Page 16

My heart hammers. Trading with black-market merchants in Vhoig is risky even on a good day. Doing so while we’re both fugitives—one a demon enforcer turned traitor, the other a sacrificial victim who mysteriously escaped—feels like wading into shark-infested waters. But as Malphas said, we have no choice.

We slip into the building. Dim light and the musty scent of old incense greet us. At first, it appears abandoned, the single room cluttered with crates. Then a figure emerges from behind a curtain—a wiry, middle-aged woman with haggard features. She’s human, scars marking her forearms. Dark hair streaked with gray frames a cautious expression.

Her mouth falls open at the sight of Malphas. She fumbles for a curved dagger at her belt, but he lifts a placating hand. “We mean no harm. We need supplies.”

She spares a glance at me, noticing the tattered clothes and injuries. Suspicion wars with curiosity on her face. “Supplies, hmm? I don’t run a charity.” She eyes Malphas warily. “Nor do I want trouble with your…kind.”

Malphas’s wings twitch, but he keeps his voice measured. “We can pay. Or exchange favors if necessary.”

Her gaze lingers on my bruises. “You’re with a demon. Must be in dire straits.”

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to retort. She’s not wrong. “Do you have clothes, salves for wounds, anything that can help us blend in?” I ask.

She gestures for us to follow. We weave between crates into a cramped corridor lined with shelves. Bottles of odd-looking potions glitter in the faint candlelight. Rolls of cloth, some embroidered with complex runes, crowd a corner. Another shelf overflows with battered garments—cloaks, pants, tunics. Likely scavenged from bodies or stolen from caravans.

She rummages, tossing items aside. Finally, she pulls out a long, hooded coat of dark gray fabric, patched in places. “This might fit you, girl, though the arms might be short. You’re taller than most humans.”

I nod my thanks and slip it on over my ragged attire. The coat smells faintly of must and old leather, but it covers the worst of my bruises. I test the sleeves. They hit just above my wrists, but it’s better than nothing.

“Bandages?” Malphas prompts, stepping closer with silent menace.

She stiffens at his approach but hands me a roll of linen and a small tin of salve. “For the cuts,” she mutters. “Don’t blame me if infection sets in. I’m no apothecary.”

He inclines his head. “Payment?”

Her eyes narrow. “Coin, or something of equal value.” Then her gaze flickers. “You—demon. If you can enchant an item for me to ward off dark elf scrying, that would be worth these goods.”

Malphas glances my way. Perhaps he expects me to object, but I have no reason to. If enchanting a trinket can pay our bill, I won’t stop him. He exhales and snaps his claws, summoning a ripple of shadow around his fingertips. The woman flinches, but he only reaches for a small glass amulet dangling among her wares, a worthless trinket otherwise. In a hush, he traces a sigil on the surface. Darkness seeps into the glass, swirling like trapped ink.

She watches, transfixed, as the amulet’s glow dims to a faint flicker. The artifact pulses once, resonating with the faint light of Malphas’s veins. Then he drops it in her hand. “That should foil basic scrying attempts,” he says flatly. “Use it wisely.”

She cradles the amulet, unable to hide her amazement. “You have my thanks. Now, go—before you attract a patrol. I’ve no interest in being raided.”

We move back into the front room, and she lifts a plank from the doorway to let us exit a side entrance onto another back street. Before we leave, she halts me with a hand. “You, girl,” she says quietly, expression softening. “Take care. The demon might keep you breathing, but he’s still what he is.”

I offer a tight nod, understanding the warning. With that, I follow Malphas outside, squinting as the morning light hits my eyes. The echo of hooves on cobblestones resonates from the main thoroughfare.

Malphas scans the lane. “We’ll patch you up in a quieter place,” he murmurs, leading me down a winding alley until we reach a stone stairwell leading to an abandoned courtyard. The walls here are covered in creeping vines, half of them turned black from pollution. The air stinks of stagnant water.

He waits until we’re hidden by an overhang of collapsed roofing, then gestures for me to sit on a broken pillar. He folds his wings around us, forming a partial shield from prying eyes. Carefully, I strip off the coat and unbutton my ruined shirt enough to reach the bruises crisscrossing my torso.

I bite back a hiss when I spread salve over the tender skin. Malphas crouches beside me, expression grave. Watching him up close, I notice details I missed before—the faint scarring across his jaw, the tension in his broad shoulders, and the near-silent crackle of arcane energy beneath his flesh. Even kneeling, he towers over me. His horns curve in menacing arcs, one half-broken.

He offers no comforting words, only hands me the bandages. I swallow a sigh, wrapping them around my ribs, hissing at each jolt of pain. He doesn’t look away, which unsettles me more than if he were staring off in boredom. It’s as if he’s cataloging every wince, every faint gasp.

“Why do you even care if I bleed out?” I ask, trying to quell my discomfort.

His voice is steady. “I don’t want you dying before I’ve uncovered what makes you…different.”

I scowl, tying off the bandage. “So I’m just an experiment?”

His eyes narrow. “Better that than a corpse. You agreed to my terms. Survive under my control, or face certain death. Are you backing out already?”

I grit my teeth. “No.”

“Then be quiet and let me finish.”

He lifts the tin of salve from my hand, scooping a bit onto his claws. I brace myself as he eases it along a scrape at my shoulder, strangely gentle for a creature with talons that could rend flesh. Heat flutters in my chest, a weird mix of indignation and reluctant gratitude. I’m not used to anyone tending to me without brutality or strings attached. Yet Malphas’s very existence is a string, binding me to a fate I can’t foresee.