Chapter 26 Aurelie
Aurelie
Before even opening her eyes, Aurelie knew she wasn’t at home. The room smelled of burnt feathers and spicy incense, a strange
and utterly revolting combination. She sat up, then immediately regretted it. Her head ached and her shoulder was still throbbing,
though the pain had dulled somewhat.
“Ah. You’re awake.”
Aurelie collapsed back at the sound of Everard’s voice, as the past few hours came rushing back in. A part of her wished she
had died earlier, or that it had been a bad dream at the very least.
“I’m awake,” she said to the ceiling, which, along with the rest of the room, was painted a shade of green so dark it was
nearly black.
“Good. That means the antivenom did the trick. That wound was rather nasty.”
Aurelie’s hand flew to her chest, which was bandaged in thick linen. She glanced down and recoiled in horror when she realized
she was clad in only her shift.
“Oh, calm down,” Everard said, as if it were truly nothing that she was near-naked in a strange man’s house. “I have no interest
in women. Or men, for that matter. It was all rather perfunctory.”
Aurelie’s stomach twisted at the thought of Everard handling her unconscious body. It had unsettled her in an entirely different way to have Des touching her bare skin, one she would prefer to contemplate more when she was alone, not in Everard’s creepy, narrow house in her shift.
She sat up again, slower this time. “I’d like to go home now.”
“Yes, I imagine you would. But you’ll stay here until I’m sure you’re not going to die. And until you’ve explained to me how
you happened to conjure a demon without finishing your project.”
Aurelie reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, her mouth suddenly parched. “I’m not going to die,” she said.
“Not tonight, perhaps.”
She cast Everard a glare. “Is my uncle safe?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? Your deadline hasn’t passed yet. But if you don’t start revealing the source of your demon, I can’t guarantee
that either of you will live to see morning.”
Aurelie wondered what had become of Des, if he’d followed her here or gone back to the fortress. She wasn’t about to mention
him to Everard, though a part of her feared she’d endangered him tonight without ever meaning to.
“It was an accident,” she said. “My demon, Mephisto, produces seeds. I’ve never planted them. I suppose I must have known
on some level that they could be dangerous. But one germinated by accident, and when I returned to my laboratory, the demon
was loose, destroying everything it could get its claws on.”
“Yes, they’ll do that. Especially tenebra like the one you conjured.”
“Tenebra?” Aurelie said, rubbing at her temples.
“Demons of darkness, conjured without intention. They are the rarest of demons, and arguably the worst.”
“Why didn’t it go after me?” Aurelie asked. “It could have killed me, but it went straight for Willoughby.” Why had none of the demons she’d encountered recently tried to kill her?
“I can’t say for certain. Perhaps it didn’t see you as a threat.”
She couldn’t be satisfied with that answer. Not when Willoughby hardly posed more of a threat than she did. She needed to
think, which was almost impossible with Everard so close and her head pounding and Kobal somewhere in the house.
“Like you, I’ve been studying demons for many years, Aurelie. And like you, I understand that they are not inherently evil.
Impulsive and destructive, yes, but that is their nature. It’s possible this demon only wanted freedom, and the guard was
in his way.”
“If you believe demons aren’t evil, then why go to all this trouble to build the portal?”
“My goal is to break the curse. To allow this kingdom to flourish once again.”
Aurelie didn’t respond. She didn’t believe him anymore.
“I need to know how you conjured that demon, Aurelie.”
“It was an accident,” she repeated.
“But the seeds. There are more of them, surely?”
Aurelie shook her head, hoping he didn’t see through the lie. The fact that Everard seemed to know so much about demons, to
perhaps have some sort of connection to them, but didn’t know how she’d managed to create the tenebra, was information worth squirreling away. “I’ve always discarded them.”
“Then this demon, Mephisto. It’s still at the university?”
“It lives in my laboratory.”
“Then you’ll bring it to me.”
Aurelie took another sip of water to disguise her fear. What could a man who controlled a demon like Kobal want with her tiny companion? “Mephisto is my friend,” she said.
His lips curled in a pitying frown. “I know it seems that way, but believe me, your demon doesn’t think of you as a friend.
You are a means to an end for Mephisto.”
And what end could that possibly be? It had never demanded anything from her, other than cockroaches. There was no loyalty
from it, the way one might expect from a dog. It was more like a cat, choosing affection when it wanted to and just as capriciously
rejecting her. Even knocking over the jar of seeds felt like something a cat would do, casually causing chaos just for the
sake of it.
“I can see the wheels in your head turning, Aurelie,” Everard said. “Don’t forget about your uncle. Surely he means more to
you than a demon.”
In that moment, Aurelie had never despised someone the way she did Everard, his callousness, his willingness to treat people
as disposable for his own aims. Aurelie had made terrible mistakes, but she would never deliberately hurt someone.
A lump rose in her throat. Just beneath her disgust for Everard was a pit of shame, knowing that she had allowed herself to
be used so easily. That she had gone against her better judgment under the foolhardy belief that she could change the world.
She clenched her jaw, pushing down the tears and humiliation. Now was hardly the time to wallow in self-pity. Everard was
a despicable human being, but he was also the only person she’d ever met who knew more about demons than she did. If there
was anything useful she could glean from him that could help save her uncle, or at least convince Des not to turn her in,
she had to learn it.
“I’ve never understood the connection between demons and invention,” she said truthfully, neatly changing the subject. “The way it’s always been explained to me, Florian’s curse caused the link. But if he wanted more innovation, why connect it to demons? It’s completely counterintuitive.”
Everard gestured to the foot of Aurelie’s bed, as though asking permission to sit down. She drew her knees all the way up
to her chest, earning a look from Everard that suggested she was being overly dramatic. “Invention has always been linked
to something . . . otherworldly, shall we say. From the simplest contraption to the grandest marvel, innovation can’t exist
without a fragment of untamed potential, a spark of chaotic energy.”
Aurelie couldn’t help but smile at this. She had always thought of the tingling sensation in her body that came with a new
idea as something that came from outside of her, though she wouldn’t have called it “otherworldly.” Just . . . special.
“When human minds shape this potential into reality, they unknowingly invite the attention of that other realm, separated
from us by what many refer to as a veil, though of course it can’t be touched or even seen.”
“Like the atmosphere?”
Everard nodded. “Exactly. When the veil is fully intact, humans are entirely unaware of this other realm. Their hopes, their
dreams, their ideas all feel as though they are organic manifestations of their own minds.”
Aurelie wondered what it must be like to live in that world, where people simply had an idea and then acted upon it.
On the one hand, it sounded like unbridled freedom to her stifled imagination.
On the other, if no one had to think of the immediate consequences of their actions, it could lead to a lot of unanticipated destruction down the road.
“But,” Everard continued, “when the veil is thinned to the point of near absence, the dark entities themselves—known to us
as demons—are physically able to enter our world.”
“So Florian didn’t know he was thinning the veil?”
“Ah, now we get to the heart of the matter. Aciano, as the firstborn, was always assumed to be the future king, and he was
raised accordingly. His father, though never admitting it, secretly blamed Florian for his wife’s death during his delivery,
and the resentment he had for his second son never wavered. When the twins were twenty-five, Aciano and the king fell ill
with a disease brought back to Wisteria by a trader, and there was speculation that Florian was behind it.”
Aurelie couldn’t help scoffing. That wasn’t how diseases worked.
Everard inclined his head, as though acknowledging her unspoken words. “Those who knew Florian were skeptical; he’d never
shown any interest in ruling, and he spent as little time at home as possible. But his father had also begun to pressure him
to stay closer to Wisteria, knowing Aciano would need his brother’s council when he became king.
“With both Aciano and the king near death, Florian had no choice but to step in and help run the kingdom, and he proved an insightful ruler.
Having traveled abroad, Florian knew of the war brewing outside Wisteria between two neighboring kingdoms, Callerya and Samara.
Callerya had invested heavily in its military, and many believed it would invade Samara.
Samara, a small kingdom between Callerya and Wisteria, would likely fall easily, and Wisteria could be next.
“Florian wanted to go on a diplomatic mission to Callerya to try to stop the war, but Aciano, who knew little of what went
on beyond his kingdom’s borders, refused to allow it. Soon after, the king died, and Aciano made a slow but steady recovery.
At his coronation, he named Florian his chief advisor. When Callerya eventually did invade Samara and all hope of a diplomatic
solution fizzled, Florian begged his brother to invest in their defenses. There was a risk, of course. Weapons have always
been the most dangerous of inventions. Demons are naturally drawn to chaos and destruction, and nothing pushes against the
veil more than war.
“But instead of meeting Callerya in combat, Aciano constructed a wall to protect the kingdom, not only keeping enemy forces
out, but keeping Wisterian citizens within. Furious at his brother’s weakness, Florian began to work on his own inventions,
including the weapons he believed could save Wisteria.”
“So he did commit treason?”
“Not at first. It was Revenin, the court mage, who came to Florian with a proposal. Aciano despised magic as much as he hated
innovation, and he was in the process of decreeing magic illegal. But Revenin had a proposition, one that could save magic
and Wisteria: Florian’s soul in exchange for access to the power trapped on the other side of the veil.”
At that, Aurelie’s heart sank.
“Then Florian is the reason we have demons, the reason Wisterians are isolated and unable to progress,” she said bitterly. “Aciano was right to ban magic. If he’d done it sooner, none of this would have happened.”
“A closed-minded person might believe that, I suppose.”
“That kind of reasoning might have worked on me before. But I can’t pretend that being open-minded is all that matters anymore.
Not when it’s led me to this.”
Everard placed his hand on Aurelie’s leg, causing her to shrink back farther. “Aurelie, by building this portal, you can right
all the wrongs caused by Florian and Aciano. Please don’t tell me that no longer matters to you.”
She shook her head, desperate to be back in her lab, away from this horrible place. “I don’t understand. You claim to want
to rid this world of demons, and yet you’re obviously linked to them somehow. You have a thrall. How can you even be sure Kobal is under your control?”
“A thrall is linked to its master. Anything it might do to hurt me would ultimately hurt itself.”
Aurelie lowered her gaze. That was certainly information worth holding on to. “You never finished telling me about the curse.”
“Ah, yes. Aciano, alerted to his brother’s plans by the council, decreed that all inventing would be banned in Wisteria, hoping to stop Florian before he could start.
He was too late—Revenin had already opened the portal, thinning the veil enough that each invention would bring a new demon through, and Florian’s soul had already been bartered.
But access to the power on the other side of the veil never came.
Aciano had the portal destroyed, murdered Revenin, and attempted to have his brother tried for treason.
But Florian escaped, and all Aciano could do was uphold the ban on invention and magic, in the hopes that the veil would hold. ”
“What happened with Callerya?”
Everard spread his hands in a shrug. “They no longer wanted a kingdom cursed with demons.”
“You told me before that the king won’t put an end to the curse because he uses it to control people.”
Everard nodded. “Yes.”
“And this new portal will strengthen the veil again, so that demons remain on the other side.”
“Correct.”
“Then why are you suddenly in such a hurry? If this is so important to you, shouldn’t you want it done correctly, not haphazardly?”
“I do, Aurelie. But every new invention spawns another demon, and every new demon thins the veil that much more. In the past
few months, it has grown increasingly weak. Wisterians are suffering, which has caused them to invent more than ever before.
If we don’t do this now, it will be too late. Once the veil is broken entirely, it cannot be restored.”
The words were like a physical blow. Aurelie fell back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted in every way. “Blood and bones,”
she murmured.
“Indeed. So you see now why we can’t afford to lose any time? And why Mephisto must be contained, before it produces more
demons?”
Aurelie nodded.
“You should get home,” Everard said, rising. “I’d offer to escort you back, but something tells me you’d prefer to go alone.”
“Just tell me one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“What does a person lose when they offer up their soul?”
Everard’s smile was almost sad. “Their humanity. Their mortality. They lose the ability to love or be loved, to show mercy
or compassion. I know some people would see those as weaknesses. They might think the deal is worth the making in the end.”
“And was it?” Aurelie asked, realizing that she hadn’t understood Florian at all. That whatever they had in common was far
less important than their differences.
Everard sighed, his blue eyes focused on something invisible, or perhaps on nothing. “I suppose we can’t know for sure.”
“Why not?” she whispered.
He brought his gaze to hers, and the absence of any emotion there was more chilling than anything she had seen in him before.
“Because we have not yet reached the end.”