Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 38: A Deadly Proposal (Part 1)

A/N: Music is The Truth Unravels by Two Steps From Hell. Play it!

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I reel back in shock. Diomedes—Diomedes is currently occupying Sir Isaac's body.

Sir Isaac. Disgruntled, demanding, yet caring. I realise that I may not have a chance to talk to him after this.

"Why Sir Isaac?" I say dumbly. "You had Sir Kendrick in your possession. The Bane has a far higher ranking than him!"

"Because," coughs Diomedes, almost as though in apology, "I made the mistake of stabbing him. Unfortunately, with my current power, I can only possess one person at a time. But I see that I've made the right choice." He flashes a smirk. "You seem so much more...agitated."

"What do you want?" I growl, wondering if I can try to reach for Miraterciel. I foolishly forgotten to unsheathe it the moment I stepped into the second laundry.

A sinister smile plays on Sir Isaac—Diomedes' lips. "Didn't you hear? I want the two of you to relay a message to the king."

"Why drag Gilbert into this? Why Sir Isaac? It's me you want."

"Oh my, so your fellow Champion hasn't told you anything? And despite all his claims about trusting you so much..."

Beside me, Gilbert starts to thrash even more violently against the shadows. Useless. They just tighten around him and start to entwine upwards, threatening to choke him to death.

Fortunately, he relents in the end, relaxing against the grip of the tendrils. As an alternative defiance, he shoots Diomedes a fierce glare. "What do you want from him? Stop fooling around with me!" Gilbert snarls. I look at him in disbelief. Is he saying that he's Diomedes' true target? The Pietists must be toying with us.

"You know, if you two don't shut up for a moment, I can never announce my little proposal." The necromancer lifts up a hand and curls two fingers into his palm. The shadows clamp over the mouths of us two Champions. Irritation laces my nerves. He must have somehow known about the compulsion through our voices. And just when I've cooled down sufficiently to use my power, he takes away my ability of speech. If I could open my mouth, a flurry of curses bound to shock the most vulgar drunklord alive would pour forth from it.

"Ah, much better. That's what I prefer—a silent audience." An expression of self-satisfaction splays across the necromancer's face.

Fury gnaws at the pit of my stomach; I fight to keep it down, wanting to keep my head as cool and clear as possible.

"Now, if you two would be so kind, I want the king to know that a ghost army will be breaching this fortress within a month."

Gilbert and I give each other side-glances. I don't have to read his mind to know that we are sharing the exact same thoughts: Why give us a warning? Why doesn't he just launch a surprise attack instead? Most of all, why doesn't he just end it all by killing both of us here and now, the only obstacles on his road to victory?

"Unless...the both of you agree to something." He pauses here; the tension heats up to a nearly insufferable degree. I squirm uncomfortably in my bindings. He casts us a level stare.

"Join my side."

We both stare at him.

"I'm serious," he promises with utmost solemnity.

Now, even if I could speak freely, I'd be speechless. Is Diomedes jesting? Does he really think that we'd agree to turn our backs against the world so easily?

"Before I release your tongues to hear your protestations, consider this: You two may be Champions of War, but you two have yet to fully come into your true capabilities. My point? Don't fight a futile fight. You have a good inkling of who would be the victor, should there be a war between my army and your mortals.