Chapter Two
Noise from the gathered crowd echoed off the ballroom’s marble walls as the dancers bowed to their partners, then stood face to face, readying themselves for yet another round on the floor.
Some flitted between partners while others stayed with the ones they’d walked in beside. Rion memorized every face. He’d been back less than two weeks and had already thwarted a dozen attempts on his life. He’d killed half of them and left the other half in the dirt. They’d all be seeking a new profession once they woke. If they woke.
He sipped from his drink, the amber liquid burning his throat. Rion crossed his ankles, his back pressed against the wall farthest away from the food tables. He didn’t want to deal with their cautious steps. Here, in the darkness, they simply avoided him.
Rion eyed the bottom of his glass. He’d poured it himself from a bottle hidden in his room. He should have brought it down. He supposed he could always find an unopened one in the kitchens.
Alec had already planned the celebration before his “untimely arrival,” as his brother had so kindly put it. He didn’t need words to know Alec wasn’t happy. He’d probably thought his little brother long dead. Likely hoped for it.
Rion eyed the guests of honor. They’d emerged victorious in a skirmish to the north involving a rogue group from Pádraigín. The small port city usually kept to itself, but its citizens had been stirring lately. Rion imagined they were likely tired of their boring life at the edge of the continent.
He eyed his glass again. It wasn’t his concern. Even if he got involved, it wasn’t as though Alec would throw a celebration in his honor.
A male’s rough voice rose above the crowd, drawing several gazes. Glass shattered, skidding across the polished floor, then Rion watched the male slap a half-breed across the face. The slave barely reacted to the hit. Blood leaked from the corner of the female’s mouth, but she bowed and quickly began collecting the shards with her bare hands.
The scent of her blood filled the space as glass cut across her palm. The male kicked her in the stomach, then stormed away. She curled in on herself, sucking down breath.
Anger clouded Rion’s vision and those who’d dared to step close quickly moved away. He stared at the slave. The half-breed. Stared at the Fae who sneered at her in disgust.
She kept picking up the glass.
Half-breeds hadn’t asked to be born different. Their parents had made that decision for them. Some were love matches, as forbidden as they were, but most resulted from a human female’s unfortunate encounter with a disgraceful male.
Rion couldn’t fathom ever forcing a female, human or no.
The gods allowed the half-breed’s conception. Just like they’d allowed his. And the gods also tolerated their mistreatment. Just as they’d always turned a blind eye to his plights.
Rion continued watching the slave. Another took her place, the two barely nodding to one another in a silent language they’d developed to survive.
He followed her as she weaved through the crowd, carefully balancing the tray of broken glass. He followed her again through the set of double doors.
She didn’t notice him, and Rion remained silent as he watched her deposit the glass in a trash receptacle before tending to her hand in the sink.
Moments later, she fetched a pair of tweezers from a side drawer and began picking at the tiny shards embedded in her palm.
The female winced, then cursed. A foul word Saoirse had scolded Rion for using in his youth. The memory brought a smile to his face.
Rion took all of two steps before the female whirled around. He didn’t know whether she’d scented him or heard his footsteps.
Her eyes widened, then she hit her knees before pressing her head to the tiled floor. His smile faded.
“I-Is there something I can do for you, My Lord?”
He debated leaving. Perhaps he shouldn’t interfere. It had been centuries and no one else ever had. But he was so tired of the gods not taking responsibility for the beings they’d created. He was tired of seeing so many suffer.
“How would you feel about freedom?”
The female didn’t lift her head. Tales of his reputation had spread far and wide, even beyond Brónach’s borders. He’d done some traveling to other countries. Visited their major cities and villages.
Everyone knew The Demon’s name.
But he’d never laid a hand on a slave.
“I am your slave, My Lord.” Technically, she was. Every slave within the palace walls was to answer the Lords and Ladies first.
Another slave entered behind and quickly turned around. Rion watched the door. He couldn’t disclose his plans here, not if he wanted to keep them from Alec and the council.
Rion weighed his options and for the first time in a long while he felt his heart lighten with something he dared to call hope.
He was known as a monster, but he could become so much more. And he could use the shadows to do it.
If the world didn’t want to give him a purpose, he’d give himself one.
“I want you to finish cleaning your hand, then meet me outside the door.”
“I can finish later if it pleases you, My Lord.”
He grimaced. “I don’t want blood everywhere. Clean your hand and bandage it well.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
It took the female less than five minutes. She entered the hall, glanced around, then headed straight for him, her head bowed and eyes averted. Rion asked for her hand and inspected it thoroughly before turning toward the door.
“Follow me.”
No one looked twice as a slave followed Rion outside the ballroom and down the hall. He scented her fear and prayed she’d agree to his spur-of-the-moment plan.
Rion led her to the study and held the door open to gesture her inside. He checked to be sure no one had followed before closing it behind him.
The room was . . . foreign. He hadn’t stepped foot inside since the last night he and Saoirse had played chess together. It had been decades. His sister had kept it mostly the same. She’d replaced a few pieces of furniture, and their old chess table stood in a corner with a layer of dust covering the glass pieces. Pain blossomed in his chest anew.
Rion swallowed it down and turned to face the half-breed. Her pulse was racing.
Rion clenched his jaw. “For the sake of clarity. You’re not here for . . . entertainment.” Her gaze lifted a bit. “I’m not interested in such things.” Tension seemed to fall from her shoulders.
Rion pulled out a chair and set it before her. “Sit, if you’d like.” She eyed it for several long seconds, then obeyed. Rion separated himself and stood on the opposite side of the room. He craned his head to listen, just to be sure no one had snuck up behind them.
“Freedom,” he began. “How far would you go to obtain it?”
The female looked at him, opened her mouth once, then closed it. “I don’t understand, My Lord.”
“It’s not a trick question. I want to know how far you’d be willing to go.”
The female fell silent again. She looked at her hand, flexed her fingers, and winced from the pain. Rion let her think, but she was quiet for so long that he wondered if she’d answer at all.
Then finally, in a voice so soft he could barely hear it, “As far as I need to.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, fear written plainly across her face. “I’d do anything, but only if my family came with me.”
“Children?” he questioned.
She shook her head. “I was . . . permitted to marry, although we’ve been,” she chewed her bottom lip, “hesitant to have children. But I have two sisters and three nephews. I could never abandon them.”
“And if I said you wouldn’t have to?”
She looked up then, daring to meet the blazing gaze of The Demon of Alastríona. “What do you want in exchange?”
“Nothing.”
Her lips parted again, but no sound emerged. She looked back at her hands, to the chains around her wrists. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m offering you freedom. There’s nothing to understand.”
“But why?”
He sighed and looked toward the closed window. To the gray sky beyond. “I’ve never owned a slave.” He felt her gaze on him again. “And maybe I’m just tired of the concept.”
“Won’t the High Lord be angry?”
A smirk played on his lips. “That’s part of the fun.”
“But he’ll figure it out, won’t he?”
Rion shrugged. “Eventually.”
“What will you tell him?”
“You ask a lot of unimportant questions for someone being offered the chance at a new life.”
She straightened, that fear returning, but something else lined the scent, too. Something like excitement.
“I don’t want the others punished.”
Rion clenched his jaw. It was a valid worry, especially with what he’d seen in the past. It was one of the many ways owners kept their slaves in check, using their friends and family against them.
“I’ll tell them you annoyed me enough that I took it out on your family.”
Her voice was too soft again. “Many believe you would.”
“Many believe a lie.” She shifted, uncomfortable, yet curious enough to keep listening. Most slaves had never known freedom. “The choice is yours.”
She chewed her lip again, thinking, likely running scenarios through her head and remembering the consequences of those who had tried and failed in the past.
“Where would we go?”
“To Móirín. Levea is lovely in the spring.”