20. Syneca #2
Calder’s jaw tightened. “Believe me, I do. I’ve seen it.
Evanoch brought prisoners from Fuerlis. He doesn’t kill them.
He drains them. Slowly. I watched him hold a witch down while his court fed on her magic, leeching it from her bones over the course of hours until there was nothing left but a husk that still breathed.
” He looked at me, and I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
“Hours. She begged. For death. For mercy. For anything. And they laughed. They actually fucking laughed while she screamed.”
I felt sick. Even the demons had chosen the witches to persecute.
“Evanoch is locked back in Dyssara. That’s what waits for you there if they find you,” Calder continued. “At least here, we know who the monsters are.”
I took a breath, steadying myself. “There’s more you need to know. About what happened after you were taken.”
I told him everything. About Wickett’s blade finding my stomach, about Gran’s death, about Aureth’s sacrifice and the life debt I’d made in desperation. About his part in that decision. About Celeste being alive.
When I finished, Calder sat in silence for a long moment.
“Damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
The weight of it felt like lying flat under a mountain and letting it crush me slowly. I glanced at Pip, who’d been unusually quiet through the entire explanation. “Can you get Silas? Tell him we need to talk.” I sat back as she rose. “Make sure you say please. He loves that word.”
Pip’s wings fluttered, a nervous giggle escaping her despite the tension. “Please. Right. I can do that.”
She flew from the room, leaving Calder and me in heavy silence. Minutes passed before footsteps approached, though I felt him long before I saw him. The spike in apprehension rattled down our bond. Silas appeared in the doorway.
“Calder knows about Celeste,” I blurted out.
Si’s expression didn’t change. “Then you should know it’s important we all understand how careful we need to be with that information. Not even Ramiel can know Celeste is alive. No one outside this manor.”
“Why not Ramiel?” Pip asked, landing on the arm of the couch. “He helped rescue Calder. He’s your friend.”
“Because even friends can’t be trusted with secrets that could get her killed.”
Pip tilted her head, studying him. “Did you kill the fourth demon prince? Everyone always said he killed Celeste. But if she’s alive...”
He took a deep breath, clearly weighing what he wanted to answer.
I rolled my eyes. “Careful, Pip. Silas loves his secrets. Maybe you should have said please again.”
“His name was Neven.” Silas answered, eyes pinned on me as if spilling demon history was an act of rebellion.
Fucker. “He and Celeste were marked to die because the ritual required it. Blood magic. A demon prince and a Fury sister sacrificed to bind the remaining three princes to the remaining three sisters. I’m aware that’s not how your chroniclers have written it, but that’s how it happened.
It would have brought more power to the princes, but still in equal measure.
They covet balance among themselves more than anything.
A demon prince with too much power would be turned on by the other three. ”
“But Neven died and Celeste didn’t,” I said slowly.
“Evanoch claims Neven gave his head willingly. The look in his eyes before I took it told a different story. But it wasn’t my job to right their wrongs. I offered to be the executioner because I knew I could save Celeste.”
“And Ramiel?” Calder asked.
“Took over Neven’s court after he died. He was next in rank in the Ash Court. Ramiel is innocent of the scheming, but even he can never know of Celeste’s existence. If the other princes learned she survived, they’d hunt her. And anyone who helped her.”
“Where is she hiding?” Pip asked quietly, though it was clear this was what she really wanted to know.
“Somewhere safe.” Silas pushed off the doorframe. “And that’s all you need to know. Now get some rest. Tomorrow we’re going back to Fuerlis.”
Calder stood, stretching. Pip flew to his shoulder. They walked out as Pip gave directions, leaving me alone with Silas. He stood there, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“What?” I asked, rising to my feet.
“You should rest too.”
“I’m fine.”
His stare swept all the air from the room. “You’re not.”
I bristled. “You don’t get to tell me how I’m feeling.”
“I can feel it through the bond, Syn. You’re exhausted. Terrified. And trying to hold yourself together.”
“Then why are you asking if you already know?”
He stepped closer. Not threatening. Just... there. “Because I want to hear you say it.”
“Why?” I backed away. “I’ve been carrying enough trauma for a hundred people since the second I was born. Maybe you should worry about yourself.”
“Would it surprise you to know worrying about you is self-serving? And don’t tell me you don’t break down.”
“I don’t.”