Chapter Twelve
As creaking wooden carts careened past, the gravity of my situation set in. I stood once more on the streets of Lantyca, surrounded by crude stone constructions lit with lanterns and crimson-skinned devils who bore sharp horns and sharper grins.
Fire-maned horses pulled their wagons. Packs of demonic hounds trailed parties leaving the city. I shuddered at the sight of them. Ruby sigils shone on their skin, reminders that they’d once been human. They had been forever changed, cursed to be tools for Sitri’s use.
If I wasn’t careful, I would wind up among them.
I turned, watching as Sitri directed his underlings up ahead. He demanded that I stay by his side, so I didn’t pull any more stunts, or so he told me.
When we first met, he’d welcomed me as a guest. I wasn’t a guest anymore.
Now, I was his prisoner.
The conversation wrapped up, and Sitri returned to escort me.
He carried an uncharacteristic grimness, so unlike the playful, predatory Prince I’d known.
Even his appearance had changed overnight.
He hadn’t bothered to replace his ruined armor.
Sitri dressed in a plain white shirt and brown leggings, with a long black coat over top.
His inky hair had grown unkempt, as if he no longer cared to groom it.
He seemed disheveled. Neglected. I couldn’t have looked much better.
It took me hours to scrub the blood from my skin, and without a mirror, I didn’t know if I’d gotten it all. Hours spent crying on the floor and a long, sleepless night hadn’t helped my appearance.
And then there were my wounds. Bruises bloomed along my right side. My shoulder stiffened where demon claws had pierced it. Despite my efforts to bandage the punctures with rags, bits of blood still stained my shirt. I might have looked worse than the Prince did.
“How much further?” I asked, glancing at the departing demons. I trailed them with my eyes as they returned to the busy streets. Once they’d disappeared amongst their kin, I released the breath I’d been holding.
“Not far,” Sitri said, waving for me to follow. “It’s just a few minutes’ walk now. Keep up, darling.”
I sighed and fell into step behind him. When I had agreed to build him weapons, I hadn’t expected to tag along for his errands, too. It was better than being locked up in his mansion all day, but only barely.
Sitri led me through the city streets and towards a grand workshop. Many of the buildings were made of wood, but this one was all stone, save for its door. Sitri unlocked it with a key from his ring and waved for me to enter.
I raised my eyebrows as I stepped inside, surprised to find it lit. Glowing lanterns dangled from the rafters. Wooden work tables lined the walls, and rows of gleaming silver tools hung above them on the walls. I glanced from one to the next, unsure where to start.
“You think you can work with weapons?” Sitri flashed me a smirk. “Let’s put you to the test. Show me what you can do with this.”
He swept past me and pulled his revolver from its holster. He popped the barrel out, set it on the table, and slid it over to me.
I drew a shaky breath as I caught it in my hands. The weapon was a thing of beauty. Its grip had been carved from some sort of horn, and the black finish on its metal shimmered in the firelight.
It would have been even more beautiful if not for the grime and crimson crust that coated it.
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“Why don’t you start by cleaning it?” Sitri said. “Oh, and once you’re done, I’d like to know how to make another one. Surely Vapula’s runaway scholar should be capable of that, no?”
My eyes locked on Sitri, drinking in his smug grin and mischievous gaze.
This was the Prince I’d come to know, complete with his shameless audacity, and his jab struck true.
I turned away with a scowl. I had to focus, to suppress the anger bubbling up inside me, and Sitri’s huff of amusement warned me I’d already failed.
Shaking my head, I stuffed that anger down and reached within myself to the place Vapula had altered. I called. His gift answered.
Sitri watched as I selected a few tools from the wall—a screwdriver, a cloth, and a glass bottle full of clear oil. Then, I set to work. As I handled the weapon, tinges of its filth rubbed off on me. The sticky, gritty muck on my hands made my stomach churn.
“How long has it been since you cleaned this thing?”
Sitri shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, half a century if I had to guess. Longer, perhaps.”
The Prince’s scowl now mirrored my own. He propped his head up on his elbow to watch me work, visibly unhappy with how I handled his weapon.
“Frankly, I can’t believe it fires anymore,” I remarked. “This is going to need some serious repairs if you want to rely on it in combat.”
I peeled back components, taking in the full extent of the damage, running my thumb over the pits and dents worn into the pistol by neglect. Sitri winced when I selected a metal brush to scrub them out. I turned my head. Our eyes met, then he looked away.
“Firing aside, can you replicate it?” he asked.
“Bring me some paper and a pen. I’ll write the blueprints, but if it’s weapons you want, you’ll have to source the parts.”
I dabbed at the pits with a rag. When I pulled it back, the cloth was covered in filth, and I suppressed the urge to gag. Shoving it aside, I reached for a new one.
“Honestly, Sitri, you can’t use this. At best, it will jam, and at worst, it will misfire. You’re lucky it hasn’t rotted away into nothing.”
“You’re in no position to order me around,” the Prince snapped back.
Though he muttered under his breath, he produced a canvas and something that resembled a pencil. The tools weren’t ideal, but I would make them work.
The task was simple, if tedious. I traced out every part, wrote instructions for assembly, while Sitri grew restless.
He tapped his fingers on the table, his feet against the floor.
At one point, he left his place beside me to pace the empty workshop.
Pride and vindication swelled within me.
This powerful demon needed me. I was giving the Prince a taste of his own medicine, and there was no sweeter syrup I could have imagined.
By the time I’d finished with the work, my fingers glistened with oil and soot. The substance worked its way under my fingernails and into the creases of my skin. My attempts to wipe it off failed miserably, and without soap or water, the grime was there to stay.
I secured the last of the screws that held the revolver’s frame together, and the mechanisms now moved smoother than they had in decades. The cylinder turned freely. The trigger pulled with a satisfying click.
“Here, have a look at this,” I said, offering Sitri the grip.
The demon Prince snatched it away and scrutinized it, as if trying to find fault in my handiwork.
For a moment, I worried he would. The suspicion on his face faded to confusion, and then to a glimmer of admiration.
As soon as it appeared, it vanished, Sitri’s expression returning to its stoic baseline.
“This will do. And your notes?”
I offered them up, handling them with care so as not to smudge the writing. Sitri studied them before turning back to me.
“Can you teach me what you know?” he asked.
I swallowed. Sitri raised an eyebrow. My stomach lurched.
“I can’t,” I admitted. “When I have to do the work, it just… comes to me. I can try to answer questions for you or tell you if you’re doing something wrong, but it’s impossible to put it into words. I’m sorry.”
Sitri rolled up the canvas and secured it with a string, then slid it into a basket on the far side of the room.
“You do possess his magic, then.”
“His magic?” I asked.
The Prince looked me over with cold, cruel eyes that spoke of his mistrust. He sighed and shook his head. “It’s an effect of the magic that binds you. It grants you skills, not knowledge. All demons have it to an extent, though I have never known a human to possess it.”
My mind leaped to the image of Sitri’s bare chest the night before, the sigil he’d shown me.
I’d said my vows to Vapula, hoping to secure my future.
This was the gift he bestowed on me. The Duke was a patron of scholars, a master of science and engineering, who had passed those skills on when he claimed me.
Sitri must not have been granted such a useful power. He was the demon Prince of Lust and Lies, after all. What kind of supernatural abilities would his magic lend him? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t plan to ask.
“Tell me, Lillia.” Sitri’s voice snapped me from my thoughts, and I turned to face him. “What could possibly have been so important as to sell that bastard your soul?”
I froze. It was my turn to weigh the risks of trusting him. This demon was my warden. He wanted to strip me of my humanity, to make himself my master. If keeping him at arm’s length would help me avoid that fate, that’s what I would do.
Still, he’d made great sacrifices to keep me safe, fought for me on the battlefield.
For better or worse, I trusted him, even though I didn’t like him.
“Vapula promised me freedom,” I said.
“And what, pray tell, did you desire freedom from?”
“My responsibilities. I was brought up to live a certain way. My parents were good people, but they kept my life on rails. From the day I was born, they’d already decided who I was going to be, what I was going to do. I got sick of it.”
A warm, nearly painful blush rose on my cheeks. When I said it like that, I almost couldn’t believe I’d sold my soul for such a silly reason. It hadn’t felt silly back then, though.
“They sent me away when I was just a girl. I worked hard, earned my stay at a prestigious school, and that was the thanks I got. I had no one, nothing left for me. That’s when he appeared.”
I remembered the day they’d told me like it was yesterday. They had torn me from my friends, my home, and my family. Without even so much as a send-off, I’d boarded a plane in Tennessee and landed alone in Massachusetts. Then, my studies began.
Vapula’s talent made the classwork tolerable, afforded me the space to do whatever I wished—at a cost. He’d haunted my dreams, called me to him in sleep, and offered no escape.
Over the years, I’d turned to partying, and the parties became drug-fueled, drunken benders that numbed away the ever-present ache he wanted to instill in me.
Things had spiraled out of control so quickly.
I had only wanted to live a little. In the end, I paid with the life I had hoped to lead.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of the dark thoughts that surfaced. When I glanced back up at Sitri, it was hard to make heads or tails of his expression. He wore an emotion I couldn’t quite place. Pity, perhaps? Or maybe even sympathy.
“Tragic. A mighty Duke preying on a child. He should be ashamed.” Sitri’s eyes darkened. His brow furrowed. “And what exactly does he want with you?”
My muscles tensed. Sitri studied me closely.
Vapula made it all too clear what he wanted from me, what I was to him.
His fondness, his obsession, haunted me even in death.
His arm around my waist. My hand in his, the task he’d given just an excuse for the closeness of his contact. The attention no one else would pay me.
“It’s… a long story,” I whispered. “And I’m not telling it now.”
He looked me over, drinking me in from top to bottom. His foot began to tap against the ground.
“What?” I asked, and Sitri let out a hum of deliberation.
“I might have an idea of my own, if you’d like to hear.”
“Go on.”
Sitri closed his eyes. I held my breath, afraid a single movement would chase away the truth I’d been seeking. When they opened again, his gaze softened.
“Zaleos is a meddler, and he uses pawns to do his dirty work for him. He’s the one who brought you here. The Duke knows something we don’t. Either you will win me this war, or you will be the reason I lose it, darling; and at this point, that’s a risk I’m forced to take.”