5. Ada
5
ADA
I wake to sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, Rose's warm weight curled against my side. The familiar panic seizes my chest before I remember where we are - Dezoth's home. Safe, for now.
A soft knock draws my attention. "Mama, do you smell that?" Rose lifts her head, honey-blonde curls wild from sleep.
The aroma of fresh bread and something sweet drifts through the air. My stomach growls despite my wariness. I ease out of bed, checking the hallway before letting Rose follow.
In the kitchen, a spread covers the wooden table - still-warm bread, preserves, fresh fruit, and what appears to be honeyed porridge. No sign of our... host? Captor? I'm not sure what to call him anymore.
"Look!" Rose points to a folded note propped against a ceramic pitcher of milk. The handwriting is precise, almost artistic:
Duties called early. Help yourselves. -D
"Can we eat, Mama? Please?" Rose bounces on her toes, eyeing the feast.
I run my fingers over the note, frowning. This doesn't fit with what I know of demons, especially one of his rank. They don't leave breakfast for their captives. They don't write polite notes or provide fresh milk.
"Mama's thinking too hard again." Rose tugs my sleeve, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.
"Just being careful, little flower." I lift her onto a chair, but my mind keeps circling back to the gesture. Is this meant to lower our guard? Make us complacent? Or...
"The bread has seeds in it! And it's still warm with magic." Rose tears into a slice, honey dripping down her chin.
I touch the loaf - she's right. It's still at that perfect just-baked temperature - which must be from a preservation spell. Another thoughtful detail I wasn't expecting.
"You should eat too." Rose pushes the bread basket toward me. "He made it pretty, see? Like a flower."
The loaves are indeed arranged in a spiral pattern, with the smaller rolls forming petals around the larger centerpiece. It's... artistic. Deliberate. Not the actions of someone viewing us as mere prisoners.
I sink into a chair, my certainty about our situation crumbling like the warm bread in my hands.
After breakfast, I clean our dishes - a habit ingrained from years of service. Rose skips ahead of me through the halls, investigating every corner of our temporary sanctuary.
"Look at all the books, Mama!" She presses her face against a glass-fronted cabinet in what appears to be Dezoth's study. Row upon row of leather-bound volumes line the shelves, each spine pristine, perfectly aligned.
A single high-backed chair sits behind the massive oak desk. The surface gleams, not a paper out of place. No half-finished projects or personal items, just a neat stack of reports and a perfectly arranged set of writing implements.
"Can we read them?" Rose's fingers leave smudges on the glass.
"Those aren't for us, little flower." I guide her away, not sure how he'd react to finding us in there.
We move through more rooms, each telling the same story. The parlor holds formal furniture arranged with military precision, but no comfortable reading nook or lived-in spaces. No paintings grace the walls, no keepsakes displayed on mantels.
"My room is the prettiest!" Rose declares, dragging me to see it again.
She's right. Her room blazes with life compared to the rest of the house - walls painted soft purple, twinkling magical lights strung across the ceiling, stuffed animals arranged on the bed. The animals are new, I can tell, but the rest - why would he have a purple room?
"Did you see his room has no pictures?" Rose asks, hugging a plush creature to her chest. "Not like the demons at home. They had lots of family paintings."
I hadn't noticed that specifically, but she's right. Most demon nobles practically wallpaper their homes with ancestral portraits. Here, the walls stand bare except for Rose's room.
"Everything's so clean," I murmur, running a finger along a windowsill. Not a speck of dust. "Like no one really lives here."
"Maybe he's lonely." Rose arranges her new toys in a circle. "Like we were, before."
I pause at her words, remembering the single chair at his desk, the untouched books, the hollow echo of our footsteps through empty halls. For someone of his rank, this house should be bustling with servants, family members, constant activity. Instead, it feels like a museum - perfect, pristine, and utterly lifeless.
Rose trails behind me as I inspect the kitchen cabinets, taking stock of our surroundings. Her tiny feet patter across the stone floor, purple eyes bright with curiosity.
"Why did the nice guard Captain give me such a pretty room? Did he know purple's my favorite?"
My hands freeze on a jar of dried herbs. "I'm not sure, little flower."
"And he has the same sparkly magic as Papa did. You said Papa used to make lights dance for me?"
The jar slips, but I catch it before it shatters. "Rose..."
"Is that why we're staying here? Because he's like Papa?"
I set the jar down with trembling fingers. "No, sweetheart. We're here because..." Because we were caught. Because I failed to keep us hidden. Because I had no choice.
"Do you think he'll teach me magic? You always said I'd learn when I was bigger." She twirls, making her dress flutter. "I'm bigger now."
"Rose, please." The words catch in my throat. How do I explain that we can't trust anyone, even someone who seems kind? That her father's death taught me that lesson in blood?
She stops twirling, head tilted. "Are you sad, Mama? Is it because we had to leave our garden?"
I kneel before her, smoothing her wild curls. "I'm sad because I wish things were different for you. You deserve a real home, not running and hiding."
"But we're not running now." She touches my cheek with sticky fingers. "And this demon-"
"Captain Dezoth."
She nods. "Captain Dezoth-" She tries but the words are very garbled. "Has a garden too. Can we plant flowers like at home?"
My chest tightens at her innocent hope. This isn't home. It can't be. But how do I tell her that without breaking her heart again?
"Maybe we should explore the rest of the house first," I deflect, rising to my feet. "Make sure we know all the exits-" I catch myself. "All the rooms."
"Like hide and seek?" She claps her hands. "I'm good at that game!"
Yes, too good. Because for years, our lives depended on it.
The front door's heavy latch clicks. Rose freezes mid-question about the garden, her violet eyes widening.
"Captain Dezoth!" I can barely decipher what she says, and Dezoth looks a little confused, too. She bounces on her toes as Dezoth's tall frame fills the doorway, his dark uniform stark against the afternoon light.
I tense, stepping closer to Rose, but she darts forward before I can stop her. "Did you catch any bad guys today?"
Dezoth sets his sword belt on a hook with careful precision. The intimidating Captain of the Guard somehow transforms as he crouches to Rose's level, his golden eyes softening.
"A few troublemakers in the market district." His deep voice gentles. "Nothing too exciting."
"Did you use magic?" Rose spreads her fingers, mimicking sparkles. "I bet bad guys don't like sparkles."
He smiles, and it's so soft and genuine that it feels me with a pang. How could I think so poorly of someone who looks at my daughter like that . "Some tracking spells. Would you like to see?"
She nods eagerly. He holds out his palm, and golden light swirls above it, forming the shape of footprints that walk across his hand. Rose gasps in delight, and I stare at it in shock. How well does that track?
Dezoth's eyes flick up to mine, and he adds, "I'm particularly masterful at that one. Most demons are not."
It doesn't quite assuage my worries.
"Can you teach me?" Rose tugs his sleeve, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "Mama said my papa was going to teach me, but he's not here. Can you teach me?"
Something flashes across Dezoth's face - pain? Understanding? It's gone before I can name it. He adjusts his posture, and despite his massive frame, he appears almost... gentle.
"Magic requires patience and practice." He creates another light, this one forming a tiny thalivern that lands on Rose's nose. "But perhaps we can start with something simple."
Rose giggles, crossing her eyes to watch the thalivern. "Mama, look! It tickles!"
I watch this feared demon Captain, known for hunting down the most dangerous criminals, patiently showing my daughter how to cup her hands to catch magical light. His severe expression melts when she manages to hold the thalivern for a few seconds before it dissipates.
"Again?" she asks, and he obliges without hesitation.
They spend the rest of the afternoon doing that, and I try to tell my stupid heart it doesn't matter. I can't trust a demon. I should know that by now.
The evening settles around us like a heavy blanket. Rose's magical lessons left her buzzing with excitement, but now exhaustion catches up. She clutches her new storybook, eyelids drooping as she watches Dezoth from across the room.
I settle into a corner chair, pretending to mend a tear in Rose's dress while observing our host. He sits rigid in his high-backed chair, golden eyes scanning reports with military efficiency. The firelight catches on his obsidian hair, tied back with that silver cord. His fingers, capable of such destruction, handle each page with surprising delicacy.
Rose abandons her spot on the rug, padding over to him with her book. It was one I found during our travels and she loves it. My fingers clench around the needle as she approaches his chair.
"Will you read to me?" She holds up the book, violet eyes hopeful.
Dezoth's quill freezes mid-stroke. He stares at her, then the book, as if no one has ever made such a request. His sharp features soften almost imperceptibly.
"Please?" Rose doesn't wait for an answer, already climbing into his lap. I half-rise, ready to intervene, but something stops me.
The fearsome demon Captain looks... lost. His hands hover uncertainly before settling on the book's cover. The ritual markings on his forearms catch the firelight as he carefully opens to the first page.
"The Princess Who Saved the Kingdom," he reads, his deep voice gentling to match the story's tone. Rose snuggles against his chest, completely at ease.
I watch his face as he reads. The way his usual cold mask cracks when Rose points at illustrations. How his arm curves protectively around her small frame when she yawns. The slight smile that touches his lips when she corrects his character voices.
"The bad guy needs to sound more growly," she insists sleepily.
"My apologies." He adjusts his tone, earning a drowsy giggle.
My hands lower to my lap, the mending forgotten. This man who hunts criminals, who tracked us across countries, now cradles my daughter like she's made of glass. His golden eyes lift to meet mine over her head, and for a moment, I glimpse something raw and yearning in their depths.
Rose's breathing deepens into sleep. Dezoth continues reading, softer now, as if afraid to break this fragile moment.
The knot of fear in my chest loosens, just slightly. Perhaps... perhaps we're safer than I thought.