11. Max
MAX
T hey fed me.
A peanut butter sandwich that tasted like heaven with a piece of ham, the best meal I’d ever had, even for prison food. I devoured every last crumb and tried not to moan in pleasure or ask for more.
They also let me sleep on a cot with a blanket in an underground holding cell.
The corridor leading down to it was long and narrow, lit by intermittent Stormglass lanterns. The air smelled of damp rock and faintly of chemicals, like whatever cleaning solution they used to keep the place scrubbed.
It was an upgrade from a dungeon. I was the only one on this entire floor.
That first session with all four heirs had ended when I’d passed out. When I woke, it was a different game. For three days, they kept me there, except when they hauled me out for interrogation.
Thanks to Aelindor, Caspian, and Nikolai that I wasn’t rotting in a dungeon, as Drakken had insisted.
The dragon prince had wanted me thrown in the worst hole they had.
He’d argued for it with the kind of passion most people reserved for matters of life and death, which he probably considered this to be.
Aelindor drew the line on resorting to torture, even though I hadn’t given up much. I still refused to hand over anything valuable before I could trust them, and so far, they hadn’t proved trustworthy. Especially Drakken.
While I’d been living in the mines, the propaganda from the White Witch had painted the heirs of the Zodiac Covenant as villains who’d brought the Rupture down on the world.
She’d claimed that we miners were protected from war and monsters, and our work was important and honorable, necessary to ensure victory in the holy war against the heirs.
I trusted no sides except my family and friends. In the age of the Rupture, there were no good guys left.
For three days, they asked the same damn questions.
Aelindor had left after the first day. I found myself wondering where he’d gone, which made no sense.
I’d just met the Fae prince, and already I wanted to know his business.
Something about him made me feel like there was solid ground beneath my feet, even when everything else was quicksand.
With the lion gone, the monkey king took charge. Interrogating me was his life’s passion, and he practiced it with relentless repetition. I understood what Drakken was doing—wearing me down, grinding away at my resolve until he found a crack in my armor. This was a mental war .
I’d been fighting those since I was old enough to hold a spoon.
Even Caspian and Nikolai looked bored to tears by the end of each session. I almost felt sorry for them having to sit through Drakken’s relentless questioning. Yet one of them always showed up, dutiful as a clock, as if making sure the dragon didn’t go too far without a witness.
Today, Caspian sat with Drakken behind the long table.
Drakken wore black fatigues today, gold clasps at the collar, fitted to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders and chest. The cut made him look even bigger than usual, which was saying something.
The man was built like the fortress walls surrounding us—massive, unyielding, designed to withstand siege.
His jaw was set, the muscles in his neck corded tight.
His cold gray eyes swept over me in constant assessment and utter disdain.
He was, objectively, a beautiful man. The demon sighed, saying that kind of male beauty belonged on posters. But beauty meant shit to me when it came wrapped in hostility and arrogance.
Both men were drinking coffee. I could smell it from across the room, dark and bitter and impossibly rich, the scent alone enough to make my mouth water.
Caspian tried to offer me a cup, and I’d already started to rise from my chair when Drakken’s palm slammed flat against the table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
“Drop it, Caspian. We agreed on this. ”
The asshole knew I’d kill for coffee. He’d seen the glint of joy in my eyes after that first taste a couple of days ago—watched me close my eyes and hold the warmth against my palms like it was sacred.
I should’ve concealed it, but no amount of practice could hide a physical response to food when your body had been starved for years.
Caspian shot Drakken a look that said he thought the dragon was being fucking petty.
“What’s your career?” Drakken demanded, his voice hard.
He’d worded it differently this time. How refreshing.
“Career?” I snorted. “I hate to disappoint you, dragon.”
I watched his eyes shift, the cold gray bleeding to molten gold in a dangerous tide.
Just as I’d expected. His beast peeked out whenever I addressed it directly.
The dragon lived close to the surface with this one, barely leashed, always prowling.
Know your enemy. He tested me, and I tested back, even as a prisoner. Mental war didn’t discriminate.
“I was a slave. Fourteen hours a day in the mine.”
“That’s brutal, Max.” Caspian’s voice softened with sympathy. “Even I don’t work that much, and I’m a workaholic.”
Drakken gave him a hard look, his nostrils flaring. I caught the faintest curl of smoke drifting from them. The dragon was irritated.
The shifter prince spread his arms wide, unbothered. “It’s intense in here. ”
“We’re interrogating a prisoner. It’s supposed to be intense!” Drakken’s voice bounced off the walls.
“But it doesn’t have to be hostile.” Caspian turned to me with an easy smile. “Everyone in camp knows I’m a friendly guy. I like to cuddle.”
The demon inside me perked up, as if it wanted to cuddle, too.
“What’s your association with the White Witch?” Drakken leaned forward, his voice dropping low. The shift was deliberate, like drawing a blade instead of swinging a hammer.
“My association with the White Witch is forced labor in the toughest mining district.” I bared my teeth, but I wasn’t smiling. “I’m one of her numerous slaves.”
“Or youpretendto be a slave, but you’re actually a spy,” he sneered.
I looked at him blankly.
“A spy would be well-fed, wouldn’t they?” Caspian countered, while his peer kept grasping for creative ways to frame me, to force a confession.
“This warlock’s an excellent actor.” Drakken’s lip curled. “He’s been starving himself to keep up appearances.”
Rage charged through me.
Caspian groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “This madness has to stop, Drakken.”
“All of you have been eating out of his palm ever since you brought him in.” Drakken planted both fists on the table.
“Even Aelindor has a soft spot for this warlock. I’m the only one immune to charms and spells.
I’ve visited every outpost, every satellite town, but I’ve never seen this Max fucking Morning.
” He flicked two fingers at me like he was brushing away something foul.
“No civilian could survive crossing the Scorched Wastes.”
“There’s always an exception.” Caspian shrugged. “Besides, we got to Max before the mutants did.”
“How convenient.” Drakken’s smile was sharp. “Try thinking with your bigger head, wolf.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult me in front of an audience.” Caspian’s green eyes narrowed. “Say it again and I’ll still punch you. Even if you are my brother.”
Drakken huffed. “Let’s break it down for your benefit.
This prisoner claims to be a deserter from Crimson Ridge.
How the fuck did he get past a large military base with a powerful force of witches, several heavily guarded outposts, and warded barbed-wire fences?
” He slapped his large hand on the table for emphasis.
The coffee cups rattled. “We tried to raid that mine seven times. Seven!”
My heart skipped. I’d heard about those raids. Missy had overheard the overseers talking and brought the whispers back to me with wide, hopeful eyes. We’d prayed they’d break through, prayed for the chaos so we could run.
No such luck.
It was no surprise the Zodiac Covenant had tried to take Crimson Ridge. Whoever controlled a Stormglass vein held the power.
But no one knew about Coldiron, the sentient metal.
If the White Witch ever got wind of it, learned about my connection to it, she’d chain me to that mine for the rest of my life, or worse.
Working fourteen hours underground, barely surfacing except to sleep in my mud hut, I’d stayed invisible.
That was probably what the demon meant—Coldiron shrouded me.
The Zodiac Covenant sat on smaller mines that produced a fraction of what Crimson Ridge yielded, forcing them to rely on the black market. Raiders attacked caravans not for food but for charged Stormglass. Trading it was the hottest career anyone could have.
“We suffered a devastating loss,” Drakken paused.
For one unguarded moment, I saw something beneath his arrogance and hostility. A man who carried his dead like forever weight. The hatred in his eyes when he spoke of the White Witch was personal, carved into his bones. And he took it out on me because he thought I was one of hers.
“Even if we could breach the mine,” he continued, “the White Witch has a second military base on the west side, right outside the mining villages. Enemy reinforcements would arrive faster than we could retreat. That mine is her most heavily protected property outside the capital.”
Aelindor asked me about it too—how I’d gotten to the Scorched Wastes and what happened next.
“My friends and I escaped through a tunnel that runs beyond the military bases.” That was all I’d given them at my hearing.
Aelindor didn’t push. He met my distrust with strategic patience, letting it be. But the dragon wouldn’t let it go. And I’d never tell them I could command metal. Drakken had already accused me of bewitching people .
It isn’t bewitching, Max. The demon’s voice slid through my mind, thick with smugness. It’s more than that. It’s what you are. A pause. Do you know you have another name? Your birth name?
I didn’t want to know. To a degree, I was a coward. What if I was a witch? I already had a demon inside me, didn’t I?
The best course was denial. It had kept me safe since childhood. The creature could whisper, coax, mock, and seduce all it wanted. I wouldn’t give another inch.
No way would I let it completely possess me, take over. Over my dead body.
When Aelindor asked more about the metals in the mine, I told him—iron, gold, platinum, iridium, rhodium, and a newer metal called starfell.
It confirmed parts of his intel on Crimson Ridge.
He hadn’t gotten everything right, though.
Whoever his spies were, they couldn’t get reliable information out of those tunnels.
As they’d said, I was the only one who’d made it out.
“What else do you know?” That had been Aelindor’s last question before he’d left.
“Not much,” I’d answered with a low rasp, keeping my pulse steady.
These supernaturals could hear the rhythm of my heartbeats.
“I’m just a miner. I followed the overseers’ instructions, went where they sent me.
I wasn’t a leader or anything, given my age and experience.
They wanted Stormglass, so we tried to find more so we’d get fed. Which was never much.”
You lie so well, little Max. The demon chuckled. I’m proud of you. Do you know those who can work with metals are called geomancers? Someone with your particular skill is called an alchemist.
It tried again, pushing at the edges of my mind.
It knew the secret I held could topple empires.
Over half the Stormglass transported to the White Witch’s capital was tainted with dormant Coldiron.
I’d simply have to call on it, persuade it to turn and render the Stormglass useless.
Then the engines powered by the tainted arcane metal would collapse.
Lights would die. Batteries would drain to nothing.
The infrastructure of a kingdom, crippled from the inside.
That was how I’d get my revenge for my parents’ deaths.
That was how I’d destroy the White Witch and the Pallid Court.
I tilted my head. Even here, in this interrogation room, I could hear the low hum of Coldiron, familiar, keen, chatty. They’d sensed my presence.
Like every kingdom, the Zodiac Covenant had bought tainted Stormglass from smugglers on the black market.
They were using it to power their fortress.
Even the limelights blasting my face were fueled by Stormglass laced with a drop of Coldiron—a tiny heartbeat of sentient metal pulsing inside the lamp housing. Waiting.
I could persuade it to silence the Stormglass. Plunge this entire room into pitch black.
Maybe it was time to derail the dragon’s operation with one command.