Aric looked away, the memories of the trial still too raw. “I’m sure the whole damn court is abuzz after that . . . spectacle.”
“They are not used to having their illusions challenged. It is a rare gift, to see through the deceptions that are woven around us.” Malekith’s thumb brushed Aric’s cheek, and he turned back, meeting those dark, fathomless eyes. “But it can also be a dangerous one.”
Aric’s pulse quickened at the warning in Malekith’s eyes, and he sat up straight, scanning the room. “What do you mean?”
“I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete.” Malekith’s tone was almost a caress, but it carried a sense of urgency. “Just be on your guard. There are those who will see your power as a threat.”
Before Aric could respond, a movement in the shadows caught the corner of his eye. He turned toward it, but whatever it was, it vanished, the darkness closing in once more.
“Aric . . .” Malekith stood, his body coiled with tension. “Stay still.”
The next few moments happened in a blur. The figure reappeared in the doorway, the hood of their cloak concealing their face. In one hand, they held a vial of dark liquid, the glass glinting in the dim light. But before Aric could so much as cry out, Malekith was moving, the shadows themselves coming to his aid.
With a flick of his fingers, Malekith wove a spell, and the darkness peeled away, revealing the would-be assassin. But before they could react, Malekith was on them, his movements a blur of speed and grace. He caught the assassin’s wrist, and with a twist, wrenched the vial from their hand.
It fell to the floor with a shatter, and a noxious vapor filled the air. Aric coughed, his eyes watering, as he caught a glimpse of the assassin—a demon, by the look of them, with mottled gray skin and a tangle of horns protruding from their hood. They struggled against Malekith’s grip, but it might as well have been iron for all the give it had.
“Who sent you?” Malekith’s voice was a low growl, his eyes burning with a harsh light.
The assassin spat in his face, their eyes full of venom. “Traitor.”
Malekith lurched for them, but the assassin brought their forearm up to block him this time, the sleeve of their robe falling away to reveal sickening blades. Forearm blades. Aric cried out as he recognized them to warn Malekith, but it was too late. They slashed across Malekith’s chest, knocking him back. Malekith recovered quickly, but the assassin was already moving, a dark blur in the dimly lit infirmary. With a powerful leap, they crashed through the high window, glass shattering like stars, and then they were gone, leaving only the stench of blood and smoke in their wake.
Aric’s hands were shaking as he pressed them to the gash in his chest, the heat of his blood searing against his skin. He looked up to see Malekith’s eyes blazing with barely contained fury as he stared after the assassin.
“Lord Karthax,” Malekith spat, his voice a low growl. “Vizra’s general.”
Aric’s head was spinning as he tried to make sense of the words. Vizra. Karthax. A sudden, sickening realization washed over him. They were all in danger, pawns in a deadly game of demon politics.
Malekith’s gaze met his, and Aric saw the same understanding in Malekith’s cold eyes. The same grim acceptance of the truth.
There was a promise of more blood to come.
Fifteen
Aric’s hands clenched at his sides as he stood before the demon court once more. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he fought to steady his breathing, forcing himself to stand straight and hold his head high.
LIttle had come of Karthax’s attack on Aric and Malekith. Zaxos had dismissed it outright, noting that plenty of brutes had the same style of forearm blades Karthax employed, and Karthax himself was allegedly back at Drindal maintaining the lines, so he couldn’t possibly be to blame. The slice to Malekith’s chest had healed fully in short order, diminishing the severity of the crime in Zaxos’s eyes. And above all else, Zaxos refused to allow for the trials to be delayed.
Now, Sovereign Zaxos’s eyes bored into Aric, a baleful stare that felt like it could strip the flesh from his bones. A shiver of pure, otherworldly power ran through him, and he fought the urge to take a step back. To run, though there was nowhere to go.
“The second trial,” Zaxos rumbled, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder presaging a storm, “will test your skill in the weaving and unravelling of spells. A fundamental ability for any mage who seeks to control the shifting tides of magic. But we will make it more... interesting.”
Aric’s mouth had gone dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He could do this. He had to. His only chance of survival lay in passing these trials, in proving himself to the demon court. He just had to focus, to block out everything else.
“You will be tasked with dispelling a powerful spell, one that threatens to unleash catastrophic damage. At the same time, you must maintain a protective ward around the human prisoners. Fail in either of these objectives, and the consequences will be severe.”
Zaxos’s lips curled into a smile that made Aric’s blood run cold.
“Behold. Your target.”
Aric’s eyes darted to the huddled group of human prisoners, their faces etched with fear and desperation. He could only imagine what horrors they had endured at the hands of the demons. If he failed, there was no question what their fate would be. The weight of their lives, and the lives of countless others like them, settled on his shoulders, threatening to crush him with its heft.
Aric nodded, his jaw clenched, and stepped forward, his boots ringing out on the obsidian floor. The demon guards ushered the prisoners into a circle around the designated spellcasting area, a massive stone dais crackling with dark energy. As Aric approached, he caught a brief flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look.
Malekith was watching him, his expression flat. But his eyes, those endless pools of darkness, held a myriad of unspoken things. Concern. Anticipation. Aric’s hands were shaking, and he clenched them into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the enigmatic demon prince, not now. His focus had to be on the task at hand.
With a deep, bracing breath, Aric stepped up onto the dais.
Malekith’s fingers trailed over the metal cuffs binding Aric’s wrists to the stone dais, and with a surge of raw, aching power, they clicked open. Aric’s hands fell forward, the cold metal biting into his palms, and he drew in a shuddering breath as he stared down at the intricate sigils that snaked across the dais’s surface.
You can do this, he told himself, though he was far from certain. He had never attempted to unravel a demon spell of this magnitude, let alone while maintaining another working spell at the same time. But the lives of the human prisoners depended on him, and he would be damned if he didn’t at least try.
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, feeling the familiar warmth of his golden fire intertwine with the raw power of the demon spell. The two energies circled each other warily, like predators sizing up their prey. With a mental command, he wove the first threads of his counter-spell, a delicate, intricate pattern that he guided with the lightest touch.
A protective ward, he thought, focusing on the image of the human prisoners and the shield of molten gold that would keep them safe.
The power surged through him, and he felt himself sinking into that meditative state, his mind and magic flowing as one. The threads of the spell wove through his thoughts, and he guided them carefully, coaxing them into the shapes he desired. The first layer of the ward began to take form, a shimmering veil of golden light that wrapped around the prisoners, and a relieved smile tugged at the corners of Aric’s mouth.
But there was no time to relax. He was only getting started. With the protective ward in place, he turned his focus to the demon spell, the one he was supposed to be unraveling. He wove a tendril of his magic into the first sigil and began to pick it apart, thread by thread.
The dais thrummed with power, the air crackling with energy, and Aric’s heart raced in time with the building storm of magic. He lost himself in the work, the outside world falling away as he focused all his will on the spells in front of him. The protective ward continued to grow, the shimmering light intensifying as he added layer upon layer of reinforcing magic.
But then he felt it, a ripple of wrongness coursing through the demonic spell. His eyes snapped open, and he caught a fleeting smirk on Lord Karthax’s brutal face. Panic surged through Aric as he realized what the demon lord had done. He’d sabotaged the spell, making it wildly unstable.
Aric’s breath caught in his throat as the magic threatened to spiral out of his control. The protective ward wavered and dimmed, the golden light flickering ominously. He couldn’t let the prisoners down. With a cry of effort, he poured more magic into the unraveling spell, trying to keep it from detonating.
But it was a losing battle. The demon magic was writhing in his hands, and it was determined to break free. The sigils on the dais flared with blinding light, and Aric’s world was consumed by a maelstrom of power.
