His heart raced. Friend or foe? Ally or threat? In this precarious game of politics and power, it was impossible to know. Aric took a step toward the figure, his hand instinctively reaching for magic that wasn’t there.
But before he could close the distance or call out, the figure melted into the shadows. One moment they were there, a solid presence radiating intent, and the next they were gone, leaving nothing but questions in their wake.
Seventeen
As they dragged him up the steps of the town hall, Aric’s mind was a chaotic jumble of thoughts. Was this part of their plan, or had something gone horribly wrong? Malekith’s expression had been inscrutable as the guards hauled Aric away, leaving no clues for him to grasp onto. Had their ruse been uncovered? Or was this some new twist in the game he was playing with Vizra and the other members of the demon court?
The guards threw open the doors, and a wave of hot, fetid air washed over Aric as they entered the grand hall. The stench of demon bodies packed into the space, thick with sweat and smoke and something cloyingly sweet that turned Aric’s stomach. His head was pounding from the noxious fumes that lingered in the dungeons, and he felt unsteady on his feet as the guards thrust him forward.
Sovereign Zaxos sat on the throne at the far end of the hall, his obsidian skin glinting in the torchlight. His eyes were like molten gold as he stared down at Aric, and a shiver ran down Aric’s spine at the raw power in that gaze. Zaxos said nothing, but the guards fell to their knees and pushed Aric forward, forcing him to his knees as well.
“Human,” Zaxos rumbled. “You have completed the first two trials set before you. You have shown that you possess a rare gift for magic, and that you are willing to use it to protect your people, even at great cost to yourself.”
Aric nodded, unsure of what was being asked of him. He had a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“But there is one more trial you must face. A trial of loyalty. A test to determine where your true allegiance lies.”
Aric’s heart was pounding in his ears, his breath coming fast and shallow. He had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“You will be presented with a choice,” Zaxos said, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. “A choice that will test the very limits of your loyalty to your kind. Two chambers, one filled with demon children, the other with human prisoners. Both chambers are rapidly filling with magical fire that only you can dispel. You must choose which group to save. The other will perish.”
The words hit Aric like a physical blow, and he swayed on his knees. If he saved the demon children, he would be betraying his own kind, dooming the humans to a fiery death. But if he saved the humans, he would be turning his back on everything he had ever fought for, consigning the demon children to the same fate.
“Please,” Aric said, the word tearing out of him on a sob. “There has to be another way. I’ll do anything else, face any other trial, but I can’t—”
Aric’s words dried up in his throat. There was no negotiating with that look, no pleading or bargaining with the supreme ruler of the demon realm.
“Choose,” Zaxos said.
Aric’s heart was racing, his mind a whirl of panic. The choice Zaxos presented him with was impossible. He couldn’t save them both. He couldn’t save anyone.
But as he looked around the chamber, a new thought began to form in the back of his mind. A feeling, a hunch. There was something off about this. The way Vizra was smiling, like a cat toying with its prey. The cold glint in Sylthris’s eyes, like she was daring him to see through her.
And then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. A flicker of something, a distortion in the air. It was gone before he could be sure of what he’d seen, but it set his teeth on edge. He was a fool to trust his senses in a chamber full of demons and their tricks, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an illusion at play here, a deception he couldn’t yet unravel.
He had no idea what that was. Not yet. The pieces were there, but they refused to fit together. All he knew for certain was that this trial had something to do with the recent escalation of demon attacks. It was no coincidence that the attacks had grown more brazen just as he was returning to the town with Malekith. And the assassins who had tried to kill him in his chambers, the ones who had mysteriously vanished when Malekith raised the alarm—he was sure they were connected as well. But how, and why, and who was really pulling the strings? Those were the answers that remained frustratingly out of his reach.
He forced himself to his feet, his muscles coiling with tension. Outwardly, he appeared calm, composed. Inwardly, he was a storm of doubts and fears and questions. He had to tread carefully here, had to play the game that Vizra and Sylthris and the others were so adept at. He needed more information, more clues. And if that meant going along with the demons’ sadistic game for a little while longer, then so be it.
“If I am to face this trial,” he said, his voice steady, “then I would ask for the chance to examine the chambers where the children are held. To better understand the nature of the magic that binds them, and how I might counter it.”
Zaxos’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he nodded. “You may examine the chambers. But be warned, human. The time for games is over. You will make your choice, and soon.”
“Of course, sovereign.” Aric bowed his head, and then turned to the guards. “If you would be so kind as to show me to the chambers?”
The guards glared at him, their hatred for his kind burning in their eyes. But they were loyal to their sovereign, and so with a curt gesture, they led Aric to the doors at the back of the hall, where the chambers were waiting.
As he walked, Aric’s mind raced. The clues were there, he was sure of it. He just had to find them, unravel the illusions that bound them up. His fingers itched with the memory of the spell he’d cast, the threads of magic he’d unravelled, then re-knit together. He scanned the corridor for any signs of illusion, of trickery, but it appeared to be solid, real.
Too real, perhaps. If the chambers were an illusion, then it was a masterful one, one that fooled all the senses. But there were ways to pierce the veil, to expose the lie. He just had to be patient.
He reached the doors and nodded to the guards, and with a hiss of stone on stone, the doors swung open, revealing the two chambers beyond. One was filled with human prisoners, their eyes wide with terror as the flames rose higher, the heat of them scorching Aric’s face. The other was filled with demon children, their skin already blistering, their screams echoing in the chamber.
He closed his eyes, refusing to look, to see their suffering. Instead, he focused on the sensation of the magic around him. He reached out with his senses, searching for the same threads of illusion that he’d felt in the grand hall, but the magic here was different. It was a more subtle weave, one that he couldn’t unpick so easily. But it was there, he was sure of it. An undercurrent of darkness, a wrongness that he couldn’t yet name.
The guards watched him, their eyes hard, daring him to make a move. But Aric held himself perfectly still, even as his thoughts raced. All he had to do was puncture the illusion, and the truth would be revealed. The truth that would answer the questions burning in his mind, and, just maybe, lead him one step closer to the solution of this deadly puzzle.
“I will save them both.”
The words fell from Aric’s lips with the weight of a death knell, and the chamber fell silent. The guards stared at him, their faces contorted with rage. Vizra looked like she might choke on her own fury. Even Malekith, bound and helpless, raised an eyebrow in silent question.
Then the demons erupted into a chorus of howls, their voices a wave of hatred and disbelief. Aric was knocked back by the force of it, the guards advancing on him, ready to tear him limb from limb. But he held up a hand, and a wall of golden fire sprang into being, forcing them back.
“Silence!” Zaxos’s voice echoed through the chamber, and the demons fell quiet, though their anger still smoldered in their eyes. “You dare to defy me, human? To question the will of the sovereign of the demon realm?”
Aric dropped to one knee, his head bowed. “Never, my lord. I only seek to find a way to prove my loyalty, to show that I am worthy of your mercy.”
Zaxos’s eyes bored into him, and Aric knew that his words were a flimsy shield at best. But it was all he had. He had to buy himself some time, had to find the clues that would unravel the demons’ deception.
“Very well,” Zaxos said. “You may attempt to save them both. But know this, human. The flames are already spreading, and soon it will be too late. You must act quickly, and with absolute certainty, if you are to have any hope of saving even one group.”
Aric’s mind raced. He knew it was impossible. The demons had designed this trial to force him to choose, to tear him apart no matter what path he took. But he couldn’t give in to their cruelty. He had to find a way to outwit them, without letting them know he’d figured out their ruse.
And then the answer came to him, a flash of insight that brightened in his chest. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble. But he had no other choice.
Aric rose, his movements slow and deliberate. He had to tread carefully, had to make it look like he was following the demons’ rules, even as he worked to unravel the illusion. He closed his eyes, reaching for the threads of magic that he knew were there, even if he couldn’t yet see them. He called upon his golden fire, letting it dance and flicker around his outstretched hands.
The guards tensed, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Aric ignored them, focusing all of his attention on the chambers before him. He wove a spell, a complex, intricate thing that drew on everything he knew—his golden fire, the techniques he’d observed in demon magic, the clues he’d gathered about the illusion wrapped tight around the chambers. He let the magic guide him, let it show him where the weave of reality had frayed.
And then he tugged on those frayed threads, unraveling them further, even as he wove new ones to take their place. He introduced subtle disruptions, twists and turns that would make the illusion shudder and strain. He made it look as though he was tearing the fabric of reality itself, that he was rending the world apart.
The guards shouted, but their voices sounded distant, like a memory. The chambers wavered before his eyes, the illusion beginning to unravel. The guards lunged at him, but Aric was ready. He slammed his hands together, and a blinding wave of golden fire exploded out from him, engulfing everything in its path.
The illusion begins to waver and crack under Aric’s magical assault. He pushes harder, sweat beading on his brow, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes watching his every move. In his mind, he grapples with the moral implications of his actions—is he truly saving lives, or merely playing along with a cruel game?
The guards’ cries turned to screams as the flames consumed them, their bodies crumbling to ash. Aric didn’t look to see if the chambers were real or merely an illusion. He had no time to waste. He ran forward, his eyes fixed on the human prisoners, their faces contorted with terror.
And then the illusion shattered like glass, fragments of false reality dissolving into motes of light that winked out of existence. Aric stood alone in the center of the throne room, his chest heaving, golden fire still dancing around his fingertips. The oppressive heat of the illusory flames vanished, replaced by the cool, stale air of the demon stronghold.
Silence fell over the assembled demons. Their eyes, once filled with malice and anticipation, now widened with shock and disbelief. Vizra’s smug smile had frozen on her face, twisting into a grimace of confusion. Sylthris’s impassive mask slipped, revealing a flicker of respect—or fear.
Sovereign Zaxos leaned forward on his obsidian throne, his molten gold eyes boring into Aric with an intensity that threatened to scorch him where he stood. The demon ruler’s face was unreadable, a storm of emotions roiling beneath the surface of his midnight-black skin.
Malekith, still bound but no longer helpless, met Aric’s eyes across the chamber. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, pride and something deeper, more intimate, shining in his dark eyes.
Aric drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. For a moment that stretched into eternity, silence reigned in the chamber. Aric’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat a reminder of the precipice on which he stood.
Then, to Aric’s astonishment, a low chuckle rumbled from the demon ruler’s throat. It was a sound like boulders grinding together, ominous yet tinged with something that might have been amusement.
