Page 6 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

I frown at him. He had to know that was an attempt at humor. "I find it hard to believe a king would be so dense."

Another laugh, smaller this time, bitter. "You’ll find that assumption categorically untrue once you’ve met more than just one king."

I search his features, not knowing what to make of this so-called demon king. Does he plan to introduce me to more demon kings before killing me? Perhaps multiple kings will kill me? Or try to? A killing game.

Yes.

That’s in line with what I’ve learned about their kind.

A game of murder. They’ll set me loose in an unfamiliar place, a forest or the labyrinth of stone walls in one of their keeps, and loose their demon hounds after me like a sport.

Those red blades aren’t for killing. They’re a trick, subterfuge.

A way to disguise what they’re really doing.

Hunting us.

I’m careful to keep my face smooth and neutral. But now that I’ve sussed out his plan, it’s hard to keep my lip from curling.

He pulls a large, round fruit from thin air. It’s a waxy, deep reddish-purple color.

"What’s that?" I ask, unable to resist myself.

He peels a portion of it and bites into the jewel-like flesh, chewing carefully before spitting out a pithy membrane. "How many questions will you ask before you allow me to answer?"

I offer a shrug, too tired of this game to pretend I don’t mean it. "As many as it takes until you answer one, I suppose."

He stares at me for several moments, and I stare right back at him.

Directly in his black eyes.

As I’ve done a few times, now.

Mother always said a demon’s stare was like their voice, just another conduit for their magic. And yet…

"It’s a nyrelith fruit." He takes another bite, crunching on the seedy flesh.

I hold out my hand, and the demon king raises his brow.

"You want—Oh, you can’t eat this."

Now that I’m aware of the ability, I stare at him more intently than is polite for anyone, let alone a demon king. It doesn’t faze him. He continues eating his fruit, and the glinting firelight in his gaze grows brighter.

"I’d think a king would have more manners than to eat in front of someone without sharing."

The demon king nods at the spot next to me. "There’s food for you there."

My stare hardens. "You might have said so."

He smiles as purple juice dribbles down his chin. "I believe I just did."

I ignore him and turn, expecting another nyrelith fruit. Instead, on the cold stone ground is a wooden bowl with a crust of bread and some hard cheese.

"Eat quickly. We’re leaving soon."

"Ah, I see. Still feeding me like a prisoner, then. Understood." I take the bread and rip off a chunk, chewing it loudly.

The king’s heavy gaze lingers on me, but I don’t chew any differently. "I’d think for a descendant of your village’s founding family, you’d have better table manners. "

I scoff. "What do you know about the DeTiris?" I ask, without swallowing first. The bait is obvious, and we both know I’m digging to see what else he knows. I don’t care. I just want one godforsaken answer.

The king smiles with half his mouth, and after taking another bite of the sumptuous fruit he won’t let me have, he finally answers me.

"Let’s see, I know your ancestors were the first to build a marketplace in the once-barren center of this continent.

They amended the sandy land with fresh, live soil they made by breaking down food waste and then named it after themselves.

Your ancestors were visionaries who saw the land for what it could be, not what it was.

" The demon king pauses, studying the fruit now dripping from his fingers.

"Unfortunately, there are others who also see the potential in Tiriana.

" He takes another bite before throwing the rest of the fruit—I’d guess at least half—in the fire.

"You silk-shrouded horror!" I spring to my feet, reeling that he’d be so wasteful. So callous. "You’d waste perfectly good, nutritious food just so I can’t have it? Are humans that despicable to you? Or is it just human females?"

The demon king meets my wrath, not with fury…

He stands, picking up his discarded cape as he slowly rises to his full height. As he hovers over me, he fastens the cape around my neck, pulling the garment secure around my shoulders and arms.

"You know nothing about me, Amara," he breathes. "Now, collect yourself. Cindermaw and Duskreaver do not react well to unrestrained emotion."

A cold prickling sensation creeps under my skin, burrowing deep, and whatever anger I clung to drifts away like vapor.

I scour his face—his eyes, the line of his jaw—for any clue about who or what names like that belong to.

He gives nothing away. His expression might as well be a sealed door, the key lost to those ancient vengeful gods who ejected his kind from their realm.

I don’t know if he’s talking about generals lying in wait just outside the cave or ghouls ripped from the Veil and bound to him, left to roam this plane with vacant stares and hungry mouths.

Cindermaw and Duskreaver don’t quite sound like demon names to me, but then, I’m not a font of information concerning demon naming conventions. The demon king might very well be talking about twin blades he keeps hidden on his person. Whatever they are, I’m not keen to meet them.

With a wave and flick, the king extinguishes the fire, plunging us into darkness. "Follow close behind me."

I resist the urge to grab a fistful of his shirt and almost instantly regret that choice when I immediately trip and collide with his solid back.

He turns to steady me, gripping me at the shoulders.

"You are aware humans can’t see in pitch blackness, right?" I can’t see him, but I can still feel the warmth of his closeness, smell the sweet nyrelith on his every exhale.

"I am," he whispers. "Give your eyes a moment."

A moment? A moment wouldn’t do any good in a cave so deep light doesn’t reach it.

"I said, give it a moment," he repeats as if sensing I’m about to object.

I oblige him, begrudgingly, clamping my lids shut for a few seconds before opening them once more, fully prepared to shout that I still see nothing but black.

But I don’t.

"By the Dama’s hand," I whisper. The demon king’s face, once completely shrouded in darkness, now has a strange greenish-blue hue. "Is this your magic?"

"It is not." He turns back and continues onward, and I follow close behind, tracking the light to the eerie luminescence of stout mushrooms and creeping moss along the cave walls.

It’s beautiful, alien. Delicate, but somehow hardy enough to survive with no sunlight. Entirely unexpected.

The fire, though small, was enough to wash out the strange light of the plants. I stare at the demon king’s broad, silk-clothed back.

Maybe I’d let the stories do the same to him.

I shake that thought off as soon as it lands.

All demons might not be outwardly evil and power-hungry creatures. In fact, this one seems especially adept at being charming. But regardless of how amiable they might seem, they still keep us trapped in frostbitten barrens. Still keep us from being self-sufficient. Still hunt us.

Was this demon king more than that? Possibly. But he’s still a demon. Still my enemy. And I won’t forget that.

I can’t.

All his soft words and raw appeal can’t erase what his kind has done to mine.

I keep walking, one eye on the demon’s back and the other on the ground.

I won’t be falling into him again. All the while, I try not to shudder at the thought of what lies beyond the cave.

What monsters are waiting to kill me. The guard and king both failed to, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they simply wanted to draw out my demise for more torment.

Because as much as I’d like to believe my death is in the future during some ghastly hunting party I dreamed up, it very well could be right around the corner.

Or at the end of the cave mouth .

"How far to the?—"

"Quiet. And get a hold of your emotions. I told you?—"

"Yes, Cinderballs and Duckreaver don’t like?—"

"It’s Cinder maw and Dusk reaver. Duckreaver is entirely nonsensical," he says without breaking stride.

"I beg to differ. Of the two names, Duckreaver makes the most sense. I’m not sure how anyone would one even begin to reave dusk.

You know, since words actually mean things.

" The comment dries in the stale air the moment I catch the smallest glimpse of gray daylight ahead.

Sweat forms along my brow, and my shoulders draw up, rigid and tense, until the air itself feels pressed against me.

The demon king continues onward, and I will my legs to follow close behind. "Dusk is an old translation of the word demons use for the Veil."

It takes a moment for the weight of his admission to settle in me. But when it does… "Ah, I see. Your friend likes to rip apart our sacred plane. Wonderful."

The Veil is the other reason demons will always have the upper hand against humans. As the only beings able to travel across realms, they control our afterlife. The Dama doesn’t have a say over which humans get to stay. Demons do, and if one arbitrarily rips a human spirit from the Veil…

They’re ripped from our memories, our history entirely. It’s like they never existed.

It’s only happened once.

Just one time was all it took for humans to fall in line with demon demands.

"It’s a despicable name." Moreso, given that person, whoever they were, will never incarnate again.

"Are fear and anger the only emotions in you, Amara? You switch between them so quickly."

"Oh, I do apologize, demon king." I pitch my voice slightly higher and imitate Vella’s curious, na?ve manner. "Would you prefer me sweet and docile? Will that make me a more suitable Maiden?"

The demon spins around so fast I’m forced to grab the slick cave wall to keep from crashing into him again.

The cave’s greenish glow turns his dark eyes to menacing pits, but I stare right into them.