Page 43

Iclaw my way through the swirling void between my fortress and Vhoig, my breath hitching from the wound I sustained in the city. Each throb sends a burst of agony along my ribs, reminding me how close the dark elf guard came to skewering me before Valentina intervened. Flames of raw chaos magic illuminate the rift, carving an unstable path that leads us back to my domain—my stronghold of twisted spires and living wards. Valentina clings to my arm, hood pulled tight around her face. Her heartbeat races in my ears, quick and uneven.

The portal belches us onto solid basalt, and we collapse in an inelegant heap. I brace a hand against the ground, dizziness threatening to topple me. My illusions flicker and die, revealing my horns and demon-carapace in full glory. All around, the fortress’s runic patterns flare, reacting to my abrupt arrival. Violet motes swirl up the spires, whispering a welcome.

Valentina grimaces, hauling herself upright. “Are you—are you all right?” she stammers, breath ragged.

I force myself to stand, ignoring the spike of pain through my side. My wings flare in agitation, ragged membranes twitching as the wards sense our distress. “I’ll manage,” I growl. “But wedon’t have time to rest. The monarchy knows I betrayed them. The archivist’s location was compromised. They’ll come here next.”

She nods, face pale. “You think they’ll find the fortress so soon?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “I guaranteed some measure of secrecy with illusions and wards, but the King’s trackers aren’t fools. They have ways. If they suspect you’re alive, if they think you are… what you are…” I pause, scanning the swirling illusions overhead. “They’ll risk an assault, no matter how many soldiers they lose.”

Valentina presses a hand to her heart, eyes flicking to the battered basalt towers. “Are we safe behind your wards?”

My tail lashes. “Safe for the moment, perhaps, but not if an entire legion attacks. My wards can repel direct scrying attempts, but if they send enough raw power or a specialized infiltration team…” I trail off. Gritting my teeth, I beckon her to follow me. “Come on.”

We hurry across a causeway bridging the courtyard to the fortress gate. Ebony spires loom overhead, etched with glowing runes. Lesser demons stir at our approach—Trolvors, Zonaks, and a handful of skulking shapes I can’t name. They peer from behind jagged columns, confusion twisting their features at my abrupt return.They sense my tension. They smell the blood and fear.

“Back to your posts,” I snarl at a Trolvor that edges too close, spiny tail flicking with curiosity. It hisses, exposing needle-like teeth, but scampers off. My fortress is not a place of comfort; it’s a menagerie of lesser beasts that served me or crept here seeking shelter from the wide world. They obey me so long as I remain the strongest presence in these halls.

Valentina clings to my side, scanning each demon with wide eyes. She’s seen them before, but never in a mass. “There are more than usual,” she whispers, voice tight.

I nod. “They must have gathered near the gates, sensing something stirs beyond the wards. Possibly they smell your blood, or mine.” My lips curl. “Even they can feel the tension building.”

We pass the iron-bound doors that open onto the fortress interior. Wards hum at our arrival, shimmering in arcs of dark energy. Past the threshold lies the grand entry hall—vaulted ceilings, carved pillars, a dais with a throne of fused bones at the far end. Flickering braziers burn with ghostly violet flame, casting shifting shadows across the walls. Zonaks skitter overhead on balconies, chittering in nervous excitement.

“Malphas,” Valentina says, gently tugging my arm. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

I shake my head, ignoring the hot flush that creeps along my neck. “It’s a scratch. I need to fortify the wards.”

She sets her jaw, exasperation shining in her silver eyes. “You want to fight an entire legion while bleeding out?” Without waiting for permission, she tugs at the ragged edge of my armor plating. Blood seeps from the tear in my side, the molten lines around it throbbing with each pulse.Damn it.I almost forgot how deep that guard’s blade cut me in the scuffle.

A soft curse leaves her lips as she checks the wound. “You’re losing more blood than you think.”

I hiss, half in pain, half in annoyance. “I’ll heal once I channel enough chaos magic. But I must strengthen the illusions, or they’ll breach us from the outside. This fortress responds to me—if I falter now, we’ll have no defense.”

She lifts her gaze, expression fierce. “Then let me handle the first aid. You focus on your wards. Please.”

My tail flicks, wings contracting in a rustle of leather. Pride roars inside me—demons rarely accept help from humans. But she’s no ordinary mortal, and a part of me yearns to trust her in this crucial moment.Time is short.I grunt my acquiescence.

“Fine,” I say, stepping toward the dais. “There should be supplies in the vault below. Trolvors occasionally scavenge. They might have bandages or salves left.”

She grits her teeth. “No. I have some leftover salve in my bag.” She hurries to rummage through a small satchel at her belt. I remember she carried a few meager items from the city—likely gleaned from the black-market vendor or looted from the archivist’s stash. She withdraws a tiny tin container. “Sit,” she orders, glancing at the throne of bones.

A reluctant laugh rumbles from me.Sit on my own throne so she can patch me up?The idea is bizarre, yet it might be the only seat stable enough to hold my weight. I climb onto the dais, lowering myself carefully into the carved seat, ignoring the throbbing in my side. The high back curves around my shoulders, lined with fused vertebrae from ancient kills. My horns brush the top.

Valentina stands before me, face set in grim concentration, rummaging for scraps of cloth. “Hold still.”

I bare my teeth in a silent snarl when she tugs aside the broken plating to expose the wound. A dribble of demonic blood trickles down my side, glowing faintly. The bandages will sting. She notices my tension, her features softening for a heartbeat. “I’ll be as quick as possible,” she murmurs, voice gentler now.

Her fingers smear salve along the wound, each touch a jolt of pain I clamp down with raw will. My claws dig into the throne’s armrests. She presses a length of cloth across the laceration, wincing at my half-stifled growl. The ephemeral closeness washes over me, recalling every fleeting moment of intimacywe’ve shared. There’s a swirl of conflicting emotions: frustration, gratitude, and an odd sense of reliance.I hate being vulnerable.

“Enough,” I rasp, swallowing a hiss as she ties off the makeshift bandage. “That’ll hold for now.”

She nods, stepping back. “Then do your illusions. Or wards. Or whatever.”

I exhale, letting chaos magic surge along my veins. My horns tingle with latent power, and black flame crackles over my claws. The fortress resonates under my will, wards shimmering around the perimeter. I sense every twisted spire, every hidden corridor, all bristling with potential.I can amplify these illusions, conjure illusions of entire armies or monstrous beasts to dissuade attack.

The air thickens with arcane tension as I funnel my strength into the fortress. A swirl of illusions takes form outside the basalt walls, conjuring silhouettes of demonic guardians, swirling storms, and eerie shapes that might deter lesser scouts. Violet arcs of electricity race along the spires, weaving a net of illusions and wards that keep us masked from immediate assault. I clench my teeth, ignoring the ache in my side.