Half-Demon's Fortune Read online

  Legends of Radenor

  Book 2

  The Half-Demon’s Fortune

  By Lina J. Potter

  Translated by Sofia Shcherbakova

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  The Half Demon’s Fortune

  He has achieved his revenge, enemies are beaten, Radenor has a new strong ruler. All hail King Alex! Neither courtiers nor Church and templars are happy about a half-demon at the throne. The royal castle is filled with backstabbers, even his own wife he never wanted but had to marry due to political reasons wants his death.

  Once he is summoned by a lady in a trouble. The lady, who turns out to be a princess of a neighboring kingdom Riolon, needs a demon's help to dissolve a horrible conspiracy. While figuring it out, he had to face intricate intrigues, find the way home and to find an answer to a question if the ruler deserves happiness and true love and if demons can ever love. Good, that he is a half-human. Bad, that it might cause too many problems to deal with.

  Contents:

  Welcome

  The Half Demon’s Fortune

  Contents:

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  About Lina J. Potter

  Book Recommendations

  Prologue

  Once again, Innis missed a discovery.

  The old pages resisted being turned, warping under her touch, and the paper had an icky smell, which made sense, considering how much time had passed since the book had last been opened.

  Innis stumbled upon it by a complete accident, really. She had simply climbed up to check the upper bookshelf in the library and the book twitched right under fingers, making Innis freeze in place, barely holding onto the old ladder with her feet. Something cracked, producing a nasty, annoying sound and, in a second, Innis was lying on the floor—a miracle, no doubt.

  Later, when she gathered her breath and climbed back up, she figured it out. One of the bookshelves was sawed out, turning it into something of a secret compartment.

  Where is the best place to hide a book? A library, of course. But it was more than just a book—a thin booklet barely finger-wide and with a red binding, a color that she found creepily similar to dried blood.

  Fine. She didn’t actually think it was dried blood. Back then, she was only interested in the book’s contents—gates and portals to other worlds, other lives, other countries... If she had no other way to travel, that was how she would do it. Books also helped to forget things...and herself.

  The book, however, didn’t help with that at all. As it turned out, it was a diary of her great-great-great-grandfather, a mage—and no simple mage, either, a necromancer. Riolonians held no respect for their kind and were always glad to help necromancers cleanse their souls with a bright flame, so their bare bones would be licked clean by the fire—especially since heresy had started gathering momentum in the bordering kingdom. They were saying that Radenor had completely gone off the rails! Can you believe it, their king stripped the church of its rightful tithe! He even forbade the hunting of mages! They haven’t burned them for five years already! And rumor has it that he’s a mage himself, maybe a necromancer, even!

  But if that were true, how could His Majesty give himself Princess Dariola’s hand in marriage? Two years had passed since the wedding, even if the Bright Saint hadn’t yet blessed the couple with an heir to the throne.

  Still, Innis didn’t really care much for those things; it’s not like she was going to ever visit the court. She would have loved to go to Radenor, though; at least there, she could finally feel safe.

  Innis Andago, the daughter of Count Sidon Andago, was a witch. Well, the proper term was “air mage”. She was pretty weak, however, having just enough power to summon a breeze, make a couple of clouds come to her or drive them away, create a draft inside a carriage to make it easier to breathe inside...

  Now she knew where she got her magic. Her ancestor had written that a mage’s gift was sure to get manifested in his progeny, there was no other way. It was blood, and blood couldn’t be faked, unless, of course, somebody’s mother got an heir from a dalliance with a stable boy. That had never happened in the Andago family, however.

  Oh, the Andago family...

  Innis was proud of her lineage and wanted to be worthy of her ancestors. Their images hung on the walls of the portrait gallery, all looking down at her.

  Finn Andago, the aforementioned necromancer, had black hair tied in a ponytail, black eyes, an arrogant expression on his face, a crooked nose, and a jutting chin. He still exuded power and authority.

  Tidann Andago, his son; the legends that nobody believed in said that he was an especially strong life mage who had saved lots of people, almost bringing them back from the afterlife.

  Their faces… All black-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned, and at the end of the row was her mother, Ritanna Andago. Black hair, fiery black eyes, a scarlet smirk on her lips, a haughty face, jade choker on her neck—she had known her worth.

  Yet love is blind. Oh mommy, why did you do that? And now, the Andago line was in danger of dying out, as Innis had every reason to fear.

  That’s how it went down.

  Innis had no idea what exactly about Sidon Timar, the youngest son of Count Timar, had impressed Ritanna so much, yet her mother married him. Still, as the last in the Andago line, she stipulated two strict conditions: after the wedding, her husband had to take her last name and become Count Andago. That was the first one.

  Did the husband agree? Wouldn’t you? Instead of a third son that nobody had cared about even once in a blue moon, he could become a count and his own master. He jumped at the chance.

  The second condition was that only Ritanna’s heirs would inherit Andago County, the title, and the money. The marriage contract made that clear.

  Later, when her mother was on her deathbed, Innis wondered, why she had done that.

  Why had she thought about that? After all, when people are happy, they barely think about their future. But her mother simply shrugged.

  I don’t know, Innie. I felt like it was my duty.

  After finding the diary, Innis realized that it had probably been the gift speaking. Even if it hadn’t manifested in her mother, the crumbs in her blood had been enough. Sometimes, the random things her mother used to say could turn out to be true. Her advice wa
s always appropriate, even if people didn’t listen to it at first, and her words rang true. Was it experience or manifestations of her gift?

  In any case, the papers were sent to the king to be stored there, while the Andago family lived in peace and had a daughter. They had no other children, but Ritanna wasn’t especially upset by that. The girl grew up healthy, smart, and happy, and as for a son...

  Well, if we get one, then good for us. If we don’t, we’ll just do the same thing all over again. Marry her off and get an adopted count! After all, our girl is no crocodile, she’s going to be a beauty!

  And truly, Innis was a real Andago through and through: the same black hair, the same eyes, the same alabaster skin, a haughty jawline…and the gift.

  It was a weak talent for air magic that she was hiding out of a childish habit from her mother, her father, the servants... That just made it more fun!

  Nothing could go wrong, it seemed.

  When Innis was thirteen, her mother faded away in two brief months, struck by a strange, unknown disease. The local servant recommended prayer, which didn’t help, while the life mage shook his head. He poured all his power into the countess as if she were an abyss, yet nothing helped. Maybe they could go to the capital?

  At first, they decided against that, but later, Ritanna would never have been able to survive the trip. She was dying fast, and all her family could do was hopelessly watch her decline.

  Innis spent her days and nights at her mother’s side, while her father drowned his grief in wine.

  ***

  He did the same after Ritanna’s death, and that was how he met Amorta.

  Amorta Morales was the youngest daughter of a baron. She wasn’t especially pretty, but she was smart, cunning, and calculating—or, rather, street-smart, practical and predatory. Actual intelligence was another thing altogether.

  She would never pass up on a profitable venture, even if she hadn’t read ten books in her whole life, and she didn’t pass it up when the opportunity presented itself in the form of Innis’ father.

  Innis had no idea what exactly transpired between them—thinking maybe he was drunk—but three months later, her father, blushing and averting his gaze, mumbled that he had to marry Amorta because she was heavy with child. You’re already a big girl, Innis, surely you understand these things...

  Oh, yes, Innis did understand them, and she threw a truly unchildish tantrum. She was yelling and hurling things. The dirt on her mother’s grave was still fresh and he couldn’t keep his pants on!

  Her father didn’t like that one bit, and the girl was rewarded with a slap. Offended, she turned on her heels and left.

  I will pay him back. When I turn twenty-five, I’ll become the countess and kick that traitor out on the streets. I won’t have to wait too long—just twelve years. I will do it.

  Innis didn’t say a word during the wedding or when everyone congratulated her. She even kept quiet at the wedding feast. Only the next day, when Amorta came down to have breakfast, pleased as a dog with two tails, did Innis finally break her silence. She was angry and cruel. When the subject of Amorta getting her chambers came up, Innis engaged in her first fight.

  “Honey, I should take the chambers next to yours, shouldn’t I?” Amorta murmured.

  Innis raised her eyebrows.

  “Why is that, ma’am?”

  Amorta winced.

  “Sweetie, you—”

  “The only sweet thing here is your lies,” the girl snapped. “Father, I urge you to observe proprieties.”

  Sidon raised his head only to lock gazes with his daughter.

  Ouch. That was like drowning in a deep pool: black, cold, bottomless.

  “Innis, I get it—”

  “No, father. You don’t.”

  “Shut up and listen to me! Amorta is my wife! She’ll bear you a brother! You might not love her, but you must show her the modicum of re—”

  “My beloved father…” While Innis talked, she looked just like her mother, all mysterious and malevolent. That was dark blood indeed. “It is hard to respect a woman who had as little shame as to climb into a widower’s bed while his wife’s body was still warm.”

  It was a wicked backhand, or it would have been if Innis hadn’t dodged it. Amorta’s hand rammed into the back of a chair and hung lifelessly.

  “Sidon! Siddy!”

  Innis’ father rushed to Amorta’s side, examining her hand and trying to comfort her, while the girl finished her tirade, her words cutting like blades.

  “A whore cannot occupy the chambers of a countess.”

  And then she left.

  ***

  Of course, Amorta got what she wanted, eventually, but she didn’t last there long; a ghost started haunting her. Each night, she felt chilled to the bone, and something rustled in the corners, whispering something in her ear.

  She had to move before she lost the child.

  As Sidon looked straight into Innis’ eyes, she met his gaze freely and unafraid. He wasn’t bold enough to accuse her of something directly, even if he realized that she was the only one who could profit from that. And Innis... Innis started to discover her gift.

  She was so happy that she had kept her mouth shut in her childhood! It allowed her to do so much now—chilly drafts that made her hated stepmother sick all the time, brazen winds that brought straw and dirt into her hair, weird rustling in the corners (wind could carry over voices just as well, after all). If she asked it, it would start murmuring, releasing whispers from the prison of its wings.

  Alas, she didn’t have enough power to do more. Although...would she bring herself to do that, really? Sentencing a person to death was scary and executing that sentence... On the other hand, when you are young enough, it’s so much easier to release a drawn bowstring of revenge.

  Innis searched through the entire house looking for her grandfather’s belongings, other than the diary. She needed anything that could help.

  She didn’t find it.

  ***

  Amorta bore a son, whom they named Ingor. Innis’ father didn’t have the heart to add the double “n,” mandatory for all Andagos. That was back then, though. Since that time, he has grown bolder.

  Did Innis love her brother? That is a funny question. She didn’t even think of him as a brother. He was an offshoot, not much more.

  Her father was furious and Amorta schemed to turn him against his daughter. She got her way; Sidon decided to marry Innis off.

  His choice of husband was too much for the girl to handle: their neighbor, Amorta’s younger brother, the sixth son of a baron, an idiot and a featherbrain. The boy had already visited them together with his father to look at his prospective bride and Innis barely held back vomit. He was a real tapeworm—flaxen-haired, light-eyed, face resembling a sorry pancake and a turnip nose. How could she even take his hand?

  Yet, she had nowhere to turn. Before she reached her legal age, her father could marry her off. And then, he would reign the boy in with the help of his wife, and even if Innis became Countess Andago, she would play second fiddle to everyone else in the house. She wouldn’t be able to kick anyone out or stop anybody. She might even die of an accident during childbirth. Before she was married, she could at least do something; after that, she wouldn’t have any freedom left at all. Amorta was already robbing her of her last leverage.

  What a viper! Whatever! I’ll get even. It’s a good night tonight, a dark one...

  Innis smirked, looking in the window. That’s right; it was a new moon, not a star in the sky. The night was coal-black, with a few clouds from somewhere. Good. The perfect night for my plan.

  Slowly, Innis took the diary in her hands and turned the pages.

  Her ancestor had generously shared his experience, leaving no secret unrevealed. There were descriptions of rituals and all the details. Thank you, great-grandpa.

  It was a fragile hope at best; everybody knew that there were seven types of magic, and if one had one, they could never use anot
her. That was true; Innis couldn’t control fire, or water, or...

  Necromancy was a different thing.

  There was a reason why the church hated it so much. Necromancy strongly depended on blood. If that power was ever present in your bloodline, it would never fully go away; it would leave a trace. And Innis had enough of that blood; it was clear just by looking at the family portraits. She was Andago, flesh and blood. Of course, appearance wasn’t everything, but she had all the other things as well: her gift, her personality. It was no coincidence that they told her she was just like her mother and grandfather when it came to her temper.

  The top of the tower was clean and quiet. A highborn countess wasn’t above mopping the floor.

  A few candles, a piece of chalk, a pentagram...

  Innis concentrated, then pierced her finger with a needle and touched the chalk with the tip of her finger. She would have to repeat it later, one time for each line of the pentagram. Let her blood mix with the chalk; that would enhance the protection, which was important for her.

  And then...

  Innis focused again. At times, she felt like the power inside her pulsated, beating like a second heart. Everything coiled into a tight spring, tightening in anticipation. Come on!

  And like a spring uncoiling, her gift was unleashed. No, not necromancy. Her own gift, air magic.

  If Innis could see herself, she would be very surprised. Her talent was far too weak for that! But having focused, she couldn’t pay attention to anything else.

  She should have. Clouds gathered above the tower, swirling as if stirred with a teaspoon, and an invisible string sang in the sky while miniature whirlwinds danced around the girl.

  Innis pulled out all the stops, and in magic, that means something. You could even say, it plays the defining role.

  The next step was the glyphs: death, summoning, blood, hunt, demon.