It was all that he had left.

It wasn’t until the sun had fully set, and the demon scouts had returned, that he found another opportunity to speak with Malekith. The demon’s eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, his movements stiff and strained as he dismounted from his horse. Aric had a sudden, vivid memory of the last time he’d seen Malekith in his arms, the demon’s body pressed close to his own, and had to bite back a whimper.

“Aric.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down Aric’s spine. “There are things you must know, before we reach Drindal.”

Aric nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He had a thousand questions, a thousand doubts and fears, but he held his tongue, waiting for Malekith to speak.

“It is not just Vizra who will be a danger to us in the days to come. The Sovereign—Zaxos—he is a shrewd and cunning adversary. He will be watching us, testing us, looking for any weakness he can exploit.”

“How do you know this?” Aric asked, his voice a mere whisper.

Malekith’s grip tightened, his nails digging into Aric’s palm. “Because I know how he thinks. I know the games he plays. And I will not let him win.”

“What can we do?” Aric asked. “We are vastly outnumbered. If he wants to take us down⁠—”

“Then we will make it costly for him. But our best defense is to present a united front. Whatever happens, do not let them separate us. Zaxos will use any weakness against me, and you⁠—”

He stopped, the unspoken truth hanging in the air between them. Aric winced, but nodded. He knew what he was to Malekith, and it was a bitter pill to swallow, to know that he was now Malekith’s greatest vulnerability. But he would do whatever it took to keep them both alive. Even if it meant surrendering himself to the demons, in the end.

It was not enough, though. Their stolen time was over, and a terrible fate awaited them all. And Aric could only wonder what Zaxos might have in store for them. Execution was always a threat, though whether it would be swift and cruel, Aric did not know. Used as some kind of sacrifice, perhaps, to power a new army or spell.

He squeezed Malekith’s hand, and tried to channel a fraction of the demon’s icy composure. “As you command.”

Malekith’s face softened, and he squeezed back before reluctantly letting go. “Now. Let’s rejoin the main host.”

The demon army was like a black tide as it closed in on Drindal, devouring the countryside. But the further they advanced, the more Aric noticed the signs of recent battle and chaos, the wreckage of the human and demon forces that had clashed here before. Malekith was called forward to confer with the general while the rest of the army began the grim work of reclaiming their makeshift camp from the human forces that had ousted them, and Aric stole a glance towards the town gates. Had Zaxos pushed back the human forces already, or were they still holding out in the town?

Malekith caught his glance, and gave a slight shake of his head before dismounting and approaching the gates. The demon guards that appeared on the other side only served to answer Aric’s question for him.

The town was a fortress once more, the previously bucolic resort town now transformed into a military stronghold. The demon army moved through the streets, taking up defensive positions and fortifying the existing structures. The hot springs, now cold and neglected, steamed gently in the night, shrouding the town in a hazy glow.

Aric couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him as they marched further in, the guards manning the gates giving them a wide berth as they passed. The thick smell of sulfur hung in the air, and the demon courtiers and soldiers they passed stared at the human prisoners with open hostility. Aric did his best to ignore it, keeping his shoulders back and his chin held high, but he couldn’t silence the voice in the back of his mind that whispered of the fate that awaited them.

They headed for the grand building that served as the demon’s temporary headquarters—the town hall, Aric remembered from his childhood visits to Drindal. The doors swung open, and the sounds of the army outside were muffled by the thick stone walls. Torches blazed in sconces along the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered. A line of demon guards in their silvered armor and glossy leather arrayed themselves along the walls, and Aric suppressed a whimper at the sight of their weapons—a variety of spellswords, each honed to a razor’s edge.

And then Zaxos appeared from within, the demon sovereign’s robes trailing behind him like a river of black flame. His gaze fixed on Aric and Malekith, and it was all Aric could do not to flinch under the weight of that stare.

“Malekith.” Zaxos’s voice was a low rumble, like the earth shifting beneath their feet. “You requested an audience. Let us not waste any more of my time.”

Malekith nodded, and gestured for Aric to follow as he moved towards the dais that had been set up at the far end of the chamber. The throne itself was nowhere to be seen. Zaxos sat, instead, in a simple high-backed wooden chair, though the aura of power that emanated from him was no less imposing.

They climbed the dais and knelt before Zaxos, their heads bowed. “My Sovereign,” Malekith said. “We have much to discuss.”

“Rise, then.”

Sovereign Zaxos stared down at them with an expression that might almost have been approval. For a long moment, the only sound in the chamber was the guttering of the torches, the thick silence of the assembled demon courtiers, and the thunder of Aric’s heart in his ears.

“Malekith,” Zaxos said again. “You have brought the army back to us, and for that you have my thanks. But at what cost? The human towns are in disarray, their forces scattered, but our own losses have been . . . substantial.”

Zaxos’s eyes narrowed, and Aric felt a shiver run down his spine. He was a master of the subtleties of demon court, but even he could not predict the Sovereign’s mood at any given moment. And if Zaxos was displeased with Malekith, then there was no telling what the consequences might be.

“Vizra’s strategy was flawed from the beginning,” Malekith said, his voice steady. “I did what I had to do to salvage the situation and secure victory for our forces.”

Zaxos’s lip curled in a sneer. “Victory, you call it? I call it a costly and unnecessary battle that has weakened us at a time when we can least afford it. The human realm is in disarray, yes, but they will not stay that way for long. We must press our advantage, and you have squandered it with your . . . your reckless actions.”

Malekith’s hands clenched into fists, but he kept his head bowed. “With all due respect, my Sovereign, I did what I believed was best for our people. Vizra’s failure only proves that she is not fit to lead the army. I stand ready to take her place and guide us to victory in the days to come.”

Aric held his breath, his whole body coiled with tension. Malekith’s words were a bold challenge to the Sovereign’s authority, and he feared the price that awaited him. If Zaxos saw Malekith as a threat to his power, he might move against him, and Aric would be caught in the middle.

Zaxos’s eyes blazed with a cold fire, and for a moment, Aric thought he saw the demon Sovereign’s true form flicker around him, a shadowy premonition of the power he could unleash. But then it was gone, and Zaxos’s face was once more a mask of stone.

“Be that as it may,” Zaxos said, “I am not the only one who is displeased with your actions. You have put our people at risk, needlessly endangered the lives of our soldiers, and for what? A few paltry human settlements that will be of no use to us in the long run.”

A low rumble of agreement ran through the assembled demon lords, and Aric’s heart sank. He could see the game that was being played here, the delicate dance of power and influence. Zaxos was testing Malekith, pushing him to see how far he would go. And already, the other demon lords were lining up behind their chosen sides, their loyalties and ambitions laid bare.

Suddenly, Vizra stepped forward, her honey-colored skin gleaming in the torchlight. “My Sovereign,” she purred, “I have uncovered evidence that may explain some of our . . . misfortunes.”

Aric’s breath caught in his throat. He had not seen Vizra since their confrontation in the library, and the look in her eyes promised retribution. She produced a scroll, unrolling it to reveal detailed accounts of the failed assaults, highlighting inconsistencies that suggested sabotage.

“As you can see, the plans for each of the assaults were carefully leaked to the humans, allowing them to set up their defenses and catch us unawares. I have traced the source of the leaks back to a network of human spies, who have been working in concert with the enemy. I have already taken the liberty of rooting out the majority of the traitors, but I fear there may be more lurking in our midst.”

Aric shifted, the edge of the stone steps biting into his knees. He had to stay calm, stay focused. He couldn’t let Vizra’s threats unnerve him, not when the fate of the human realm was at stake.

“And who are these traitors you speak of?” Malekith asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Vizra’s gaze never left Aric’s as she unrolled the scroll further. “The human mages that your pet has been colluding with, of course.”

Aric’s blood turned to ice. His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, a way to turn the situation to his advantage. But Vizra was already ahead of him, and the trap was closing in.

“I have eyewitnesses who can testify that they saw the human mage using his powers to aid in the prisoners’ escape,” Vizra continued. “It is clear that he has been working against us all along, a spy in our midst.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears. He had helped a few prisoners escape, it was true, but he had been careful, taking every precaution to ensure that his actions went undetected. So how had Vizra found out? Who had betrayed him?

“I did—no such thing,” Aric cried. “And I helped you—I deciphered the weapon they used against us, I warned you about it, I cannot help that you chose to press on⁠—”

“You tried to dissuade us from striking. You tried to convince us it was not worth an attack. Thankfully, the Sovereign in his wisdom urged us to press on. But the damage you’d sowed had already been done. The human prisoners you set free warned Brenville of our approach.”

He risked a glance at Malekith, but the demon prince’s face was a mask, his expression unreadable. Aric’s mind raced. If he was going to get out of this, he needed to think fast.

But before he could speak, Vizra turned to Zaxos, her head bowed in supplication. “My Sovereign, I present this evidence to you, and leave the judgment in your hands.”

The chamber was silent for a long moment, the demon lords gathered around the dais waiting with bated breath. Then a chill wind rippled through the chamber, tugging at the hems of their robes and extinguishing several of the torches. Aric shivered, his skin prickling with gooseflesh as the air grew thick and heavy, like the moments before a storm.

“Vizra,” a voice whispered—at first in Aric’s ear, then all around them—and Aric shivered. “You have done well.”

Aric’s head snapped around, but there was no one there. No one, that is, except for the shadowy figure that had appeared behind the demon Sovereign. Sylthris the Gravewhisper, the demon Sovereign’s spymaster, her pale skin glowing in the darkness like a wraith.