Tomas shuddered, and Aric felt a pang of guilt. He remembered all too well the nightmares that had plagued him in his early days at the Tower, the visions of demons with their jagged teeth and searing eyes. He had long since outgrown such childish terrors, but in truth, the demons still frightened him. He simply refused to let that fear control him.

“Once the circle is complete, we will begin the incantation,” Aric said, his voice softening. “You must speak the words with purpose, with conviction. You are calling the flames to you, and they must answer your command.”

Tomas nodded, his face set in a mask of concentration. He finished the final arc of the summoning circle and took his place at Aric’s side.

“Are you ready?” Aric asked.

Tomas’s voice was fragile as soap bubbles, but there nonetheless. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Aric smiled. “Good. Now, let us begin.”

They chanted the ancient words of power, the air around them growing thick and heavy with magic. Aric felt the energy building, ready to spring into action at their command. But as the seconds stretched on, Tomas’s voice wavered, and the magic began to unravel.

“Tomas,” Aric said, his tone a warning.

“I’m trying,” Tomas said, his face pale with the effort. “It’s just⁠—”

Aric swore under his breath and reached out to steady the magic. But it was too late. With a sound like shattering glass, the spell came apart, the raw energy of it lashing out in all directions.

Tomas cried out and stumbled back, his robes smoking from the backlash. Aric moved to help him, but Tomas held up a hand, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” Tomas said. “I tried to focus, but I was scared.”

Aric’s heart ached for the boy. He knew the terror that the demons could inspire. But if Tomas was to ever become a true mage, he had to learn to master that fear. The demons would not wait for him to be ready.

“I know, Tomas. I know.” Aric sighed and let the remnants of the spell fizzle out. “But you have to be stronger than that. You have to be ready to face the demons, no matter what.”

Tomas nodded, his lower lip trembling. “I’ll do better next time, I swear.”

Aric clapped him on the shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. “I know you will.”

Malekith led Aric through the labyrinthine corridors of the Wrathforge, each passage more foreboding than the last. The architecture was a study in oppressive elegance, all soaring arches, and stonework that drank in the dim light. Aric’s eyes darted to the occasional demon servant scurrying past, their grotesque forms barely more than a shadow in the sconces that flickered and died. What he’d give to be anywhere but here.

Malekith’s posture was tense, jaw clenched as if he expected an unwelcome blow at any moment. He said nothing as they wound their way deeper into the heart of the fortress, and Aric didn’t dare speak, not even to ask the most basic of questions—where they were going, or what was about to happen. He could taste the raw power that thrummed through the stones beneath their feet, and it filled him with a heady mix of awe and terror.

As they rounded a final corner and the chambers of the demon sovereign himself came into view, it was almost a relief.

Until they nearly collided with the demoness blocking the entrance.

Aric didn’t know her, but he recognized the smoldering look in her eyes, the haughty tilt of her chin. She was someone who was used to getting what she wanted, and woe to anyone who stood in her way.

“Sylthris,” Malekith said, drawing himself up to his full height. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Oh, I think you were.” Sylthris’s voice was a low, smoky purr, belying the sharpness in her words. She turned her attention to Aric, and he felt a shiver of unease skitter down his spine. “And you’ve brought me a little gift. How thoughtful.”

Aric hesitated in the demoness’s shadow, his instincts at war. On one hand, she was a complete unknown, and in the depths of the Wrathforge, that could be a deadly liability. On the other, there was something about her—something that whispered to the same ancient, long-buried parts of him that Malekith did. She regarded him with far more intelligence than most demons, who only seemed to look at him with lust of one kind or another in their eyes.

Maybe it was the way she held herself, with the same lethal grace as Malekith. Or the look in her eyes, a glimmer of dark amusement that hinted at untold depths. She was a predator, no question, and Aric suspected that getting on her bad side would be even more unwise than angering Malekith.

With a silent prayer that he was making the right choice, Aric sank into a shallow bow. “I am Aric Solarian,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “But I suspect you already knew that.”

Those enigmatic eyes never left his as she stood aside to let them pass, but the barest hint of a smile tugged at her blood-red lips. Malekith’s eyes, on the other hand, remained fixed on the stonework before him, and Aric realized with a jolt that they were watching each other, assessing, testing⁠—

Circling.

“And as clever as they say, too,” she mused. “Indeed, I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

“There are far more entertaining personalities around here. I’m about as dull as they come, my lady.”

That earned him a genuine smile, cold and lovely as moonlight on snow.

“Is that so?” She trailed a clawed fingertip down his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. Aric fought back a wince, refusing to show any weakness. “I have a feeling that might change.” She withdrew her hand. “Sylthris the Gravewhisper. House Ixion and I go way back. Sometime I’m sure I’ll have to tell you all about it.”

“I’m sure Aric has no interest in dusty old family trees, Sylthris.” Malekith’s tone was sharp, a warning, as he interjected himself between Aric and the demoness. He placed a hand on Aric’s lower back, a possessive gesture that surprised Aric, even as it sent a warm trill through him. “We have pressing matters to attend to.”

Sylthris’s smile widened, revealing teeth just a touch too sharp. “Oh, but I think he might find it fascinating. The rise and fall of House Ixion... the secrets buried in blood and shadow...” She leaned closer to Aric, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you know, little mage, that the Ixions were once⁠—”

“Enough, Sylthris. Your games grow tiresome.”

A growl, low and perturbed, from Malekith, and Aric felt the air bristle with tension, magic simmering just beneath the surface. He held his breath, caught between fascination and fear, as Sylthris stepped back, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“As you wish, old friend.”

Her gaze lingered on Aric, filled with dark amusement.

“But if you ever want to know more, little mage, seek me out. I have such stories to tell.”

With a final, knowing look at Malekith, she glided past them and disappeared around the corner.

Aric turned to Malekith, a hundred questions burning in his mind. But Malekith’s expression was closed off, his jaw clenched. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to; Aric knew what he was thinking. Whether it was Sylthris’s parting words, or the confrontation they’d just had in the war council chambers, or something else entirely, Aric was sure there were a dozen different thoughts and emotions churning inside Malekith’s head.

“Not here.” Malekith’s voice was a low rumble, and he took Aric’s arm in a firm grip. “These walls have ears, and Sylthris isn’t the only one who trades in secrets.”

Aric nodded, trying to push down the surge of questions and follow Malekith as he led them into a nearby parlor. The room was opulent, all velvet and gilt, a stark contrast to the sparse chambers Aric had been given. Malekith closed the door behind them, and with a few quick words of power, he sealed the room with a shimmering barrier.

“Who is she?” Aric asked, once Malekith had released him. “And what did she mean about your family’s history?”

Malekith’s eyes narrowed at the observation, but he didn’t deny it. He paced the room, his movements fluid and predatory. “Sylthris the Gravewhisper,” he began, his voice low and intense. “An old . . . friend, of sorts. We trained together under the same mage, long ago.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “She was always more interested in gathering secrets than mastering spells.”

“Is that how you know her?” Aric asked. “From your training?”

Malekith’s look was long—haunted, even—yet it only served to spark a thousand more questions in Aric’s mind. “We were . . . close, once. But her loyalties have always been to herself above all else.”

“She seemed to know a lot about your family.” Aric hesitated, then added softly, “Why did she make you so . . . uncomfortable?”

Malekith’s steps faltered, and for a moment, Aric thought he might not answer. But then he sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and came to a stop in the center of the room.