Page 27

I smile thinly, crossing my arms. “Would that worry you? That I might be conjuring nightmares or forbidden hexes?”

She returns my smirk with a steely glare. “Don’t toy with me. We leave for Vhoig soon, right?”

“Indeed,” I confirm. “But first, there’s something I must share.”

She stiffens, obviously recalling how last night ended with a near-despairing exit on my part. “I’m listening.”

I beckon her in, shutting the door behind her.

The study feels cramped with her presence, or maybe it’s the tension crackling between us.

She stands near the far wall, arms folded as if bracing for another confrontation.

My wings flex unconsciously, brushing a bookshelf that rattles with the jostle.

“We both know your blood stifles my contract,” I begin. “It’s why the King’s hold falters whenever we’re close.”

Her jaw sets. “Yes. So?”

I take a measured breath. “I’ve pieced together the truth.

You’re Abyssborn—a descendant of the Fallen One.

” Her eyes widen, confusion warring with disbelief.

I press on, voice unyielding. “Your lineage runs far deeper than any typical mortal line. It’s older than dark elf rule, older than the surface wars. ”

She searches my face, as though weighing whether I’m mocking her. “That’s… impossible,” she scoffs. “I’m just Valentina from Lowtown, a slave with no recollection of my parents beyond a few hazy memories. I’m nobody special.”

“Your blood begs to differ,” I say, stepping closer.

Her posture tenses, but she doesn’t back away.

“Trust me, I’d not spout legends if I wasn’t certain.

The Fallen One’s line was believed extinct.

Yet you carry the proof. The illusions bending to your will, the contract’s pain intensifying—these are no coincidences. ”

She trembles slightly, eyes flashing. “Then why was I never told? If my blood is so special, wouldn’t the elves have discovered it before?”

I shrug, bitterness lacing my tone. “They likely sensed something, which is why they chose you for sacrifice. Perhaps they believed destroying you would appease or quell any rising threat. Or maybe only a few high-ranking elves suspected. Either way, they wanted you gone.”

She runs a hand over her face, stepping away. “You’re telling me I have demon ancestry? That I’m part… monster?”

I let out a low, humorless laugh. “Not monster. Power. The Abyssborn lineage defies easy labels. The Fallen One was an outcast even among demonkind, rumored to have possessed the ability to unravel cosmic bonds. Which might explain why you’re unraveling my oath to the King.”

She stares at me, shock turning her face pale. “So all this time… I could have done something about your chains? Freed you?”

My chest tightens at her choice of words. “Yes,” I admit, voice rougher than I intend. “Or doomed me, if you’d chosen differently. Abyssborn power can break or twist bonds, depending on how it’s wielded.”

She hugs herself, gaze flicking around the study as if seeking an escape from the magnitude of this revelation. “And you want me to do it—break your contract.”

“Yes.” The word comes out with more desperation than I like. I clear my throat, forcing composure. “That vow has ruled my existence for centuries. With your help, I might finally end it.” A tension-laced silence falls. My horns dip slightly. “I don’t expect you to do it for free.”

Her stare turns calculating. “You think I’d demand payment?”

A wry half-smile tugs at my lips. “You’d be a fool not to. I’ve enslaved humans, helped the dark elves impose their rule. You have every reason to hate me. You could ask for any price—your own safety, the downfall of the monarchy, or something more personal.”

She exhales sharply. “You assume I care enough to name terms. What if I just walk away? Let you remain bound?”

The question slices me in an unexpected place. Anger and fear churn, but I keep my voice level. “Is that what you want?”

Her eyes gleam with frustration. “I don’t know what I want,” she whispers.

“You’ve tormented me, used me. Yet you also saved me from the ritual.

Then we—” She breaks off, cheeks flushing, likely recalling last night’s raw collision.

“I’m not sure I can separate which parts of you are monstrous and which parts might be… something else.”

I set my jaw, stepping nearer, wings curling inward to keep from crowding her too much.

“You feel conflicted? So do I. But the fact remains: we share a goal. If my contract is gone, the King loses his greatest enforcer. You’d never fear being hunted on his orders.

And perhaps we can figure out your heritage properly, so the dark elves won’t try to exterminate the last Abyssborn. ”

She hesitates, arms tight around herself. A storm of emotions churn in her silver eyes—anger, pain, curiosity, a flicker of hope. “You said it might break or twist bonds. How sure are we that I can do this without killing you in the process?”

I meet her gaze unflinchingly. “No surety at all. But the alternative is centuries more servitude… or my death if I defy them. For you, it’s living forever in fear that the elves might recapture and sacrifice you to keep your bloodline from surfacing.”

She draws a shaky breath, nodding. “Fine. We go forward together. We find a way to unravel your contract. And if I discover you’re playing me?—”

“You’ll gut me,” I finish, recalling the spark in her when we sparred. “I believe it.”

A faint, humorless grin touches her lips. “You’re not immune to blades.”

I snort. “No demon is, especially not under the King’s oath.” Then my tone softens. “We leave soon, under cover of illusions. To Vhoig’s mid-tier, where the archivist named Enith might confirm the missing pieces. I suspect he’ll have knowledge about ancient demon lines.”

She nods, brushing hair from her face. “All right.”

A tense quiet settles, broken only by the crackle of the arcane lantern.

My eyes trace the curve of her jaw, the bruise on her lower lip from our heated encounter.

Guilt and longing weave an uncomfortable knot in my chest. I break the moment by pivoting, scanning a nearby shelf laden with battered volumes.

“I have a text referencing the Fallen One,” I say abruptly, pulling out a thick tome bound in blackened leather. “Compiled from multiple demon-lore sources. It might shed light on the specifics of your abilities.”

She moves closer, peering at the dusty cover. “And you didn’t check it before?”

I offer a lopsided shrug. “I thought it was myth. Demon bedtime stories, used to scare whelps. I had no reason to connect you to it until now.”

She nods, absently rubbing her arm where she cut herself. Her gaze flickers over the runic patterns stamped into the tome’s spine. “Are you going to show me or keep hogging the secrets?”

I quirk an eyebrow, handing the book over. “By all means, read. But it’s written in an ancient demon dialect. You might not understand half of it without help.”

She blows dust off the cover. “You’ll translate, then.”

Amusement quirks my lips. She’s no longer trembling or kneeling. She issues commands like she belongs here. “As you wish.”

We settle around a small table in the corner of the study, the tome laid flat.

The cramped space forces us close, shoulders brushing.

Each point of contact sparks awareness in me, heightened by the memory of her body under mine.

I clamp down on the surge of desire. This moment is about knowledge, not distractions.

She holds a candle near the pages, scanning the strange script.

Every so often, she glances at me, and I murmur translations: references to the Abyss, to a primeval entity cast out for meddling in cosmic laws.

One passage claims the Fallen One fathered (or mothered—demonic legends are fluid) a line of half-breeds meant to tear down the boundaries between realms. Another references a prophecy that an Abyssborn child would either free demonkind from all pacts or lock them in eternal servitude.

Valentina stiffens at that part. “Eternal servitude,” she echoes. “That’s the prophecy?”

“Possibly. These texts are contradictory at best,” I admit. “But if you’re truly Abyssborn, you stand at a fork in the path. Either you break my contract, among others, or doom us to a worse fate.” I force a laugh, though it emerges harsh. “No pressure.”

She sets the book down, massaging her temples. “So, I’m a walking prophecy, and you’re the demon pinned between hope and total ruin.”

I nod, swallowing dryly. “Yes. Perhaps that’s why we… responded to each other so strongly,” I say before I can stop myself. Heat flushes my cheeks. Why am I exposing vulnerability?

Her eyes flick to me, unreadable. “Are you saying it’s fate we ended up…?”

“No,” I snap defensively, wings bristling. “I don’t believe in fate. But primal magic sometimes draws beings together.” My gaze drops to a crack in the basalt floor. “I prefer to think we choose, not some prophecy.”

She is quiet for a moment, absorbing my words. Then she folds her arms on the table. “I guess we’ll see. If we manage to break your contract, that could unravel a lot of illusions we both hold.”

A pang of something like anticipation slams through me. “It could,” I murmur, thinking of the illusions that shield my fortress, the illusions of who I am. If I’m free, do I become more monstrous or less?

We remain there, hunched over the old tome, reading fragments of demon-lore until the candle burns low.

The fortress wards shift outside, a sign that dusk approaches.

We have to leave for Vhoig soon, but for once, I don’t rush.

Delving into these secrets with Valentina by my side, I feel a crackling excitement.

And an edge of dread: She might be the first to truly see me if my chains snap.