"May I see her?"
"No," Eight said reflexively; there was no way he was letting Angelo anywhere near Jessica.
"Please. Not alone; I don't even need to talk to her. I just want to see her."
Angelo hadn't spoken to him or Yangus at all, not even when they'd pinned him down and added the weights to his shackles; the quiet persistence took Eight by surprise. "Why?" he asked, sliding the dinner tray near enough for Angelo to catch the edge and draw it toward him.
"I just..." Angelo's voice faltered. "I want to know she's all right."
"She's alive in spite of you. That's all you need to know."
Angelo looked, for just a moment, like he wanted to say something else, then he fell silent, his attention on the stew and bread Eight had brought him. Eight felt a twinge of guilt, made worse because he knew how badly Jessica wanted to see Angelo.
Grimly, he reminded himself of the panic he'd felt when spell after spell failed, while time and his magic trickled away. He'd lost track of how many attempts it had taken to bring her back, while her skin grew cold and stiff beneath his hands, and every failure, every minute, made the odds against him worse.
No, he would not be allowing Angelo near Jessica any time soon.
He turned toward the door, and Angelo tried one last time. "Will you at least tell her I'm sorry?"
He sounded sincere, and Eight was glad his back was to Angelo, that the other man couldn't see how badly Eight wanted to believe his sincerity, how easily they were manipulated.
"I'd tell her if I believed you meant it," he said finally. He lifted the lamp from its hook and walked out the door, leaving Angelo in darkness.
It took him long minutes to remember how to put on the uniform, but finally he was dressed. The heavy fabric, boots and gloves, felt... almost right.
"Come here."
He obeyed, his body awkward with the memory of the pain so recently healed away, and knelt at the foot of the throne. An archdemon brought out a sword. Light spilled from the curved blade, and the moment he saw it, he knew that was what he was missing.
"Do you swear loyalty to me?"
"I do." His voice was still raw from the hours he'd spent screaming.
"Take the sword."
"What harm could it do for me to just see him?" Jessica asked.
"I don't know." Eight already regretted mentioning Angelo's request, but he had needed to talk to someone. It had been days since Empyrea had brought them the sceptre; every day he could feel Rhapthorne's power growing, could see the darkness in the sky spreading, and he was no closer to knowing how to get Angelo back in time to stop that darkness from extending to the entire world.
"He's not a threat if he can't reach me," she continued patiently, "and his bonds don't let him anywhere near the door."
"I know," Eight said, and didn't mention the chains had been shortened and weighted since Angelo's attack on her.
"I'm not stupid enough to go near him again."
"I know you aren't." And I wouldn't let you be alone with him anyway.
"Then why..."
"I don't trust him." You, of all people, should understand why, he thought, but didn't bother to say. He was glad Jessica seemed to have recovered from the attack, but he wished she was more rational about Angelo. "He's the enemy as long as Rhapthorne's power over him holds."
"Do you think we're going to change that by locking him up and leaving him alone for days on end? You know we need him, and you know I have the best chance of reaching him, or you wouldn't have said anything." Jessica shook her head. "I'm not giving up on him. I can't." And her eyes asked, How can you?
Eight looked away, because he didn't have an answer.
Light flared the moment he touched the sword; he closed his eyes, half turned away.
"Do you know this weapon?"
He could not summon even the ghost of a memory. "No, my Lord."
"It is unique. Made for you." Rhapthorne's hand curled around his. "And now, it shall be bound to you, as you are bound to me."
Rhapthorne slid their hands along the blade. Blood welled and mingled, dimming the light, revealing the steel beneath.
In the space between one breath and the next, light became darkness, spilling like smoke.
"Now, my knight, take up the Shamshir of Shadow."
"I'm not giving up on him. I'm just out of ideas." He caught her hand, squeezed so she would know he didn't blame her. "I don't want to give him any more information than he already has."
"We aren't going to get him back without giving him something to replace what Rhapthorne stole."
"But you can't make him care by telling him all the reasons he used to. Especially," and it hurt to say the words, as much as it would hurt her to hear them, "when he's proven he'll use those things against us."
Jessica turned away, pulling her hand free. "Until you have a better idea, I owe it to him to try to reach him."
"No," Eight said, then amended hastily, "At least, not tonight. He's probably already asleep. Besides, maybe by morning I'll have come up with that better idea."
Jessica didn't look at him, but she was moving in the direction of her cabin, not the storeroom they had pressed into service as a cell, so he didn't try to stop her. "I wish to the Goddess someone would," she said bitterly.
He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against the rough wall, and wished the same thing.
The Shamshir felt right in his hand, balanced so it was nearly weightless, the hilt curved perfectly against his palm. It sang as he tested a few strokes against the air.
"I think," Rhapthorne said, "that you should give it a real test."
He stilled, turned, saw the Lord of Darkness look at the oblivious archdemon and give a slight nod. Obediently, the blade flashed out again; the poor creature had no time for more than a startled grunt before blood was flowing freely from its slit throat.
He reversed the stroke, gutting the dark haired leader - no, he remembered this, remembered opening the archdemon from shoulder to hip, watching it collapse while Rhapthorne applauded - but this was now, it was happening, not something that had already happened.
"Well done, my knight."
He looked away from the body sprawled at his feet, disturbed rather than pleased by the death of his foe.
Something was wrong with the floor, with the steps leading to the throne. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
Pieces of the fat man were scattered around the base of the throne; he had done that, must have done it, but when? And why such butchery, rather than a clean death?
Feeling ill from the blood soaking the floor and his uniform, he looked up.
Dark energy pulsed around Rhapthorne, nearly concealing that the Dark Lord was growing, changing shape. For a moment, it did conceal the staff he held, so that at first he didn't realize the glowing orb had been replaced.
Then a flash of red caught his attention, and he looked up, straight into the eyes of the head now adorning Rhapthorne's staff.
He woke himself with his screaming, and at first, in the pitch blackness, he couldn't be sure he was awake. Then the door slammed open, and the light that filtered in silhouetted Yangus, holding his axe and demanding to know what was going on.
Angelo dropped his head to his arms and sobbed.
The screams began before she was halfway to her cabin. Jessica turned, ice running down her spine, no doubt in her mind that the sound was coming from Angelo. Angelo, who was in a cell, chained, guarded by Yangus, who would surely never do anything to inspire such sounds without provocation.
Rhapthorne, she thought, starting toward the stairs to the deck. Ahead of her, she could hear boots on wood, as Eight hurried in the same direction. Goddess, if he's sent something after Angelo...
The sound of wood striking wood echoed down the corridor, and the screaming abruptly stopped.
Jessica ran.
The cell door was open, and Yangus nowhere visible in the light spilling from the oil lamp. Eight swore, reaching for the sword on his back. If that bastard's done anything to Yangus...
"Is that you, guv?"
Eight nearly ran into Yangus in the doorway. "What happened?" he asked, releasing his sword.
"I don't know. I figgered he was asleep, but the next thing I know he's screamin' like. I about bust the door down, comin' t' see wot's wrong, an' he gives me a look like he's expectin' me to finish 'im off and starts cryin'." He looked a bit defensive as he added, "I di'n't touch 'im none, though."
"Well is he all right?" Jessica pushed past them both; Eight heard her gasp as she caught sight of Angelo, curled on the floor and weeping.
Eight caught her arm. "Jessica, don't."
"I should hope the two of you would be a match for him," she snapped, and pulled free to go to Angelo.
Eight followed, not quite close enough to hear what she said when she knelt by Angelo's side and spoke to him, but close enough to hear Angelo whimper her name.
"I'm here," she said. "It's all right, I'm here."
Angelo jerked upright so quickly that Eight moved to intervene, and Jessica pulled back, a fireball springing to life in her hand. Angelo stared at the flames for a moment, then his gaze moved to Jessica's face.
"Goddess," he whispered. "Dear Goddess, I actually...Jessica, I..." He started to reach for her, chains scraping across the floor, then buried his face in his hands with a moan.
The spell vanished, and Jessica pulled him into her arms, heedless of the lengths of chain and metal which hung from his wrists and struck her when he reached out to cling to her. For a long time, they stayed like that, Angelo sobbing brokenly and Jessica whispering things Eight couldn't hear. Once or twice, Angelo shook his head; Eight couldn't tell if it was in answer to something Jessica said, or in response to the things he'd done under Rhapthorne's control, and then wondered when he'd decided this wasn't an elaborate trick.
"Let him go," Jessica said at length.
"Jess, we can't..."
"Let him go, or I'm going to blow a hole in the wall he's chained to."
Eight shook his head, but when Jessica released Angelo he knelt, moved the makeshift weights out of the way, and fit the magic key into the locks securing Angelo's bonds. It was the first time he'd really looked at Angelo since he and Yangus had added the weights; the bruises and blood on Angelo's arms embarrassed him, as did the time it took to remove everything. Through it all, Angelo stayed motionless on his knees, as if expecting any movement to be interpreted as an attack.
Eight finally finished and climbed to his feet, shoving the chains out of easy reach with his boot. He thought he was ready for anything, but he was utterly unprepared when Angelo collapsed silently forward into Jessica's arms.