“If you call succeeding stupid, then no promises,” I said. “I promise to never let her die.”
They prepared in silence, each of them seemed as if they had seen a ghost or were, perhaps, about to. Nate fussed with straps and bandages, always practical, hands trying to fix what they could not fix. Eve checked her rifle, eyes on Lionel more than the weapon, while he patched her up to stop her from leaking. Ashley loaded her gun and looked through her bombs with a conviction that resembled a prayer.
When we moved, it was tense. Lionel pressed a hand to my shoulder, the contact brief and steady. “Come back,” he said, no flourish, no command. It carried the weight of a man who had lost and learned the cost. It was close to a plea.
I should have objected, but I didn’t. Instead I turned towards the castle, the black teeth of its gate yawning like a maw, and felt the tether tighten one last shivering notch.
The others melted into the shadows of the east cliff, five of them becoming a single, silent plan. I watched them go until the fog swallowed their shapes. Once I was sure they were out of sight, I walked out into the open space.
The first thing that noticed me was the sky and wind, stilling around me. The castle’s gate opened in a slow, patient manner, as if it had been waiting for me all along.
I shouted then, not a call, a challenge, cutting clean through the mist. The threads answered in my blood, hot and bright. They uncoiled like beasts unleashed.
If the Demon King came for me because I was his son, I would be the son he wished he never had. If he came for me because I was standing in his way, then I’d become the wall he couldn’t break.
Either way, I would saveher.
CHAPTER
31
—Ethalyn—
The doors to the throne room groaned open, each hinge screaming like a stuck pig. The air inside was thick with smoke and sulfur, clinging to the back of my throat until every breath burned. Shadows trembled across the high obsidian pillars, and firelight pooled at the feet of the dais like spilled blood.
And there he was, the Demon King.
He sat upon his dark seat as if the world itself bent to his will. His crimson hair caught the light like liquid flame, and his eyes, had the same hue as Malakai’s when the demon side slipped through. But the King’s were sharper, devoid of humanity. The resemblance to Malakai hit like a physical blow, the same arrogant beauty carved into their bones but luckily that was where the similarities ended. Malakai’s heat could consume you, while his father’s could unmake you. Malakai might’ve been harsh at times, but he did things out of care. His father lacked empathy completely.
“Come closer, little flame,” he said, voice a deep purr that made the air itself vibrate. “I tire of shouting across rooms.”
I didn’t move. “Sounds like you’re getting old.”
He laughed softly, and the sound echoed off the walls. It wasn’t pleasant. It was the laughter of a tyrant who’d forgotten what mortals were.
In the corner, Zinlia stood like a statue, hands clasped neatly, her emotionless gaze tracking my every twitch. Somewhere behind me, I felt Iris’s restless movement, energy coiled and cruel, eager for any excuse to hurt me. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as I insulted their beloved King, waiting for a sign from him to allow her to repay the favor.
The Demon King rose, every motion deliberate. His clothing moved like curling shadows around him. “You burn brighter than the others did,” he said, stepping down from his throne. “No wonder my son finds you… fascinating.”
My jaw clenched. “You don’t know him.”
“Perhaps not,” he mused. “But I know what he is, and what he’s drawn to.” His eyes swept over me, calculation evident inside them. “Demons crave fire, girl. It’s in our nature. You bring us life, warmth. My son’s obsession with you…” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Was inevitable. You were never a woman to him, only a flame he wanted to possess.”
I scoffed dryly, even as my blood began to boil. “You really think you can make me doubt him that easily?”
He smiled wider. “No, but I can make you wonder.”
The flames of the torches faltered, as if the room itself cowered in fear. He lifted one hand, and the fire in the nearest brazier bent towards him like it answered his call.
He wasn’t a fire-wielder… yet it listened to him?
“Do you know why there are no others like you left?” he asked, softly, almost gentle. “Why your kind are little more than whispers in old texts and bedtime stories?”
Unease knotted in my stomach. I had never questioned it; I simply thought that fire-wielders were uncommon. I remember Michlael and Nicron calling me a gem, because I was the first they had seen in a long time, but not that I was theonlyone. Perhaps the Demon King was playing with my mind.
“I know what demons do to mages,” I answered. “I guess they weren’t as lucky as me.”
He stepped closer, and I felt the heat roll off him, not comforting, not mortal, but suffocating, heavy and endless. “No, you don’t. You think we only tempt your kind into bargains out of greed or devour you to survive. But I have no need for that sort of inefficiency. I take something far more valuable.”
