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Back Seven Devils
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. 7.
  10. 8.
  11. 9.
  12. 10.
  13. 11.
  14. 12.
  15. 13.
  16. 14.
  17. 15.
  18. 16.
  19. 17.
  20. 18.
  21. 19.
  22. 20.
  23. 21.
  24. 22.
  25. 23.
  26. 24.
  27. 25.
  28. 26.
  29. 27.
  30. 28.
  31. 29.
  32. 30.
  33. 31.
  34. 32.
  35. 33.
  36. 34.
  37. 35.
  38. 36.
  39. 37.
  40. 38.
  41. 39.
  42. 40.
  43. 41.
  44. 42.
  45. 43.
  46. 44.
  47. 45.
  48. 46.
  49. 47.
  50. 48.
  51. 49.
  52. 50.
  53. 51.
  54. 52.
  55. 53.
  56. 54.
  57. 55.
  58. 56.
  59. 57.
  60. EPILOGUE
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHORS

“She has a votive gift for our Ascendant Oversoul,” Damocles said smoothly. “An offering for our new future.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nyx said, noticing the box Eris was carrying. “Move. We need to move.”

“Why?”

“Remember what Rhea said? Damocles won’t take the fall for this. He’s got Eris holding the godsdamned weapon.”

56.

PRINCESS DISCORDIA

Present day

Discordia’s vision was a tunnel of stars. It was bright around the edges, as if she were walking into a dream. She heard voices. They sounded like a flurry of birds taking off into the sky—

One voice was clear.

Damocles’s voice was a whisper in her ear, a vibration through her bones. It was heat in her bloodstream, straight to her brain. A terse command was lodged there, one she couldn’t hear yet.

But she was supposed to follow him until then. Focus on his light, on his features. His fingers beckoned her forward.

A gift. Discordia carried a gift. A box in her hands.

It was important, she knew. Somewhere in the back of her mind—buried so, so deep—a warning sounded. So small, the buzzing of a pest.

Damocles called her name, and she batted the warning away.

The voices went quiet as she moved forward. She looked out at them, at this sea of colors and light and—were they . . . people? Where was she? She couldn’t remember. Her head hurt too much. The pain in her mouth pulsed in time with her heart.

“Discordia?”

That voice. She knew that voice.

Hands gripped her arms. She stared at a man she recognized from deep in her memories.

“Father,” she tried to say, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a rough croak, a pathetic sound. They’d used nanites to staunch the blood, but Discordia could still taste iron.

His eyes were as sharp as she remembered, like roughly cut gemstones. “General, if you’ve brought me another pretender . . .” His fingers tightened and Discordia almost cried out. Her skin hurt. Everything hurt.

“Her DNA is a perfect match,” Damocles said, as if from a great distance. “I wouldn’t sully such an important occasion with false hope.”

The crowd’s whispers grew to hisses. Questioning shouts rose, hushed by the steady, calm tenor of the Evoli Ascendant. “What a gift to have such a reunion,” she said. “But unexpected and unforeseen in our negotiations. Will your true Heir honor our truce?”

True Heir. Discordia saw how much this chafed her brother. His jaw tightened. “She’s not in a position to be Heir to anything,” Damocles snapped.

Father barely appeared to listen. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked Damocles.

“Drugged and broken by the Novantae,” Damocles said. To any onlooker, his tone would have sounded indifferent; Discordia heard the hint of satisfaction in it. Of victory. “So, now you know why the resistance have made such impressive strikes against the Empire. They had her help.”