“I don’t want anything⁠—”

Vizra’s nails dug into the tender flesh of his bicep, and he bit back a cry.

“Get up.” Vizra’s nails bit into his shoulder, and Aric winced. “I don’t have time for your human weakness.”

Karthax’s meaty hand closed around the front of Aric’s tunic, and with a growl, he hauled Aric to his feet. Aric’s head spun from the sudden movement, his limbs still heavy with sleep, and he stumbled over his own feet as they dragged him from his room. “I . . . I didn’t do anything,” Aric said, his voice sounding thin and reedy in the pre-dawn stillness.

A wave of panic threatened to overtake him. Had they found out about the prisoners? Did they know he’d helped them escape? The town plaza was eerily quiet as they hauled him across the wreckage from the feast, the only sounds the crunch of their boots on the packed earth and the distant howls of the winged demons making their patrols. No alarms had been raised, no shouts of warning echoing through the streets. If they knew about the escape, surely the whole camp would be in an uproar.

Aric’s mind raced as he tried to think of what could have gone wrong. Had one of the prisoners given him up? Or had he been too careless, too eager to absolve himself that he failed to take the necessary precautions? He’d been so focused on the escape that he’d let his guard down, had all but dared the demon lords to catch him. Had they been watching him the whole time?

The command tent loomed before them, the black silk billowing in the cool night air. Karthax wrenched open the tent flap, and a wave of spiced incense and smoky shadows washed over Aric. Malekith was nowhere to be seen, and a fresh bolt of panic shot through him. If the demon prince was here, he could at least try to reason with him, to explain why he’d done what he did, and Malekith would come up with some clever cover story to persuade Vizra that it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But with Malekith absent, Aric was at Vizra’s mercy, and he had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.

“Inside,” Vizra said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

Aric blinked in the sudden lamplight as he ducked inside the tent, his eyes struggling to adjust after the darkness of night. A tattered map was spread out on the table before him, along with a jumble of notes and sketches in a language he couldn’t begin to decipher. Vizra’s molten gold eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity as she loomed over him, her long hair spilling around her like a cloak.

“Tell me what these are,” Vizra said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. “And how the humans plan to use them.” She shoved the schematics before him, and his vision swam in a useless blur of lines and curves of ink.

With a grunt, he scrunched his eyes up, then eased them once more. Aric’s mind was still fuzzy from sleep, but as his thoughts slowly began to coalesce, a cold trickle of dread ran down his spine. “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never seen those before.”

It was the truth. He blearily recognized it as some sort of magical engineering schematic, the kind that the Arcanocrafters in the Silver Tower designed—magical devices, advanced self-sustaining spells, and more. But it would take him more than a half-awake scan to make sense of them, and likely more access to magic than he currently had—which Malekith had seen to was once again none.

Vizra’s nails dug into his shoulder, and he bit back a cry. “Don’t lie to me, little mage. We found these in the garrison at the Silver Tower. They were using them to guide their strikes, and now you will tell me how.”

Aric’s panic subsided slightly, replaced by confusion and a glimmer of hope. They didn’t know about the prisoners. They only wanted him to make sense of the magical schematics.

She released him with a shove, and Aric stumbled forward, catching himself on the table. His heart was still racing, but a thread of relief unspooled in his chest. The other captives were safe, for now. He just had to figure out a way to get out of this.

He scanned the jumble of papers on the table, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plan. The schematics were like nothing he’d ever seen before, but he was a quick study. If he could just buy himself some time . . .

Aric leaned over the table, studying the schematics intently. They were written in a mix of arcane symbols and a cipher he didn’t recognize, but the diagrams themselves were fairly straightforward. Some kind of offensive weapon, if he had to guess, with a series of lenses and mirrors that looked designed to focus and amplify magical energy. The basic concept was elegant in its simplicity, but as he traced the lines with his fingertips, he couldn’t help but notice the glaring flaws, the missing pieces that would keep it from ever working as intended.

But he wasn’t an arcanocrafter. He could be mistaken.

But an answering voice in his mind told him—if he didn’t know, then these demons knew even less.

“Well?” Vizra’s voice cut through the silence, and Aric forced himself to straighten up, his mind racing. “What are they?”

He took a deep breath, a dangerous gambit forming in his mind. One that could either save him or damn him, but at this point, he didn’t have much to lose. “It’s a . . . a focusing array,” he said, the words coming slowly as he searched for a way to buy himself more time. “For channeling magical energy over long distances. But it’s highly unstable. It would take a tremendous amount of power to activate, and even then, there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t backfire.”

Vizra’s eyes narrowed, and Aric’s heart pounded in his ears. He was making this up as he went along, but he had to sell the lie. “Show me how it works.”

She was calling his bluff, and he knew it. But he also knew that Vizra was far from stupid. If he could sell her on the potential danger of the weapon, maybe he could buy himself enough time to come up with a real plan.

Aric’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. “It’s all in the alignment of the mirrors,” he said, his voice gaining confidence with each passing second. “If you don’t get the angles exactly right, the whole thing will backfire.” He smiled sweetly. “If you want to ask Prince Malekith to loosen my bonds, then I would be happy to show you.”

Vizra listened intently, her molten gold eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And how do you know this, human?” she asked, her voice like velvet wrapped around a dagger.

Aric hesitated for just a moment too long. “I . . . I read about it. In one of the human mages’ treatises. A friend of mine. He—he was designing something similar before I left.”

Vizra’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Lies. There is no such book.” She raised a hand, and Aric flinched, instinctively trying to summon a shield. But his magic was still out of reach, tauntingly close yet agonizingly beyond his grasp. “Enough.” Vizra’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss. “I tire of your words, human. Let’s see what truths your mind holds.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as Vizra wove a complex spell, her power crackling in the air around them. He tried to brace himself, to strengthen his mental shields, but he was so exhausted, his mind and body drained. He was defenseless, and Vizra knew it.

The first tendril of Vizra’s magic slithered into his mind, and Aric gritted his teeth, trying to hold himself together. He couldn’t let her see the truth, couldn’t let her know about the prisoners. He couldn’t risk everything he’d worked for being undone.

But Vizra’s power was relentless, a storm battering at the walls of his mind. Agony lanced through him, white-hot and searing, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought to keep his secrets hidden, but it was only a matter of time before Vizra tore them from his mind.

Aric’s mental shields were a fortress, honed through years of discipline and training. He pushed back against Vizra’s probing, trying to deflect her spells, but she was relentless, a tide wearing away at the stone. Images flashed through his mind—memories of his friends in the Silver Tower, long dead, their bodies broken and bloodied in a demon attack. The faces of his fellow mages, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and despair as they fought a losing battle. The weight of his duty, his desperate need to protect his people at any cost. The years of research and study, the sacrifices he’d made in his quest to understand the demons and find a way to end the war.

Each memory was a fresh wound, a dagger twisting in his side. The pain of them threatened to overwhelm him, but still he fought to keep them hidden. He couldn’t let Vizra see, couldn’t let her know the depths of his determination. He had come too far, risked too much. He would not let it all be for nothing.

But Vizra’s magic was insidious, a poison seeping through his veins. It clouded his thoughts, muddied his memories, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she found what she was looking for.

White-hot pain seared through him, and he couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from his throat. His muscles were coiled tight, every sinew and tendon thrumming with the effort to keep Vizra at bay. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard, his teeth threatening to shatter. He was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to hold on.

“Aric.” Vizra’s voice was a taunt, a challenge. “You can’t keep this up forever. You will tell me what I want to know. It’s only a matter of time.”

Aric’s vision swam, the world narrowing down to a pinpoint of light. He was drowning in pain, in memories he’d long since buried. The smell of smoke and blood, the taste of ashes on his tongue. He had been so sure of his path, so certain of the sacrifices he was willing to make. But now, as Vizra’s magic tore through him, he felt himself coming undone.

Maybe it would be easier to let go. Easier to tell her what she wanted to know, to stop fighting and surrender to the darkness that threatened to consume him. The other captives would be safe, and maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to turn this to his advantage.

But the thought of giving up made him sick. He had come too far, fought too hard. He couldn’t let it all be for nothing. With a last, desperate surge of will, he pushed back against Vizra’s magic, a lone figure standing against the storm.

And then, with a final, ear-splitting crack, the storm broke over his head.

The tent flap flew open with a violent snap, and through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Aric saw a familiar silhouette. Malekith strode in, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable energy. Malekith’s dark eyes swept over the scene, narrowing dangerously when they landed on Vizra.

“What is the meaning of this?” Malekith asked, a deceptively calm frost riming his tone.

The psychic assault abruptly ceased, leaving Aric gasping for air. His legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath him as the sudden absence of pain left him dizzy and disoriented. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and focus on the confrontation unfolding before him.

Vizra’s molten gold eyes flashed with defiance, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in them as she faced Malekith. “My lord, I was merely questioning the prisoner about⁠—”

“Questioning?” Malekith’s voice cut through her explanation like a blade. “It looked more like torture to me.”

Aric slumped against the table, his muscles turning to water as the adrenaline that had sustained him drained away. He was so tired, bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. His body ached, every nerve and sinew throbbing with pain. And his mind . . . His mind was a jumbled mess, a tangle of memories and thoughts that he couldn’t sort out.

He forced himself to focus on the present, on the confrontation unfolding before him. Malekith and Vizra were circling each other like predators, the air thick with tension. Aric was the prize, the source of the conflict, and he knew that whatever happened next would have far-reaching consequences.

“You overstep your bounds, Vizra.” Malekith’s voice was like a whipcrack, the force of his anger almost a physical blow. “This is not your domain.”

“And he is not yours alone.” Vizra’s eyes flashed with defiance as she turned to face Malekith. “You have no claim on him. Not when he can aid our assault. When he can show us how to turn this weapon against the humans who wield it⁠—”

“He is under my protection. His use begins and ends with me.” Malekith’s gaze never wavered from Vizra’s. “And that is all you need to know.”

Vizra’s molten gold eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, Aric thought she might defy Malekith’s command. But then the tension seemed to drain from her, and she bowed her head in submission. “Of course, my lord. But this weapon . . .”