallowing what was in his mouth already, as if in reflex. A mouthful was all it took, she thought, remembering her own trials.
Staring into the cup, his face curled in a sneer. “What have I done? You little. . What is this?”
“The wizard’s finest,” Farideh said, balling her hands into fists to stop the urge to cast and strike him. Adolican Rhand lunged at her, a spell flickering in his own hands, but the drink was already slowing him down.
Farideh took a step back and felt the powers of Asmodeus flood her like an aqueduct after a rain. The flames poured through her and out her skin, and the great wings of fire unfolded from her back once more, setting the curtains ablaze. She saw terror cross his features and she savored it.
“Drink up,” the Chosen of Asmodeus said.
For a moment, Rhand’s eyes widened with horror, aware, suddenly of what he was facing, and then the wizard’s finest claimed him. Rhand’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the floor.
Farideh bolted-Rhand would keep, and the wizards on the other side of the tower would be ready to stop the explosion any moment now. As she passed, she heard the whoosh of flames catching the wall hangings, the rug beneath her feet. The polished black stone reflected the dancing orange light.
The tiefling woman’s ghost appeared in her path. The woman gestured sternly for Farideh to retrieve the comb, to talk to her, but the memory of the ghost in the water, telling Farideh to let go, rose up again.
“Do I even need the comb?” Farideh said, still burning. “I don’t know who you really are. I don’t know what you think to use me for, but while I’m obviously plenty of people’s pawn, I won’t be yours.”
The ghost’s form peeled back to reveal glowing bones and the dark chains of magic that seemed to hold them together, the pulse at her core. . and a glyph of sharp, broken lines that hid there. She was Chosen.
She was dead. And she was Chosen. A chill ran through Farideh, and nearly made her falter. That shouldn’t happen-a dead Chosen lost their spark. That was the key, after all, to all of Asmodeus’s plans.
But whyever the tiefling woman had held onto her powers, there were a thousand other Chosen out there who were still living, who would die if Farideh stood here wondering. She sprinted through the ghost’s chilly form and across the hallway, into the opposite room.
The two wizards stood in front of the window, looking ill and distracted, but armed with wands and watching the growing ball of magic as if taking their eyes from it for a moment would mean the death of them.
Farideh stepped into the room, and the wings of fire spread as wide as the space would allow, setting the wall hangings ablaze. The wizards turned to her, and Farideh cast a rain of brimstone at them.
In the same moment, she realized the Nameless One was still there. She was huddled against the right-hand wall, looking for a moment as small and fearful as a child in a room full of monsters should. Beside her, Sairché sat, her wings curled limply around her, her golden eyes on Farideh as if she weren’t certain in that moment which of them was worse-the Nameless One or the Chosen of Asmodeus.
Then whatever restraint the Nameless One had shown, whatever she had done to make the wizards’ jobs easier, fled, and the smothering sense of the void of Shar swept through the room. Farideh gritted her teeth and found the anger in her rose to meet the sadness of Shar.
“You’re back,” the Nameless One said, a mocking edge to her voice, “and so changed. Have you given up your soul to him, then? Have you lost your sweet sympathy?”
Farideh tore her eyes from the Nameless One. She had lost nothing, but the pity she felt for the girl Shar had stolen was caught in the heart of a maelstrom, overtopped by the waves of anger and power. She focused on the two wizards, who were no longer watching the spell but standing fearful and overwhelmed, their eyes on Farideh.
As it should be, she thought. The whole world fears you-and finally to your benefit. She pointed the rod at the wizards. “Laesurach.”
The ground beneath them opened, as if somehow a vent of lava reached up through the tower itself, as the plane peeled back to let the Fourth Layer of the Hells pour through. Molten rock and leaping flames surrounded the stunned apprentices, lighting their robes afire and setting off what protective spells they’d carried. One of them seemed to shake off the Chosens’ effects and leaped out of the fire and pointed his wand at Farideh. “Ziastayix!”
Farideh smiled as the fireball struck her, the flames surrounding her absorbing the spell and sending a sharp prickle of pain over her skin. She cast another spell, a cloud of burning gases-the still-startled wizard tried to run, and toppled over the windowsill. She heard him shouting spells as he fell.
Beyond the window, the ball of magic had grown as large as a human curled into a ball.
The second wizard’s missiles hit Farideh in the shoulder, rocking her off her feet. But another blast of flames was enough to make him reconsider his ally’s escape. Burned and bleeding, he climbed onto the windowsill.
Farideh’s bolt of energy struck him squarely in the middle of his back. The air went out of him in a grunt, and the wizard fell. Beyond the window, the spell kept growing, unimpeded.
Farideh turned to face the Nameless One, and for a moment, she was nothing more than a frightened girl, staring after the fallen wizards. “That spell will explode-that’s what they said.”
“We can still escape,” Farideh told her. She felt the flames start to fade. “If we hurry.”
The Nameless One shook her head. “The carriers are coming. They’ll take me back to Shade. And you will come with me-both of you.” She held herself up, the arrogance of Shar overwhelming whatever fear she’d shown as surely as it overwhelmed all in her presence. “Tell the guards.”
“The guards will not come for you,” Farideh said. She looked out the window-the spell had grown larger still, the size of Mehen. “You’ll be dead, if you don’t come now.”
“Then we will all be dead,” the Nameless One said, her voice shaking. The emptiness of Shar surged forth, washing over the room. Sairché squeezed her eyes shut again, murmuring something under her breath. “Everything comes to nothing,” the Nameless One said.
Farideh felt the powers of Asmodeus fill her again, the flames leaping higher, the dizzying power filling her hands. Behind the dancing fire of her skin, her veins were black as the obsidian tower. There wouldn’t be time to get down to the shelters.
Then through the turmoil of fear and sadness, a sudden calm, cool as a beam of moonlight washed over her. Think, her own voice seemed to say. Remember. Stay alive. This is not the only way.
“The fountains,” she said. “The fountains make portals.” She held out a hand. “Come on.”
The Nameless One narrowed her eyes, fear flickering through her expression. “I will not.” The sense of loss and loneliness wrapped around Farideh’s heart, threatening to snuff out the flames. “And neither will you.”
Magros of the Fifth Layer watched from a comfortable distance as the Red Wizard and her assistants poured ever more magic into the spell. Magros was not himself fond of that sort of magic-spells were tedious, particularly spells on this boiling plane. But casters made good tools and crafted such clever little things. He knew better than to interrupt.
Zahnya looked up at him as the runes at her feet flared with a peculiarly dark light. It made even Magros’s eyes ache. “We are nearly finished,” she said.
“Please,” he said. “Take what time you need. What happened to the Harpers?”