Chapter Text
“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this.”
Wyll was hardly the first to voice such discontent with Svera and the decision she was about to make, but she supposed his was the opinion that lent the most weight.
Svera shrugged, making her way through the throngs of people in Wyrm’s Crossing to Sharess’ Caress where a devil awaited her within one of the service rooms. Her companions trailed behind her while Wyll was in her ear, lecturing her with his own history with a devil once again. She understood very well the trials Wyll had been through since offering up his soul to save the very city now once again under siege. But Svera was not Wyll. And Raphael was not Mizora.
“A devil is a devil,” said Wyll. “They may wear different faces, but they’re all the same.”
“He’s right, you know.” Karlach chimed in from behind them. “I should know.”
“I’m more concerned with just giving away the crown of Karsus to a devil who’s given us no reason whatsoever to trust him,” Gale said. “This is a rather large decision to just-“
“I’m sure your opinion has nothing to do with your own lofty goals, does it, Wizard?” Astarion cut in.
Gale looked ruffled, stammering to defend himself. Svera groaned.
“You’ve all made your opinions very clear, but I know what I’m doing. We have a chance to save Lae’zel’s people. Would you throw it away so easily?”
Lae’zel had been unnaturally quiet, perhaps because she was the only one who approved of Svera’s decision.
None of them knew the full extent of her plans though.
They wound their way up a set of stairs on the side of Sharess’ Caress, up across a balcony where several doors led to service rooms owned by the pleasure house. Raphael awaited them in the room beyond the farthest door. Svera didn’t labor to believe she was making a smart decision, at least not as far as self-preservation went, but she was certain she was making the right decision.
She didn’t bother to knock. She let herself into the room to find Raphael sprawled across a settee by the window sipping from a wine glass.
“I trust you’ve come to a decision?” He asked by way of greeting.
Svera stalked across the room, her flicking tail betraying her nerves to anyone who knew anything about tiefling anatomy. But she wouldn’t blanch in the face of this devil. She couldn’t if she wanted this to go according to plan.
“I have made a decision,” she said, stopping before Raphael and folding her arms.
His head was level with her navel and his eyes dragged up her body in a languid, diverting path, roving every inch of her. She felt as though she were being undressed and a shiver ran down her spine.
With a snap of his fingers, a contract appeared in Raphael’s hand.
“I hope it was what we agreed upon. The hammer for the crown. Give us your finger and-“
“No.” Svera interrupted.
“ No? ” An unbridled rage clouded Raphael’s handsome features for half a second before he quickly replaced it with a practiced neutrality. He cleared his throat. “Don’t waste my time, mortal.”
“I’m not here to waste your time, devil. I have some modifications to the contract I’d like to request.”
Raphael sat up straight, his wine glass disappearing with a wave of his hand. “Do tell,” he purred.
“You give us the Orphic hammer. You don’t get the crown.”
Again a fiery rage flickered in his eyes, so simple to miss if Svera weren’t studying him so intently. Devils liked to play games with their food, so why shouldn’t she string him along for a bit before she gave him what he wanted.
“I’m not in the habit of giving away my trinkets out of the goodness of the husk where my heart should be,” said Raphael.
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to. I have a counter offer in mind.”
“What could you possibly have that would interest me?” Raphael asked.
“What in hells are you playing at?” Wyll growled behind her.
Svera knew devils were a breed of their own. That making a deal with one at all was treading into territory she had no notion of. But she also knew what Raphael wanted. They had run into him far too many times now and she had seen the way he watched her, like a cat hunting its prey. Every inch he had given had come at a cost to her or her companions, but not so great a cost as she expected. He was, in his own way, ingratiating himself to her for this very deal.
But she would no sooner trust him with the Crown of Karsus than she would leave it in the hands of the Absolute. It was a creation that must be destroyed, removed from Faerûn forever.
So what indeed could she offer a devil for the hammer they needed to free Orpheus? What could tempt him when the crown was off the table?
She rested a hand on the head of the settee and leaned in close to Raphael, close enough to feel his breath against her neck as she brought her lips to his ear and whispered.
“What about my soul?”
His fingers dug into the fabric of the settee, his entire body rigid. The corners of his lips twitched upward and she knew he had won.
“Very well,” he said. “A soul for the hammer.”
“ What? ” Wyll lunged forward, gripping Svera’s shoulders. “This is worse than the original plan. You don’t know what you’re offering him, Svera.”
Svera gently pressed Wyll away. “My life is not worth more than an entire people.”
She met his gaze and knew then that he knew. Even if he disagreed with her, even if a piece of him died inside at the knowledge that his friend would make the same mistake he had made so many years earlier, he understood. Because she knew Wyll would give his soul for Baldur’s Gate a thousand times over. And while the githyanki were not Svera’s people, Lae’zel was her friend. She would make this sacrifice to save others. Her life wasn’t more important than theirs.
“ Hells ,” Wyll cursed. He turned his back to her and paced.
Karlach clenched and unclenched her fists, but said nothing.
Svera returned her attention to Raphael, who practically vibrated in anticipation.
“My soul for the hammer,” she confirmed. “With one caveat. You let me finish my work here in Baldur’s Gate with the Absolute. When they’ve been finished, when the Elder Brain is gone, my soul is yours.”
“Consider it done.” Raphael snapped his fingers and a new contract appeared. “You need only sign.”
Svera held her hand forward and his long fingers encircled her wrist, tracing a path along the inside of her palm, stopping at the tip of her pointer finger as a needle appeared between his fingers. He pricked her flesh and released her.
“Svera…” Karlach begged.
Svera pressed her bloody finger to the page and the contract glowed as the blood magic took its hold, binding and eternal.
Raphael smirked. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” The contract disappeared and in its place was the Orphic hammer, glowing as he held it forward.
Lae’zel rushed to take it from him, clutching it to her chest as her eyes met Svera’s.
“You will be a hero among the githyanki,” she said. “No thanks will ever repay your sacrifice.”
“How touching,” Raphael cooed. “Now run along and finish your work, little mouse.” His hands brushed Svera’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting.”
He disappeared in a puff of smoke.
At once every companion had something to say. All except Lae’zel, who was already on her way out the door undoubtedly to speak with Voss about the hammer, and Wyll, who had already resigned himself to Svera’s fate.
Astarion berated her for selling herself to a devil who would use her as he pleased, just as Cazador had done to him. Gale chastised her for her impropriety, though she suspected the part of him that lusted after the crown was secretly pleased. Shadowheart called her a blind fool. Karlach gave her an earful about what a devil owning her soul entailed, beating on her chest where her infernal engine sat to drive the point home.
“We could always steal your contract back,” Shadowheart posited. “If you have a means of getting to the hells.”
“Enough,” Svera growled. “My decision has been made. We’ll talk of it no more.” When Karlach opened her mouth to protest, Svera pointed a stern finger. “That’s final.”
As far as Svera was concerned, the actual reality of what Raphael’s ownership of her soul entailed could be a problem for the future. It all depended on surviving and getting this worm out of her head anyway.
She would face the consequences of her actions when her work was done.
The end came faster than Svera expected. Together with her allies, they had defeated the Elder Brain and now she stood at the edge of a dock in Baldur’s Gate, finally free of the incessant squirming in her head. In her hands, she held the crown of Karsus and found that it was not so easily destroyed as she had hoped.
She could, she supposed, throw it in the Chionthar. But someone would find it, and she worried that someone would be the very devil she hoped to keep it from. It was Gale who provided the compromise.
“Let me return it to Mystra,” he suggested. “Not for my own use, but to return some of that stolen magic to her. She will have no use for its power. Who better to protect it than a goddess?”
She had no better alternative, having been unable to destroy it with magic or brute strength.
“If I find you’ve used it-“ she began.
“You have my word,” said Gale as he sketched a bow.
Whatever that was worth. She had to trust him, as she trusted all of the companions that had been with her through this journey. She looked out across the Chionthar and sighed. When she awoke in a mindflayer ship with a worm in her head, all she wanted was to make her way back to her home in Baldur’s Gate. Against all odds she had done that, had survived, had saved her friends and her city.
But it had come at far greater a cost than she had ever dreamed.
She handed the crown to Gale and scarcely had he stepped away from her than Raphael’s breath was at her neck, his hands on her shoulders, digging into her flesh.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten our deal, little mouse.” He breathed against her ear.
A wave of revulsion washed over her.
“How could I?”
She tried to shrug his hands away and instead his hand slid up her throat to grip her chin. “No no, pet. You don’t belong to yourself anymore. You belong to me . The contract was bound with blood.”
Karlach’s flames flared and her jaw clenched. “Let us kill him for you, Svera.”
Svera laughed, Raphael’s hand still at her throat, the hard line of his body pressed against her back.
“You of all people should know you can’t kill a devil, Karlach. Not really.” He would show up back in Avernus and find his way back. And Svera suspected he would be none too pleased about the inconvenience.
“Smart little pet, aren’t you.” Raphael released her throat, trailing his hand along her collarbone and back to her shoulder. “I’ve upheld your little caveat. Time’s up.”
“Can I at least say goodbye-“
She saw one last glimpse of her companions before the flames engulfed her. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, the world spinning around her in a red wave, nausea rolling in her stomach as she squeezed her eyes shut. Wind roared at her ears, whipped at her hair. She tried not to be sick. The solidity of Raphael’s body at her back was not a reassurance in the slightest.
When she was certain she could handle the spinning and heat no longer, she came to a halt, and the warm scent of cardamom filled the room.
She opened her eyes to find herself at the very same table Raphael had whisked her away to during their first meeting. She could only assume the first meeting had been nothing more than a mirage, or else he had intentionally made her second journey here so viscerally unpleasant. Either option seemed plausible.
The table wasn’t set with food as it had been on their first visit, but a fire roared in the hearth behind them. Raphael waltzed around to face her, resting an elbow on his other arm while he tapped his chin and gave her an appraising look.
Svera held her head up high. She had an eternity with this devil, she would not begin it by bowing to him, even if he did intend to break her of any prideful habits.
“This armor does nothing for your figure, pet.”
He snapped his fingers and she was bare before him. Her hands moved instinctively to cover her breasts and he pried them away, running his finger along the grooves of cartilage that fanned out from the center of her chest.
“Hm,” he mused, looking at her less with desire and more as if she were a piece of art he must ensure fit with the rest of his decor. “No, that leaves too little to the imagination.”
Another snap of his fingers and she wore a new outfit. A gold chiffon skirt held to her waist with golden clasps, a matching gold brassiere now covering her breasts, her stomach bare, a golden adornment spiraling around the top of her tail. A choker at her neck felt more like a collar.
“That will do,” Raphael hummed. “Now what to do with you? So many ideas, I don’t know where I shall begin.”
Svera tried to control the rage burning in her chest at the thought of what fate awaited her. She had put herself in this situation to save the githyanki people. She hoped to whatever gods were listening it would be worth it.
Raphael paced before the fireplace, glancing sideways at Svera every few seconds.
“Perhaps a game of lanceboard,” he said, halting his pacing and facing her.
Svera balked. “What?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never played? You’ve not lived until you’ve played a rousing game of lanceboard.”
What was he playing at? She supposed nothing was ever straightforward with a devil.
“Of course I’ve played lanceboard,” she said. “I just-“
“Ah,” a knowing look gleamed in Raphael’s eyes. “You expected something else.” His eyes raked over her body and this time there was no questioning the lust behind his gaze. “There will be ample time for that, my dear.”
He turned on his heel abruptly and stalked through the doorway leading into a circular hall that surrounded the room. If Svera had notions of staying put they were summarily quashed but the phantom tug at her neck, forcing her to her feet and along Raphael’s path. She tripped over herself, willing her legs to move before she was dragged by the neck in his direction.
There was no accounting for a devil’s taste. The hallway was full of gaudy decor, garish gold crown molding, a portrait of Raphael in his human form hanging on the wall as they walked.
“Slow down,” Svera growled, rushing to keep up with Raphael as he wound through the hallway past several corridors leading elsewhere.
In response, Raphael walked faster and the collar tightened around Svera’s neck as it forced her forward until her feet were barely moving, dragging across the floor.
The cool metal of the collar dug into her skin and cut off circulation and she took in a gulp of air to relieve her burning lungs as soon as Raphael came to a halt at a large oaken door.
The door swung open before him, leading to an office within, shelves upon shelves of books lining the walls, the windows looking out upon the grim desolation of Avernus, an ancient desk made of fine wood taking up the center of the room. Raphael took a seat behind the desk and conjured up a lanceboard and its pieces, waving his hand to force a chair against the back of Svera’s legs.
She fell into the chair and held herself perfectly still.
“Black or white?” Raphael asked as the pieces arranged themselves on the board.
“I get a say?” Svera laughed humorlessly.
She wondered how long it would take her to understand the rules of this place. She had seen the unchecked rage that could take Raphael when he didn’t get what he wanted. He controlled it with a terrifying calmness. She wasn’t eager to find it uncontrolled and directed at her.
Raphael merely smirked at her, spinning the board so that the black pieces were closest to her.
Lanceboard had never been her strong suit. It was a rich man’s game, one she had picked up in her efforts to swindle high city brats out of coin, but never one she excelled at as she did with card games. It was also harder to cheat, though she didn’t think Raphael would tolerate cheating anyway.
She placed a pawn and sat back, waiting while Raphael observed the board.
“Can I expect any sort of orientation?” She asked.
Raphael’s eyes flicked briefly to hers then back to the board. “No.”
“And I suppose no routine to speak of.”
“That depends.”
“On?” She tilted her head.
“My mood,” he answered.
Although she had seen no one as they wound through the hallways, she labored to believe she was his only plaything. Devils collected mortals like dolls, lining them up to be used as they pleased.
There would be some semblance of routine when he was bored of playing with her. Supposing he didn’t find a use for her outside of the hells. She had been a rogue before the cultists stuck a worm in her head. Surely devils could use spies. Maybe she could hope for a taste of the mortal plane and a chance to see her friends once again…some day.
Raphael made his move and she put little thought into her next. This earned her a tightening of her collar, the piece she moved sliding back to its original position. The collar tightened until she couldn’t even get a gasp of a breath in. All the while Raphael watched her with an eerily placid expression, holding his hand up and squeezing it into a fist so that the collar tightened to the point that she was certain it would crush her windpipe. She clawed at the cool metal, the edges of her vision going black just as Raphael released his fist and the collar loosened back to the original position.
She slumped back in her chair, sucking in as much air as her lungs would allow, hyperventilating, her head spinning.
Raphael leaned forward slightly, folding his hands together in front of him.
“You are in my house now, pet, which means you’ll follow my rules. I asked you to play a game of lanceboard. Not let me win.” He pushed the board ever-so-slightly closer to her side of the table. “Now try again.”
Tears of effort stained Svera’s cheeks from her prolonged fight against the collar. She could make this harder for herself, if she was feeling particularly stubborn, but given that this was to be the rest of her existence, she preferred not to test Raphael again so quickly. She valued her neck too much.
So she examined the board and considered a move. The entire time, she felt Raphael’s eyes on her. She was prey being stalked.
She moved her knight and sat back.
“Now then,” Raphael purred. “Was that so difficult?”
The game was unpleasant, not least of all because Svera hated lanceboard to begin with. Whenever Raphael thought she hadn’t considered her moves thoroughly enough, her collar tightened in warning. In the end, he won, though not for lack of trying on Svera’s part. She was worried regardless of whether she won or lost, that he might find a way to punish her for it, but when the game was over, Raphael sat observing the board with a smirk on his face.
“It’s far more fun when you try.”
“You let Mol beat you before,” Svera noted. “At Last Light. You knew she was cheating.”
“Ah, yes. Young Mol. And what do you suppose the difference was?” Raphael quirked an eyebrow.
Svera already knew the answer. He let Mol cheat to make her feel she had the upper hand over a devil. He wanted her soul, for whatever reason. He already had Svera’s soul.
Straightening her spine, her neck aching from the beginning of the lanceboard game, Svera stared at Raphael.
“Is this what you plan to do with me? Play lanceboard and choke me when I misbehave?”
It was more than she would hope for if he said yes. She dreaded to think what else he wanted from her, if his lecherous gaze was any indication. But she had given her soul knowing what kind of torture a devil might inflict.
“I have many plans for you, little mouse. But we devils are nothing if not patient.” He snapped his fingers and the board reset itself. “Why not get acquainted first?”
Svera wasn’t exactly relieved, but she would take a thousand games of lanceboard over the alternatives.
“Have you no other guests to play with?” Svera asked, adjusting her tone to sound conversational while Raphael pondered his first move.
“I have plenty of other guests. They’re otherwise engaged until I have use of them.”
“Dare I ask what ‘otherwise engaged’ entails?”
Raphael glanced up from the board. “Use your imagination, dear.”
She bit back a grimace and schooled her face into a neutral expression.
“You played a tricky game offering up your soul in place of the crown,” said Raphael. “Not just any mortal could tempt me away from it.”
“I’m flattered,” Svera said without affect.
A subtle tightening of the collar. “Lying doesn’t suit you.” Raphael snapped.
“Fine. I won't pretend to be happy about this predicament. About an eternity spent at best playing lanceboard with you and at worst…” she shook her head. “But I’m here by my own volition. As you said, the contract was bound in blood. So,” she held her hands out, “what do you really want from me?”
A feline grin spread across Raphael’s face.
“ Patience , pet. You’ll find out in due time.”