Chapter Twenty-Two
I let out a quick whoop at my small victory, causing Bellamy to cross his arms and pin Henry with a merciless glare.
“If you so much as look at Asher wrong, you will have me to answer to.” The threat sounded serious, but pumpkin did not seem to be phased. His lack of fear must have set Bellamy off, because the ground shook slightly, rattling vases on tables and pictures on walls.
“Relax Bell, I will not hurt her. She seems fully capable of protecting herself anyways. Go paint another pretty picture and leave us,” he scoffed, waving Bellamy away.
His words caught my attention, and I subconsciously scanned the nearby paintings. I had not realized before that, though they were a variety of styles and mediums, they all had the same feel to them. Passion and joy and sorrow and life.
“You painted these?” I asked with wonder in my voice. The gentle nod of his head and the shy smile told me that I still had so much to learn about this male. My captor. Or, as he would call himself, my savior.
“Yes, yes, he is very talented. Be talented somewhere else,” Henry said, rolling his eyes and grabbing my arm gently. Bellamy’s gaze went from soft to blazing in an instant, his hand reaching out for me. “Oh stop, she will be fine with me. Leave us be so we can begin.”
The second my body was fully through the door, Henry slammed it shut on his prince’s face.
I had never seen anyone disrespect a royal in that way, let alone one as powerful as Bellamy was. But the door did not smash open, there were no angry yells. Instead, I heard silence, then a moment later, furious steps retreating back down the hall.
“Interesting dynamic the two of you have,” I noted, eyebrows raised.
Henry just flashed me an, admittedly dashing, smile and walked further into his chambers. His relaxed demeanor calmed my stormy mind, and I felt instantly comfortable in his presence despite our previous hostility. Perhaps that was why I followed him, plopping down on the edge of his bed while he sifted through his clothes.
“So, what will I learn first?”
“Have you ever had any lessons in combat before?” he asked, littering the ground with shirts as he dug through the wardrobe. I shook my head no when he looked back at me, slightly ashamed that I had never forced the matter with Xavier and Mia.
“Bellamy just attempted to give me a single lesson, and it ended with his bloody nose and my broken hand,” I said. Henry snorted, but I was not amused. I left myself vulnerable in more ways than one.
Unwillingly, I thought back to a time when I talked back as a youngling. The way Mia narrowed her eyes, which told me I was too bold for my own good. How she called in Xavier to dole out the punishment in my room on the low level of the palace and watched. Or, just the other day, the way Xavier shook his head in disappointment before my beating.
I wondered silently if they never taught me because they knew how unpredictable I was, that I might fail them with fists rather than just words. A new fear came to life then, because Xavier and Mia knew best, that much I was aware. In every situation, their advice—whether I heeded it or not—turned out to be the wiser option. Was training a bad idea after all?
“Well Bellamy is the general of our armies. He sees things differently than the rest of us.” Information I had not yet known. I liked this demon, if only for his big mouth. “Since you are completely new to it, we will start slow. Focus on getting you strong, then we can add in classic stances. From there I will teach you how to actually fight and eventually add in a weapon or two,” Henry explained as he pulled on a plain black tunic.
Why had it taken him so long to find that? It looked like every black shirt sprawled on the ground.
“Are you not afraid that teaching me to fight will make me more dangerous?” I asked, curious if he had similar opinions to Lian.
He dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand, a gesture he seemed to use often. Were all demons so boisterous and bold? No one, not even Nicola, had an aura like his. Energy and charisma seemed to ooze out of him, seeping across the floor and latching onto me. Next to him, I felt admittedly less aggressive and stressed.
“You need to learn this stuff to protect yourself, relying on your magic as if it is infallible is ignorant and risky. Besides, you being dangerous does nothing to hurt us. Hopefully you will figure that out soon enough,” he stated offhandedly. More nonsense, more half-truths. Seemed common among the beings of this realm, though Henry was decidedly more forthcoming when he wanted to be.
“For some reason, I feel you will not be elaborating further,” I stated, eyebrows raised. Henry chuckled, but did not deny the statement. Predictable. “Does that mean you forgive me for manipulating your mind earlier?” I asked, not making eye contact.
After a moment of silence, I peeked up through my lashes to find him looking over at me, his expression incredulous.
“You are a moron if you think that is true, but you are not so bad from what I can tell. You just need to let loose a little,” he said. The way he phrased it sounded almost scandalous. “I would love to help you loosen up any time you would like, little brat.” Yep, definitely inappropriate.
I shook my head at Henry, scoffing.
Looking around more intently, I noticed the interesting choice of furniture and decorations, which stood in great contrast from the rest of the home. The room around me was full of pastels. Blues, greens, yellows, reds, purples. So much color that it went past overwhelming. Despite the little rhyme or reason to it all, the décor managed to remain perfectly cohesive.
Not a single piece of furniture matched. The dark brown wood of his bed was the direct opposite of the light, raw color of the dresser. His desk was bleached white as if exposed to the sun too long, matching the driftwood on the beach outside. I saw another sort of table in the far-right corner, stained with smudges of color. He had a large open wooden case that held weapons of different sizes and types, which proved he was a good choice for a trainer. Above us, at least a dozen balls of demon light floated midair, the addition of the black ceiling seemed to mimic the night sky.
The rest of the room was just as chaotic.
One wall was completely covered by a tapestry that was the most gorgeous color of blue, as if the thread was dyed with ink pulled from the sky on a clear summer day. Running horizontally across the fabric were three black rings overlapping one another, joined. In the center of the middle ring was a white star that glowed like the floating demon light.
The colors among the other walls came from paintings. These were similar to those hung in the hallways, the sight challenging my previous assumptions regarding animosity between Bellamy and Henry. I stood, walking over to the wall that held the exit, where the story depicted seemed to start. Within clouds rose two hands, a ball of light and a ball of darkness hovering above them. In the next, rain fell from the cloud, both onyx and white droplets, as if the light and darkness were blessing the ground below. Mortals, it seemed, were dancing under the water, hands in the air and smiles on their faces.
I slowly rotated in the room, taking in the tale of sorrow without fully understanding. I was far too encompassed to notice Henry approach me from behind, but when I made the full circle there he was, watching.
“Would you like to hear the history aloud?” he asked, his voice hinting at the emotion under the bravado. I nodded, and he began.
“Everything that makes us special, came from Stella, the goddess of the Above. She loved the innocence many mortals possessed—the sort of genuine love and joy that had long since been missing from the gods. From her hands she rained her power down on us, giving the mortals of this realm the ability to wield the raw magic from the light of the sun and the dark of the moon. From then on we were identified as either Suns or Moons. With this came the blessing of long life. Our sigil represents the ring of light on the left, the ring of darkness on the right, and the ring of demon kind in the center, with the Star of Stella at the heart of it.” Henry’s voice became haunting as he spoke, calling to me.
“At first, everything was blissful. Our kind thrived as we mastered the gifts Stella gave to us. But that all changed when a goddess fell in love with the demon king.” At that, I gasped.
Henry’s mouth tilted down, his eyes half closed. A sign of the turn the story would take.
The painting depicted a beautiful female with wild ebony locks and equally dark eyes. Her full lips were a bloody red, and she wore scraps of gold that barely covered her voluptuous curves. She was reaching down from the clouds towards what appeared to be a mortal, but must have been the demon king. His tall and muscled frame was covered in a white blouse of sorts, the sleeves tight fitting. It was open at the center, the ties hanging loosely down the front. His jaw seemed to be carved of marble, sharp and fierce. His ears poked out of his brown hair, the smooth arch surprising me.
I pulled my eyes off of the mural to zero in on Henry’s ears, which were…round. Stella gifting the mortals magic did not change what they truly were, mortal. Strange that she would so cherish them, enough to sacrifice a portion of her magic. It seemed rather foolish, honestly. But if this were true, then their magic did not come from the Underworld—from evil—but from the blessing of a god.
“Asta was enamored with our king, Zohar. Their love story was rather tragic, as her mother, Stella, forbade her from ascending the prince to be with her in the Above. It was not that Stella did not see greatness in the king. She loved us all dearly, and he was the strongest Sun that walked the world. More than that, he was an incomparable monarch, bringing rest to our kind as we integrated with the other beings in the land. He was not a god though, and his power was miniscule in comparison, as it was merely a gift from Stella herself, a scrap of her magic distributed amongst us all.”
I remained silent, taking in the tragedy of loving what you cannot have. Of fighting a world which wishes to tear you apart.
“Asta was set to be married to another god who was powerful in his own right. An incredible match, but not her love. So, one evening, as she peered down at her lover below, she made the decision to run. That very night, Asta wed Zohar under the veil of twilight, becoming queen of our realm. Our kind rejoiced, so very proud that a god would choose our honorable king as her husband.” I smiled at Henry’s words, but his own face remained forlorn. This was not the ending it seemed.
“Her mother was intent on letting her go, simply banishing her from returning, but the other gods wanted retribution for the way she slighted her godly betrothed. Many months passed, and Asta became pregnant. The day she gave birth, Stella appeared to her, celebrating the birth of her grandson. Joy seemed to be in abundance that day, but the very next, the gods took their vengeance.” My eyes went wide, because I had a feeling I knew how this would end.
Henry grabbed my hand and tugged me to the last wall, and a small sob left my mouth.
The painting was of Zohar, his brown hair soaked in thick, red blood. It was pooled all around him as he lay lifeless on the floor, Asta pictured in a fit of rage and sorrow, screaming up at the Above with her hands on his open chest, now without a heart. Stella watched from the sky, a silver tear streaming down her golden cheek. It was gory and horrific. I reached up to my own chest, as if it too were being ripped open.
I realized after a moment that I was accidentally tapping into Henry’s emotions as well when I felt sudden rage mixing with a deep sadness. I looked over at him to see a single tear running down his face, just like Stella’s. I squeezed his hand, wanting to comfort him in some way, despite not knowing him.
“Their son possessed the magic of his father as well as his mother. His dual magic passed down the royal line, becoming a symbol of not only the strength of demon kind, but of love. Every heir born since has wielded both,” he stated, grief pouring from him.
I wanted to ask for further details of Asta, Bellamy’s ancestor, but it seemed rude to pry any more than I already was. Plus, I was rather certain Henry would not tell me. Or could not. I silently considered the possibility that Bellamy had not descended from fae, but had instead gained the power to harness the elements from Asta.
“Why did Bellamy paint this here?” I asked instead, as it was clear that these were done by his hand.
Henry, who was seemingly a full-blooded demon, was openly emotional about this history of theirs, but Bellamy had not mentioned it, had not cared to spark conversation in that way. Though, he also did not have the chance in hindsight.
“He began painting them one night in a spark of outrage. I believe he stayed in here for nearly a week to get them all done. He can be over emotional at times, but in this instance, it was warranted. He, more than any of us, feels the need to uphold the legacy of Zohar and Asta, to be worthy of them,” Henry said, his voice soft and raspy, as if speaking the story had exhausted him. “But that week was dark, full of bleak terror. I believe he wanted to avoid this room at all costs when he was done. Actually, the chambers were vacant until I commandeered them.”
I had so many questions, but I knew that if I asked too many he would stop answering all together. Why had he taken over this room? What happened to Asta? Had the gods felt satisfied with their revenge? A tornado of questions spun through my head and wreaked havoc on my brain. None of those questions would help me in any way, and it seemed that he was done speaking of Bellamy, so I opted for another form of information that might come across as innocent but was vital to my escape.
“You mentioned that there were other creatures the original demons had to acclimate with once gaining their power. Are they still around?” I asked. He rolled his eyes at me instead of answering, tugging my hand and pulling me out the door. I grunted in protest, but he maintained his speed, weaving us on a much straighter path than Bellamy had. “Fine, who makes those portals?”
“Makes portals?” he repeated, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. We stopped there in the hallway, as if I stunned him. “Do you mean how do we portal?”
I just stared, hoping not to give away my ignorance. I had a feeling I was about to discover another of Bellamy’s lies.
“We use our raw magic to portal, it is fairly simple once you understand the concept of it and practice enough. Though, not many demons can do it. It takes an incredible amount of magic.”
Thinking back, I realized I never saw the green ball in Bellamy’s hand when he took me from the ballroom. In fact, I now remembered that I even noted how the smoke of darkness smelled like him. Stupid, I was so incredibly stupid. Henry seemed to notice that my thoughts had taken a turn for the worse, because he started pulling me forward again, changing the subject.
“Let’s get you some food, then we can start training. I do not want to have to carry you back inside if you pass out from hunger,” Henry reasoned.
Fair point. I realized then that I was ravenous. I guess I had ignored it before due to my stubbornness and fear. Hopefully demons did not eat children or something equally heinous.