Page 19

Nineteen

A zreth was enthralled.

He tried to put Raiya out of his mind, and that made it worse, because he found that it was impossible.

Wherever he was alone, he felt the lack of her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her in his mind. When it was quiet, he heard echoes of her voice, like an ocean in a shell. When the cultists approached him, he wished she were there to deftly disengage them. When he watched the city streets from the roof, he saw small, chirping birds, windows covered by latticework, and mothers carrying bundled babies; he could not observe anything in the mortal world without remembering the first time she’d helped him understand it.

Even his own misery was cause to miss her. He liked that whenever he was bothered, she would take his hand soothingly and tell him that all was well. He wanted that. It was pathetic.

As he wandered the halls that night, he imagined her in her bed in the sleeping quarters below. Was she thinking of him? If she was, she was probably thinking of how unkind and cold and dangerous he was. Why did it pain him to think about that?

It was all wrong. He shouldn’t have been worrying about her abandoning him—it should have been the opposite. He needed to separate himself from her before it was too late. He had to stop this.

It was likely that he seemed a little desperate as he flung open the door to the living quarters, awakening everyone inside.

“Get out,” he said to the cultists, who were groggily looking up from their beds.

“What?” one of them asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Get out,” he growled. The cultists seemed to take note of his mood. They got up and quickly left.

He turned to Raiya. She was looking up at him confusedly, still covered by her blanket. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were heavy-lidded. She was beautiful.

He was going to tell her he was leaving, and that she would have to find someone else to protect her from Nirlan. He would go as far away as he could, to the other end of Heilune, so that he couldn’t change his mind later and find his way back to her. He’d find some other mortal to feed from, and he’d find another way to cleanse his body of Nirlan’s binding. Above all, he needed to be free.

He went to sit on the edge of her bed.

“Azreth?”she asked.

“I must speak to you.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I cannot wait.”

Their past few interactions repeated in his mind over and over. The feel of her on his tongue, her hands on his horns, the heat of her and the sound of her soft gasps. Her knowing smile as she commiserated with him. The way she’d panicked when she’d thought she’d hurt him. The threats he’d made, the way she’d started when he snapped at her, and the hurt on her face when he’d treated her like an inferior.

He paused, gathering his strength. He opened his mouth, and somehow, what came out was, “How do your people show remorse?”

Raiya raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t what either of them had expected. Azreth clenched his hands in his lap.

All this time, he’d been worrying about Raiya betraying him, but he’d betrayed himself in the end. She’d trapped him with kindness instead of cruelty.

Why could he not will himself out of it? Why could he not even make himself try?

“What are you remorseful for?”Raiya asked.

“Injuring you when Nirlan fed you to me. Taking you from the castle by force. Frightening you. Threatening you. Forcing you to serve me.” The list was long. He could have gone on.

She frowned a little. “You didn’t force me. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement from the beginning.”

“I knew you had no other choice.”

She said nothing. Maybe she sensed the truth in his words.

“I would never have hurt you,” he said. “When I said I would, I was lying. I would not keep you against your will.”

A silence dragged.

Then Raiya leaned closer to him. “You’re nothing like what they say, are you?” she said softly. “Demons are just like anyone else. You think and feel just like we do. You’re just trying to live. You’re not monsters. You’re not evil.”

It was the last thing he’d expected her to say—but maybe he should have known better. This was just the way she was.

“Are we not?” he asked. “What is a monster? What makes something evil?”

“Hurting people. That’s evil.”

“I hurt people. I hurt you.”

“Do you think you’re evil?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How do your people show remorse?” she asked.

“In the hells, penance is paid through submission and servitude. If I wished to align myself with someone I had previously offended, I would put down my weapons and prostrate myself before them so that they could punish me or feed from me. I would offer myself to them to use however they wished.”If she asked that of him, would he do it? He probably would.

“Have you done that?”

“Not willingly.”

She frowned. “I see.”

“My people express regret when they want something from someone. Apologies are made for diplomatic reasons. But that’s not what I want. I feel regret because… I’m afraid I have been cruel.”

There was another silence. Raiya was studying him, measuring him.

“I don’t think you’re cruel,” she said, more gently than he deserved. He glanced over at her skeptically.

“Tell me what service you require in order to forgive me,” he said.

“An apology is enough on its own, as long as it’s heartfelt.”

That did not seem like enough. But he supposed he could keep trying to make it up to her. He would never be as kind as she was, but he would keep trying for as long as she would let him. “Then… I apologize.”

“I accept your apology.”

It was that simple. She had removed all his anguish over their argument with a single sentence. Such was the enormous power she held over him. It was terrifying.

“Do you really think demons can feel all the things that mortals can?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“We are made different. Look at you. Look at me.” He took her small hand, looking down at her earthen skin. Vibrant red blood pulsed through her veins. She was nothing like him. Mortals and demons were not meant to coexist. They were naturally opposed. One must always conquer the other.

But she looked down at his hand calmly, as if she didn’t notice how grotesquely large it was compared to hers, or how damaged by battle and defeat it was, or how the thick muscles and tendons implied the potential for violence. She turned his hand over and ran her fingers lightly over his palm. Pinpricks ran up his spine.

“There are more similarities between us than differences,” she said.

He brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. She went still, surprised.

He realized he’d come to her because he was afraid. But how could he seek comfort from her when she was also the reason for his fear?

He dragged his hands away from her. “I’m sorry for disturbing your rest,” he said, and he left.

* * *

“Last night,” Priestess Gereg announced, “I had a vision. In it, I saw the demon before us. He spoke with the dark goddess’s voice and proclaimed that he had come to fulfill Moratha’s plans for Heilune. He is to be a reaper, come to bring her wrath upon our plane. He is her instrument of death, a weapon of unknowable destruction. It begins tonight. There will be a massacre of epic proportions, starting right here in Ontag-ul. All will die. Humans and elves, children and animals alike. Death will rule the land, blood will flow like water, and Moratha will be pleased. So, demon: thus begins the goddess’s reign. You are commanded to kill indiscriminately, whenever and wherever you desire, so long as it is often. You will rend flesh with your monstrous hands, tear bloody gashes with your terrible teeth, crush bones beneath your giant’s feet. Go now and destroy. Spare none. We will follow in your footsteps with our blades high!”

Then the priestess had the audacity to bow to him, pretending respect.

Azreth had guessed it would come to this, but he had hoped they would find a solution to his binding, first. They’d run out of time.

From where they stood by the altar at the front of the main hall, they’d have to push through a wall of cultists in the pews in order to reach the exit.

Raiya seemed not to know what to do. Azreth sensed that she wouldn’t be able to smooth talk them out of harm’s way this time. He moved closer to her, ready to put himself between her and the others, because he guessed they wouldn’t be happy with his response to all this. Her hand was already on the handle of her baton, but that wouldn’t protect her thin skin from a stray blade or spell.

“No,” he said simply.He almost enjoyed the look of faint surprise on the priestess’s face. He could tell that people didn’t often say no to her.

“You are refusing her call?” she asked, her tone warning. He didn’t care.

“I am.”

She gave him a haughty look. “You were designed by the dark goddess to serve her will. You will obey her. It is your purpose.”

“What do you know of my purpose?”

“You are a tool to be used as she decrees for the spreading of darkness and despair. You are death. This is your purpose, just as a stock animal’s purpose is to feed, as a mother’s purpose is to nurture, as a wheel’s purpose is to roll. It is not a decision to make. It is already done.”

He had thought he was above emotional outbursts, but the priestess’s words sparked something in him. He surprised himself and everyone else when he raised a fist and slammed it down into the altar, smashing it into several large pieces. Beside him, Raiya jumped, and he felt a pang of regret. She was the only person in the world who believed he wasn’t a monster. She was wrong, but he still cherished her faith in him.

“What do you know of my purpose?” he snarled at the priestess.

She just blinked, unfazed. “Do you deny your goddess?”

“I care nothing for your goddess.”

The cultists gasped. Finally, the priestess looked angry. This would be the final straw. Raiya sensed it, too. She grabbed his arm and began to pull him down the aisle toward the doorway.

“You will serve her,” Gereg called after them. “If you will not do it willingly, then we will break you. You will obey.” A commotion broke out among the cultists. Gereg was shouting something. People blocked his way.

Azreth took Raiya’s hand, pulling her against and behind him. “Get out of the way, or I will send you to your goddess,” he snapped at the cultists.

There was a swell of magic energy in the air. A powerful spell was being cast.

By the time he sensed it, it was already too late. A wave of energy passed over him, and then a magical barrier encircled him. It cut Raiya off from him, separating their hands. The sounds in the room grew muffled.

Azreth raised a hand to the barrier. The wall was transparent, but completely solid to his touch, just like the cage Eunaios had placed him in.

Dread filled him. He pounded on the barrier. Nothing happened.

Raiya was looking down at the floor beneath him. She kicked aside the long rug that ran down the aisle, and carved into the floor was a circle of runes from which the barrier had sprouted. A trap. He’d walked into a trap. Again.

He had underestimated the cultists. He’d grown too comfortable around mortals, and he’d become complacent.

Outside the barrier, the cultists surrounded Raiya. He watched them put their hands on her, pulling her away from him.

“Stop!” he shouted, pointlessly. No one heard him, or no one listened. Raiya elbowed the cultists away with surprising strength and then pointed her baton at Azreth, at the barrier. He flinched as magic exploded against it—but it remained unmarred.

“Destroy the runes!” he shouted, pointing to the floor. Raiya’s wide eyes followed his gaze. She aimed the baton, but before she could shoot again, one of the cultists grabbed her. Spells and blades flashed as Raiya twisted away from them. Azreth pounded against the barrier uselessly, furiously.

Through the jumble of bodies, he spotted the baton again, raised high in Raiya’s hand. It glowed bright, then shot a blast at the ceiling.

There was a shower of dust, then rubble. People scattered, covering their heads. A corner of the room collapsed with a crash, and the room was entirely obscured by a cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, Raiya was gone.

Azreth’s heart pounded, silence echoing in his ears. The walls of the barrier seemed to close in, though they did not move. He watched the exit at the end of the hall, where Raiya must have run.

She was gone.

The sense of loss that filled him was a physical hollowing, like something had been torn out of his body and left along with her.

“Go after her!” Gereg said sharply, her voice muffled by the barrier. Several people were already out the door, but he didn’t think they’d catch her. Somehow, he sensed she would be all right. An empty, cold calm came over him.

Priestess Gereg’s hood had fallen down during the fight, and her hair and makeup were mussed. Another cultist dutifully began rebraiding her long hair for her. Gereg still looked furious, which pleased him.

She turned to leer up at him, her eyes roving over his body in a way that made him feel disgusting. She was admiring him—thinking of what she would use him for.

“You’ll do as your goddess commands you,” she said to him.

“I have no goddess.”

“Do not insult the dark lady in her own temple!” she hissed.

He enjoyed making her angry. It was all he had now. “Your goddess is nothing.”

Everyone gasped.

“Don’t say another word,” Gereg said, her voice low and dangerous. The edges of her face, the parts where the paint had worn away, were turning pink.

Azreth had never really tried to insult someone before. He wasn’t sure how to do it, so he simply said the worst things he could think of.

“Your goddess is weak and ineffectual,” he sneered. “I would spit on her.”

The cultists gasped again. Some of them shouted arguments back at him.

“I do not find her beautiful or strong or good,” he went on. “I do not respect her. I look down on her as I would an insect.”

Someone threw something at him—a bit of rubble. Several more followed suit. He ignored them.

“A so-called goddess who wants only death?” he shouted at them. “She creates nothing, builds nothing? Does she see nothing, too? Hear and feel nothing?”

A mage tried to levitate a set of manacles through the barrier. Azreth grabbed them out of the air and hurled them back into the mage’s face. The man fell to the floor and didn’t move as other concerned cultists crowded around him. He might have been dead—it was difficult to tell.

Iron , the crowd inevitably began to murmur.

“Your gods have given you everything,” Azreth said to them. “You are born healthy and safe and free, to caring families in thriving cities. You could make art, or learn crafts, or read every book in Ontag-ul. You could travel everywhere and learn every language. You could create life, raise children or animals, or just dance and make love all day. You are not demons—you are free of this bloodthirst, this need to feed . You have the freedom to make anything of your lives, and instead, you crave unmaking? You crave a lack? Where is the beauty and cleverness in undoing things?”

Now the cultists looked more confused than angry.

He turned to Priestess Gereg. “You are spoiled, small children, and your god is a god of nothing.” He did spit in disgust, then, which he’d never done before, but he’d seen a mortal do it once, and it had looked like it would feel gratifying. Spittle hit the barrier and stuck there. Gereg gave it a look of distaste.

When the first iron chain came levitating through the barrier, he grabbed it, ignoring the raging burn of it against his skin, and whipped it back at the cultists. They ducked this time. One of them caught the chain in another levitating spell. Several of them worked together to push the chain back toward him. Petulantly, he threw it away again and again, until the iron had burned so much that he could no longer feel his fingers. There was no point in fighting. He wouldn’t escape them. He just wanted to hurt them.

Eventually, they maneuvered chains around him, and he was encased in agony. The iron sapped his strength, turning his limbs to liquid, and his legs went out from beneath him.

By the time they lowered the barrier, he could hardly see straight. The intense wrongness of the iron was almost as bad as the pain itself. It was an ugly, wretched thing, like an itch he couldn’t shake off, a horrible bitter gag stuck in his throat, insects crawling under his skin.It was overwhelming, blocking out his surroundings, so he was only vaguely conscious of being pushed and pulled through the hall.

He saw a dark staircase before him, very much like stairs into a dungeon beneath a castle, and it was as if he’d never escaped Nirlan at all.