Chapter 6 #2
He nodded. “Demons are not stupid. We know there is a chance that Spiritu Malignos may take our spirits, and then we’d have no choice but to do as commanded.
That might allow Spiritu Malignos to claim territory in other kingdoms, which would be disastrous.
Inheritance magic is a way to counter that.
If Spiritu Malignos had demanded that I allow them on the land, then the magic would lock them out.
There was nothing they could do to force me to give them the land.
The only way they might come here without starting a war is if I voluntarily agreed to let them stay temporarily.
And I did, with payment, of course.” He gave me a wicked smile.
I swallowed. I was the one who paid. “And the manor?”
“The manor has added protections. They remain in place as long as I am in residence.”
I still didn’t fully trust his words, but I had no other source of information. Maybe he was lying—I certainly couldn’t see how any of this might help me escape. I logged it away and moved on to the next question that lingered on the tip of my tongue.
“What stopped you from killing me last night?”
“Are you certain that was my intention?”
“Yes. You wanted me dead. I could tell. But something about me… about my blood made you stop. What was it?”
He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I’ll tell you the answer to that if you eat some food.”
He gestured to the amply provided table.
Of course. Everything with him is a trade. My stomachache intensified at the sight of the bounty. “No, thank you.”
Annoyance flashed across his face. “What can I do to get you to eat?”
“Why do you care?”
His jaw clenched, and he rose to his feet so swiftly that I froze, startled. “Stand up.”
I did as he said, aware that defiance would grant him the power to compel me in the most painful fashion.
He stalked toward the door. “Come with me.”
I followed him into the hall, stepping over my own blood that soaked into the stone. He marched ahead without glancing back, his spine straight, irritation laced in every movement.
“Feron,” he snapped as he strode past where Feron assisted Erlinen in cleaning up glass. “Leave that alone and follow.”
Feron dropped the broom and lumbered toward us.
We snaked our way through the manor toward the rear of the building.
He approached a door and reached for the latch, swearing when his hand passed straight through it.
My fingers drifted to the cloth bound on my arm.
For a brief instant I wondered if he had refused to tie it off not because he wouldn’t—but because he couldn’t .
Perhaps he’d already spent whatever limited time he had interacting with this plane pouring wine over my wound and fumbling with the bandage.
“Open the door,” Vaelor growled.
Feron reached for the latch and opened it.
We entered a large room with ovens and huge counters. Pots and utensils hung off the wall next to carefully stored supplies. The kitchen.
“There,” he snarled, gesturing to the space. “If you are so afraid I’ve poisoned every single dish on my table, then make your own damn food.”
He spun toward Feron. “Watch her. Be certain she adds nothing to our ingredients,” he said gruffly, and a degree of surprise came over me. It wasn’t as if I had the ability to poison Lord Vaelor again. Did he care about his servants that much?
“And most importantly,” he added to Feron. “Don’t eat a thing she makes.”
Feron grunted in acknowledgement.
With that, Lord Vaelor stormed out of the room.
I made my way from the kitchen after a meal of cooked chicken and homemade bread, reasonably certain I hadn’t accidentally slipped any secretly poisoned ingredients into my food.
When I reached the front hall of the manor, my gaze caught on a painting hanging in a pool of muted light. Three demons stood together in the portrait, all young—perhaps only a few years shy of adulthood. Two were male.
The taller of them had deep red hair. He stood rigidly, shoulders held tight, his expression solemn. Yet there was an unexpected warmth in his eyes, a quiet softness that seemed at odds with the stiffness of his posture.
I stopped.
It was Vaelor.
For a long moment, I simply stared, trying to reconcile the figure in the painting with the demon I knew.
This wasn't the same Vaelor who currently haunted the halls of this home—the intense, sharp-edged male whose anger seemed woven into every glance.
Even in the tent before his death, no hint of warmth had softened his gaze.
Others called him the Waiting Ruin. What sort of horrible acts won such a title?
Yet here, beneath the artist's careful brushstrokes, there was something different. Something gentler. The amber glow of the hall lamps caught in his painted eyes, bringing them briefly to life, and for an instant he looked almost approachable.
I had never seen that version of him before.
The second tallest figure looked so alike to Vaelor that they had to be brothers.
Though this male appeared wilder, rougher.
The hair, identical in its redness to Vaelor’s, had one side shorn and a plaited braid hanging next to his face.
He carried himself with a similar rigidness to his brother, but his countenance lacked any sign of warmth.
No, it was definitely cold, verging on calculating.
The third Aeria demon was a young female.
Her hair fell in soft auburn waves, lighter than both brothers’ deep red, and a long, flowing dress draped around her.
She faced the viewer with a gentle expression, her wings unfurled as if offering a welcome.
I studied her for a moment. Could this graceful, almost kind-looking demon truly be Lord Vaelor’s sister?
Even I couldn’t ignore the beauty in her bright smile.
Moving on from the portrait, I passed a large, unbroken window that overlooked the front courtyard and froze.
The gate that served as a bridge was still lowered.
I moved closer to the glass and looked out.
There were no signs of any spirits. Perhaps Throk had ordered them to follow him outside the gate when he left?
Lord Vaelor’s lands extended for miles beyond the wall.
However, if they were summoned from the courtyard…
I didn’t know that for certain. It was too risky. Plus, after I passed the gate, I’d be at high risk of getting spotted before I reached the tree line.
But was what awaited me here with Lord Vaelor any better?
I touched the cloth binding my aching arm.
Despite his moodiness, he’d cleaned my wound, ensured I ate, and answered some of my questions.
It was most likely a way to control me. To make sure I wouldn’t hate him too much in order to get me to behave.
I looked toward the side hall. With no knowledge of Lord Vaelor’s whereabouts and some free time to spare, exploring seemed a reasonable option.
I walked down a hallway of statues and frescos that documented Lord Vaelor’s ancestry on this property. Their ferocious expressions and spread wings made them look like the violent demons they were.
For some reason, I felt drawn to the open door at the end of the hall.
Outside it, there was another painting. But something was wrong with it.
I squinted at it and stepped closer, wishing the hallway’s dim lighting offered a clearer view.
When I came close, I drew in a breath. It showed fragments of someone, but jagged tears scarred the canvas, hiding the true image.
Resting on a small table beneath the artwork sat a single black rose in a glass case.
I’d seen no other plants preserved in the manor. What was so important about this flower?
Voices in a room next to the painting drew my attention. I picked up on Vaelor’s dark, seductive voice.
“—Throk says it’s impossible. Such a thing doesn’t happen once one is dead.”
“If that is true, what do you think it means?” Erlinen asked.
“I’m uncertain.”
“Do you still believe you will kill her?”
I bit my lip. Her being me ? A chill crawled across my flesh like frost spreading over glass.
“Probably. But for now, she can at least be of partial use to me.”
I crept a little closer, holding my breath. Here I could discover the answers I was searching for.
“I don’t see how that weak thing can be of use to anyone,” Erlinen scoffed.
“Possessing her body might give me an early edge in the Final Proving.”
Possession. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I clutched at it as my gut churned violently. No.
Erlinen released a small sound of disbelief at her master’s words. “She certainly won’t like that.”
Vaelor’s voice came across low and gruff. “She’ll have little choice in the matter. Now come to my office and assist me in writing this letter to Lanzin. I must contact him.”
Shit, they were about to come into the hall. As I spun around, I hit a statue, making it crash into the wall. I didn’t think. I ran.
Racing through the house, I reached the front door, gripped the latch, and threw it wide. The demons had most likely departed, and the gate stood open. It was worth the risk. There was a chance of being caught and killed, but possession was a certainty if I remained.
And I refused to endure that again.
Daylight poured down on me, and warmth filtered into my skin as I rushed for the lowered bridge.
Without warning, the mist circled about my feet, and a haziness blurred past me. The temperature dropped so fast that it stole the breath from my lungs.
Two orange eyes formed out of the haze and coalesced. He glared at me with such cold fury that I dared not move.
Lord Vaelor.