Page 8 of To Sway a Demon Heart

“Tarot is not an exact science,” I reminded her gently. “It could mean any number of things. The problem with divination is that the signs often don’t make sense until they’ve already come to pass.”

“My lady,” came a deep voice as a warm hand fell on my shoulder, effectively pulling me from my thoughts of the morning. Lord Draven was looking down at me, his smile falling as he met my eyes. I must have let all of my emotions show, because he asked quietly, “are you quite alright?”

“Yes, fine,” I said, looking up at him. I tried to smile politely, although I was sure it came out as something more like a grimace. “Just lost in thought for a moment.”

“The witch magic is rather remarkable,” he commented, looking back at the mirror that was still rippling faintly as the surrounding demons poked at it. I closed the spell as Elara had shown me, and the glass became smooth and hard once more.

Draven raised a brow in surprise, giving me an impressed look. “A useful skill.”

“Very,” I agreed, trying to maintain my smile.

Draven must have sensed that the expression was false because his concern didn’t lift. “Are you quite well, Brigid?” he asked in a low voice so that those around us couldn’t hear. He moved his hand from my shoulder to my lower back, but it felt foreign and unwelcome, rather than comforting. Something froze in me when I remembered that this male was about to enter what amounted to a fight to the death.

“Yes,” I said, stepping away from the warmth of his hand. “Just worried for you all.”

Draven smiled a crooked sort of smile, one that appeared to be genuinely amused. “My lady, you have nothing to fear. At least, not for me,” he added, taking a step closer. He looked over my shoulder and frowned. I turned to see Tyr approaching us from one of the stone towers. Draven gently put a finger to my chin, directing my attention back to him. “But your concern is touching.”

I smiled again, taking a step back as Tyr drew closer, his frown thunderous as he looked at Draven’s lowering hand like he wished to sever it from the male’s wrist.

“Lord Tyr,” Draven said with a small, polite bow. The rest of the assembled shadow demons murmured their own respectful greetings, but Tyr’s eyes held mine as he closed the distance.

“Welcome to Blood,” he said by way of greeting, gesturing to the looming spires and arches of stone behind us. “This is my home and court, and you are welcome guests. Please follow my attendants. The first trial will be held tonight.”

Tyr snapped his fingers and servants appeared to collect the mirror and escort the contestants to their chambers for the duration of the tournament. Though his words were spoken to the assembled demons, his eyes remained on me as the other demons headed off around us.

Draven bowed once more, giving me another dazzling smile as he turned to follow a timid-looking servant into the stone towers.

Lady Shyama glanced our way, and I shot her an encouraging smile as she departed. She frowned, looking between me and Draven, but left without a word.

I made to follow, but Tyr caught me around the elbow. “A moment, Lady Brigid, if you please,” he said, loud enough for the departing contestants to hear. In a quieter voice, he spoke to me alone. “Are you well?”

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was like males knew that this question made females go a bit weak in the knees, and after last night I couldn’t believe Tyr’s gall in asking me.

“What do you think?” I snapped, scowling at him. I decided not to throw at him the fact that I was about to facilitate a battle to the death in a court with the mate who rejected me, hoping that my discomfort was clear in my tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his frown darkening into a scowl, “about last night. I was—”

“It’s fine,” I said, not wanting to rehash the argument or reveal the depths of my misery about it. “Ifinallyunderstand that this,” I gestured between us, “will never happen. I can be professional about it.”

“Brigid,” Tyr said, a resigned sigh in his voice that made my gut lurch uncomfortably. I didn’t want to hear his excuses or reasons again. I just needed to get through the three contests of the tournament and get back to Sun.

“Let’s discuss the details,” I said, beginning to walk toward the towers with purpose. Tyr was forced to follow me, and I started to run through the details of the tournament. “The first contest is tonight. The Trial of Blood. I presume everything is in place for it?”

“It is,” Tyr said tightly, his long legs eating up the distance between us until he was guiding me into the stone tower, a hand holding the old wooden door open for me.

The tower was somewhat cramped, mostly just a spiral staircase with doors to unknown rooms punctuating landings every so often, and I assumed it must be primarily used by servants. Tyr gestured up the stairs and I began to climb.

“Then tomorrow is the Trial of Shadow,” I continued, running through the plans we had made in the days prior to the Samhain feast. “That will be the bloodiest.”

“Almost certainly,” Tyr agreed, continuing to climb a step behind me. He had adopted a businesslike tone with me, and it irritated me, despite the fact that I had done the same. “And then the Trial of Fire on the third day. You are prepared for that?”

“I suppose I will be,” I sighed, not entirely sure I would ever be ready. I would have to use my fire magic for at least one of the trials, and I cringed at the idea of using it for something so barbaric. “Three trials over three days, each symbolic of life, death, or rebirth as the Goddess and the Horned God dictate. I think we’ve done the thing justice in the planning.”

“Credit goes to you for that,” Tyr replied seriously, stopping me with a hand as I began to climb past the next door. “With all of your research to accommodate and honor the traditions of Shadow.”

“Oh,” I said, flushing at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

Tyr nodded, saying nothing as he gestured for me to walk through the wooden door. The hallway we entered was much wider than the winding stair passage, made of old gray stones and lined with intricate sconces filled with burning candles. Arched stained glass windows of varying shades of red and clear glass let some morning light into the hall, but it felt much darker than early morning should feel. The floor was carpeted with plush red rugs, the same color as the blood red of Tyr’s jacket, and tapestries with intricate drawings and embroidery lined the walls, making it feel cozier than the outside of the castle had seemed.