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.
Aric’s heart leaped in his chest as he turned towards the other cell. Malekith’s form was a shadow in the darkness, but his presence was a steady, reassuring weight in Aric’s mind. He was here. He was all right.
Aric moved to the bars, his hand outstretched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It will only bring more guards.”
Time passed slowly, marked only by the rhythmic drip of water and the occasional shuffle of guard’s footsteps. Aric leaned against the bars separating him from Malekith, speaking in a low, careful tone.
“This isn’t right. Zaxos promised me three trials. I bested them all. Why are we here?”
His voice was tight with anger, but Malekith only shook his head, his face hidden in the shadows.
It is not me you must convince.
Aric’s jaw clenched, his frustration simmering just below the surface.
“I did what he asked. I proved myself. Why won’t he just let us go?”
Malekith’s hand closed around the bars, the tips of his black claws pressing into Aric’s flesh.
