Page 54

Of course. When I finally get some edible food, there’s no way to actually eat it! I suppress a sigh, trying to ignore the disgusting sounds of the two Clown-dathians devouring their meals like something from a nature documentary. My anger and frustration bubble up, threatening to boil over.

Relax, Lexie! Remember, you are the toilet.

The surprisingly calming mantra takes the edge off my frustration, allowing me to take a deep breath.

“You have utensils, foolish human,” Demon Egg-Head says, holding up his spoon like he’s just solved some great mystery. His smug expression obliterates the last of my thin veneer of calm.

“No, this is a fucking spoon! ” I shout, waving the stupid ladle in his stupid face. “We”—I gesture between Sandra and myself—“don’t have giant claws in which to cut our food... DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I snap, my jaw clenched tight.

Suddenly, I’m yanked forward with a painful jerk, slamming into the massive table.

“You forget your place, female!” Dracoth roars, his face inches from mine, his huge fangs glinting in the firelight, like a dragon about to swallow me whole. Surprise and terror’s icy hand clutch my chest.

Why the hell am I like this? Why do I keep letting losers bait me into trouble?

“She didn’t mean it—” Sandra starts to plead.

Dracoth silences her with a raised hand. “Ignixis is an Elder, and you will show him respect,” he commands, his crimson eyes glowing in the dim room, sending an icy shiver down my spine.

“I... I’m sorry,” I manage, trying to flinch away, but Dracoth’s iron grip on my chain keeps me awkwardly stretched over the table.

I search his face for any hint of mercy and find none. There’s no softness in his hard, stern features—not for me, maybe not ever. He snatches my plate of fish and slides it toward Demon Egg-Head.

“It’s Ignixis you dishonor,” he growls before finally letting go of my chain, which sends me crashing back into my chair with a grunt.

Great. Now I have to grovel to the creepy Demon Egg-Head! Why, oh why, do I keep doing this to myself? I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat, turning reluctantly to Ignixis.

“Listen, Demon...” Damn it! “Um, I mean, Ignixis. I was just frustrated and lashed out—I’m sorry.”

I bow my head slightly, more out of embarrassment for my lack of control than genuine regret.

Ignixis titters, his glowing eyes and sharp teeth barely visible under his hood. “It’s quite alright, plump one,” he says, pushing my plate back to me. “I know how important food is to you...”

His grin widens, that sharp-toothed smirk igniting my rage all over again. This smug prick! My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, every instinct screaming at me to lash out, to let my anger spill forth once again. But I force myself to look away, placing my hands in my lap.

“She can learn!” Ignixis declares with a snicker, turning to Dracoth. “See, young Dracoth, there may be hope for you yet.”

“I hope to eat in peace,” Dracoth groans, suddenly extending his giant claws.

My heart leaps in my chest as he reaches over, grabs Sandra’s plate, and casually slices her fish into perfect chunks before handing it back to her.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Sandra beams up at Dracoth like he just bought her a new car. “Thank you,” she adds, popping a piece of fish into her mouth.

Of course. Typical. I’m getting dragged across the coals, and she’s getting her food cut up for her like a pampered princess. My blood boils. The unfairness of it all! Why does this curse follow me everywhere? My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around the spoon.

I am the toilet.

No. I won’t let this get to me. I’m going to stay calm, rise above it with dignity... if I can manage it.

“Hmm, this is the nicest fish I’ve ever had!” Sandra declares, practically inhaling her food.

Oh, how delightful! I’m absolutely thrilled for her!

Meanwhile, I’m stuck here with a rapidly cooling heap of fish and nothing but a giant spoon to eat it with.

I don’t even want it anymore. The mere sight of it is soured by bad memories, and the smell makes my face wrinkle with disgust. I shove it aside and reach for one of the massive jugs instead.

“Your intimidation of the guards was impressive, young Dracoth,” Ignixis chimes in, apparently enjoying the sound of his own creepy voice. “But you cannot rely on fear alone...” He adds, while I struggle to ignore him, gripping my heavy tankard with both hands.

Dracoth pauses his annoyingly noisy, savage eating to reply. “Fear is but the beginning,” he sighs, but because he’s being a titanic bore, it sounds like an elephant snoring.

I glance down at the thick black liquid in my tankard and grimace; it looks like engine oil. What did he call this stuff? Dark Matter Stout? I give it a swirl, and the oily surface is so viscous it barely moves.

More like Dark Tar Stout!

“Oh, yes. Violence and death the culmination?” Ignixis scoffs, continuing to be irritating from beside me. “Tell me, what would you have done if their hearts were stronger? If they had the fire of Arawnoth in their bellies?”

This drink might set my belly on fire, judging by the powerful, pungent scent of alcohol that’s puckering my face like a sour lemon. I must be crazy drinking this! But how often does one get the chance to be abducted and sample alien booze? Almost never!

“You ask what if the znat becomes a venefex?” Dracoth grumbles like a bored rockslide, returning to noisily devouring his meal.

What the hell are these two bores gibbering about?

“What if the znat was always a venefex?” Ignixis presses on.

“What are... znats and venefexes?” Sandra interjects, glancing between the two Clown-dathians with eager curiosity—soon quashed by Dracoth’s raised hand for silence.

He’s so fucking rude!

“What ifs...” Dracoth replies, his tone laced with impatience. “What if the Sun were always cold? What if fire were always ice? What if you were always quiet?” He waves a dismissive clawed hand. “I could hear their weak hearts fluttering; I could smell their fear leaking from their pores.”

A pang of anxiety ripples through me, and I cast a wary glance at Dracoth.

Is he about to erupt into one of his terrifying rages?

It’s the only time the giant bore ever seems to speak at length.

Instead, he glares at Ignixis with intensity.

Thankfully, his eyes aren’t doing that scary glowing, misty thing.

“Indulge me, young Dracoth,” Ignixis replies, a hint of amusement curling his lips.

I’m going to indulge myself, turning my attention back to the slightly ominous, dark, oily liquid, nibbling my lip as I take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing!

It takes a moment for the viscous liquid to reach my mouth, bringing a strong flavor of roasted malt, dark chocolate, and a strange, metallic tang. Just as I’m beginning to think it’s not so bad, an overwhelming burn hits the back of my throat like a fiery wave.

“God, that’s strong!” I gasp, my body shaking involuntarily, as if I’ve swallowed a mouthful of liquid fire. I shudder, pushing the massive tankard toward Dracoth. The biting, acrid taste still stings my nostrils and makes my eyes water. “It might be nice if it wasn’t so... painful.”

Dracoth’s eyes flick to me for an unreadable moment, before he takes the tankard, making it seem almost comically small in his enormous hand. The big show-off gulps the entire drink as if it were water, clearly trying to impress like a drunk frat boy at a party.

“Can I try some?” Sandra asks, her eyes practically laser-focused on the tankard. Dracoth slides the remnants her way, his attention already shifting back to Ignixis.

“To indulge you, Elder, is to indulge a headache,” Dracoth grumbles. I can’t help but grin. That was almost funny! And at Ignixis’s expense? Even better.

“Had the cowards fought me, I would have twisted their heads off,” Dracoth adds, his tone deadly serious.

My grin fades, remembering how easily Dracoth deals out murder, like I deal out social media posts. God, I miss my phone. The thought prompts a sigh.

From the corner of my eye, I see Sandra taking a tentative sip of the Dark Matter Stout. Her expression shifts from curiosity to scrunched-up grimace in an instant.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaims, pushing the drink away like it might explode. “How do they drink this stuff?”

I shrug, having no answer.

“Twisted their heads off?” Ignixis presses, folding his tattooed arms with a sigh.

“A feat the mighty War Chieftain could no doubt achieve. ” He lingers on the title with mocking scorn.

“But the War Chieftain must also be wise. What about the others who would come after the Council declares you an outlaw? Are you planning to twist their heads off too? Or entire clans? Could you do it, boy? Would that finally satiate the fury that sears your heart and clouds your judgment?”

A tense silence follows, the air heavy between them. Only the murmur of other patrons and the cackling fire pierce the dimness. I hold my breath, feeling like I’m caught between two ticking, crazy bombs, especially when they argue about whatever it is they argue about.

“No,” Dracoth finally growls, his gaze turning distant.

“No!” Ignixis snaps, his voice lashing out like a whip.

“Do you think Gorexius would have behaved thusly? Committing open sacrilege against the sacred words? Slaughtering his own brothers indiscriminately? Even when he faced Krogoth, he respected the Krak-Tok. He heeded the Elders. But not you. No, you think you’re above it all—above me, above Gorexius, above the Elders, above even the Gods.

Acting with all the foolish confidence only the young and gifted can possess. ”