"My arse is killing me," Viktor complained, trying to shift his position for the hundredth time. "These stones are bloody cold, and I've been sitting on them for too long. Can't someone get me a sofa or…"
A leather-gloved fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Viktor spat blood onto the temple floor and grinned up at Nima.
His dark eyes gleamed behind a carefully neutral expression.
"You talk too much. You will show respect in this temple," Nima said, his voice silky and dangerous. "Or I will leave your jaw broken."
"Just trying to make conversation," Viktor muttered, working his jaw back and forth. "Not much else to do when you're chained to the floor."
"Or trying to avoid my main question," Nima sighed.
Damon remained silent. His pale eyes watched the dancing women as they wove through the temple.
"Have you considered my proposal?" Nima asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced before them. "I offered you freedom. All I ask in return is a simple task."
"Simple, he says," Viktor snorted. "Just slaughter a bunch of freedom fighters. Nothing complicated about that."
Damon leaned forward as far as his chains would allow. "What if I offered you an assassination instead? Someone more... specific. Less messy than wiping out an entire rebellion. We could just take out Lady X or whoever's backing the rebellion up."
Viktor chuckled dryly. "We could offer you something else like poetry. Hell We could give you marriage advice. Damon's good with brooding. Might land you a date."
Another blow came, this time a boot to the ribs.
"You're lucky I haven't handed you both to the Seventh Circle," Nima said, voice sharp as glass. " Damon himself is now worth three million gold coins."
"They increased it!?" Damon groaned.
Nima's eyes narrowed. "The problem with the rebellion is not a single leader. The problem is the movement itself."
"Have you tried talking to them?" Viktor suggested, his tone mockingly helpful. "Maybe over drinks? Women tend to be more reasonable when…"
Another punch landed, this time catching Viktor in the stomach. He doubled over, wheezing hard.
"The human rebellion," Nima continued as if nothing had happened, "is a bunch of fanatics who believe they can unseat the demigods. What makes you think they want to talk?"
Damon's laugh was hollow. "They do know that. They just don't care."
"They're admirable," Viktor countered, once he could breathe again. "Weak, perhaps, but they have heart. Fighting against impossible odds…"
"They are bad for business," Nima cut in, his patience wearing thin. "My arrangements with the seventh circle demigods are... delicate. And as one myself, I cannot be seen to tolerate such insurgency."
He stopped pacing and faced them directly. "I need them eliminated. Quietly and completely."
"Or?" Damon asked, voice level.
Nima smiled, revealing teeth too sharp to be human. "The same thing I said before. You remain here until you change your mind. Or until you die. Whichever comes first."
"Not much of a choice," Viktor muttered.
"I'm offering you a fucking million gold coins," Nima said. "In addition to your freedom."
Damon's mind raced behind his impassive face. Two years of planning, of careful saving.
Fifty thousand gold coins hidden away. A fortune for most, but not enough for what he needed. Not enough to buy his way into the ninth circle.
Not enough to find what he sought.
"I'll do it," he said quietly.
Viktor's head snapped toward him. "Are you mad? You'd slaughter innocents for coin?"
"A million gold coins would solve... certain problems," Damon replied, not meeting his companion's gaze.
Nima's eyebrows rose slightly. "What problems could require such wealth?"
Damon hesitated.
"I need to reach the ninth circle."
"The ninth?" Viktor whistled, then winced as the movement stretched his split lip. "What in the hell do you want in that cold hell?"
"Someone I need to find," Damon said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Someone I've been hunting for two years."
"Two years?" Nima laughed. "And you've managed to save how much?"
Damon blinked." Fifty thousand. Give or take?"
Both Viktor and Nima looked at him like he was insane.
"Poor child," Nima crooned.
"Who?" Viktor corrected. "Who are you looking for?"
Damon didn't answer.
Viktor shook his head, chains rattling. "Well, count me out. I won't slaughter freedom fighters for gold. Some things matter more than money."
Nima's fist connected with Viktor's face again, sending him sprawling as far as his chains would allow.
"You misunderstand your position," Nima hissed. "You should be grateful to be alive at all. And the monetary aspect doesn't apply to you anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Viktor spat blood onto the marble floor.
"Well, you did steal from him, " Damon said flatly. "Not surprised."
Before Viktor could retort, Nima snapped his fingers. A scroll materialized in his hand, unfurling to reveal densely written text in a language neither prisoner could read.
Ancient Persian.
"The contract," Nima explained. "Sign it, and you're free to leave…with the understanding that your debt to me will be paid in blood. The blood of the rebels."
He gestured to one of the masked women, who glided over on silent feet.
With a wave of her hands, the chains binding Damon and Viktor melted away, leaving angry red welts on their wrists and ankles.
Nima produced an ornate dagger, its hilt encrusted with gemstones that caught the firelight.
"Cut your palms. Blood seals the bargain."
Damon took the knife without hesitation, drawing its edge across his palm. Red droplets fell onto the parchment, sizzling where they landed.
He passed the blade to Viktor, who stared at it as if it were a venomous serpent.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Viktor asked bitterly.
"There's always a choice," Nima replied. "This one simply offers me not punching you in the face.... again. "
Viktor cursed under his breath, then sliced his palm, allowing his blood to join Damon's on the contract. The parchment seemed to drink it in, the droplets spreading and forming intricate patterns among the text.
Nima took the contract and approached the altar at the center of the temple. As he placed the parchment upon it, the roof above began to shift.
Massive stone panels slid apart, revealing the bright sky above. A ray of sunlight shot down through the opening, striking the altar with blinding intensity.
The contract burst into black flames, crumbling to ash in seconds. The fire in the altar flared in response, changing from orange to black before settling back to its original form.
"The bargain is sealed," Nima announced, his voice reverberating with unnatural power. "You are free to go, but know that I will be watching. The rebellion ends by your hands, or the contract takes care of you."
" And by taking care, you mean death?"Damon asked.
Nima smiled. "Inevitably. Even a demigod can't break certain rules."
Damon and Viktor rose unsteadily to their feet, muscles protesting after hours of confinement.
They moved toward the temple entrance, neither speaking, both lost in their thoughts.
As they approached the massive doors, they passed a young woman entering the temple.
Time seemed to slow as she moved past them, her white gown flowing like water around her slender form.
Damon felt a chill crawl up his spine as she passed. Something primal within him recognized a predator far more dangerous than himself.
She was brown-skinned. Her black hair fell in waves down her back. As she turned slightly, they caught a glimpse of a side of her face. One deep red eye was visible, her lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment. He could not see her energy level, the same as Nima's. They were both probably skilled inners.
Then she was past them, gliding into the temple, and time resumed its normal flow. Damon turned to see if Viktor had felt it, too, and found his companion's face drained of color.
"Did you…" Viktor began.
"Yes," Damon cut him off. "Keep walking. Don't look back."