Aric braced himself, but Malekith made no move to strike him. He only sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“I hoped there would be another way,” Malekith said, so softly that Aric could barely hear him over the chaos. “A path that did not run red with blood. But the demon lords are a fickle lot. They required a show of force, and it is my honor and pleasure as the remaining prince of House Ixion to give it to them.”

Aric followed Malekith’s gaze, taking in the carnage around them. There were bodies everywhere, the streets slick with blood. The demons had taken the town, but at what cost? The human defenders had not gone down against a fight they were ill prepared for without their wards, and their fury still lingered in the air, a bitter taste on the wind.

Aric’s gaze strayed to Vizra, who loped through the streets with a gore-glutted blade, a hungry look in her eyes. She caught Aric’s eye and smirked, a silent promise of pain. She was biding her time, he knew, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at him and Malekith, to show her dominance. And now that she had seen the town’s fall for herself, she would not have to wait long.

As Aric scanned the crowd, he caught sight of clusters of demons huddled together, their voices low and furtive. They cast uneasy glances at Malekith and Vizra, and a shiver of foreboding ran down Aric’s spine. The demon army might have dismantled the first ward station and seized Drindal, but the victory was far from certain for House Ixion. The political fault lines that Malekith had warned him about were already beginning to crack open, and if the demon lords turned on each other now, it would only be a matter of time before the humans saw their chance.

Aric’s mind raced with possibilities, but before he could formulate a plan, a trio of lesser demons approached, their taloned hands laden with plundered food and drink. With a silent exchange, they set the offerings at Aric and Malekith’s feet before retreating, leaving the two of them alone.

A roast pig, its skin glistening with fat, and its head still attached, red eyes staring at them like a curse. A platter of skewered meats, still twitching and oozing as the demon blood magic held them in an uncooked state. A salad of wilted leaves and bitter herbs that did nothing to mask the stink of carnage that hung in the air.

“Please, eat,” Malekith said, with a cruel smile. “I’m told it is a delicacy in your realm.”

Aric’s stomach lurched, and he fought back the taste of bile in his mouth. “I—I’m not hungry.”

Malekith’s eyes flashed, a warning. “I would not want you to forget where your loyalties lie, human.” He waved a hand at the feast before them, but Aric saw behind what he was gesturing toward—the eyes of countless demons, watching them expectantly. “Surely you can find something to sustain you.”

Aric’s mind raced. He couldn’t afford to make any missteps now, not when any chance at salvaging this devastation he’d wrought hung in the balance. But the food before him might as well have been laced with poison, for all he could bring himself to reach for it.

“Apologies, my lord,” Aric said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I am . . . unaccustomed to such . . . exotic fare.”

He could practically hear his own teeth grinding, but to Aric’s relief, Malekith only chuckled. “A fair point. I suppose our chefs can only offer a pale imitation of true human cuisine. Perhaps one day you will have the chance to show us how to prepare it properly.”

Aric said nothing, his jaw clenched tight, and after a moment, Malekith turned away from him to address his court. The demons looked up from their ravaging, felhounds lifting blood-streaked snouts, winged imps flitting down from their perches on the gables of the town square. General Vezera stood to one side with the lieutenants of House Ixion, while Karthax, streaked in blood and sweat, waited expectantly with Vizra’s guards.

“My friends, my loyal subjects,” Malekith said, his voice ringing out over the crowd. “Today is a day of victory, of triumph for the demon people. We have taken the first step on the long road to the human world’s haert, but there is still much to be done.”

The crowd let out a deafening roar, their voices blending together in a terrifying symphony. Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the plaza, the firelight casting long shadows across the broken stonework. He caught sight of human prisoners being dragged forward, their hands bound, and tried to look away, but it was no use.

“Every step we take brings us closer to our goal,” Malekith said. “But we must remain vigilant. The humans are a cunning and tenacious foe, and they will not give up without a fight. So let us show them fully why their defenses are futile. Let us march onward. To Brenville and beyond. To the heart of Astaria!”

More cheering, and Aric felt like he was drowning in it. He couldn’t let himself forget why he was here, why he had made this terrible bargain. He was here to protect the human realm, by any means necessary. Even if it meant playing this deadly game.

But as the feast stretched on, the stench of roasting meat thick in the air, Aric found he could not bring himself to take a single bite. He was losing track of the time, the days melting together in a hazy, sleep-deprived fog. A hand closed around Aric’s wrist, and he flinched, his heart lurching. But it was only Malekith, his face carefully neutral.

Malekith leaned in close, his breath hot against Aric’s ear. “There are human prisoners below,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the raucous celebration. “In cells beneath the square.”

As Malekith spoke, Aric felt a subtle shift in the air around him. The sigils on his wrist bracers, which had been cold and unyielding for so long, seemed to warm ever so slightly. A faint tingle of magic, like a whisper of wind on his skin, brushed against his senses.

Aric’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. Malekith had loosened the magical restrictions, just enough to allow a trickle of power through. The meaning was clear: if Aric could find a way, he was to free those prisoners.

He met Malekith’s gaze, searching for confirmation. Malekith’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes—a challenge, perhaps, or a test. Aric gave an almost imperceptible nod, his mind already racing with possibilities. Malekith nodded towards the edge of the plaza, and Aric understood.

Aric rose from his seat, and he swayed on unsteady feet as the blood rushed back to his head. Malekith’s fingers tightened around his wrist, steadying him, and for a fleeting instant, Aric allowed himself to imagine a different world. But the moment passed, and Aric forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Aric headed to the outskirts of the plaza and down a level from the central fountain, where a group of shadow demons stood watch. They nodded to Aric, their eyes glazed as if with some kind of ensorcellment, and Aric slipped into the night, the sounds of the feast fading behind him.

The streets of the town were cloaked in darkness, the only light the sickly green flames that danced in the sconces. Aric tried to move quickly, his senses on high alert. He passed through the town’s outer defenses, and soon he was in the heart of the demon camp, the shadowy forms of the army stretched out around him.

Aric’s skin itched with the urge to cast a spell, but he forced himself to hold back. Finally, he reached a heavily guarded building, and the demons on watch nodded before letting him pass.

Aric’s heart raced as he approached the guarded building. The trickle of magic Malekith had allowed him burned like liquid fire in his veins, unfamiliar and intoxicating. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Aric wove a thread of demonic energy into the air. It coalesced into a faint, shimmering mirage—the ghostly outline of a human figure darting between shadows at the edge of the guards’ vision.

The effect was immediate. The demons’ heads snapped up, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of illusory prey. Without a word, they abandoned their posts, loping off into the darkness with predatory grace.

Aric’s chest tightened as he watched them go. The spell had worked perfectly, but the ease with which he’d manipulated demonic magic left him cold. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the wild notion of using this newfound power to escape.

But reality crashed down upon him like a physical weight. His gaze drifted upward, where bat-winged sentries circled overhead, their keen eyes scanning the ground below. Even if he could muster enough magic to slip away unseen, his absence would be noted, and they would hunt him down without mercy—and without any trouble, given the signatures woven into his bracelets.

With a pang of bitter resignation, Aric turned back to the now-unguarded entrance. He had a job to do, and lives to save. Everything else would have to wait.

The prisoners were huddled in the corner, their hands bound and mouths gagged, but their eyes widened with hope as Aric approached. Aric stepped forward, his hands moving in a quick, precise pattern to melt the locks on the makeshift cells. Aric worked clumsily, allowing a thin tendril of shadow magic to flow through him, but after so long without his powers, it was like a wobbling foal trying to take its first steps.

Yet he’d missed this magic so. It was a heady rush, like being plunged into icy water, and Aric had to fight to keep himself from being overwhelmed by it. Aric focused on that as he wove his way through unlatching the prisoners from their bonds.

Aric’s heart was in his throat as he worked, scanning all around him for any sign of danger. He moved from one ward to the next, each one more complex than the last, but with Aric’s knowledge of human spellcraft, he was able to dismantle them with relative ease.

Finally, the last ward fell away, and the bindings on the prisoners’ hands dissipated. Aric placed a finger to his lips, and the prisoners nodded, their eyes shining with tears. They knew what was at stake, and they were willing to risk it all for a chance at freedom.

As silently as they could, the prisoners slipped out of their bonds and made for the door. But one of them, a young woman with a shock of white hair, paused before Aric. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, her voice barely a breath. And then she was gone, melting into the darkness with the others.

Aric repeated the process two more times, until all of the prisoners had been freed, and the town’s defenses were in tatters. Aric looked around, a weary smile on his face.

“Anything to help my people,” Aric said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Seven

The jarring grip on Aric’s arm dragged him out of a dead sleep, and he instinctively tried to lash out with a surge of magic. Only the familiar twinge behind his eyes and dulled thud as he hit the barrier answered him, though, and he blinked hard into the darkness until the two figures before him resolved into faces.

Neither of them were Malekith.

“Wait.” The darkness shrouding their faces gave way to moonlight glinting off Vizra’s onyx skin and Karthax’s curling horns as they loomed over him. “Stay your magic, human,” Vizra purred, her grip like iron on his bicep. “We have a few questions for you, and it would be a shame to singe off your eyebrows before we’ve had answers.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he scanned his chambers, but there was no sign of the other guards. No alarm raised, no shouts of warning. He forced himself to consider the situation calmly, racking his brain for any plausible excuse. He’d gone to bed in separate chambers adjoining Malekith’s makeshift quarters in what had likely been a very luxurious resort in the town center, hoping against hope that sleep would calm his nightmares. But if the prisoners he’d freed had been discovered, if their absence had been noted, then it was all over.

He tried to keep his voice steady, but he could hear the raw edges of panic tearing through. “What’s happened? Is it Malekith?”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself with the prince,” Vizra said, her molten gaze cutting into him. “He is otherwise engaged. No, we have some questions for you, little mage, and we thought now was as good a time as any to discuss them.”

Aric’s heart lurched. She knew. Somehow, she knew about the escape, and the demon prince’s complicity in it. He forced himself to meet Vizra’s gaze, scrambling to keep his expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been quite the busy little worm, wriggling your way through the heart of my operation,” Vizra said. “But I have to wonder, for all your trouble, what exactly you hope to gain.”