I soon found myself standing in a line of Dreadthorn’s top officials—myself, Mona, Phaedra, a couple of priestesses I didn’t know, and some of the Generals, including Shatterbone. A line of visitors had queued up to meet and greet us. Most of them were prominent citizens of Dreadthorn, as well as some honored visitors from abroad. Mona had advised me to be as Lordly as possible.
I certainly intended to try.
They had positioned me farthest from the entrance to the gardens, the last and most important stop along the introduction tour. Mona stood at my left side, and Ilmatar stood slightly behind me and to my right. As each guest approached, he whispered their name and station in my ear. The first fifteen guests or so hadn’t been particularly memorable and were mostly minor officials who worked within the tower and were first to arrive to meet their new Lord and Master. I filed their names and faces away for later, trusting that so far, my new mind seemed to have a memory like a steel trap.
A rather stocky demon with altogether too much facial hair was next.
“Gil Ravennest, my Lord,” Ilmatar helpfully supplied. “The head of the smith’s guild, who crafts most of our armaments.”
Gil reached Mona and bowed deeply to her, taking her hand and saying, “High Priestess, it is an honor. You are a magnificent vision.” Compared to the others I’d seen so far, I thought he bowed a little deeper and for longer than was strictly required by etiquette. As he kissed her hand, I felt a flash of something—possessiveness, perhaps? I knew I was being ridiculous, but my stomach still twisted for a moment. I wondered if a flawless memory wasn’t the only thing my new body had given me. Had it made me quicker to anger? To covet? Even someone who was not, in any true sense, mine—even if everyone here thought she was.
“The honor is mine,” Mona replied smoothly. She looked at me, perhaps sensing something in my energy, and withdrew her hand.
Gil rose and turned to me, though this time he sank to his knees and bowed until his head was against the ground. The temple garden did not have grass, but was covered in a spongy purple moss that seemed to serve the same purpose.
“Dark Lord, you honor us all with your presence,” Gil said.
“You may rise, Gil Ravennest. I hear you have been vital to the war effort.”
He stood and looked up at me, then bowed his head slightly. “I live to serve, my Lord. All of us at the guild are happy to offer our sweat and blood for Dreadthorn and for you, Great One. Your legions will be fully armed before the march.”
Wait, will be? We don’t have enough weapons and armor yet? When Shatterbone told me the size of our legions, I had naively assumed they were all fully equipped and supplied. But I knew why he might have omitted that detail—no one wanted to give bad news to Greg-Theryx, Dark Lord of the Void, a capricious and vengeful master even at the best of times.
As Gil moved on, my eyes wandered over the steady stream of guests still filing through a gate in the wall that led into the temple garden from outside. Some members of the Winged Legion were standing guard. I had spotted a few of them keeping watch around the garden’s perimeter and on the walls above us, crouched on the battlements, pikes in hand, no doubt ready to swoop in if needed.
Lucifron stood near the garden entrance, leaning casually against the black stone wall, wearing a dress uniform but with a gleaming black sword prominently hanging at his hip. His eyes focused briefly on each guest before moving on, his face unreadable. He must have noticed me watching, for his eyes turned to me for a moment, and he gave a subtle bow.
I nodded, then turned my eyes to the next guest—a diminutive demon, barely three feet tall, with tiny wings and a puckish expression. A trim black beard hung from his chin.
“I have no clue who this is,” Ilmatar whispered unhelpfully.
The demon was too short to take Mona’s hand without stretching, and thankfully didn’t even try, instead choosing to bow from the waist. “Praises to ye, High Priestess,” he said.
I assumed he was going to say something else, something more elaborate and formal like the other guests we’d met so far. But a moment later, he stood and walked towards me, apparently finished with Mona Fell. She blinked her eyes, and gave me a look that was a mixture of confusion and indignation.
As the demon reached me, he bowed again, this time placing his knees in the moss. “Oh, Dark Lord Greg-Theryx,” he said. “I am eternally grateful that you have arrived to save us.” After a moment, he got up from his knees and began brushing the moss off his legs. None of the other guests had done that, at least not while standing before me.
“Uh,” I said, momentarily at a loss until I felt Ilmatar step forward.
“You miserable little imp,” Ilmatar said, “don’t you know how to—”
“It’s all right, Ilmatar,” I said, waving my hand. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene and have to stab this little guy for being rude. I looked down at the imp again. “I don’t believe our guest intended any offense.”
“Gracious apologies!” he said, a hint of fearful whining in his voice. “I prefer to defend rather than offend myself.” It seemed clear that whatever had just happened had probably resulted more from ignorance than any intentional rudeness.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I said. “Tell me who you are.”
He nodded, his eyes wide now. “Yes of course, my Lord, I’m Fitzpick Rozzlenoggin. At the farm we had a contest, you see, and the best imp got an invite to the feast.”
“So you’re the best imp,” I said, not understanding what he was best at, but as soon as I said it Mona smirked in the corner of my eye. She collected herself quickly, and shook her head.
“Oh yes, my Lord, my production is unmatched.”
“Keep up the good work, then.”
“Aye, m’lord, I damned sure will, you betcha,” he said, then his eyes widened and he dropped to the ground again. “Forgive my poor words, Dark Lord. I forgot meself again.”
“It’s no matter,” I said, with a shrug. No one else could hear us besides Mona and Ilmatar. “Enjoy the Feast, Fitz.”
“Fitz?” he said, looking up at me from the ground, his eyes widening like saucers. “From this day forward, I am Fitz!” he shouted. “You have honored this undeserving imp!”
Before I could say anything, he rose from the ground and hurried away, headed for one of the large tables at the edge of the garden, quite far from the head table where I and the rest of the higher rank officials would be sitting. I glanced at Mona, and mouthed the words, What just happened?
She leaned towards my ear. “I’m pretty sure he thinks you just gave him a new name.”
I didn’t have much time to think about it because the next guest coming down the line was unlike the others. He appeared to be a lamia, as if someone had taken a humanoid, replaced their bottom half with a giant snake, then dressed them in red and black robes. Though his top half had humanoid arms and torso, his skin was green and scaly, and his head had a wide hood like a cobra. Shatterbone seemed to particularly like this one, for some reason, as he clapped the snake on the shoulder as he passed. The General hadn’t done that to anyone else.
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“Foreign Minister Ilen Zxystar,” Ilmatar said, “from the Principality of Ophidium. Likely, he has come here to curry favor with us.”
“Don’t promise anything,” Mona whispered to me. I wanted to say that I wouldn’t have done so anyway, but Ilen was already slithering toward us, so I remained silent and put on a neutral expression.
At last he arrived before Mona and bowed his broad head before her. He briefly took her hand, but thankfully he did not try to kiss it. “High Priestess-s Desdemona Fell,” he said, in slow but perfectly understandable Demonic. As he spoke, his tongue flicked in and out of his mouth. “It is a pleas-sure to make your acquaintance. As our peoples are natural, longstanding friends, it is my fervent hope for strong relations between Dreadthorn and my humble Ophidium.”
“Of course,” Mona replied, “and we are most pleased to have you here to celebrate our Lord and Master’s return to this world.”
Ilen released her hand and straightened upwards, then turned towards me and bowed deeply from the waist. I noticed he did not grovel on his knees like the others had. From reading the Book, I knew I was technically his god as well, though it seemed that worship of Greg-Theryx wasn’t quite as widespread or fanatical in the other monster kingdoms compared to Dreadthorn.
“Avatar of Greg-Theryx, Master of the Void, God of All Void-touched … I am in awe of your presence. Though not all of Ophidium follows your divine path, I hope you know I have been a devout follower since I was a mere hatchling. Knowing that you would visit our world during my lifetime, I have long dreamed of meeting you in the flesh.”
I nodded at him. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Please rise, Ilen Zxystar.” As I spoke, I realized my voice had changed, my words transformed to slurred hisses. Instinctively, I’d also made an accompanying gesture with my hands, first two fingers folded and the rest extended.
Without intending to, I had switched to the language of Ophidium, Vipertongue. I was certain I’d mispronounced his last name slightly, but in my defense I had only heard it once, and it was not an easy name to say. To Ilen’s credit, this had no effect on the look of awe in his wide eyes.
Remembering Mona’s advice not to promise anything, I felt I should try to avoid mentioning politics. Since he was their Foreign Minister, I wondered how much of what he’d said was true and how much was mere flattery. “Thank you for coming to visit us and for your faith,” I continued.
He switched to Vipertongue as well and said, “I must admit, Lord, my visit is not merely a pleasantry or to satisfy my own desires—I come to you during a grave time for the Principality of Ophidium, and indeed, for all—”
Our attention was ripped away by the sound of shouting near the other end of the line of dignitaries. A regal woman wearing an absurdly long dress had cut in line in front of several people who were loudly objecting. But then she turned and said something I couldn’t hear, and they grew quiet. Their faces looked a little paler than before.
As I looked closer, I saw the woman had skin like porcelain, white hair to match, and bright red, piercing eyes. The dress looked to be of a similar material as Mona’s, though the color was a deep ruby. It was cinched at the waist below a modest bodice, but puffed out considerably around her legs. Behind her, two other women were carrying the train of her dress, to keep it from dragging.
Ilen’s attention had followed mine, and I saw him visibly stiffen, then sigh.
“No matter,” I said to him, “only a distraction. You were saying?”
He smiled at me pleasantly, then shook his head. “Forgive me, Great One, but I do not wish to cause a scene at your feast.” He bowed again. “If you will grant me a small measure of your time, perhaps we could meet tomorrow to discuss relations between our two nations.”
“It will be done,” I said.
“I am pleas-sed,” he said, switching back to Demonic. “Thank you kindly, Mas-ster…” And with that, he nodded and slithered away. Rather quickly, I thought, as if he was afraid of who was coming in fast behind him.
The new woman sailed past most of the officials in line. Whoever she was, and I could tell already she was no demon, she did not seem to care about the Generals or the lower-ranked priestesses. To Phaedra and Shatterbone, who were standing a few positions down the line from Mona and I, our new guest gave only the briefest of nods.
“Princess Nymphyra Aran,” Ilmatar whispered, “Heir to the Throne of the Queendom of Arachnia.”
Only then did I look down and realize what the train of her dress concealed. I saw the flash of some of her eight legs below the hem, stepping with precision through the moss. Presumably, there was also a spinneret hidden somewhere under there. Holy shit, I thought, so this is what spiderfolk look like. Though the part of her I could see was mostly human.
No wonder Princess Nymphyra hadn’t liked me talking to the Foreign Minister of Ophidium. After all, they were at war. That made the prospect of getting military support from either of them difficult unless we tipped the scales to one side and “helped” the war come to an end. Of course, whoever we screwed over would likely never forgive us, and I had no idea about the origins of their conflict or the relative strength of their powers. For all I knew, to gain either one’s support would cost more resources than it was worth to us, and Dreadthorn appeared to be in a hard way already—an unfortunate situation all around.
Princess Nymphyra stopped when she reached Mona, perhaps deciding that as my left-hand woman, Lady Desdemona Fell was important enough to deign with a moment of the Princess’s time.
The Princess did not bow, but she did curtsy. To my surprise, Mona bowed to her instead, placing her hand behind her back and leaning forward at the waist. I supposed as foreign nobility, there were some conventions here I didn’t fully understand. At least these matters of etiquette were easy for me, as I never needed to bow to anyone.
“Your dress is marvelous, Lady Desdemona,” the Princess said. “I absolutely love the shade, and of course…” She paused with a smirk. “…you chose the finest possible material.”
“You flatter me, Princess.”
“I believe I flattered both of us.” The Princess winked at Mona, then nodded politely and turned away, deciding perhaps that her work there was done.
A wide smile broke upon her face as she looked at me and skittered forward. “And Greg-Theryx, the Dark Lord himself.” She casually fanned herself with her hand. “I must admit, seeing you here, you surpass even my high expectations.” She bowed forward, holding her hand out to me—this was new, and for a moment I wasn’t sure how to respond. But then I took a chance, reaching forward and clasping her hand in my own. She had long, delicate fingers, not so different from a human. She tilted her head and looked up at me expectantly, a playful smile on her lips.
I supposed I was expected to kiss her hand, or at least, I hoped I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself in doing so. I raised her fingers to my lips, barely touching her, then let go. Now it was perhaps Mona’s turn to feel left out—I could feel her cold regard from the corner of my eye.
The Princess cradled her kissed hand in the other. “You honor me, God of Monsters and Beasts.” She appeared to be blushing now. “My apologies—I had no idea you would be this charming or nearly so tall, and I find myself quite unprepared, Dark Lord.”
Like Ilen’s flattery, I had no idea how much of her flirtation was genuine. Perhaps none. “Princess Nymphyra Aran of Arachnia,” I said, and I realized I was speaking in a different language once again, a fluid and intricate one, less harsh than the Ophidian tongue and without any hand signs. Wait, I knew the Arachnian language as well? Could I instinctively speak in every language of this world? “I am pleased you have graced my feast with your presence.”
She beamed and took a step towards me. I felt Mona tense up again, watching us, and wondered what she was thinking of all this. The Princess leaned in, and switching to Arachnian she said, “You honor me, Dark Lord, by such skilled use of my people’s language. If you will oblige me, we simply must speak further later, in more relaxed environs. There is much for us to discuss. I am only sorry that deceitful snake Minister Zxystar reached you first. All I ask is that before you make any decisions regarding Arachnia or my people, please lend me your ear so that we may have a heart-to-heart. Arachnia has much to offer you, and so do I.” Those last few words she spoke slowly, almost huskily, in my ear.
“Of course,” I replied, trying to sound neutral. “I look forward to speaking with you more, Princess. As you say, I’m sure we have many common interests.”
Princess Nymphyra smiled sweetly at me, then composed herself before nodding at Mona and Ilmatar. She turned and gracefully walked away on her eight legs, her two handmaidens following silently, carrying the train so that none of it ever touched the ground. I realized the other two women were also spiderfolk, though their dresses were less elaborate, and I could see more of their own legs, as well as furry spinnerets.
Mona cleared her throat in an obvious way, and I turned to look at her. “What the hell was that?” she asked.
I realized she couldn’t speak Arachnian, which made it even more surprising that I could. “I’ll, uh, tell you later.”
She rolled her eyes at me, then turned her attention to the next guest in line—thankfully just a regular old demon this time, a Count of one of the small burgs on the outskirts of Dreadthorn.
The rest of the guests passed in a blur, an assortment of all manner of demons of various sizes, colors, and ranks. I greeted them in turn, trying to give each one my full regard and attention, which they soaked in gratefully. My devoted faithful.
But still, the Princess’s last four words echoed in my mind. And so do I. The more I thought about it, the more I realized a spider woman had almost certainly propositioned me. I had no idea how that would even work, anatomically. Though her upper half, at least, had appeared perfectly human.
Perhaps Mona sensed the subtext behind the Princess’s words even if she hadn’t understood them, because for the rest of the introductions, she kept glancing at me whenever she thought I was distracted. There was something new in her eyes, something I hadn’t seen there before—uncertainty, annoyance, perhaps even jealousy. Maybe it made me an asshole, but I realized I liked it. Because if she thought that way, it could only mean she felt there was something between us.
Or she wished there would be.