Chapter 13
Angels and Demons
Instead of addressing the guilt and shame she felt at enjoying the other night with Caspian, she decided she despised him.
How could he invite her here? Expect her to be okay when that was what his kind did to hers? Those poor women, who would never return home nor hold their loved ones again. And for what? Power? To feed his magic?
Demons were evil. Pure evil.
She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. That signed contract tied her to the castle for the next two and a half months—and she had not liked Caspian’s expression when she’d signed it.
All she knew from the stories about oaths made with demons was that they couldn’t be broken. She could only assume why.
She had to stay. Unless he intentionally harmed her, in which case she would have to flee and take her chances—contract or no contract.
To make matters worse, she began seeing Caspian everywhere, which only exacerbated her ire.
He would appear in the library, offering her a curt hello before turning on his heel and leaving.
There were evenings when she would feel eyes boring into the back of her head and notice him standing at the door to the castle, watching her progress through the gardens.
Sometimes he would even condescend to come out to walk with her, and when he did, they usually strolled together in tense, awkward silence.
If she didn’t know better, she would say he was keeping an eye on her.
One such day, Caspian appeared in the garden, scowling, and wordlessly extended his arm, waiting for her to join him.
Elizabeth longed to ask what happened to his other mistresses, but fear stayed her tongue.
Feeling like a well-groomed pet, she strode to him in a gown of midnight silk and obediently took his arm.
The air was tense and silent—no insects buzzed or birds chirped here, only a deep quiet that seemed to blanket the entire forest kingdom. The only sound at all was the scuffing of her boots against the flagstones, and Caspian’s heavy footsteps beside her.
Caspian led her through the gardens, walking past the artfully trimmed hedges and moss-covered statues. They passed overgrown beds of the black flowers that seemed to be the only pretty thing that grew here, in this place where the air was cold, and the earth never saw the light of sun.
She glanced at Caspian’s brooding face and wondered if he ever smiled.
Her thoughts turned dark as she wondered if he had killed someone today, and when he had last.
The bodies had looked fresh.
His arm was muscled against hers, and she wondered how he did it. If he had used a sword or a knife to kill the women in the cellars, or if he had grabbed them in his strength, and used his teeth to rip their flesh open like an animal. Like a wolf or rabid bear.
She curled her lip in distaste.
“What are you reading today?” Caspian’s voice cut through her thoughts. His tone was pointed, forced, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. He sounded like it was a struggle for him to be civil and polite.
She glanced up and down his frame—he was nothing but a murderer, wrapped up in pretty packaging.
Feeling like she had been quiet for a beat too long, Elizabeth answered quickly, “A book I found in the library. I’m, er, enjoying it.”
In truth, she was reading a history book about the different kingdoms in Asteria. Perhaps one of the last copies of it to ever exist.
She had read it hungrily, anticipating finding out some horrible, interesting thing, but it was all very boring.
The only thing that she had found interesting at all was that two hundred years ago, Israr had been the wealthiest kingdom in Asteria, closely followed by Faina.
Now, all the gold had shifted to the west.
Hardly a secret worth sending soldiers after books for.
“Good,” Caspian said, his voice curt, wrenching her back to the present. “I’m glad.”
He said nothing else to further the conversation, so they finished their circuit of the garden in tense silence.
Back at the castle’s entrance, she cleared her throat, feeling relieved to part ways. She curtseyed and said, “Thank you for the walk, Caspian.”
He turned to her, frowning.
Caspian remained as still as a statue, as if he were waiting for something. He searched her eyes, as if looking for some answer buried there.
His eyes were pupilless pits of fire, a constant reminder that he wasn’t mortal. He swore he wouldn’t hurt her, but she was starting to feel like agreeing to come and live with him was the most foolish thing she had ever done.
He hesitated, appearing to want to say something, but he stayed quiet. Suddenly, Caspian turned on his heel and departed without a word, leaving her standing in the gardens alone.
That evening, Elizabeth took Icefire out and rode hard.
She strained her horse to the limit and thundered across the plains.
She felt restless, needing to get the pent-up energy out of her system, until she was no longer so angry and no longer felt like weeping.
Her frustrations wicked off with her sweat, and she rode until she could finally pretend to be polite to these monsters.
She had to be grateful, she reminded herself. If not for Caspian, she would be bound for a lifetime of misery at the hands of the duke.
He had saved her, in his own way.
Being grateful to a murderer made her feel like the worst sort of person.
***
When she entered the great hall the next evening, both Asmodeus and Caspian were there. As she sat down, she glanced at the goblets in front of them, with revulsion etched on her features.
“Hey, honey, want some?” Asmodeus swirled his goblet and pretended to offer her a sip.
Her stomach churned, threatening to rebel.
“Just kidding.” Asmodeus grinned broadly. “What did your pretty self get up to today?”
“I went for a walk with the horses, then I spent the afternoon reading,” she responded coolly. “How about yourself?”
“Ooh, laying about, plotting the demise of my enemies. The usual.” Asmodeus winked at her. “I hear you spend all your time reading. You must be very clever,” Asmodeus added. An attempt at flattery. She doubted these men would understand a woman’s cleverness if it was staring them in the face.
“Hardly,” she replied instead. “I simply enjoy the hobby.”
“Hobbies are so important. Do you want to know some of mine?” Asmodeus asked. Caspian was silent and studied the two of them with cool interest, offering nothing. Or perhaps he simply did not care.
“Sure, what are your favourite things to do?” she asked half-heartedly, serving herself some more vegetables and soup.
“Guess.”
Elizabeth straightened in her seat, pursing her lips and humming as if giving it real thought. “I don’t know what demons do for fun. Torture innocent people? Bathe in human blood? Hunt witches?” Her lips tugged upwards. “Am I close?”
“I mean, bathing in blood does sound—and we can all agree—fantastic, but I have other hobbies. For instance, I like to fly.” He shot Caspian a meaningful look as he said this, and Elizabeth wondered what it meant.
“Fly?” she asked, curious despite her resolve not to be.
“Yes, these things,” he said, wiggling his wings, “are good for some things.”
She stared at the appendages, which she hardly ever let herself look at for fear of looking like she was gawking.
He wiggled them to get her attention. They were horned at the top, and a purple vein ran down the black velvet membrane.
Her fingers itched to touch them, just to feel their texture.
Was it lightly furred, or did it feel smooth like skin?
“You must have to climb very high to avoid giving people a fright,” she mused aloud, hoping her voice came out indifferent and casual to hide the curiosity eating at her.
“I do,” he said. “Can't have the pretty ladies fainting over my gorgeous self.”
She chuckled, despite herself. Caspian was watching their exchange oddly, a muscle in his jaw twitching, which made her want to converse more with Asmodeus, just to irk him.
“Have you always had wings? And do you fly every day?”
“Yes, and as often as I can. I fly through the mountains and the ravines and hunt deer and goats to bring back for supper. It’s fun. The wind in your hair, navigating the wind currents, the fear of falling. Being able to go anywhere in the world.”
“That does sound wonderful. Have you travelled much then?” Despite her revulsion at demons, she found herself intrigued.
“Before I was cursed, I travelled everywhere.” He grinned, reclining in his seat. “I'm particularly fond of Israr, the desert lands. I could live there for all my days.”
“Asmodeus just likes to sun himself,” Caspian said drily.
“I do not! All the ladies of Samara, that’s the tourist capital of Israr, girl, have likely mourned my absence.
They’ve probably erected a shrine in my honour.
” He sighed wistfully. “They probably light candles every night, and sigh over their wine, lamenting the loss of my magnificent presence in their streets.”
“I'm sure they lay flowers on it every night,” Elizabeth said, nodding consolingly. Caspian glared daggers at Asmodeus, it seemed, for acquiring her attention.
“Why the desert?” she asked suddenly, genuinely curious. “Don’t you lot prefer the mystery and solitude of the mountains and snowy terrain of the north? Where the nights are longest?”
Asmodeus laughed, a loud booming sound. “Well, first of all, our good pal Caspian hails from there originally, so he’s a great travel guide. Plus, Samara is famous for having some of the most beautiful women in the world, excluding your luminous self, of course.”
“Of course,” she acknowledged, straight-faced. She tucked the information into the back of her mind to learn a little more about Samara and its history.