“Well played, human,” Zaxos said, his voice a deep growl that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the earth. “You have indeed saved both groups—by proving their non-existence. A solution as clever as it is unexpected.”

Aric bowed low, his mind whirling with the implications of his success. He had gambled everything on this moment, and somehow, against all odds, it had paid off. But what did it mean for his future in this realm of shadows and deception?

“Thank you, Sovereign,” Aric said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “I seek only to serve and to prove my worth.”

Zaxos’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Aric with renewed interest. “And prove it you have, in a manner most... intriguing. You continue to surprise us, Aric Solarian. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.”

Aric straightened, meeting the Sovereign head-on with a mixture of respect and defiance. He had the full attention of the demon court, their shock and disbelief palpable in the air. Malekith’s presence burned at the edge of his awareness, a beacon of familiar energy in this sea of hostility.

Vizra’s voice sliced through the tense silence, sharp as a blade. “This is impossible! He must have cheated. How else could a mere human unravel our most potent illusions?”

Her accusation sent ripples of suspicion through the assembled demons. Murmurs swelled into a cacophony of hisses and growls, the air thick with hostility. Aric felt their stares pressing down on him, each pair of eyes a silent indictment.

“Prior knowledge,” Vizra spat, her golden eyes flashing with barely contained fury. “He must have been warned, prepared for this trial. It’s the only explanation.”

Aric’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He’d known this moment of triumph would be fleeting, but the speed at which it had turned sour left him reeling. The demons’ suspicion was a tangible force, threatening to crush him beneath its weight.

Sovereign Zaxos leaned back, looking between Aric and Vizra. “A serious accusation,” he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “What say you, human? How do you answer these charges?”

Aric’s mind raced, weighing his options. A wrong word now could undo everything he’d accomplished, could see him cast into the depths of the demon realm’s most horrific dungeons—or worse. But there was opportunity here too, a chance to cement his position, to prove once and for all that he was more than just a prisoner or a pawn.

Before Aric could formulate a response, a ripple of movement caught his eye. Sylthris stepped forward, her silver hair gleaming in the chamber’s dim light. The spymaster’s midnight-blue eyes flashed bright, and with a cold glance, she silenced the murmurs of the demon court.

“If I may, Sovereign,” Sylthris began, her voice a faint whisper that nonetheless carried to every corner of the room. “I believe Vizra’s accusations are . . . misguided.”

Aric tensed, unsure of what game the enigmatic demoness was playing. He watched her carefully, noting the subtle shift in her posture as she addressed Zaxos directly.

“The human’s solution demonstrates not prior knowledge, but rather a unique and valuable problem-solving ability,” Sylthris continued. “He faced an impossible choice and found a third option—one that, I might add, aligns perfectly with our realm’s values of cunning and deception.”

As she spoke, Aric noticed a silent exchange between Sylthris and Zaxos. It was nothing more than a slight tilt of her head, a barely perceptible narrowing of the Sovereign’s molten eyes, but it hinted at deeper currents of communication, of political maneuvering that Aric was only beginning to grasp.

“Moreover,” Sylthris added, looking toward the assembled demons, “his actions prove a loyalty to our realm that surpasses mere obedience. He could have chosen to save the human prisoners, earning our ire but potentially salvaging his conscience. Instead, he chose to serve our interests by exposing the illusion itself.”

Aric’s mind raced, trying to decipher Sylthris’s motives. Was she truly defending him, or was this another layer of manipulation? He glanced at Malekith, searching for some hint of understanding, but Malekith’s face remained impassive.

Sylthris turned to face Aric directly, her eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him want to step back. “Such ingenuity and loyalty are rare commodities, Sovereign. It would be . . . unwise to squander them based on unfounded accusations.”

As she finished speaking, Aric felt the court’s attention shift. The hostility in the air had not dissipated entirely, but it was now tinged with curiosity, perhaps even a grudging respect. He realized, with a jolt of both excitement and fear, that he had just become a piece in a game far larger and more complex than he had imagined.

Sovereign Zaxos snorted, nostrils flaring wide as his eyes moved between Sylthris and Aric, and Aric sensed the wheels of some vast and terrible machine turning behind those burning eyes.

Tension crackled through the air as the demon court divided, some supporting Vizra’s accusations, others impressed by Aric’s display. He stood at the center of this storm, outwardly calm but inwardly conflicted. Aric’s success pressed down on him now, a bittersweet victory that left him questioning the cost to his principles.

He forced himself to remain still, to keep his face impassive even as his mind raced. What would this mean for his standing among the demons? He’d proven his worth, yes, but at what price? The lines between ally and enemy, between right and wrong, blurred with each passing moment.

Sovereign Zaxos raised a hand, and silence fell over the court like a heavy shroud as he peered at Aric through slitted eyes. Aric met those eyes, fighting the urge to look away, to seek reassurance from Malekith.

“I have heard the arguments,” Zaxos announced. “And I have witnessed the human’s . . . unexpected solution.” He paused, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “This matter requires further deliberation. I will reserve judgment until the following day.”

The pronouncement fell on Aric like a physical blow. He’d hoped for resolution, for some clear indication of his fate. Instead, uncertainty settled over him like a heavy mantle.

“Given the nature of the charges against him, I would recommend he be held in confinement until a final decision is rendered,” Zaxos said, her voice like honey laced with venom. “For the safety and security of the demon realm, of course.”

Aric’s jaw clenched at the not-so-thinly veiled threat. He was already a prisoner, in all but name. If Zaxos rendered a guilty verdict, there was no telling what might become of him.

Zaxos’s eyes shifted to Malekith, and Aric sensed the silent communication passing between them. “And the same for the demon prince,” Zaxos said. “For the duration of my deliberation, they shall both be held in the dungeons.”

Vizra’s eyes glittered with satisfaction, her lips curling into a cruel smile as she looked at Aric. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted, and she was going to savor every moment of his suffering.

Aric’s gaze flicked toward Sylthris, his mind whirling. She had vouched for him, had argued on his behalf, and this was the best she could do? Or was this all part of her game, some deeper layer of manipulation that he couldn’t begin to fathom?

Eighteen

When Aric regained consciousness, he was already in the dungeons.

The stench of mold and damp stone assaulted his nostrils, the air clammy and thick. He tried to push himself up from the cold, hard ground, but his muscles felt like jelly, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. With a groan, he forced his eyes open, and the world swam into view. Bars of iron, a tangle of filthy straw, the meager circle of light filtering down from the world above. He was in a cell, the cold and darkness pressing in on him from all sides.

No. Not darkness. There was a presence in the cell next to him, a coiled, seething mass of anger and power, radiating through the tenuous thread that bound them together. Aric’s heart leaped into his throat as he recognized that presence, and he pressed a hand to his chest, as if that could steady the frantic pounding of his heart.

Aric. The name was a low, dangerous rumble in his mind, and he shivered, despite the warmth that the voice sent trickling through his veins. What have they done to you?

Aric’s thoughts scattered, the raw edges of that voice scraping against his skin. Malekith. He was Malekith, and he was here, he was so close, but there was no time for relief. No time to savor the heat that rushed through him at the sound of that name on Malekith’s lips. They were both in danger, and Aric was the reason why.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash. “I tried to protect you. I tried⁠—”

I know what you tried to do, mage. Malekith’s anger was a firestorm, a writhing serpent in Aric’s mind. But you cannot save me from myself. And now they have you, too.

Aric pushed himself to a sitting position, the world spinning around him. “We have to get out of here. I can’t—I won’t let them⁠—”

I am powerless to stop them.

It might as well have been knife to Aric’s heart, a fresh wave of panic and desperation threatening to drown him. He couldn’t let anything happen to Malekith, not because of him. He had already caused Malekith enough pain, enough suffering. If it was in his power, he would tear down these stone walls with his bare hands. But he was the one locked in a cell, and Malekith was right. There was nothing he could do.

“I’ll find a way. I won’t let them hurt you.” It was a vow, a promise, but even as he spoke them, Aric knew they were hollow. He was just a man, just a mage, and he was no match for the might of the demon court. They were both trapped, and there was no escape.

“Please,” he whispered, the tears burning in his eyes. “Please don’t hurt him.”

A beat of silence, and then, so soft it was almost a caress: I would sooner destroy the world than let them harm you.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to shut out the darkness that threatened to consume him. This was all his fault. If he had never ventured into the demon realm, none of this would have happened. He would still be the same lonely, restless mage he had always been, but at least he would be free. At least he wouldn’t have Malekith’s name burning in his blood, a constant ache in his bones.

Aric’s hands uncurled, the air around him shimmering with heat. He had to focus. He had to find a way out of this, for both their sakes. But every time he tried to gather his magic, the memory of that searing pain, that blinding light, came rushing back. He was afraid of what he might do, what he might become, if he let his control slip even for a moment.

With a frustrated growl, Aric stood and began to pace the length of his cell. Stone walls, iron bars, a single narrow window too high to reach. There had to be a way out, a weakness he could exploit. But the more he searched, the more he felt the darkness closing in around him.

Aric’s pacing quickened, his steps echoing in the empty corridor. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He had lost track of himself, the rage and fear and helplessness all blending together. But as the flames of frustration sputtered in his chest, a cold, calm voice slithered through his mind.

Enough.