"Because the belief is nearly as dangerous," Sabine answered impatiently. "The sword could be seen as a rallying point, used as a propaganda tool." Already little rebellions erupted over the countryside, the demons continuing to clamor for their deposed king.
Clamoring still-after nine centuries.
Sabine often wondered how he'd earned such fervent loyalty. "So it's clear I can't let the brothers meet," she said. "I'll intercept Rydstrom before he can reach the city."
"And then?" Omort said quietly. "What will you do
with him?"
"And then I'll kill two birds with one stone," she answered. "This is the prophecy beginning." Just in time for the Accession.
Every five hundred years, that great immortal war took place, and they were on the cusp of it right now.
Her gaze flickered over the mysterious well in the center of the court, strewn with sacrifices-bloody and unidentifiable body parts. Her future depended on unlocking its power. And the demon was the key.
When she faced Omort, his brows drew together, as if he'd thought she would balk at bedding a demon. In fact, she was eager to get this over with-and then to seize the power that was there for the taking.
At last, something to want, to need.
Hettiah asked, "What if the demon resists you?"
Sabine's lips parted. "Have you looked at me lately, Hettiah?" She turned in a circle, a move that left Omort leaning forward on the edge of his throne, and Hettiah sending her murderous glances.
Hettiah wasn't without power. In fact, her ability was neutralizing others' powers. She could erase illusions as easily as Sabine could cast them. Lanthe had nicknamed her Hettiah the Buzz Kill and Aunty-Matter.
"Don't underestimate the demon," Omort finally said. "He's one of the most iron-willed beings I've ever encountered. Don't forget that I faced him-and yet he lives."