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He stops, twirling to face me so fast, I nearly topple into him. “You play?”
“No, but it’s fun to pretend I do.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, lucky enough for the both of us, I do. I consider it an unfathomable crime to own a piano and not know how to play it.” He nods at the other four doors that surround the landing. “There’s not much else here beyond bedrooms. The smaller ones, that is. And I can imagine you know where the terrace is.”
Asmo gestures for me to continue up the stairs to the third and final floor of the keep. The winding staircase curls around the open center, giving a clear view down the foyer, but as we reach the landing, this floor is grander than either of the two before it. The ceiling is made entirely of glass, glass that had been broken, leaving most of the floor open to the elements before. Except now, it’s not the sky above me, it’s some sort of liquid of blending blues, silvers, and whites.
“What is that?” I ask, staring up at that swirling liquid. It moves on its own accord, but as I peer closer, I can make out a map of our world behind it. It’s not just moving colors. The blue forms almost perfect circles, shooting through the white and silver only to stop at different places on the map.
“They’re souls. It’s a reaper window. They take souls to the ferryman in the Soul Well, but this map shows where all souls in the Seven Realms are.” Asmo’s hands are in his pockets as he watches me from the opposite side of the open landing, the circular hole that extends down the middle of the curved stairwell to the foyer spanning between us now.
“Did the Grim Reaper use this?”
The blue light reflects off his face, making the striking amber of his eyes more brown from here. “No. He made it for me.”
“You?” My brows knit together as I resume watching the colors shift.
“He raised me, and he disappeared all the time unannounced. It was part of the job, so he made this for me. That way, when I woke up to an empty keep, I could close my eyes, think of him, and know where he was.” As if to demonstrate, Asmo closes his eyes, his long lashes fanning his tan cheeks. The colors above us stop swirling, the white and silver forming a perfect circle around a clear section of the map. In a swift motion, one of the blue dots shoots toward the center of that opening, stopping on a place called Witchelm.
When he opens his eyes, he seems to lose himself in that little blue dot. Then as if remembering I’m here, he shifts, clears his throat, and returns that molten stare to mine. “Anyway, the library is just through there,” he says, pointing to an open archway. “Unfortunately, I was poisoned, so my magic is limited. I’m not sure I could fully restore the books anyway, but I’ll replace them.”
I scoff. “Limited? I’d hardly say this is limited magic.” Gesturing to the room, I do a quick twirl.
“Well, I had help. Not even I can create things out of nothing. I can manipulate and glamour items to look like something else. I can summon them from other places or send them away, but not create. There’s only one person in the Seven Realms with that ability.”
“The queen,” I breathe. “I was taught that she was of witch and nephilim blood, but I didn’t know it made much of a difference. I thought it just meant that she had no need for spells.”
He snorts. “She’s as different as they come, but she does use spells from time to time. They’re not always needed though. However, her witch side allows her to siphon magic from thingsaround her. It gives her an endless supply of magic, whereas demons, nephilim, and most other magical creatures who can use magic innately, tap into their souls. We can only use so much before it has to rest and regenerate. It gives her the ability to create things anew.”
Because drawing too much magic, draining the soul completely, would destroy it, along with all sense of morality.That’s the part he doesn’t say. It’s the part my people worry about.
“She helped you restore this place?” I slowly make my way around the banister, toward his side of the landing.
“Not by choice. By the time I returned from clearing the woods, she was here, putting the keep back together so I’d have a place to sleep, to clean up afterward. And like you, she seems to not listen to a single word I say. I tell you to get lost, you come back. I tell her I don’t need her help, she builds me a fucking keep. And since she’s seen all of my memories, she made it exactly how I remembered it, with a few upgrades.”
I tilt my head, wondering how someone like him could know the queen, to have her care so much for him that she worried he wouldn’t have a place to sleep… Then it hits me. The king and queen have children. I’m not sure of their ages, but it would explain his magic.
“She must care about you a lot,” I say, trying not to pry while letting my curiosity get the better of me. Except, he doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t elaborate at all beyond agreeing with me.
“Your bedroom is just through there.” He nods to the door on his right, then moves toward the one beside it.
“And that’s yours?” Daring to move closer, I watch his hands fidget in his pockets.
His head twists, angling slightly. “If you’re thinking of sneaking in while I’m asleep, don’t.” With lazy steps, he turns toward his door, opening it ever so slightly. “If there’s anythingyou need, we’ll get it for you tomorrow. For now, just settle in. We’ll have company by dinner.”
I don’t get to ask if it’s the queen coming. I don’t get to do much of anything as he slips inside his room and shuts the door, putting a definitive end to our conversation.
Retreating to what’s been dubbed my room, the door clicks shut behind me, sealing me inside what can only be described as a sanctuary sculpted from the darkness itself. For a moment, I stand rooted to the spot, my heart going quiet in my chest, frozen by the sheer awe this place instills in me. It's as if I've stepped into the queen’s quarters, not merely a bedroom within a demon's forgotten keep.
I inch forward, my steps silent against the obsidian marble that gleams beneath my feet. I almost feel guilty to be wearing muddied shoes in a room so clean—so perfect.
The floors reflect the odd dot-like designs. Symbols of some sort. Regardless, they seem to move on their own accord, shifting along the wall, as if I’m the center of their universe and those thin silver strands connecting those dots gravitate around me.
It’s a masterpiece, full of light and shadows, just like the man it was modeled for.
Pushing deeper into the enchanted space, my fingers ache to graze the surface of those walls, to trace the hard lines and intricate patterns, to sense the magic there pulse against my flesh. I’m certain it would be like everything in this keep, a contrast to what I’d known hours ago. It would feel like a living, breathing entity. It’d feel alive and hum with energy.
How ironic, considering this place is named after the Grim Reaper—a collector of the dead.
