“Then it is decided,” Zaxos said. “The final trial will take place in the human realm, in the city of Drindal. The demon armies will begin preparations at once to resume our campaign anew.”
Drindal. Aric’s heart sank. What had changed that made Zaxos confident once more that his forces could resume their campaign? What could Sylthris have learned?
“Prepare your forces, generals,” Zaxos said. “We march at dawn.”
Sixteen
Aric was in the dungeons beneath Drindal once more when he heard the thump.
He’d been squatting against the wall, struggling with trying to make sense of the power sigils that controlled his manacles. Why could he only seem to fight past them in dire circumstances, and not other times? Useless; he might have been better off leaving them alone.
He hadn’t heard the other guards approach, but he’d smelled them—days’ worth of sweat, demonsteel, and something else, sweet and fetid like old meat. The stench had wrapped around the back of his throat, clung to the insides of his nostrils. As much as he didn’t want to give in and use the sigils’ power, he wanted a sip of water, a cool cloth for his face even more.
A thump. And the sound of a body sliding down the bars that separated him from freedom. Well, freedom was a generous word, he mused, staring up at the deadbolt that held the door in place. Aric tensed, ready to spring up, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, they made out the unconscious form of his guard. Then General Vezera stepped forward, her scarred, ashen face twisting into a smirk.
“I’ve orders for you to meet with the prince, little mage,” Vezera said, her voice like gravel. “Better make it quick, though, before this lug wakes up.”
Aric felt like a candle burning at both ends as he loped through the streets of Drindal. The town was a strange mix of its usual self and the war that had torn through it—the markets empty, the steam rising from the hot springs, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a sense of unease that lingered.
He was on high alert, every sense stretched taut as he scanned the crowd for any sign of danger. The guards were out in force, their demonsteel weapons glinting in the harsh light, and Aric couldn’t help but flinch every time he caught sight of them. But it wasn’t just the guards he had to worry about. There were humans here too, their faces drawn and weary from the long years of war. Any one of them could be a potential ally, or a threat, and Aric had to be constantly on his guard.
And then there was the gnawing ache in his chest, the raw and tender place where his feelings for Malekith had taken root. Aric tried to push it down, to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. Every shadow that moved in the corner of his eye, every whisper on the wind, and he was back in Malekith’s arms, feeling his soft, insistent touch.
Stop it, he scolded himself. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. His life, and the fate of both realms, hung in the balance, and he had to see this through.
Aric arrived at the predetermined meeting spot General Vezera had specified: a nondescript building near the edge of town. He kept to the shadows as he approached, the night air cool and damp, with the scent of smoke and blood lingering on the breeze from the recent battles. The town was under heavy patrol from the demon soldiers, but so far, there was no sign that his travel was being noted.
Aric crouched down and whispered the complex incantation, his words like honey and acid as they wove through the air. The wards guarding the building shuddered, then fell away, revealing the hidden door. With one last glance around, Aric slipped inside and descended the narrow staircase into darkness.
Aric’s boots echoed on the stone steps as he descended deeper into the earth, the air growing colder and damper with each passing moment. He’d never known of this passage’s existence, but it seemed the demons had a network of secret tunnels that stretched far beyond the town’s boundaries. The walls were rough hewn stone, the floor a jumble of loose rocks and packed dirt, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something older, more primal.
As he shifted into the dim light, he could make out the intricate runes carved into the walls, their meaning lost to time. The air itself seemed to hum with power, the ancient magic of the place seeping into his skin. He’d never felt anything quite like it, a raw and untamed energy that set his nerves on edge.
“Aric.”
The voice echoed in the chamber, sending a shiver down his spine. He turned, and saw a shadow detaching itself from the wall, coalescing into a figure in the darkness. Malekith. His pale skin glowed in the low light, his dark eyes fixed on Aric with an intensity that made his heart race.
“Malekith.”
“Why are we holding the final trial here, in Drindal?” Aric asked. “It seems an odd choice, given the circumstances.”
Malekith’s expression darkened. “It was not my decision. Sovereign Zaxos chose this location, but he did not see fit to share his reasons with me.”
Aric frowned, turning the question over in his mind. “Perhaps he feels more certain of victory now.”
“Perhaps,” Malekith said, though he sounded unconvinced. “But some condition must have changed to give him that confidence. I can feel it in the air, a tension that was not present before.”
Aric’s thoughts raced. “It may have something to do with the magical anomaly that I overheard the guards talking about. The one that threatens both our realms.”
Malekith’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer to Aric, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “What did you hear?”
Aric quickly related what little he’d been able to piece together from the guards’ conversation, about the strange disturbances in the demon realm, and the reports of similar events happening on the human side. “They said it was like a thread, stretching between the two realms, growing stronger by the day.”
Malekith went very still, his face a mask of concentration. “I have heard whispers of this at court. The anomaly is a source of great concern to the demon high command, but they know little more than what you have told me. There are some who fear it may be connected to the human weapon we encountered at Brenville.”
“I don’t know,” Aric said. “But if it is from the human weapon, it could be a game changer. Perhaps enough to force the demon high command to the negotiating table.”
Malekith’s hand tightened on Aric’s arm, his claws pressing dangerously close to Aric’s skin. “And what do you think? Do you believe it is possible for our two realms to make peace?”
Aric hesitated. It was a dangerous question, one that struck at the heart of everything he’d been taught. “I . . . I want to believe it is possible. But the hatred and fear on both sides run deep. I fear it may take more than a mere weapon to end the war.”
Malekith was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching Aric’s. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I am willing to do whatever it takes to try.”
Aric’s heart ached at the sincerity in Malekith’s voice, the raw vulnerability he heard there. For all his cunning and his masks, Malekith was still a demon, bound by duty and honor to his people. And yet he was willing to risk everything for the chance of peace, even his own life.
“I know,” Aric said softly, reaching up to touch Malekith’s face. “I know, my prince.”
It was a wild and recklessthing, to care for the enemy, to let his heart be swayed by the demon prince’s seductive promises. To risk so much for a connection, a bond that stretched between their worlds, defying all reason and sense. But as Malekith’s arms came around him, drawing him close, Aric couldn’t bring himself to regret it. For in Malekith’s embrace, he felt a sense of belonging, of acceptance, that had always eluded him in his own world.
He tilted his face up, his lips seeking Malekith’s in the darkness. The kiss was a promise, a vow of his own. Whatever the trials ahead might bring, he would face them with Malekith at his side.
Malekith’s response was a low growl, a shiver of power that raced through Aric’s veins. He tasted of shadows and starlight, a heady blend that went straight to Aric’s head. He clung to Malekith, his body aching with a hunger that only Malekith could sate. They stumbled back, and Aric’s hands fumbled at the fastenings of Malekith’s robes, desperate to feel that smooth, pale skin beneath his touch.
“Aric,” Malekith said, his voice a beacon in the darkness. “Aric, look at me.”
Aric’s hands were still shaking from the magical surge. He’d never experienced anything like it, the raw, untamed energy of the demon magic coursing through his veins. But as he turned to Malekith, he saw the concern in the demon prince’s eyes, and he forced himself to take a deep breath, to steady himself.
“I know it was not what you were expecting,” Malekith said, “but you did well. You showed the court and the sovereign that you have the strength and the skill to master the demon magic. The kind of power that can shift the balance of the war in our favor.”
