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Mrak and I spent the afternoon in the courtyard and the great hall with his people, all of them shadow demons. Although I walked amongst them in a more human-looking form, I could feel the belonging now that I was a shadow demon. The surrounding energy was the same as what existed between Mrak and me, but at a much smaller level. A magnetism calling us all to one another like family.
Some of the shadow demons still regarded me with unease, but many approached to congratulate me on completing the transformation or to more formally pledge fealty to Mrak. Kids even came close, giggling with questions about Earth and humans, which I answered even as their parents dragged them away.
Good faith was hard to find, but it was being built this day now that tensions had fallen from when these refugees had first arrived. More yet still crossed the threshold into the palace grounds, at least another few dozen, as the day went on. Some from the outpost hit by yesterday’s attack, others who had left the capital of their own accord, hearing by word of mouth of Mrak’s return.
Mrak’s body and demeanor relaxed as the day went on. He was definitely no politician—and neither was I, for the record. But we talked and listened. We even healed some of the wounds his people had sustained in Sylas’s attacks. Which meant Mrak was teaching me new abilities.
And they were mine now. Before, I’d had magic only because I’d borrowed it from Mrak in our pact. My fire was his. Now this power, this magic, was all mine.
“Hold steady,” Mrak said over my shoulder as I knelt beside a young boy whose leg had been broken while escaping yesterday’s attack. “Don’t force the healing in. Keep your magic’s flow at an even pace. Picture knitting the wounds back together again versus forcing it whole.”
I smiled at the boy and gave him a slight eye roll. “Yes, sir.”
The boy giggled. My heart warmed, strengthening my confidence.
“I am only teaching her to do what we can all do to some extent,” Mrak explained, although he had no reason to. The boy’s mother clearly understood.
She held Mrak’s gaze with her own six crimson eyes. “Your brother’s demons leveled our home—the entire neighborhood. And for what? My boy has been in pain since then, but his suffering won’t end when we learn who survived that attack and who of his friends may have not.”
Mrak knelt beside me, his voice strong. “I promise you I will end this endless cycle of suffering. I will stop my brother.”
The woman lifted her chin. “And rule as you did before? I am young enough to remember your cruelty.”
“I was misguided,” Mrak admitted. “I will do better. You have my word.”
“It’s not me you need to worry about.” The woman nodded to the surrounding refugees. “We all deserve better. A life we can live carefree.”
Mrak clasped his hand over hers, a soft expression relaxing his features. “I promise you, things will be different. We will stop Sylas, and I will retake the throne. We’ll coronate your queen, and there will be peace and stability once more in Kithonia.”
The woman’s jaw locked tight. Tears danced in her eyes. She swallowed them down, wiping away those that fell down her cheeks with her free hand. “I certainly hope so.”
The wound beneath my hand healed. Bones knit themselves back together. Torn muscle and skin rejoined. The boy grinned first at me and then at his mother, who’d held his hand the entire time.
“There you go.” I gave his healed leg a pat with my hand and stood. “Take it easy for a few days, okay? No more worrying your mother.”
“Good job, Aisling,” Mrak said. He put a hand on my shoulder, his next words on his lips, when someone screamed.
“Help! A healer! Quick!”
Another couple of shadow demons joined the chorus. A few rushed toward the sound—other healers, no doubt. Mrak took my hand and led me there where, amongst his people, broken and bleeding and tattered, Karn swayed on his feet. Mrak ran forward and caught him barely in time before he fell to the crimson stone below.
The party who’d gone with Karn was nowhere to be seen.
I scouted the view outdo the courtyard’s archways anyway—not looking for the party who’d gone with Karn, but for Sylas himself. For this was most certainly a trap.
