Chapter 21
Alora
Alora woke to a soft pulse of light. It shimmered across the ceiling above her bed, like moonlight filtering through water. She stirred beneath the blankets sleepily. The candles lit themselves in a quiet wave, casting golden flickers across the moss-covered floor.
The stone beneath her bed vibrated once, almost as if to gently shake her awake. The kitten rose and stretched with a yawn.
“Is it morning already?” Alora murmured as she sat up, rubbing her eyes.
The wall across from her reformed itself with the addition of a door, carved beautifully into the stone. Then a knock came.
Alora stared at it a moment, and her groggy mind instantly cleared with the events of last night.
She gasped and looked around the strange room with no windows, yet somehow still allowed her to breathe.
She gripped the silk sheets and wrapped them around herself.
The knock came again, and the kitten darted under the bed.
“Your Majesty,” came Calla’s voice. “May we come in?”
Alora stared at the door, her heart pounding. Strange that they were asking.
What if she said no?
“Karag D?r won’t allow us to enter without your permission,” Calla said, sounding mildly offended. “Surely, you must be hungry. If you do not eat, our sire will come to call himself.”
Alora’s pulse jumped. She’d rather not see Rune yet.
“You may come in,” Alora said faintly.
But instead of using the door, Calla misted into the room with a swirl of black mist. Her lilac hair was braided back today, coiled neatly between her ram horns.
“Why would the mountain keep you out?” Alora asked, intrigued by that.
Calla folded her arms, studying the ceiling as though weighing the will of the stone itself.
“Fastidious thing. We have never been denied entry to any chamber before. The mountain knows our fealty is sworn to our king, and thus that allegiance now binds us to you.” Her gaze settled on Alora.
“We would give our lives for you, without question.”
A derisive scoff came from behind her. “Without question?”
Alora gasped, spinning around.
A dark shadow swiftly rustled past her, and she shrieked, stumbling back as a demon appeared atop the headboard.
Her heart pounded wildly as he gave her a slow, sharp smile, his tail flicking with lazy menace, like a predator savoring the moment before the strike.
Small clusters of motes drifted around his shoulders, shimmering black as spilled oil.
They hovered and fluttered like phantoms, fragmented faces catching the light in fleeting flashes of violet and blue, whispering as they moved.
Alora pressed a hand to her chest, fighting to slow her racing heart. Perhaps the Karag D?r had reason to keep them out.
“Stop terrifying her, Deimos,” Calla ordered.
He gave a sharp tch sound and let the burlap sack he held drop unceremoniously onto her bed. Out fell a rough chunk of bread and a block of cheese.
Calla scowled at him. “That’s all the sustenance you brought her?”
“I don’t know what else humans consume,” Deimos said with an indignant curl of his lip, exposing a fang.
He stalked across the room, giving her a wide berth when Calla stepped close. Unlike most demons, Deimos was leaner, built narrow and quick, and stood a little taller than Alora herself.
He stalked across the room, giving her a wide berth when Calla stepped close.
Unlike most demons, Deimos was of a leaner build and scarcely taller than Alora herself.
Four short horns, no more than a few inches each, were nearly hidden in the messy waves of his dark hair.
Hooked knives were sheathed at his thigh, another at the small of his back—blackened blades etched with runes that drank the torchlight.
Small wings twitched on his back. Batlike, though one hung oddly, the membranes scarred.
Both blended seamlessly into his black leather armor.
Deimos crouched in one of the chairs like a cat, tail lashing with agitation. “Seven Hells,” he muttered to the phantoms. “She said to bring her food. That’s food, yes?”
They whispered back.
“I meant plenty,” Calla snapped. “That is hardly enough to keep her alive, you thoughtless kook.”
The vertical slit in his red eyes narrowed with his low snarl. “It is beneath me to fetch meals like a servant. I had to suffer the stench of humans while gathering whatever worthless trinkets she asked for, then I was in the catacombs until dawn, scouring the—”
Deimos caught himself at Calla’s sharp hiss. He ducked his head like a chastised child, wings and tail curling close. Both demons glanced at Alora. She watched them, mildly entertained and fascinated.
“Did you find my belongings?” she asked hopefully.
Deimos waved a clawed hand, and a mist of smoke spiraled into existence before her.
Her old satchel materialized and fell onto her lap with a soft thud.
Alora gasped, fingers trembling as she opened it.
Inside lay her mother’s tattered journal, the golden harp, the little cornsilk doll, and a velvet satchel with bitter herbs for her menses tea.
But Alora’s smile faltered when she noticed one item missing.
“My hairpin…” she said, looking up worriedly. “It’s silver, in the shape of a lark. I left it on my vanity.”
“Your father’s castle was ransacked,” Deimos said flatly. “Anything of value had been pilfered by the time I arrived.”
Sadness twisted through her chest. It was all she had left of her mother, and now it was likely sitting in the pocket of some Calveron soldier. She would never see it again.
Seeing her expression, Calla glowered at him. “You should have searched more thoroughly.”
“I found the other trivial things she asked for,” Deimos grumbled, eyes narrowing. They were as scarlet as the shard dangling from his pointed ear. “I am made to assassinate or steal secrets from the shadows. Not rummage through wardrobes. Have the lesser demons handle your errands.”
Calla’s claws crackled with purple magic. “Hush or I will have Hadeon toss you into the Abyss.”
Deimos hissed at her, baring his small fangs.
Alora smothered a soft laugh.
He glowered at her. “Foul thing, human food,” he muttered, looking away. “At least once she eats it, the horrid smell might mask hers.”
Calla sighed. “Forgive my companion, Your Majesty. He will return with more in the evening.”
Deimos groaned exasperatedly.
“Call me Alora, please,” she said, fighting a smile. “This is enough, thank you.”
She thought they would excuse themselves then, but they stared at the sack expectantly, waiting. Then she realized they were holding their breath.
Ah.
Alora cleared her throat. Reaching for the food, they watched as she nibbled on a piece of stale bread and slice of cheese.
“Mm,” she said awkwardly. “Good.”
But they didn’t leave, so she continued eating.
“Well, if I am to stay here … perhaps I can go to the market myself,” Alora suggested, but their expressions immediately went on guard. “As much as I enjoy bread and cheese, humans require more than this to survive. And it would spare Deimos the trouble of fetching my meals.”
He tsked. “Clever, isn’t she?”
Calla shot him a glare. “Alora… that might not be possible at the moment. Our kind don’t go out during the day and there is no sun here for a garden. It’s best if you stay here for now. We can provide anything you desire.”
She nodded slowly, processing this information. This really was a prison.
Once Alora finished eating, Calla gave a small nod of satisfaction of a task completed. Then both demons exhaled together. Their heads tilted as they sniffed the air.
“Did it help?” Alora asked.
Deimos shook his head. “Scarcely. Perhaps she needs more?”
“I doubt that will do,” Calla said, studying her with a thoughtful frown.
“Is my scent truly that awful?”
Calla and Deimos exchanged a glance.
“It is… awfully enticing,” Calla admitted at last, her voice careful. Her gaze flicked to the gap beneath the bed, a faint frown creasing her lips.
Alora shifted, tugging the sheets lower as if by accident, curtaining the kitten’s hiding place. She didn’t want them to take away her only friend here.
Deimos scoffed again. “Dangerously so.”
As their words echoed in Alora’s mind, she recalled the swarm of demons tearing through Calveron’s army. Some were eating them alive.
Her stomach flipped. “Is that why Rune has confined me to my room?”
The question made the Harbingers stiffen.
Calla’s nod was tight. Measured. Like confirming a detail she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
“It would be dangerous for you to wander the castle unattended. Not all our kind have mastered restraint.”
Deimos scoffed. “She will need Nightstone if sire hopes his bride to survive here.”
Calla shot him a glare.
“Nightstone?” Alora repeated curiously.
The female Harbinger sighed. “It’s a special weapon ore, my lady.”
“Deadly to our kind,” Deimos uttered flatly. “Demon Hunters had forged it out of our blood, but I disembowel any who get too close.”
Calla smacked him upside the back of the head. He snapped his teeth at her hand ferally, barely missing her fingers.
“No weapons,” she said sharply. “The queen is safe so long as she remains here.” Turning back to Alora, Calla softened slightly. “The castle has hidden your chambers from the rest of the court, my lady. Even so, Hadeon stands guard outside your door. In case any do dare come sniffing about.”
Alora stiffened. “Why? What do I smell like?”
She sniffed her tunic, smelling a trace of the floral soap from last night’s bath.
Deimos’ tail twitched in a predator’s rhythm as he leaned forward, his eyes glowing with a slow-burning hunger.
“You smell like demon food.”
Alora stood frozen, her heart racing like a drumbeat of war.
She was going to lose her mind in this mountain.
Or worse—
Her life.
The bedchamber was quiet, save for the firewood crackling in the hearth and the kitten purring on her lap. It darted out as soon as the Harbingers left.
Alora’s mind spun with Calla’s revelation.