Prologue #2
The demon grinned. He nudged Mithras’s jaw with the blade, forcing the prince to crane his neck toward the ceiling.
“To most mortals, five hundred years seems endless. A vast sea of time. But you are right, of course. To a true immortal such as myself, five centuries is but a grain of sand in an hourglass. Time will pass quickly, and then I will be free from this mortal coil and rule the Kingdom of Noctis and the Dream Realm as my rightful self.”
If Mithras didn’t react—
If he didn’t react now, he’d—
Mithras was furious at his despairing train of thoughts.
He couldn’t die. He wouldn’t die. And so he grabbed for the demon’s hands, muscling the blade from his throat.
His arms shook as he fought for control of the blade.
The demon was strong—unnaturally strong—so Mithras had no choice but to be stronger.
I will not die.
With a final grunt, Mithras raised the blade and pressed it against the demon’s stomach.
“You would not dare,” the demon growled, incredulous. “I am your father. Your king.”
“You’re right. For my sake alone, I wouldn’t dare,” Mithras agreed, meeting the hazy red eyes of the thing that infested his father. “But for the sake of my kingdom, I must.”
And he thrust in the blade.
For a terrifying moment, Mithras thought the demon would rip out the sword and continue fighting. Mithras was a practiced swordsman, but he’d never fought a demon one-on-one like this outside of the Dream Realm. To his relief, Gabriel merely collapsed, the red in his irises melting into dark gold.
“Mithras,” his father sighed, arms dropping to his sides.
Though it pained him to do so, Mithras kept his hands firmly on the hilt of his father’s sword, anticipating the demon’s return. It took everything in him to ignore the fresh blood seeping from Gabriel’s stomach, staining the silver red. “I had no choice, Father, the demon—”
“Of course you had no choice,” Gabriel interrupted.
“The demon would have killed you. He wanted blood. Souls. He told me he’d only let me back into my body once his hunger was sated.
Just a few knights, and then he’d slumber again.
” He stilled, staring hard at his son. “You must think what I did is unforgivable.”
I forgive you, Mithras wanted to say.
But he didn’t.
“Bargaining with a demon is unforgivable. You preached that to me yourself.” Mithras’s hands were shaking atop the hilt, either with grief or fury. Perhaps both. “And yet you lowered yourself to bargain with the same monsters that killed Mother.”
“My son, I—”
“The very demons that would gleefully see Noctis—see our kingdom—burn to the ground.”
“The Weaver of the Future’s vision was clear. Just as you had no choice but to wound me, I had no choice but to trust her counsel,” Gabriel said.
“Theia told you to bind yourself to this devil? A beast you can’t even control?”
“I had no choice,” Gabriel repeated. “I saw her visions of our future. The demons will commit atrocities beyond what one can safely imagine.” His voice trembled around the edges, though he tried to hide it.
“She showed me everything. What you and Erebus are planning. The path you’re secretly forging to end the demonic plague by purging the Nocturne of its darkness.
You would have failed tonight, Mithras. If I had not done what I did—”
“What you did was murder your most loyal knights.”
Gabriel grabbed Mithras by his shoulders.
“A few knights are nothing. You don’t understand now, but you will.
If I hadn’t offered myself to this demon, his armies would have consumed Evernight and overtaken the entire Dream Realm.
Then they would have found you and Erebus, ripped you from your mortal beds, and slaughtered you while you suffocated on your own blood. This all would have happened tonight.”
Mithras’s eyes burned. “That can’t be true.”
“They would have killed us all,” Gabriel insisted. “You never had a chance.”
“Erebus and I have been preparing for months, just for you to bind yourself to some vile creature. It’s despicable.”
“My captor isn’t just any demon, Mithras.
His name is Raelion. King of the demons.
” Gabriel’s eyes brightened. “It was a fortuitous deal. Raelion offered me five hundred years of power and immortality. He also swore to ward our people from his demons with a nightly elixir.” He spat out a wad of ropy phlegm and roughly wiped his lips as he cleared his throat.
“And in return, he will eventually consume his host and rule us all.”
Mithras blanched. “I still don’t understand.”
His gaze finally snagged on his father’s wound. Blood freely poured from Gabriel’s stomach, dripping down his legs and pooling across the floor.
Maker, it’s so much blood.
Mithras was going to pass out.
“If we’re able to subdue Raelion for five hundred years, we’ve secured five centuries to muster our armies.
We can use this time to find what will truly break the demons’ hold upon Noctis—and kill Raelion for good once he has risen again in his true form.
The key that will rid us from this darkness once and for all. ”
“This is mad, Father,” Mithras said. And then, more pathetically, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you.”
I could have saved you.
“You never would have agreed to such a plan.”
“Still, I—”
“I can feel Raelion in me, even now. He’s wondering what the Weavers’ bones would feel like in his jaws.
” Blood trickled from Gabriel’s lips, reddening his teeth, but he continued, eyes wide and frantic.
“And he hungers for Erebus more than anything. Our prince of shadows—and the Weavers—must be kept from Raelion at all costs. Even if it means locking them away.”
Mithras felt sick. Erebus had lived at Evernight for years now. He’d become the brother Mithras never had. “But why Erebus?”
“His unique abilities are far more exceptional than he realizes. Than anyone realizes or can understand, for that matter. The poor boy is the only one who can protect the souls of those Corrupted by demons. If he does not shelter them, they will feed Raelion’s army.
It is foretold.” Gabriel’s voice dulled to a haunting cadence.
“Erebus will be alone with those broken souls for a regrettably long time,” he continued somberly.
“It will change him irreparably. But Theia has seen a girl whose shadows sing to his. At the end of the five hundred years, there will be hope.”
Gabriel slowly eased the sword from his stomach. The blade was still wet with blood, but the wound itself had stilled—no longer gushing, just open and waiting. As the metal slid free, the skin stirred, pulling itself back together inch by inch. Like clay being smoothed by a sculptor’s hands.
The king’s bargain with Raelion had saved him.
“Quickly, now. The tombs. I’m healing, but walking is difficult.”
Mithras obeyed, half dragging and half carrying his father to the tomb’s entrance.
“The Weavers might be sleeping, Father. Let me wake them. They can help—”
“They will not,” Gabriel interrupted, hands glowing brightly as if lit from within by some unholy power. “I’m destroying the entrance.”
Mithras’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“You need to run, Mithras. Go now, before Raelion returns and I can’t control myself any longer.”
“The Weavers are still down there,” Mithras insisted, incredulous. “They’ll be trapped.”
“Isolating them in immortal sleep is the only way to ensure their physical safety for the next five centuries.”
Mithras shook his head. “They’ll be furious.”