《Warlock Moon》


 Prologue: Enders Desert

    They were standing in the aftermath of a massacre.


    Reaped like fields of wheat, primitive warriors in various stages of dying and death were strewn for hundreds of feet, blotting out the desert sand. The bodies ranged in size and shape, color and features. Humanoid yes, a mockery of the men and women who had been raped by demons to spawn their hated kind, but each uniquely grotesque. Horns on one, scales on another. Claws and fur, tails and hooves.


    The only commonality they shared, as far as Isren was concerned, was that each and every one of them was an abomination.


    Cries of pain and agony were a disjointed melody, the impacts of an axe carving into a massive cadaver the surviving horde surrounded, a beat to the macabre harmony. The chopping paused as one of their males standing atop the titan severed the final tendons of its neck, head tumbling free to ricochet off the corpses heaped around it and wobble to a halt on one of its horns.


    As the weapon began anew its tempo upon the sternum, one of the guards approached the skull to shove a spear into its mouth. Instinctively the jaws clamped, serrated teeth cracking on the metal as venom dribbled out of the corners of its formless lips, an eye rolling upwards in its socket.


    Isren swallowed. Swallowed again as saliva flooded his mouth when vomit splattered his boot. Beside him Darl, the only commoner of their four, continued to retch up what had been their meager provisions. The sick-sweet smell of ripening meat and eviscerated innards was so overpowering, he couldn''t fault the poor man.


    Their host waited until the human had finished emptying his stomach before addressing them in Demaic. It was the reason Darl had been kidnapped along with Isren and the two other nobles that stood beside him. Or at least, the reason Isren hoped he had.


    "As you can see, the numbers we lose in a single encounter are devastating," Darl translated shakily, wiping his mouth across his sleeve. "In this battle alone we''ve lost thousands to bring just one Archfiend down."


    "That isn''t that many," Lord Saurel muttered irritably. The other three men silently agreed with him; it was no real loss that these feckless mules were being slaughtered.


    Handing the axe down to one of the warriors who remained on guard against the corpse, the butcher caught a sword tossed up to him by another. He freed both hands by impaling the blade into the torso he stood upon before kneeling to grip the split breastbone. Strength swelled his arms and shoulders, lats flaring wide as cracks echoed, ribs and cartilage breaking to expose the titans entrails.


    Drenched in splatters of oily black gore, he was mesmerizing in the way all predators were; beautiful and horrific. He appeared to be a male in his prime, but they knew cambions could have lives that spanned centuries without ever truly aging. His features had Isren contemplating more than once if his sire had been an incubus. Yet his physique attested to unending violence and temperance, until skin stretched taut over slabs of muscle across his entire frame.


    It was that same male who had kidnapped them, leading his cadre with a level of expertise most men would never grasp in their whole lifetimes. During their relentless flight across the human realm, past the wall and out across the cambion territories, Isren had ascertained he was the warchief''s beloved Second in Command. An assassin-turned-soldier, if the rumors were true.


    Isren knew their abductions had been because of the king''s disregard for honoring their side of The Pact, but never had they even imagined that these savages were capable of carrying out such an incredible feat. It meant they had more intelligence than any scholars or historians had given them credit for, more knowledge of their lands and politics than they had anticipated.


    That they had spies, and knew exactly who the key players were.


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    No harm had befallen them besides the shroud of extreme fatigue and hunger after covering hundreds of miles in a span of days to reach the conflict in time. With the humans safely delivered, he had then walked out onto that field and unleashed himself in a way that had Isren wondering if he''d ever hear his firstborn''s sweet laughter again.


    No, not an incubus, but bred of something far more dangerous.


    This battle they had been brought to witness had driven more than one of them to their knees in disbelief. The realm soldiers were trained, hardened by skirmishes along the wall where their forces clashed, but no one needed to be told just how substantial their losses would be in comparison.


    The warchief whom Darl had been orating for turned his full attention on them at Saurel''s response and Isren took the opportunity to study those piercing tawny eyes. There was a depth of wisdom in them, and weariness that a life spanning centuries had bestowed. Five hundred years ago, he had once been known as The Collared Talons of King Janius. The Enslaved''s Salvation in the Cambion War of Isren''s great, great grandsire, and now warchief of all their mangy tribes.


    Zidaii.


    The short, wily old male could never pass for human due to a prominent brow bisected by bumps under taupe skin. Those nodes gradually rose and peaked, cresting into a crown of tiny horns in wiry grey hair that swept back from his skull as if constantly blown by the wind. He did nothing to hide his deformities, as if there was no reason to be ashamed. As if he was proud of his mixed heritage¡ª of being a cambion. The Race of Bastards, banished and reviled by their human cousins.


    "This is the second this year, and it is not even the turning of the seasons. Last was three, and the year before two."


    Isren blinked, the only sign of surprise he let slip at the numbers of dead that estimated.


    "My legions at the wall report disquieting news," Darl continued for Zidaii as they returned to watching his commander''s methodical butchering. "Soldiers requiring higher bribes, your patrols finding need for increased vigilance. My harvesters publicly tortured and their bodies left hanging to rot in city squares for all to see."


    Retrieving the sword, the male angled it into the expanded cavity to cut through organs with practiced ease. With a final slice he abandoned the weapon and shoved an entire arm into the viscera, his features impassive despite the task.


    "The king has turned a sympathetic ear to the losses the western provinces have to bear," Isren spoke up, his companions shifting uneasily. "I will see to it your harvesters meet no more resistance than what my people are willing to sacrifice."


    "Might I remind you the necessity of your people''s sacrifice, that we may continue to be your defense against these monsters. I don''t need significant losses your side of the wall when I have more than enough here¡­"


    Darl trailed off, uttering a prayer as a still-palpating heart larger than an infant was extracted. Lifting it into the air the surviving warriors erupted into cheers, beating weapons against shields and stamping their feet, churning the soaked dirt as sounds of their victory reverberated in both earth and sky.


    He slid off the dismantled body and picked his way over the corpses with feral grace, pausing in front of their host to offer him the twitching organ.


    As one they flinched when the warchief''s blade shrieked free of its scabbard, cutting the heart apart and returning to its sheath in two graceful arcs. All of it accomplished faster than their human eyes could follow; a reminder, a warning.


    His subordinate let the pieces fall from his hands as he bowed low, all of the soldiers falling silent as they emulated the motion. Zidaii stared at the ground for a long moment as if warring with emotions, though his expression remained stoic. Finally reaching down, he dug his fingers into the sand and scooped up a handful. Isren noted the amount of blood saturating the earth caused a line that ran deep, deep below the surface.


    The cambion leader faced them, his prot¨¦g¨¦ finally straightening to turn eyes the color of fresh murder onto the humans. Hatred was a riptide in their depths that none of them could meet, though he remained positioned behind his warchief like the obedient mongrel he was.


    "I care little that your king does not think his people should know the truth. The Pact must be honored in order to keep this war off your doorstep or else," he tilted the glob of mud, letting it fall and splatter between them. "This will be your people''s blood, not just ours. You will be returned safely behind your wall, and you will tell him all that you have witnessed today. I expect the message is very clear."


    "Thoroughly," was Isren''s sincere reply.

 1| Destiny

    The desert glowed in phosphorescent blue.


    Sharp ridges of mountainous dunes edged in neon, huge swathes of their smoothed sides as far as the eye could see more like snow drifts than sand in the unnatural light. Even the temperature gave credence to the illusion, the wind frigid and churlish as it moved over the ribboned peaks. The source of the monochromatic hues that painted the land hung in the northeast sky. A moon that had been perpetually dulled in shadow for centuries now blazed azure so brightly, the constellations were muted.


    Perched on a crest that gave an unobstructed view of the landscape Apoch studied the foreboding anomaly, dread coiling through every muscle in his body. His brooding was interrupted by encroaching footsteps gnashing against the infinite grains as O''Zenth, the village''s soothsayer, settled down next to him and looked to the heavens as well.


    The gusts picked up fervently in the strained silence between the two. Apoch listened as it hissed a name he knew over and over again, not from any personal relationship or memory, but from a dream that now haunted him every time he closed his eyes. His uninvited companion tipped his head slightly as if he, too, could hear the name on the wind.


    ¡°There is a story about this moon,¡± O''Zenth finally mused. ¡°One that told of how the Warlocks brought it to this world. It fueled their abilities, made them terribly powerful. It was the eye of their creator, watching its children use the gifts it had bestowed upon them. Then blue turned red on one fated day, and without its blessing, their powers burned their lives out in a final effort to close the gate they had foolishly opened. When they were no more, it''s light vanished from the sky."


    ¡°Is there a point to this?¡±


    The Soothsayer regarded him with a raised brow at the brusque, derisive tone, but the warrior continued to physically ignore him. There was a rift between Apoch and everyone in his life these days, but none more so than with the current company when his consort had requested assistance.


    Nedivah had meant well, he knew. Their comfortable domestic life in the westernmost outpost had been fraying with each passing night when he would wake up reaching for someone else. At first he tried to make excuses for a dream he couldn''t fully explain, and she had trusted him. But nights had turned into weeks, and weeks had turned into months. It was at her request O''Zenth had thrown the bones, despite Apoch wanting nothing to do with it.


    He didn''t want her to know, nor did he want to have to acknowledge he knew exactly what they meant. With a toss of carved knuckles scratched with rudimentary symbols he watched his life dwindle to a bed he was no longer welcome to, nor wanted in.


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    You are holding onto that which no longer exists, yet your path forward is covered in darkness, Apoch. I cannot see what your future holds.


    O''Zenth pulled the blanket he had wrapped around his old body further up his neck to keep the cold wind at bay, rousing him out of the dark memories.


    ¡°Just say your piece and be done with it, I have no patience for theatrics,¡± Apoch said tiredly, bitterness tinging his words. ¡°What did your all-seeing bones tell you this time?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    A muscle in his cheek feathered, blood-red gaze acknowledging the elder at long last. The faint, encouraging smile and pity in the eyes he met drew his anger up short. ¡°You''re saying the dreams are linked to this.¡±


    O''Zenth''s smile was one of those secretive kind those that plied in fortune-telling often wore. ¡°Are they?¡±


    In response his gaze lifted, and not for the first time that evening pondered why the girl in his dream had eyes the same ethereal cobalt as this moon.


    His companion stood with the slowness of age, readjusting the blanket before addressing Apoch once more. ¡°How much more needs to happen before you are finally moved to purpose?¡±


    With that he left, retreating back down the sloping dune to the squat, lone mesa that their meager fortress of adobe and stone perched upon. Apoch listened to his departure, contemplating the advice. While most in their village held the readings of the bones as absolute truths, he had dealt with enough mystics to know it was all a matter of opinion. The markings were vague, the patterns were vague, the answers were vague, all for the necessity of leaving these readings as open to interpretation as they were to reality.


    Yet he couldn''t deny the fact O''Zenth''s maddeningly ambiguous conversation had struck an uneasy chord in his own thoughts. It bothered him on a fundamental level that life would have an uncontrollable destiny.


    He had chosen to ignore the dreams, to press on with his life the way he had worked so hard for it to be. With his consort and humble home, and a name no longer beginning with a title. But all of that was falling apart, and every day the path grew more narrow, more isolated. Now this moon crowned the horizon towards where the human''s kingdom lay. Beckoning, taunting. Drawing him with stronger and stronger means, demanding response.


    Hands resting over his folded knees clenched into fists, veins rising along forearms thickened from the arts of war. A measured inhale, held as he weighed the consequences of this new purpose.


    The displaced sand as he rose joined the wind''s hiss, as if it perceived his intent, and despised it.


    Whatever force thought to manipulate him, had chosen in error.

 2| Research

    Iscah surfaced slowly at first from a deep sleep, consciousness rising in a crescendo that had her bolting upright as she looked around dazedly.


    The library was empty, the steady light of her mote-lantern illuminating the bases of bookshelves that rose like columns into the darkness.


    She rubbed at the wetness in the corner of her mouth and studied the streak of saliva on the back of her hand, panic cutting off her breath as she looked down. There was a little puddle of drool blurring the inscriptions that had been written over four hundred years ago on the tome she had unknowingly fallen asleep upon.


    ¡°Oh. Oh no, oh Gods.¡±


    Hands fluttering uselessly for something to mop it up with she grabbed the hem of her dress at her wrist, attempting to blot the liquid and succeeding in only smearing it, and the ink, even farther across the page. She made a hitched squeak, and picking up the page by the edge flapped it in an attempt to dry it, which ended in the paper ripping at the binding.


    The sound was thunderous in the silence.


    Releasing the page, she clamped her hands over her mouth in horror as she leaned away from the book as if retaliation would be instant and merciless. When nothing happened and no other sounds of response to the unforgivable crime ensued she pushed the winged sheet back into alignment, wincing as the hurried motion resulted a paper cut. Flailing her hand to dull the pain she shut the tome, unaware blood had smeared across the cover before running to the nearest bookcase that her suddenly guttering light was illuminating and shoving it into an open space.


    Out of alphabetical order, and in the wrong section. Athrioclites was probably roiling in his grave right now.


    She paused to catch her breath that had risen significantly as the reality of her situation began to sink in: Destruction of a priceless artifact and knowingly hiding the evidence. If the Archivists ever found out not only would she be banned from the library but also removed from the University.


    So that was it. She had officially committed her first crime.


    ¡°I am so, so sorry Athrioclites,¡± she whispered softly to the assaulted book.


    As if in response, her light promptly died.


    Groaning inwardly at her luck, she wondered if maybe this was Athrioclites threatening her with impending doom if she didn¡¯t right her misdeeds. Retrieving the book once more she felt her way back to the desk and began gathering her things in the pitch black. She was going to have to repair the book. Somehow.


    Had it not been for the library being what her family bitterly had come to regard as her second home she might¡¯ve been lost in its cavernous labyrinth for longer. It was dark outside, the stars hidden by a layer of clouds when she finally emerged with an armful of books, including the assaulted historic record, and her spent lantern.


    Iscah tucked her head down as if her crimes were written on her face, though on second glance the streets were utterly empty. Ahead and across the way from her The Kissing Korner, a local university favorite for drinks was dark and uninhabited, which was surprising.


    If it was closed that meant it was closer to morning than evening.


    Hefting the ever-heavier load of books she hurried down the gas-lamp lighted thoroughfare that linked the Research District to the University before turning down a street of thick tufted grass that was magically impervious to the foot and hoof traffic of the city. Here the gas-lights that illuminated the main cobblestone streets was replaced with the cool, unwavering mote light, painting the pale stones of the various shops and dormitories lining either side of her colors of blues, greens and purples.


    Her pace quickened as a book began to slide out of her grip, doubling over slightly to try to keep its downward progression from continuing by catching it on her hip, causing her to hunch over and hobble the last few yards to the secured entryway of her dorm.


    The drowsing private guard took a moment to assess the limping figure approaching before realizing who it was and jumping forward.


    ¡°Lady Iscah! Need some help?¡±


    Iscah jerked in surprise, the books tumbling to the ground as she lost her precarious balance and stumbled over them. The guard caught her by the arm, standing her back up before she could go face-first into the grass. She looked up at him guiltily.


    ¡°I-.. uh¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nearly four am, did you get lost in the library again?¡± The man teased, reaching down to pick up the books. She squeaked and flung herself on top of the stack before he could touch the evidence, gathering them back up into her arms and rising ungracefully to her feet.


    ¡°No! I mean, yes! I mean, I fell aaa- down the s-stairs and um¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you all right, Lady?¡± He asked, eyeing her behavior with a raised brow.


    ¡°Yes! Fine! I¡¯m fine, just very tired and whatnot. Should probably get some rest,¡± she stammered, flashing a strained grin before running books-first into the locked gate. He cleared his throat to cover a laugh, retrieving his keys to unlock it for her as she stood as stoically as possible, grateful for the darkness that covered what would¡¯ve been a maddening blush.


    ¡°Well, try not to tear into those books too much.¡± He held the gate open as she gaped at him, the fact he had cracked a joke finally sinking in.


    Mumbling a response she shuffled past him quickly and into the arched passageway that opened up into a carefully manicured courtyard lit blue by the moonlight.


    Blue?


    She paused, looking up into the sky to stare at the alien azure orb that peeked out from an open gash in the overcast layer like a bright, giant eye.


    A nagging memory clawed its way to the surface, the dream that had woken her up from her nap in the library suddenly crystal clear.


    Floating in darkness, warm currents lulling, peaceful. A heartbeat almost tandem with her own rousing her. Beyond the darkened blur an outline of a male.


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    A question. A response.


    A name.


    Behind her the guard whistled in appreciation.


    ¡°The Warlock''s Eye,¡± he explained, breaking her out of her thoughts. Iscah half turned back towards him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen this before?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, no one has in a real long time. You can bet the Astronomers and Mages are in a frenzy trying to decipher why it¡¯s gone all blue.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right, the fable about the Warlocks.¡± She scowled to herself, drudging through her memories of her studies. ¡°That isn¡¯t the right name for it though, it¡¯s called Nuada''s Moon.¡±


    The guard shrugged, looking back to her when the scud layer of clouds hid it once again. ¡°My Gran called it that. Said it was last seen on the Day of Darkness. She said before then, it was always blue. But that¡¯s just stories my Gran told us as kids to scare us so we¡¯d behave.¡±


    He crossed the courtyard and mounted the marble steps, passing her to reach for the handle of the massive cathedral-style wooden door and opening it for her. ¡°Don¡¯t know what it means, turning blue like that, but I like to think it¡¯s a sign of good luck. Goodnight, Lady Iscah.¡±


    She dipped her head in reply and entered into the most prestigious dorm of the University built specifically to house the nobles offspring. Crossing the giant living room that rose over four stories. Furniture carved from exotic woods and gold-leafing decorated the empty social area, the chairs and tables set in groups of two to four for the students and visitors. On either side giant hearths that warmed the hall stood radiating heat from their tamped beds of embers.


    In the daytime and evening, she could normally hand off her books or items to a servant to carry up to her quarters, but the area was empty, the servants just now waking in their quarters, which she was glad for once was the case.


    Even if they had been up, she would not have passed the armload to them for fear of the abused tome being discovered, which would¡¯ve raised questions. It was better this way, even if that meant lugging them up by herself. Eyeing the grandiose double stairway she adjusted her grip on the books and huffed out a breath before beginning the five story climb.


    Two breaks and a scuffed knee later she arrived at the only doorway in the hall that marked her living space. Whispering an incantation the door clicked and opened quietly, Iscah all but tumbling in and dumping the books unceremoniously onto the bed as the wall sconces fitted with mote light slowly illuminated the room to a setting fit for the darkness outside.


    She pushed her hair out of her face and set her hands on her hips, pursing her lips as she eyed the titles of her plunder. A few historic records of the Centarian War and Cambion War Era, Theory of Time Continuum and embarrassingly, Dreams: Sexual Repression Revealed.


    It was literally impossible not to read the last title without rolling her eyes, but after six months of all but burying herself alive in both the University and the public library with no legitimate answers to the strange dreams, she was grasping at straws.


    Her heart dropped suddenly, gaze jerking back to the pile again.


    Athrioclites¡¯ tome was missing.


    She shoved the books apart, revealing a journal covered in shiny ebony pebbled skin. Pausing mid-panic she lifted it, not remembering having grabbed it at any point. Then again, it had been blacker than a cave and she was pretty sure she had been slightly dizzy from hyperventilating during her escape.


    Cracking the book open she regarded the first page in surprise, flipping it upside down to read the title.


    The Warlock Genocide


    Genocide? The historians taught that the High Warlocks had all sacrificed themselves in an attempt to kill off the Greater Demon they had summoned but had been unable to control during the last great war with the Cambions.


    She frowned, turning to sit on the edge of the bed as she began to read the beautifully scrolled, but very short entry on the following page.


    Tenth day of the Third Waxing Moon, the year of our lord, King Janius, First of His Name.


    I am Saraf Forsyth, High Warlock of the Seventh Level, and my death approaches. Given time between now and the end, I leave behind my memories of the Day of Darkness, if there are any of us left after this to see it.


    The Lord Commander Isenius and our brother Naon have betrayed us all.


    Enh ka Nuada erre tsu xerei.


    Beneath the single entry, what could only have been imprinted in blood was a fingerprint, encircled in a complex pattern of intricate runes foreign to her.


    She turned the page, and then turned another. Blank. Quickly flipping through the rest of the pages revealed the entire book was empty except for the title and short entry. Reading the entry once more she closed the diary, confused beyond belief what she had read.


    Had this Saraf been killed before she could recount her experience?


    At no time in her education or studies of the Warlock Sacrifice, better known as the Day of Darkness, was Saraf ever mentioned.


    The supposed traitor Naon had been hailed as the Abyssal Prince, the one who had sacrificed his own life to become the conduit that had annihilated the summoned demon. Naon was the hero of the war, and a relic of the past; Warlocks no longer existed.


    With his death their era had ended, science and elemental magic of the mages rising to begin restoring the humans to their prior glory. Warlocks had been more powerful than any mage could dream of, for they were not bound by the laws of balance that limited their peers. But that power had corrupted, twisting them in their greed until they reached too far.


    The Warlocks had unleashed the demons into this world nearly a thousand years ago, and the human race had suffered catastrophically because of it. Advancements they couldn¡¯t even fathom had been lost, and while some relics had been recovered, the memories of their use were forever lost.


    It wasn¡¯t until King Janius that the scattered vestiges of civilization were banded together under a single banner. With the help of the already dwindling numbers of Warlocks, the cambions were enslaved and deployed with terrifying efficiency to drive the demons south and create the realm of men.


    As far as Isenius went, that was more personal. Iscah pulled a lock of hair from over her shoulder and tugged at the white strands, biting the inside of her lip.


    Her genealogy traced directly back to him. The Day of Darkness had ended the Cambion War, and what was left of the Royal Army had returned, her grandsire Lord Commander Isenius at their head. But as the family story would have it he had not come back the same. His once mantle of black hair had changed to white as snow, leading to his new name Isenius the Pure. This, along with being one of the noblest families outside of the royal bloodline, was her family¡¯s heritage.


    The implication that Isenius had been a murderer instead of a war hero was unfathomable to her.


    ¡°Enh ka Nuada erre tsu xerei,¡± she murmured, testing out the strange words on her tongue. Another hint of Nuada, and a strange feeling that the language though incomprehensible was familiar. She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before assuming the language could only be daemonic. After all, that¡¯s what most of the warlocks summoning spells were spoken and written in supposedly.


    But what did this have to do with her dreams?


    She looked down at the book, tracing the pebbled leather. Nothing, that¡¯s what.


    Sighing she set the diary next to the other pile of books before crawling across the massive canopied mattress to the free side.


    There was always tomorrow night to spend all of searching uselessly for answers that weren¡¯t there.

 3| Change

    "Issy, it''s time to wake up. Is-cah!"


    Iscah gave an irritated groan in response to her sister''s sing-song voice, not moving from her warm nest beneath the sheets and down-filled comforter.


    Ialda threw the curtains open and Iscah tossed in bed, burying her face beneath a pillow to block the light but she knew it was too late. There was no sleeping after being blinded.


    Evil sibling.


    "Stayed up all night reading again I presume," Ialda drawled, crossing back over to the bed and picking up one of the books.


    "The Cambion War by Athrioclites? How do you read such dry subjects?"


    "Whah?" Iscah mumbled, retreating from beneath the pillow to stare blearily at her sister. Ialda set it back down and turned for the closet as her little sister belly-crawled over to stare at the book in disbelief.


    It was the very same one that had been lost last night. She glanced at the pile of books, noticing the journal was now missing. If it was here, where was the journal? A thought began to form in her mind as she eyed Athrioclites tome, snapping out of her theory at Ialda''s sharp call.


    "Yes."


    "Yes? To blue or pink?" Ialda held up the two dresses, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow with a condemning smile. Iscah could feel the tips of her ears warming.


    "Pink, please."


    She handed her the blue dress.


    Iscah scowled but acquiesced nonetheless, knowing her sisters'' taste for fashion vastly exceeded her own. With a dramatic huff she wiggled off the bed and padded towards the luxurious stone-tiled bathroom, untying the ribbons that crossed the back of the dress she had fallen asleep in before pushing the shuttered door closed with her foot. She let the garment drop to the floor before tugging the blue dress over her head.


    "Where are your servants, Issy?"


    "Don''t need them," was her muffled reply, searching for the bodice opening beneath the layers of chiffon. She finally found it and struggled through the narrow gap, getting stuck when it was over one shoulder and her neck. The bathroom door clicked open and Ialda gave a short laugh.


    "A little help?"


    "Why? You don''t need it."


    Iscah stopped struggling, glaring daggers through the material blocking the view of her sister. She heard the whisper of Ialda''s steps as she went to the summoning rope and gave it a light tug.


    "And you assume I know how to get into these dresses?"


    Iscah managed to get her other shoulder into the fitted top, her hair a giant mess now as her sister merely watched in condescending silence.


    In the main room that served as her receiving parlor and den a knock came from the door before the servants entered and rushed to rescue the girl from the attempts to dress, making her presentable in a matter of minutes before sweeping through the room to tidy it up.


    She tugged at the crushing bodice that threatened to cut off her breathing before looking sulkily to her sister who stood by with regal patience.


    "You''ve turned into a commoner," she finally commented, watching her squirm uncomfortably in the dress. Iscah winced at the blunt accusation and straightened her back, pushing a stray lock of hair behind an ear the servants had left down to frame her face.


    Ialda sighed and stepped forward, untucking the wavy curl so that it fell to brush her collar bone.


    "Father sent you the University to let you chase these dreams of becoming a mage for a while, not to forget you are a Highborn. He would not take it well to know you have put your books before your family''s honor."


    Iscahs cheeks turned a deep shade of red at the slight, opening her mouth to retort though shut it almost immediately, letting the implications of her sisters words sink in.


    "Don''t tell Daddy?" She finally pleaded, her sister''s composure breaking down enough to roll her eyes.


    "I won''t have to if you don''t start making yourself presentable. Those bags you call clothes have got to go," she replied, turning to head for the door.


    Iscah frowned, following her. "They''re comfy."


    "And you must recall your guards," she added with a brief but perturbed glance down the hallway before moving towards the stairs.


    "Why? They just stand there for hours, probably bored out of their minds. Besides, the half-demons haven''t breached our wall much less our city for decades now."


    "It does not matter. They did it once, those bloodless savages might try once more. Father barely escaped their assassins, who''s to say they would not try it again?"


    Iscah scowled, attempting to come up with a response that sounded better than something petulant.


    "And wipe that look off your face, it makes you look uglier than usual."


    "Ialda?"


    "Yes, darling sister of mine?"


    "You''re getting fatter."


    Even though spring had begun to make its presence known, the carriage ride to their home was cold as frost.


    Iscah spent her time turned towards the window, studying the landscape instead of trying to make amends with her sister.


    Tzarren City was not the only city the humans had built, but it was the most populated and oldest of them. The bones of the ruins their ancestors had rebuilt upon were now covered in the flesh of the living, and the city thrived as the seat of power of the Kingdom.


    The tallest buildings orbited around the spires of the castle, the iron and stone foundations of the ancients allowing for higher structures than they knew how to build safely. Temples, government buildings, even the University had garnered the remainder of the those resiliently sound bones, and had created architecture that was continuously evolving as they rediscovered lost technology and spell craft.


    From their prestigious residences the high class and prominent merchants flourished, their back gardens ending at the cities first wall built long ago. There the buildings sloped down in size, until farthest from the center single-story homes and rows of businesses with stretched tarps guarding their wares from the sun and occasional rainstorms lay.


    The only areas that the differences in hierarchy weren''t visible were the main streets of brick and stone. An impressive array of shops lined the wide road that encircled the exterior of the ancient first wall and the four thoroughfares that quartered the city into cardinal directions, creating a hub-and-spoke system of neighborhoods and streets.


    Even then, the city planners had kept defense a priority but incorporated it in a brilliant way. Houses sat back to back, offering their owners and renters the space for front gardens only, and at every intersection of the four mainways heavy gates of iron customized to represent the neighborhoods tasked with their upkeep sat tucked between the buildings on well used tracks.


    Closest to the towering wall encircling their city the poorest lived on land originally used for animals waiting for the slaughter. Now most of the mud churned plots were covered by houses built from whatever materials their tenants could cobble together between the pens they worked, some never leaving the shadow of stone through the entire day.


    A whiff of the misery and they passed through the northern double gates, out into the picturesque countryside that gently descended away from the crest the city resided on and offering a view of the blue sea crowned in mist that lay to the east.


    Stretches of farms, fields, orchards, and pastures broke apart the land, smatterings of forests randomly disrupting the fingerprint of humanity like a nod to what once was. Most of the produce that fed the citizens of the city were grown in the local region, though specialty items arrived from the territories on a nearly weekly basis.


    Their carriage slowed at one of these woodlands, and turned onto an even, gravel row lined with trees so old they formed a continuous arching canopy for them to drive through.


    As they pulled up to the round driveway lined with meticulously kept landscaping Iscah spied Ialda''s husband on the steps, speaking with their father and mother amicably.


    Iscah squealed with delight at the sight of her parents, jumping out of the carriage and nearly tripping over her skirts to throw herself into her father''s waiting arms with childish abandon.


    "Iscah!" Her mother''s voice cracked like a whip and Isren set his daughter down, both wearing the same sheepish face as they turned towards the woman whom looked like an older version of Ialda. Glittering hazel eyes narrowed at the both of them before resting on her daughter.


    "That is no way for a young woman to act," she continued.


    Clearing her throat Iscah floated her arms out and swept up the edges of her dress before dipping into a graceful bow.


    The woman nodded approvingly with her hands clasped at her waist, satisfied with her daughters manners before Iscah approached her and set a wet, noisy kiss on her cheek. She ignored the indignant huff, grinning beatifically at the lovely woman as she checked to make sure her dark gold bun hadn''t been mussed.


    "So my darling Hermit," Isren began, linking arms with his favorite daughter as the group moved indoors. "Have any dashing students caught your eye?"


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    "As a matter of fact Father, yes, there has," she whispered back conspiratorially, cupping her hand close to her lips as if she did not want the others to hear.


    "Athrioclites."


    Isren gave a woeful moan, tossing his head back and clutching at his heart as if it had been struck.


    "My future son-in-law is as dry in writing as he is in body!"


    As they entered the grand foyer a group of servants bowed low, stepping forward to take the two girls traveling cloaks and gloves, while yet another stood at the ready with a tray of warm mint tea in miniature silver chalices.


    "Wait, Issy is being courted by someone?" Ialda interjected from behind them, clapping her hands in delight.


    "Yes, a scholar!"


    "Oh, you''re jesting. Issy! You can''t marry a book and have children!"


    Iscah smiled in gratitude as she took the last of the tea, turning to follow the group through a sparse but elegantly decorated reception room and past a set of double-doors that spanned from floor to ceiling.


    "Sure I could. We could have children books."


    "Iscah."


    "Or perhaps novellas."


    "Iscah!"


    "Baby Diaries," added Isren as they entered the ostentatious dining room meant to accommodate well over forty guests.


    "Father!"


    Isren shared a wink with his youngest, and Iscah giggled as they took their seats at the far end of the room where sunlight spilled across the floor and furnishings. Further down the table bouquets of early spring flowers scented the air, creating an optical illusion that made the oversized table feel shorter than it was.


    The servants descended upon them with platters of food, the smell of fresh cooked eggs, herb-fried polenta, smoked boar belly and seasonal vegetables cooked in lard trailing in their wake.


    A plump woman with a smile from ear to ear entered with a basket, setting it next to Iscah and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.


    "Missed ya mah girl," she whispered, flicking the linen covering the mound of still steaming pastries aside to the girls delight.


    "Not nearly as much as I''ve missed you Agatha. Can you not take a break and come to the city to teach the University cooks your skill?"


    Agatha laughed heartily, flour floating into the air from the wild curls pinned atop her head.


    "Well then, it wouldn''t be much of a break now, would it?" She called as she left them to their brunch.


    Conversation dwindled as they served themselves from the selection of food, Iscah ignorant of the glances cast her way by both parents as she hummed in delight with each bite.


    Iscah listened with growing boredom as her sister chatted with their mother about the latest court gossip while the two men planned out a forthcoming hunt after they had eaten their fill.


    "I''m sorry?" She replied in a knee-jerk reaction when she realized her father had asked a question.


    "Has there been any progress with your entry to the Balenciai?"


    "Oh," her shoulders visibly rounded. "Yes, well. Last week I conjured a fireball that lasted a few seconds."


    "Oh my, a record," Ialda quipped, feigning appreciation. "Did you blow anything up in the process?"


    "No!" She slumped further in her seat. "Yes. I burned off almost all of the Head Mage Allen''s beard."


    "Still can''t control it?" Her father asked.


    Iscah pushed a lone buttered pea morosely across her plate in silent response.


    Isren nodded sympathetically, but her mother spoke up in the awkward silence that ensued.


    "Oh, we''re all thinking it. Iscah, it''s time you abandoned this fantasy and take on a more genteel role. You''re supposed to be a lady of the court, not a court jester!"


    "Naomi, that''s no way to broach the subject."


    Iscah looked up from her dejected stare at the table, looking from her mother to her father. "What do you mean, Daddy? What subject?"


    He cast his wife an irritated stare before turning to address his youngest daughter, words catching in his throat before he sighed. Naomi stiffened at his faltering resolve, but remained silent.


    "Iscah, you''ve been trying for two years now," he tried patiently.


    Her father''s resolve broke and he looked away, unable to meet his daughter''s gaze as he quietly stated: "Your mother and I have decided it''s in your best interest after this term you end your educational studies. Naomi has already made known that we are looking for candidates suitable to your stature."


    "Oh father, that is a wonderful decision," Ialda breathed, gripping her husband''s forearm and smiling from him to her sister who had visibly paled.


    "Issy, it''s wonderful, believe me. To be loved and to serve a husband is a true joy, and when you have children¡ª"


    "I''ll be nothing but a mother," she finished for her sister sharply, not bothering to look up from her half-eaten plate of food that felt as if it was clawing its way back up her throat.


    Both women gave offended inhales at her tone, but Iscah ignored them, her chair wailing against the marble as she pushed it back and stood. Turning stonily towards her father she bowed.


    "By your leave, Father."


    Without waiting for a response, she left her family to go home.


    Iscah shut the door to her apartment and stood staring at nothing in particular for a long time before her attention went to her bed where the books remained untouched.


    How could he?!


    In a single day, her dreams of becoming something more than a court peacock had been dashed. So many nights as a little girl she had dreamed of becoming one of her favorite heroines. Smiting the evilest of the demons and half-demons that plagued their southern wall, taming a dragon or flighted beast to see what lay beyond their known lands. Be something other than just a name on the genealogical chart of her family that sired the next line.


    Now she was to be sold off like livestock to the highest bidder and all but forgotten.


    In less than two months she would no longer have access to the great library of the University, knowing that it truly would bring shame to her family and future husband for the public to see her dallying in anything other than court intrigues and womanly arts. That was Ialda''s world, not hers. She couldn''t stand the games and wholly sincere smiles that hid the poisoned words of the courtiers.


    Her anger and frustration she had been holding in finally broke. If they were going to ban her from the beloved library, she''d come to the court with a story for those harpies to chew on for weeks.


    In two quick strides fell upon the pile, sweeping it with some effort onto the floor and kicking at them as viciously as she could in slippers until she was out of breath.


    Far from giving in to her exhaustion she picked up the massive book she had already ripped a page in and tried to throw it across the room, succeeding in whacking the back of her hand mid-throw against the lavishly carved column of her bed and sending Athrioclites skittering across the carpet instead of against the wall.


    "What is it with this book!?" She shrieked, clutching at her hand that was smarting and bleeding from the small gash she had received from the sharp edges of wood. Watching to see if her hand was about to swell and bruise she walked over to retrieve the book, some of her anger doused as she focused on the pain. Around her the lights flickered momentarily, and she paused.


    Mote lights never wavered, they either glowed at varying levels associated with how much energy was fed to them. If they went out, it was rather quickly as the energy fed through the wires was cut, setting them into a stasis they''d remain in. They had not responded naturally in the library, and they were not acting normal now.


    Chewing on her lower lip Iscah went to the desk where she had set her mote-lantern and checked to see if the crystal used for power was disconnected. That solved why it hadn''t come back on, but not necessarily why the tiny floating puffs that turned energy into light had flickered.


    A fat drop of blood pattered noisily on the desk, and she stared at it hard for a moment before looking back to Athrioclites historic documentation lying prone on the floor.


    Slowly she went back to the book and knelt beside it, dabbing her index finger in the blood trailing across the back of her hand and swiped it across one of the pages. The paper soaked the liquid into itself and dried almost instantly, the lights faltering and dimming, acting more like dying flames.


    She watched as the blood faded away completely before the book shifted in the failing light, turning into the small black journal she had read the night before.


    The opened page was the single entry, and beneath the writing the fingerprint glowed faintly as if it were an ember. Reaching down she hesitated a moment over the print before touching her finger against it.


    The light expanded outward like flames consuming tinder, lighting up the runes circling her fingers and they slowly began to orbit in opposing directions. Iscah wasn''t even aware the lights had gone out in the room, watching in awe as the letters picked up speed until they became blurred rings, expanding to the edge of the page before suddenly realizing she was looking down into the book as if it had depth. She gasped and tried to pull free but her body didn''t respond, a coldness that rivaled the bitterest of winter days whooshing across her body before she plummeted into the blackness.


    What''s happening? Why can''t I move?! A light? Wh¡ª


    Bright sky and wisps of ebony hair snatched away by a howling wind. She took a deep inhale of the cold, metallic-edged air, and its talons could not sink into her body. Her soul warmed her, enflamed her. She rode on that power and the elements could do nothing to stand against her.


    Turning her head she brazenly studied the side profile of the Lord Commander. The man was aging well. Already in his forties he was barrel chested and lean, black hair that was clipped at his shoulders barely salted with grey hairs. The fox tails that circled his neck to keep the biting chill at bay shivered in the wind though he remained stalwart, his face a mask of frustration and anger.


    "We''re losing," he finally confessed as she joined him at the ridge, and her gaze turned to the scene that they overlooked from their panoramic view.


    Below the mesa bodies littered the once-grass covered fields, the mud churned red with blood where a corpse did not cover it. The Cambions had been driven off again for the day, but they were playing defense now, and it was only a matter of time.


    Already the dead were being collected and organized into pyres. It was better than leaving them as meat for the Demons and the Halfling Cambion spawn to feast on.


    Saraf kept silent, knowing there was little she could say to ease Isenius''s fears. Already her coven was giving so much.


    Too much.


    "There''s a way we can change the tides of fate," a familiar voice replied from behind them. She glared venomously at Naon as he approached, confident smiles and blue eyes flashing. Isenius turned to give the warlock his full attention.


    "The demonic world holds the key to our success."


    "Like your ancestors assumed when you went to war with the Mages?" He swept his hand out towards the enemy swarm that was made up of demons and half-demons alike that they now faced, and were losing to. "What guarantee do I have that you won''t do more damage than what they already caused?"


    "Our predecessors were¡ª"


    "Naon," Saraf purred warningly, but he forged over her.


    "¡ªWere fools to give free reign to them," he finished, pulling out a dagger that had been sheathed beneath his cloak.


    Goosebumps pricked instantly over her body, the hair on her nape rising at the sight of it. Too large to be considered a dagger but too small to be a short sword, the entire weapon was made of a single piece of bone, the blade double edged. Runes of binding and power ran up the center of the bevel, ending at a simple guard where a tuft of red hair that turned a brilliant, pure gold in the sunlight hung. The hilt was wrapped in ancient leather, so old it crackled beneath Naon''s grasp.


    "Where did you get that," Saraf breathed, stepping forward, horrified and entranced all at once.


    "The warlocks weren''t entirely unsuccessful, Lord Commander, at controlling all the demons. One was enslaved, bound to his own bone."


    "Orias."


    Isenius looked from Naon to her, gauging, calculating, before turning to view the land below. His lips pressed into a thin line at the carnage, finally addressing the two. "We continue the assault. I''ll resort to your particular vulgar forms of demonic magic over your dead bodies."


    Saraf''s relief was short lived at Naon''s secretive, arrogant smile as he bowed.

 4| Grudges

    It had been a human town once, but many of those details had been lost under the patina of the Cambion''s uncivilized lifestyle. The most blatant indications of the disparities could be found in the spring-fed fountains scattered through intersections. A mixture of crumbling founts idealizing lost heroes of humanity versus spartan, unadorned pools built only for necessity.


    The permanent source of water allowed the city to be one of their largest, the other reason being its ideal location just a day¡¯s ride to the wall that separated the realm of men from their bastard, demonic offspring. Claimed by a warring tribe with an eye for commerce, it had become a thriving metropolis for slave and trade caravans. Tariffs were paid to the tribe who¡¯s military arm had extended all the way to the wall, defending the local territories by constantly playing offense.


    Units were sent out to harry the humans guarding the wall; exercises for the young unblooded warriors and decoys for the slave-harvest bands. Those groups continuously ran to and from the secret tunnels that were constantly being mined by the cambions, and destroyed by the humans.


    It was a game of war and survival, one played in earnest by both sides.


    The cobblestones of the market streets were hidden beneath a layer of compacted dirt and various animal shit, the press and movement of bodies and beasts pounding it into a fine powder that rose and singed the nostrils and lungs of all. Shops had set up raised platforms in front of single-story adobe buildings to sell from. The cooler interiors used as either warehouses, dwellings, a combination of both, or in some cases lounges for affluent clients if their business had that luxury.


    Apoch tucked his head further below the black leather cowl as he caught yet another individual''s attention stutter and remain on him, tracking the cloaked figure as if trying to place him from memory.


    They had all sacrificed, some longer than others.


    There was little else he could do to try to stay anonymous; moving at night would draw even more attention of the wrong kind. Gangs had posted more sentries than normal to watch their territories zealously, given from the rumors he had picked up a cutthroat had recently named himself Boss. He knew the ambitious fool wouldn''t survive very long, but it was causing enough of a stir Apoch opted for daylight to complete his tasks in.


    A youth stumbled into his path, and he shifted his weight, letting his shoulder drop back to knife-edge seamlessly through the narrowed gap and avoid the thieving hand that had snaked out. In earlier years, he might''ve made the gutter-rat pay dearly for the attempt, but it was no longer necessary to take it personally. Sensing he was out of his league, the boy vanished as swiftly as he had appeared into the bartering throngs. He continued with the flow of traffic, following the scuffling of feet while he used his peripheral vision and other senses to take in his surroundings.


    The main street was well known to him, but The Favored he was looking for changed based on whomever was the most fortunate¡ª or just plain luckiest¡ª at the moment to know of the current tunnel yet to be discovered by the humans.


    And it was easy to tell.


    Two women chained by the wrists on short leashes above their heads marked either side of the entrance to an alleyway. Bedecked in garlands and crowns of white flowers and nothing else, one was currently being rutted from behind at a lively pace. A brute of a halfling kept a watchful eye while chatting with another patron leisurely.


    The male''s attention snapped from his charges to Apoch as he approached, arms crossed over his chest falling loosely by the ironwood batons at his sides as he pushed off the wall to give himself space to fight.


    ¡°Easy,¡± Apoch murmured, lifting his empty palms before reaching up to pull his cowl back. A flicker of recognition before the guard¡¯s eyes widened, glancing at the unoccupied slave.


    ¡°Not interested,¡± he answered, dropping his hands as the other male visibly relaxed. ¡°Is Dek the current Favored?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Head servant will take your weapons at the entrance.¡±


    Nodding in thanks he passed by the two offerings without sparing either a single glance.


    A man adorned in a torque of pure gold greeted him in the small lobby decorated with antiques procured from the human lands. An entire wall a fresco of nubile maidens lounging with animals that predated when the demons had been released in the world drawing his attention. Gaze flicking over the now-extinct creatures, he removed all his weapons and set them on the brass tray the slave held steadily before pushing through the chains of tiny bells and into the main room.


    Inside the ostentatious human comforts continued, none more-so than the actual humans. Women and a few men were on display, most chained to the walls or resting on tall padded benches, waiting for their fates with glazed eyes. Drugged to make them more complacent and aroused, the scent of sex magnified by the cloying sweetness of incense.


    A few of them had already been bought and were being bred in alcoves, the transparent silk curtains hiding very little in the low light as moans of pleasure and torment filtered through the live music being played. Every detail, conscious or subconscious, meant to spur customers into purchasing the wares.


    Dek had a reputation of doting on his merchandise, leaving their future owners to build or break that tenuous hope of a decent life. It was one of the reasons he rotated often with just a few others at the top.


    As if the thought drew Apoch''s attention to the male, he found him seated in a corner engrossed in the game of Kingdom. Few human entertainments had made it over the wall, but Kingdom had been one. Zidaii had often stressed the importance of the game, how it gave insight on their continuously changing strategies for fighting the Archfiends and humans.


    Like Apoch, the slave master had more human characteristics than demonic. But where he did nothing to hide his eyes, canines and pointed ears, Dek had pulled out his tusks and fangs, and hidden a filed-down spike on his chin in a beard cinched by a solid gold bead.


    He tugged at that peppered ducktail now, knee bouncing tersely as his partner eyed a beautiful girl with a halo of red curls tethered on a raised circular dais; the obvious prize for his adversary should he win.


    Dek glanced up, waving him over impatiently in a way that set Apoch''s teeth on edge at the audacity. Still he obeyed the summons, taking his time as he made his way over at an intentionally delayed pace.


    "Well?" Dek demanded by way of greeting his newest patron.


    Apoch stilled, contemplating physical retaliation for the disrespect. It wouldn''t bode well for getting the information he wanted without a bloodbath ensuing, and possibly being banished from ever stepping foot in the city again for murdering a highly successful slaver.


    Besides, there were other ways to get even.


    His attention dropped to the board, eyes flicking over the placement of the pieces as Dek''s foot continued its'' furious tapping. There were only a few options left, all of them risky and sacrificing, but a more astute player would''ve seen it rather than just the overwhelming loss currently plaguing black.


    "If you''re asking me, then you already know you''re fucked," Apoch drawled.


    Dek hissed at the confirmation of his own thoughts, slapping his knee in frustration.


    His adversary turned, sizing him up as if he too, knew Dek had had a chance. Apoch met it flatly, not caring if he had earned favor or disapproval from the customer. All he cared was that it was his turn with the business owner. The male snorted a laugh, shaking Dek''s hand and accepting the begrudged "congratulations" before moving to collect his award and lead the whimpering girl to an empty divan.


    Apoch slouched into the vacated seat as Dek glared at the board. ¡°I thought I had him this time. I thought¡ª¡°


    With irritated sigh through his nose, he reached over and played out the sequence. Dek stilled, watching the moves, staring at the white king as he flicked it over. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tables edge, strumming his fingers against the wood once. At this mercenaries that had been lounging paused as all eyes turned to the two, the string trio playing from behind a paper screen tapering off into silence at the sudden tension.


    "Zidaii loved this game," Apoch replied casually as if nothing was amiss, taking his time to reset the ebony and ivory pieces.


    "So many Chiefs brought him boards as gifts; masterpieces in their own right. Some of precious metals, priceless gems, and rare wood. Even a set supposedly carved from the bones of the humans first King, Janius."


    He smiled nostalgically, recalling that memory and its bloody end at his own hands. ¡°The Chief had forgotten Zidaii had fought alongside Janius when he crowed about the origins of the bone, or perhaps didn''t think he''d remember the King''s scent.¡±


    ¡°Yet even though he was always grateful for each of them, the one he played most was the one Isenius had given him when he had been nothing more than a slave; white pine, the black paint worn away yet it mattered not.¡±


    Picking up the ivory queen he turned it in his fingers, admiring the artists skill at carving every notch and symmetric curve perfectly. ¡°He knew every single piece more intimately than any lover.¡±


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    The final piece to the board, he set her in place before giving Dek the full weight of his blood-red irises.


    The slaver''s skin had paled, having finally realized who sat across from him.


    ¡°I''ve found Salas.¡±


    A dropped pin could''ve been heard in the silence. Even the slaves seemed to understand the magnitude of the conversation between the two, and as a whole the entire room held their breath. Dek''s lips slackened, the rest of his body following suit as he exhaled sharply.


    ¡°You''re certain of this?¡±


    Apoch dipped his head, mouth compressing into a tight line. ¡°The bastard is in collusion with the human magic wielders and no longer wears his old skin. I intend to find out how, and pay back an old, old debt.¡±


    Dek leaned back in his chair, tugging at his beard again with a nod. To be a part of avenging what had been an irreplaceable loss of their beloved Warchief wouldn''t just bring fortune, it would also bring fame.


    ¡°Of course, I''ll call in favors and put together a team for you.¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± he purred back, his smile a lethal warning against argument. ¡°I just need access to the other side and the future exit points.¡±


    ¡°It would be my honor. Your supplies will be covered as well.¡±


    Dek stood, and bowed until his gaze was at the floor; his neck fully exposed for the prior disrespect in apology, and offering.


    ¡°Warlord.¡±


    Apoch stepped out of the slavers dwelling well after dark. Dek had become a most magnanimous host, his kitchens providing an unending stream of exotic-spiced food and quaint drinks as they chatted and planned in a private room. The servants had even packed saddlebags made out of soft, durable hide full of the finest food and artisan-crafted supplies ranging from survival gear to a blanket woven of plush alpaca.


    Testaments to Dek''s close relationship with the humans.


    There had even been an offering of a woman despite Apoch''s reputation, but he had politely declined to the Slavemaster''s visible relief.


    It had been harder than he expected to hear the title of Warlord again. That was a closed chapter in his life, one he had no plans to return to. Decades of shouldering the responsibility of ordering youths and tested warriors to their deaths, slaughtered by titans hellbent on pressing forward while trailing a cloak of destruction in their wake. When reality had become worse than the nightmares, he finally withdrew from the front line to try to find some peace with his consort at the deserts eastern edge.


    All the good that did; here you are chasing after the newest nightmare. It''s no wonder he reverted to calling you Warlord.


    Cracking his head to the side and rolling the stress out of his shoulder he hefted the bulging packs back into balance and stepped back into the flow of foot traffic. Even under the full mantle of a night sky, commerce continued. Torches and lamps lit venues and illuminated the smoke drifting from food stalls where sweaty cooks sang clever rhymes to advertise their dishes.


    With his cowl up he avoided most of the hopeful gazes of sellers trying to make one last profit, turning off the crowded street where hands would be less inclined to pick pockets.


    The road was darker than the market lane had been, a few cambions that were less human and more demon noting his presence but instinctively knowing he was not prey. Very few of them were, all of them hardened by their environment and struggles. Every so often one weakened by sickness or wandering off alone and too drunk to fight off the packs of wilder beings would get attacked, only the cracked bones left scattered and ignored by the rest. Their survival was cruel like that. The only time they ever faced true retribution by the city was if a human was killed, but the retaliation for such an act was so brutal they had learned quickly that type of prey meant a death sentence.


    The tap of a staff had him slowing as an older male hobbled directly into his path, his right foot bent inwards and gnarled as if it had been mangled at some point and healed without being set. A scraggly mane of unwashed grey and white hair, one tusk chipped rising out of his stretched mouth and dark eyes glittering with sharp hope.


    ¡°A copper for your fortune, Dreamwalker?¡±


    His steps faltered at the title, too surprised to reply. The elder took the opportunity, forging ahead.


    ¡°You¡¯re searching for a treasure, but refuse to believe in its value.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± he breathed out, his upper lip peeling back. ¡°I''ll give you a silver for silence instead, you crank.¡±


    He pulled a silver coin tucked beneath his bracer, tossing it towards the wall to get the mad loon out of his way, but those fevered eyes didn''t leave his to track its projection as he shuffled closer.


    Apoch snarled when he grabbed his forearm, surprised at the strength of that grip when he tried to shake him off. He took a step back and the vagabond followed the movement, close enough now that his breath reeking of decay filled the space between them.


    ¡°You believe destruction is the answer¡ª but you''re wrong,¡± he slurred, words tripping over each other in haste as Apoch twisted, grabbing his collar to throw him off-balance. ¡°The threads have entwined!¡±


    He shoved him against the same wall the coin had been tossed to and the male crumpled, coughing a laugh at Apoch''s back.


    Shaken by foreboding, apprehension slicked his thoughts and raised his hackles. He exited the cramped alleyway, tossing a single glance backwards to confirm what he already knew to be true- the elder was gone. Blowing out a breath through his nose to rid himself of the stench of the encounter he continued towards the outskirts of the city for one final errand before trespassing into the human lands.


    The stables Apoch had chosen were finer than most of the inns in the city. Its owner had double the amount of apprentices and employees than any other competitor, the bedding always fresh and provisions never in question. Despite the fact she treated the beasts with more respect than their handlers, her business was always at max capacity.


    Apoch found her in the largest stall where his mount had been staying while he had attended his business in the crowded streets.


    When the rift had been opened, the demons had not only bred with humans. Creatures from nightmare had risen from the unholy unions, some so monstrous they had been hunted to extinction. Others, however, had been tamed, succeeding in a symbiotic relationship to ensure their continued survival.


    Those crossbreeds had been named Denimals, and like the half-breed label Cambion, the title covered a massive, varying range of new creatures.


    Bu''u was rare enough that he would''ve drawn attention he hadn''t wanted to deal with. His beautifully mixed species of avian and reptile had been one of those true monsters nearly culled, and because of that the skull-sized egg had originally been a gift for the Warchief. Apoch had been tasked with its upkeep, so when it had broken through its shell the hatchling had imprinted on him, much to Zidaii''s amusement. Through the years the two had learned not to just be rider and beast of burden, but a fighting team of talons and blade, and mutual respect.


    He leaned against the door, watching as Giss ran an expert hand down the bird-like neck thick with muscle and across his spine, checking the grey and brown mottled skin that faded into cream on his undersides for parasites or wounds. She worked her way to the tip of his rigid tail layered with fat that was a counterbalance to a two-legged stance.


    Bu''u stood compliantly, following her with a golden eye that held more intelligence than Apoch even knew the limit of. Backtracking to his hindquarters, she traced the powerful muscles built for sprints and ambushes, down elongated ankle bones that ended in three toes, the shorter inner one sporting a wicked sickle claw that could rend flesh and bone. He let her take his shorter arm in her hands, checking over the elegant fingers ending in black talons before patting his shoulder in approval.


    ¡°How is he?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she replied, her smile for the denimal only as he turned his muzzle and bumped her fondly.


    ¡°A few of his teeth are broken off,¡± she added, gently prying open his narrow maw to expose the neat, continuous row of serrated, recurved teeth. Apoch stepped into the stall, peering at the stubs and empty sockets where sharp tips were already poking through the gum line.


    ¡°It looks like they drop out at some point and new ones replace them. This Theropod is truly amazing.¡±


    Apoch frowned at the strange word, but didn''t press. Giss had a habit of giving all the denimals that had come into her care strange names. He knew better than to ask, for she would launch into a scientific or historic explanation that would lead to more confusion, if not a pounding headache at trying to keep up with her theories.


    Or maybe that was from the alcohol that was usually involved in the discussions.


    She let his mouth go, scratching behind a long rigid ear that was currently swiveled back and relaxed. Bu''u''s lower eyelids rose in pleasure as he leaned into her hand.


    ¡°Don''t let her flattery affect you, that probably means ¡®bald chicken¡¯ in ancient human tongue.¡±


    Both denimal and female snorted at him, and he gave a wry smile. Giss paused, turning that scrutinizing gaze at him. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he responded too quickly, rubbing at the nape of his neck in an attempt to release the last vestiges of his anxiety. ¡°I never realized this city had raving lunatics plaguing the darker parts.¡±


    ¡°That''s because we don''t. You know how it is; the packs or gangs clean up the trash.¡±


    Apoch just grunted back, disliking what that could mean about his encounter. She eyed him, but knew better than to try to press the Warlord. Fetching a chunk of dried meat from her pocket she offered it to Bu''u who licked it up daintily before tossing his head back to swallow it whole.


    ¡°We cleaned and conditioned your tack and saddle, the straps looked worn but reliable so would recommend not switching out to the new one Dek had brought in.¡±


    ¡°Didn''t want it anyway,¡± he replied, waving a hand dismissively as he approached Bu''u and scratched beneath the denimals jaw. ¡°Consider it a tip for all the help with my friend.¡±


    Giss gave another impolite snort, crossing her arms over a rawhide-clad chest. ¡°That thing could buy boarding for a year, and you want to call it a tip?¡±


    She tossed him a genuine smile, so easy-going he found himself partially returning it. Tilting her head to the side she let her attention drift over his body, voice lowering. ¡°How about we call it pre-payment for your next visit, if you¡¯ll stay longer?¡±


    Apoch''s smile turned razor sharp, and Giss felt her lower stomach flutter under the weight of his full attention before he turned away, dismissing the offer without a word.


    He gathered the bridle off a hook inside the door, sliding the softened leather bit into Bu''u''s mouth to rest in the crevice where his teeth ended and jaw muscles began. Giss tossed a fresh shearling across his back, helping Apoch connect the bags either side of the simple saddle so that they were balanced and did not impede Bu''u''s stride.


    ¡°Rumors are already flying about why you''re here,¡± she finally hedged, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye as they walked together towards the exit. ¡°Did you really find Salas?¡±


    Apoch gave a noncommittal shrug, and Giss nodded as if that were answer enough.


    ¡°I was young back then, but I remember him. He was always kind and could read the denimals almost as well as I could. Almost.¡± Theat endearing, lopsided smile returned, stopping at the entrance while Apoch mounted.


    ¡°When you put that blade into Salas,¡± she added, voice and eyes turning cold. ¡°Sink it in again for me.¡±

 5| Jalen

    Iscah rapped on the intricately carved door, wincing and shaking her knuckles out before taking a slight step back.


    Muffled voices behind the barrier, until it opened and a tall young man was staring back at her with widened dark blue eyes.


    "Hey, Ugly Duck," Iscah tried, voice cracking slightly from nerves. His eyebrows rose as he took in the stylishly coiffed hair and black cotton dress trimmed in matching lace and turquoise ribbons.


    "Well well," He leaned against the doorframe casually, as if he didn''t notice her red, puffy eyelids. "And here I was thinking you had forgotten about me, Pillips," he responded, using her nickname in return.


    As children, he had once teased her about her full lips, claiming she had been kissing bees to prepare for her Prince Charming. Ialda, who was then a teenager and going through a bout of romanticism, had tried to defend her younger sibling, calling them lovely pillows instead. Jalen and Iscah both had laughed themselves silly at the absurd description, and ''pillow lips'' had devolved into ''Pillips'' in their mirth.


    Iscah gave a lopsided smile at the childhood taunt that had become a joke between them. "Like I could forget about my best friend."


    "Is that Iscah I hear?" an older masculine voice called, and the reason for Jalen''s nickname stuck his head out from the kitchen.


    His father was so ridiculously handsome that most of the girls they had grown up with had not-so-secret crushes on the gentleman. Lazy curls the same deep chestnut as his sons was barely held in check in a low queue, his wide mouth crowned at one corner with a perfect black mole. Jade eyes edged in laughing lines always seemed to sparkle with joy and vitality. Where her father had let age round his belly, Darl still was as fit and trim as men half his age.


    Jalen had been on the pudgier side as a child, but was finally beginning to grow into his looks as Iscah had always told him he would. The baby fat hiding his jaw and signature Wrighter cheekbones had started to melt away, and Iscah knew young ladies everywhere were taking notice. He had been so used to being overlooked however that he had grown more comfortable with books and numbers than people. Having practically been raised together with their fathers being close friends and business partners, it had helped both of them were social pariahs.


    "Iscah! We thought you had run off and eloped," Darl teased. "Or have you been tearing it up at the U?"


    "Father," Jalen cut in, deadpan. "None of that sounded anything remotely like how we speak. Stop trying, for both of our dignities."


    Darl gave a wink, so much like her own father Iscah couldn''t help but laugh.


    Jalen grabbed his cloak, and she gave a wave to him before following her friend down the hedge-trimmed street.


    "Jalen, I''m sorry."


    He paused, looking back at her for a moment. Pointedly his eyes dropped to the box she had resting on top of the book in her arms, reading the name of the bakery stamped on the brown paper neatly tied with pink and yellow string.


    "That''s not even remotely fair," he shot back, tossing his hands up and nearly taking out the hat of a woman walking past. Iscah bit her lips to keep from laughing as he apologized profusely to the lady before looking back at her.


    "You can''t just go vanishing for months and then try to con me into forgiveness with pastries."


    "Chocolate ashbuns, to be exact," she supplied for him, and he kicked out a leg and canted his head with a guffaw.


    "Raspberry filling?"


    "Nuh, double chocolate," she teased.


    He tapped his foot, crossing his arms over his chest as if he was seriously struggling to make a decision.


    "That''s blackmail," he finally objected with an accusing finger pointed at her, and Iscah felt her tension ease.


    He slowed his pace, and together they walked to the nearby park to sit on one of the benches beneath a budding maple tree.


    Another lovely feature of the city Iscah adored; the multiple oasis''s of nature that had been planned out. While some areas had used the extra land as community gardens, or even filled it with buildings for art or education, the neighborhood Jalen and his father lived in had developed the plot into an outdoor sanctuary. A crushed gravel path made a winding loop through a small grove of maple and blue gum eucalyptus, the rest an open field of compact grass where children played, and adults lounged together to share the latest gossip. In the summer they even hosted musicians to play at sunset, neighbors bringing bags with citronella candles inside to light the park and picnic as the music drifted across the sun-warmed lawn.


    Iscah untied the bow on the pastries, handing the peace offering over.


    "So, who is the lucky beau?" Jalen took one of the confections, giving it to her before taking two out for himself.


    She gave a derisive laugh, looking down. "You know that''s not how my life works. I don''t get to choose my outfit much less who I''m going to marry. So what''s the point of giving my heart to anyone?" she blinked rapidly, and bit into the sweet without really tasting it.


    "Sorry Pillips," he bumped his shoulder with hers. "It''s just¡ª you literally disappeared out of our lives, and anytime I''d run into you, you''d mumble some excuse and take off again like it was inappropriate to be seen with me any longer."


    "It''s my fault," she finally confessed, gaining control of the burning in her eyes before looking back to him. "Father is pulling me out of the University. They''ve decided it''s time for me to follow in Ialda''s footsteps."


    Jalen''s eyes widened at this news, his features softening from defensive to sympathetic.


    She licked her lips, gaze darting around them to make sure they were alone. "There''s something I have to tell you."


    "If this is where you tell me you''ve been secretly in love with me all this time, I''m gonna have to stop you there," he interjected. "No offense, but your father is scary enough that I already pity whoever gets chosen to marry his favorite little girl."


    "What? No, no! I¡ª" she shook her head, huffing a laugh as she eyed his sly half grin.


    "You jester, no. I, umm," she fiddled with the ashbun nervously, trying to pull their conversation back on track. "I''ve been having this dream for the past six months."


    "Recurring dreams aren''t all that uncommon," Jalen offered, shrugging. Now it was Iscah''s turn to give him half a smirk.


    "Every night, without fail."


    "Oh. Well ok then," he nodded, taking another bite and smearing ganache in the corners of his mouth inadvertently as he chewed around the mouthful. "About what?"


    "I''m floating in the dark. There''s this warm sense of peace, and I can hear my heartbeat," she recalled hesitantly, unaware Jalen had fallen still next to her. "But then it changes, and I''m no longer alone. There is another there with me."


    Jet black hair fanning around broad shoulders, swirling across the wide expanse of a pale chest and vanishing into the darkness surrounding him like tendrils of ink.


    "Iscah?"


    Not realizing she had stopped speaking she drew in a breath. "A Cambion."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "You''ve been trying to find out why," he offered for her, and she nodded. "Why didn''t you tell me before? I could''ve been helping you all this time."


    "Because," she reached up with the tiny kerchief tucked in her sleeve to wipe the chocolate off his mouth before returning it. "It sounds so insane, saying it out loud. I was afraid you''d tell me I was out of my mind. Or worse, tell your Dad about it."


    "My Father doesn''t know everything about me, Pillips," he returned, undoing her work as he stuffed the remainder of both puffs into his mouth, words muffled but comprehensible. "Like the fact I have that same dream."


    The pastry fell from Iscah''s fingers, and Jalen dove for it. "Hey! No reason to be wasting my hard-won buns!"


    He dusted it off, waiting for her laugh at his pun. When it didn''t come he looked up to catch her staring in shock at him. "I forget it as soon as I wake up apparently, but now that you''ve said it, yeah. I''ve been having those dreams for a long, long time too, minus the halfling hunk."


    She spluttered indignantly. "I did not say anything about what he looked like, much less it being a he!"


    "Yeah but, your cheeks and ears turned bright red right before you mentioned the Cambion. So I''m assuming there''s some heavy stuff going on in that repressed little mind of yours."


    "Oh my gods, I''m never going to speak to you again." She reached up, covering her ears self-consciously.


    "Uh oh, looks like I touched a nerve. So it is dirty dreams about the sexy enemy after all."


    "Because I''m going to kill you," she followed up, glaring at him.


    "If you tried to kill me we''d both end up dead, along with a random dog. At least four spoons would probably be involved somewhere along the way. Half the city would get burned down on accident, because your reflexes and sense of balance are even worse than my own, and that''s saying something, Pillips."


    "Are you done?"


    He crowed with laughter, garnering the attention of two ladies their age who had been leisurely strolling around the park. Iscah shook her head again, unable to keep from smiling.


    "Honestly, is that what you''re learning about in your classes?"


    "Yes, in Business Mathematics, no less." He slid down the seat, stretching his long legs out and draping his elbows over the back of the bench.


    They had enrolled in the magic division together, but when Jalen had failed the scrying, he had immediately turned his studies to being able to help run the family accounting business. While the University focused heavily on training Mages, over three quarters of the students were in non-magical branches, ranging from art to recovery and development of science.


    His dark blue eyes tracked the two girls who now had their heads tipped towards one another in conversation.


    "Balancing budgets, record keeping for audits. Theorizing how your best friend is planning on murdering you."


    "So this means we''re friends again?" She asked hopefully, trying to look as innocent as possible.


    "Just because you shunned me like I was a pauper, and ran away, and ignored me anytime I''d try to contact you?"


    She grimaced at his recollection, and he grinned sunnily back at her. "We never stopped being best friends, goof. So I''m guessing you found some sort of answer in that book you''ve been hovering over ever since you graced my doorstep?"


    "No, actually. Do you have somewhere we could go that would have complete privacy?"


    "Oh, yeah I know just the place."


    The two girls fell silent as they passed their bench, giggling to one another when Jalen tossed them a quick smile over his shoulder. Iscah observed the exchange, wondering if leaving him on his own for the past six months hadn''t actually been that bad for him after all.


    "Come on, let''s go."


    "Jalen, this isn''t secluded. At all," Iscah groused, stopping as he turned off the sidewalk towards their favorite coffee and tea shop.


    "Of course not, but it was months of shunning, and chocolate ashbuns have been proven to be better with a cup of tea and cream. So," he trailed off, opening the door and bowing extravagantly. "M''Lady owes what''s due."


    "So yeah, I''m on track to be finished in a little under a year," Jalen surmised, wriggling the key into the lock of the door. A sign above the window marked the shop as Wrighter''s Accounting.


    "My Father has already started pushing some of the work at me, small accounts to help relieve the pressure on him so that he can focus on the bigger customers. Which means I got the extra key to the office."


    He didn''t bother flicking on the lights until after he drew the thick curtains closed, illuminating the moderately sized room with neatly organized shelves of record books. While most of the businesses on the street still used oil lamps or candles, Darl made enough to have mote lights installed. The steady light was easier on their eyes in the darker work hours of winter, or when customers came to call in the dead of the night.


    Iscah glanced around at the office she had visited often with her own Father before heading to the oversized desk and setting the tome upside down upon it. She pulled the two chairs close, and turned to Jalen as he joined her.


    "How much do you know about the Day of Darkness, or about Warlocks at all?"


    "Besides what we both learned in class?" He followed up, shaking his head. "Not much at all. Is there something more to the story?"


    "Apparently, a lot more," Iscah replied, picking up the sharpened letter opener and holding it out to him.


    "Prick your finger."


    "Uh."


    She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, mustering her courage before sticking the very tip of the blade into the side of his finger.


    Jalen hissed, but said nothing after an accusing glare from Iscah before she pressed the tiny wound to the top of the book, both watching as the blood set off a chain reaction. The brown of the cover darkened, shallow creases in the leather growing deeper and separating further apart until it was shining black keratinous pebbles.


    Both of them gasped, Jalens chair jerking as all the lights stuttered.


    "Pillips?" He asked, voice catching on the question as it began to grow dimmer in the room.


    "What if everything we were told was a lie?" Iscah opened the cover to the title page, letting him read it before he looked back up to her.


    "But, that''s impossible. The history books said¡ª"


    Iscah nodded, and turned the page. Involuntarily his eyes fell back to the writing, catching on the bloody fingerprint.


    "Touch it," she encouraged, and he exhaled a forced laugh.


    "Feel like there''s a joke in there somewhere," he managed, finger hovering over the imprint. Sucking in a breath, he pushed down.


    Iscah watched as his eyelids fluttered closed, the silhouette of his corneas rapidly flicking behind them nearly too fast to track as the rest of his body stilled.


    The wall sconces guttered out, and in the darkness she heard him curse, the lights flicking back on the same time as his eyes opened.


    "Gods above," he whispered, all humor leeched from his expression. "Naon, Isenius, Saraf¡ª this changes everything if it''s true."


    She nodded, letting him flip through the journal to see that the rest of the pages were empty.


    "You saw the conversation on the mesa?"


    He reached the end, or what was the front of the book since it had to be flipped over to be read. "Yes; Orias'' dagger. There has to be more records of this. Wait¡ª how did you even find this?"


    "I''ve been camped out in the library for months, have probably reread this one book five times. Then last week one night I accidentally cut my finger on a page and every light went out like now. When I got back to my rooms the tome was gone but this journal appeared. It wasn''t until the next day I figured out the imprint was the key to unlocking the memory."


    "I''ve spent the last dredges of my free time combing the library in historic recollections, and even children fairy tales for any other details on what we saw. There''s nothing. Whoever she was and whatever really happened has been completely erased and covered over with Naon being the one who saved the day."


    She closed the book and turned it back the normal way. "I don''t know if this is linked to my- our- dreams,"she corrected watching as his attention invariably drifted down to watch as it slowly morphed into Athrioclites tome once more. "But I''m out of time."


    "Mother has filled my schedule with tutors of every kind, leaving me no freedom to go to the library, let alone study for classes. I had to skip out on four lessons today to come see you, and I''m going to pay dearly for it.


    "She''s strong-arming me into having to drop out even earlier than promised under the excuse of the King''s Spring Ball next week, and that can only mean one thing."


    "They''re expecting to find you a suitable husband at it, if she hasn''t already," he surmised, looking up as she pushed the book over the desk to him, tears wetting her cheeks.


    "I need your help. I''ve been looking for answers, but at every turn all I''m finding is more questions. With your schedule and now helping with your Dad''s business¡ª"


    "I''ll tell him I need a break," he cut in. "I''ll tell him theres a report due for one of my classes, he won''t think anything of it. Education first, and all that."


    Iscah''s smile was tenuous at best, but she still gave him a hug which he returned.


    "Don''t worry Pillips, we''ll get to the bottom of this."

 6| Play Ball

    "Sir Truvien of Sangrath; Lady Iscah of the Pure."


    Iscah shifted nervously as the sea of faces turned their way, the rumbling of voices receding before rising to an even higher volume than when they were first announced.


    She could feel her ears heating up, yet Truvien remained standing at the top of the stairs that led down into the ballroom for a moment more as if relishing the attention. When they finally descended the wide marble steps the crowd parted, whispers hidden behind the lace-tipped fans that had become the fashion for the nobility.


    Yet Iscah could hear their words, see the attention that still lingered on them.


    What is the point of using the little fans at all? she thought to herself.


    So distracted by the flitting accessories she didn''t even realize they had paused as a young woman stepped out into their path, a group of ladies the same age flocking around her.


    "Lady Jesserin, what a pleasure to see you."


    Jesserin¡¯s small, cupid-bow lips stained a bright crimson parted in a dazzling smile that even had Iscah pulling up short.


    The woman was the epitome of classic beauty, her coffee-colored hair pinned up artfully around a heart-shaped face. Her hourglass figure was wrapped in dark purple taffeta, the corset pressing her full breasts up into two perfect pillows and tapering her waist. Baby blue eyes fringed in blackened lashes swept secretively over Truvien as if they were sharing some sort of joke at his greeting.


    "I hear congratulations are in order; your betrothal to the Duke of Sorelly is the talk of the court. Rumor has it the wedding will be unforgettable."


    "I hear I''m not the only one who congratulations are in order for. The fetching Lady Iscah must be thrilled to find your attentions upon her," Jesserin''s smile turned predatory as those blue eyes fell on her fully. "Sir Truvien is quite the catch."


    Iscah stiffened, her stomach roiling at the implications in Jesserin''s tones. The woman''s smile turned into wicked delight as she saw Iscah understood the full meaning of her words.


    "And where is your betrothed this night?"


    "Alas, his father has taken quite ill and requires the attentions of his dutiful first son."


    "Is that so?" Truvien remarked politely, Iscah glancing up at him the same time as Jesserin, seeing the two''s eyes lock briefly before she canted her head in a graceful incline and moved off with her coterie.


    Before Iscah could sputter at the brazen disrespect of not acknowledging her higher social rank prior to her departure, Truvien rested his hand on top of hers that was limply hanging off his arm and dragged her towards the raised tables set for the nobility.


    "Perhaps some wine?"


    "No, thank you."


    He snagged a glass of sweet white off of a passing servers plate, shoving it towards her as if he had not heard her refusal.


    "You look quite lovely tonight, the most beautiful dove in a flock of geese.


    Iscah couldn''t help but smile wryly, wondering if he even realized how clever that analogy had been considering the grey dress sprinkled in seed pearls that she wore. Or if he even knew what an analogy was.


    Reaching the table he pulled out the chair for her to sit before joining her. All the while his eyes remained on the shifting groups of people, watching the dancers and conversations with a triumphant smile quirked on his mouth.


    Iscah studied his profile. His caramel blonde hair was pulled back in an oiled queue, accenting the square jawline he had shaved clean. The green shirt that enhanced the color of his matching eyes was fitted to his wide chest and shoulders, the loose sleeves hiding arms muscled from his years of training in knight-ship.


    Every woman''s'' ruggedly handsome dream warrior.


    Gods, she did not fit in here.


    "Ganders having a gander at the geese," Iscah mused, "while the dove endures the weight of their company."


    He laughed airily, nodding his head at a group of young men as they entered unannounced into the ballroom from the double doors set off from the base of the staircase. They waved enthusiastically and began threading their way towards their table.


    "Luckily, you won''t have to wait on my company very long, my darling."


    She blinked, confused by his response before realizing he had not caught her pun.


    "I must admit, when your mother approached my family about this arrangement I assumed their introverted book worm would not be quite so fetching."


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.He picked up the untouched glass of wine she had set down and took a sip as Iscah felt the world tip jarringly, not even aware she had stopped breathing.


    "Your...enthusiasm," his gaze swept down the front of her dress and raked up to her eyes slowly. "Is shared, darling."


    "What are you talking about?" She whispered, but her question was lost as his comrades swarmed the table, Truvien rising to meet their aggressive, boisterous greetings and shouts of laughter. Within seconds they were focused on the alcohol servers brought and crude banter, none of them aware when Iscah slid from the table mumbling excuses about needing to step away. Slipping into the hallway that led to the privies she braced herself against the wall on one arm, the other pressing against her stomach to try and settle the bile that threatened to rise.


    Her mother hadn''t even waited for the month to finish out before forging ahead with securing Iscah''s future husband.


    And why not? Iscah thought with a little laugh that broke off into a sob. It''s not like she knows the truth, or would even care if she did. Tears came unbidden and she ducked her head before the servants and guests buzzing past could see them.


    She needed to get out. Out of this stupid ballroom, out of this dress, out of this nightmare her life was descending into.


    Waiting for a break in guests she peeked out, noting her date and his gaggle of friends were already so deep in their cups two servers had remained to continuously fill any glasses extended their way.


    Taking a deep breath she wiped any traces of tears away and straightened her shoulders, blending into the throng and moving casually towards the glass doors that had been opened onto the massive terrace.


    Outside there was still a crowd though noticeably less dense, the sounds of a hundred conversations rolling together to form a background noise that one or two voices would occasionally rise over. All the while music played, a romantic undertone that set the mood for so many couples that evening.


    Iscah crossed the terrace and turned, leaning on the balustrade to look back at the building.


    King Arias, the deceased father of their current monarch had been known for his love of the arts, and this addition to the castle grounds had been the jewel of his crown. This wing was an oval instead of the usual rectangular shape, with the orchestra centered on a raised platform rather than in a corner. The true genius behind the building was the dome-shaped ceiling that covered the dance floor, giving an acoustical experience that was unrivaled in all the kingdoms.


    The architect had not stopped there, and the entire southern face of the building was floor to ceiling reinforced cut crystal that during the day refracted thousands of rainbows across the white marble floors, giving it its name Rainbow Wing. Dances had been modified to the space, waltzes circling the dias in motions that Iscah found surprisingly relaxing to watch from her vantage.


    She had been taught how to dance, or rather not step on the man''s feet as her instructor had finally settled for. Ialda had tried to teach her but with the same results, stating her clumsiness could only be rivaled by a drunk, two-legged donkey.


    Speaking of which.


    Her eyes shifted back over to Truvien, whose cheeks were so red she could see them from this distance. He was only partially paying attention to his friends conversation, glancing about the dance floor as if looking for someone.


    No doubt that woman. What was her name again? Oh yes, Jesserin. Iscah snorted, turning away to glance down at her small breasts her dress had barely managed to push up.


    "Oh, how fetching you look down there," she trilled mockingly.


    Rolling her eyes at her own sarcasm, she leaned over the railing casually and looking out over the manicured lawn fringed with gardens so old her grandparents had traversed them.


    The shallow pool that ran the length of the grounds had been filled with floating cups cut into the shapes of flowers, illuminated from the inside by tea candles. Lamps that were normally lit along the gravel pathways circling the water were dark, giving the candle-filled pool the illusion of being a star-filled sky.


    Couples were strolling the grounds together, enjoying the warm spring evening as if they had all the time in the world. It made her wish she too could return to the days where impending marriage and social requirements had not haunted her day in and day out. Yet looking over the men and women enjoying each other did make her yearn for someone. Someone who might not even exist.


    She didn''t want to be here any longer.


    Sucking her lower lip into her mouth she pushed off the balustrade and headed down the stairs into the gardens, keeping to the building''s side until she circled to the front lawn where guests were still arriving in carriages, each more garish than the last.


    With a dramatic curtsy to no one, Iscah swept her skirts out and stepped onto the cities streets.


    Laughter drifted in the darkness, a couple who had found use for a nearby alley not even aware as she passed them.


    Stepping into the lighted main thoroughfare she got her bearings and headed back to the dorm.


    I wonder what mother would think if she knew he was tumbling with Jesserin.


    She shook her head in disgust, knowing it wouldn''t matter; mistresses were so often an occurrence it was a socially accepted norm. That was the way with these things; marriage wasn''t for love, at least not on the men''s side of things. Their house was already the most powerful beneath the King, so any alliance would be for securing money, land, or prestige.


    It had been happy coincidence for Ialda that her husband whose father was a Duke held the largest amount of provinces in the wine bearing regions northwest of the royal territory had also been her childhood sweetheart.


    Iscah''s had been Prince Skylar from the Griffon Kingdom of Elsmere. The author''s illustrator had quite the talent for drawing the fabled beasts. The memory of that book made her heart ache.


    She stumbled on an uneven cobble stone, righting herself with the practiced ease of chronic clumsiness and turned onto the university''s main street, ignoring the subtle attention she was drawing to herself walking alone in a ballroom gown.


    Students moved out of her way politely as she passed, curious glances though most couldn''t be bothered to stop and stare at some noble''s daughter plodding down their streets in full regalia.


    Iscah laughed inwardly at that notion.


    Days without thoughts of a future beyond the university. Days without the dread of facing the "brush up" lessons her mother and sister had arranged with prestigious tutors of the gentle womanly arts.


    Days without the dreams of him.


    She tilted her head to the sky, watching as all the stars blurred.

 7| Encounter

    Refusing to acknowledge the sentry outside the gates of her dorm as he admitted her through with a low bow, Iscah gathered her skirts and fought the tulle underlayers all the way up the stairs. The guards outside her door gave her pause, and she looked between the two men standing dutifully.


    "You''re dismissed."


    "Apologies, but your father thinks it best for us to¡ª"


    "I said leave, Gerard," she hissed viciously, rounding on the elder and standing her ground until he gave a curt bow and headed for the stairwell, the other guard following.


    Taking a moment to fortify herself, she shoved the door open and breezed into the maddeningly organized room. Two maids rose from their seats by her fire in nervous curtsies, setting aside their knitting and following her to the bathing quarters.


    "We didn''t expect you back so soon, my Lady."


    "Get me out of this," was her curt reply, not even bothering to try to reach the delicate buttons that ran up the length of her spine. They moved to assist her quickly, one working on the bodice of the gown while the other began to unbutton the voluminous layers of skirts surrounding her. She exhaled in relief when the corset was finally loosened and removed, rubbing at sore ribs before pushing her arms through the white night gown presented to her. As the maid tied the satin ribbon closed she tried to broach the tense silence casually.


    "How did the evening go my Lady?"


    "I''d sooner throw myself off a balcony than marry Truvien."


    "My Lady, your mother¡ª"


    "Get out, both of you. I''m not asking."


    They hesitated, but her facial expression must have been something to behold because both ducked out with a final bow. Waiting until the door closed, she began removing the various combs until only one was left holding up her hair tenuously. Free from the constricting items that had plagued her entire evening she turned on the sink faucet, letting the cold water trickle over her palms until it was tepid. It was only after washing the light coating of rouge on her cheeks and lips away that she finally felt a semblance of normalcy. Using the folded towel next to the sink she dried her face and pulled the last pin free, releasing the soft waves to cascade down past the small of her back.


    With a weary sigh she looked up from the basin to her hazy reflection in the mirror, then up further to a pair of crimson eyes looming directly behind her.


    She spun, the counter biting into her backside as he shoved her against it with his hips, pinning her. A high-pitched ringing filled her head, her surroundings fading until the only thing she could see was the familiar face staring down at her.


    Long hair of coal was pulled halfway up, a few pieces too short framing sharp cheekbones that angled down to full lips currently tight with the same intensity narrowing his gaze. His eyes widened, callouses scraping along her skin as he gripped her chin and leaned close enough their breath was shared. Still frozen she could do nothing but watch the emotions warring openly across his expression: Surprise. Shock. Disbelief.


    As if in a dream she reached, fingers curving over the leather bracer on his forearm, even as his features darkened with finality. The warm body covering her front hardened as muscles flexed, impending.


    She breathed his name, and he recoiled as if burned.


    A gap between them now, air rushed into the opening and chilled her through the thin muslin. Her body reacted to the cold, pebbling, and she crushed her arms across her chest, horrified at the indecency but unable to move.


    If she had thought Truvien the height of male athleticism, then there were no words to describe what stood towering before her now.


    His shoulders were easily a hands-width wider, the foreign outfit of black material covering him from throat to split-toed boots hinted at limbs built unlike any man she had ever seen. Matte black weapons and supplies were strapped everywhere; thin knives secured over the ridges of his biceps, small pouches lining the wide belt cinching a narrowed waist. More equipment was wrapped around accessible points down his legs, every item utilized for death or mobility.


    It was a momentary distraction, and then her gaze snagged on the blade he held loosely.


    Her thoughts felt sluggish, as if she knew she should be panicking, but there was no terror. He had hesitated, still did, a tick in his jaw revealing the depth of his indecision. With an irritated exhale he moved past her with one last glance before heading for the closed window. Just as she was about to speak his steps cut short as a knock sounded at the front door, loud enough to be heard in the bathing chambers.


    Iscah held her breath, hoping whoever it was would go away. The way Apoch stood motionless, as if waiting for her to cry for help made her shake her head minutely, more fearful he''d bolt and she''d never see him again rather than having her throat slit.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He was real, and the part of her that worried if she had slowly been losing her mind felt so relieved. If she could just¡ª


    Furious, insistent booms on the door.


    She motioned for Apoch to wait before snagging the robe hanging by the bathtub, struggling to put it on in her haste. Heat suffused her face as she realized the entire encounter had been spent in a night shift thin enough that little was left to the imagination.


    "Who is it?"


    "We need to talk," came Truvien''s muffled reply, pausing the imperious knocking.


    Iscah glanced back towards the bathroom, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the window was open. Rushing back she looked around frantically, leaning out to find no trace of the cambion.


    Truvien began pointedly knocking again.


    "Come back tomorrow," she retorted impatiently, gripping the shutter and pulling it closed before scanning the bathroom one last time.


    "No, I must apologize."


    "I am not fit to take visitors at such an obscenely late hour," she returned to the bedroom, if only so she didn''t have to yell. "So please, leave!"


    Silence ensued, and she let out a sigh of relief before turning around to check if he had entered the room while she had been distracted.


    The door frame shrieked, wood splintering apart as Truvien barreled through it, nearly falling over and managing to right himself before going face-first into her rug. Iscah blinked in surprise, watching as he swayed before clearing his throat and offering her a bow that nearly pitched him forward again.


    "I said, I must apologize."


    "You need to leave, right now," she said breathlessly, fear chilling her limbs as he ignored her demands and headed towards her.


    "You can stop with the offended bullshit," he countered, his hand slipping around her waist when she tried to step back from him. His breath reeked of alcohol, gaze foggy and smile arrogant. "Guards are gone, maids are gone, and here you are, a present ready to be unwrapped. Admit it, My Lady."


    Leaning in closer, he tugged at the robe''s tie playfully. "You were waiting for me."


    His eyes closed as he pressed forward, Iscah realizing with sickening dread he was going to kiss her. Disgust drowned better judgement, and she slapped him across the cheek. Surprise opened his lips from their pucker to a perfect O before the pain hit, and then his eyes blazed with fury.


    He drew his hand back far¡ª far enough Iscah knew she would not rise after impact. Whatever his initial motives had been they had now turned violent. The palm descended, a blur of darkness by their side as Apoch intercepted his wrist and used the momentum of the strike to rotate his arm extended. A sharp crack as the larger male slammed his palm into Truvien''s locked elbow, leaving his forearm bent at an unnatural angle.


    Truvien''s initial scream of pain devolved into a spray of alcohol-laced vomit as Apoch twisted, burying his fist in the human''s stomach with enough force to lift him off his feet. His knees gave out but never touched the rug as the cambion caught him easily by the scalp.


    Without thinking Iscah threw herself onto Apoch''s arm as he reached for the short sword strapped at his lower back. Eyes smoldering with bridled hatred and...and jealousy met hers once more. The recognition of the emotion startled her, and in the hesitation three things happened simultaneously at once:


    His attention whipped to the broken doorway, the sudden movement breaking her grasp as he turned to bash Truvien''s face into the bed post. As she stumbled away the weapon slid free, and he flung it into Gerard''s throat before he could even cross the threshold. He scrabbled at the hilt uselessly, garbled cry misting red into the air around the wound as he collapsed.


    The other guard behind him lunged for a chain hanging outside the door and jerked it frantically, stammering holy shit, holy shit repeatedly while Gerard''s panicked gurgles filled the background as he drowned in his own blood. An alarm began to ring, magnified by magic to be deafening and he rushed into the room and unsheathed a sword that trembled in his gasp.


    Apoch sneered when fear made the young man hesitate, facing him fully and spreading his unarmed hands wide. The soldier took the bait, rushing in. Apoch sidestepped the first swipe as if it was child''s play, his rasping laughter mocking as he ducked the follow-through and shoulder-checked his opponent''s exposed side.


    Unbalanced, the guard tripped over Truvien''s prone form and went down hard, wasting precious seconds to get back to his feet. Apoch took the opportunity to rip his blade out of Gerard''s throat, the body spasming as frothed blood sprayed from the open gash in his windpipe. The red liquid vanished against the black clothing of his murderer, who turned to regard his final opponent with easy confidence.


    "I''m going to lure him towards the bathroom," the remaining soldier managed in a shaking voice, not looking away from the approaching male despite understanding the fight was already a foregone conclusion. "When I do, run."


    Apoch''s smile was feral, exposing inhuman canines. A front set like those of carnivorous animals, backed by another shorter pair no less lethal bared intentionally as he shifted the entirety of his focus onto her brazenly. For the first time and yet not the first time, she heard his voice. Low and ominous, the rolling thunder that hailed a summer storm, and the single word eradicated any doubt she had in her mind that the dreams were only hers and hers alone.


    "Iscah."


    Her eyes widened, staying locked with his as the world turned too bright. She was breathing too fast. She wasn¡¯t breathing enough. She didn¡¯t know if those wheezes were coming from Gerard, or from herself.


    The man charged one last time, a valiant effort to defend the girl. A doomed attempt to save her life by sacrificing his own, to buy her time to escape without realizing fate had already claimed her.


    How did this go so wrong, she thought to herself, backing against the wall to sink to the ground as everything went white and black at the same time.


    The resounding ring of blade striking blade, the tearing of flesh and squelched thud of a metal-encased object rolling across the floorboards, and then she knew no more.

 8| Memories

    Jalen sighed and pressed into the chairs back, arching to pop his spine as he stretched and moved for what felt like the first time in hours.


    Iscah had been thorough in her search of the university''s library. He had even scoured the dustier, less popular wings for anything but had come up empty-handed as he checked the list of titles she had left him with. What was more concerning is that even his side project of finding out who Saraf was had come back empty-handed. There were no references to her, as if her name had been erased from history or historians had thought her not worthy of being recognized at all. Yet Jalen felt she was a key player for whatever had truly happened that day so long ago.


    Sucking his lower lip into his mouth he relaxed his arms, letting out a weary sigh as he rose and set the books in the return shelves near the desk. Pausing to wait for the librarian to look up from her own book.


    When she realized he was not moving on she shut the cover tersely, covering the title of her romance novel too late as she looked up at him with a painfully forced smile.


    "Yes."


    "I was wondering if you know of any historic records on the Day of Darkness, or any information on Warlocks."


    The woman paused, mouth twisting as if Jalen had said something offensive before lifting her chin up in preparation for a scolding.


    "It''s for a project in one of my classes," he quickly interceded, giving her one of his boyishly handsome smiles that Iscah had often remarked made her want to choke him.


    The librarian tilted her head, gaze turning distant as she thought over the collection she was in charge of. "Have you tried Athrioclites?"


    Jalen coughed loudly, smothering a maniacal grin behind his hand as he tried to get his reaction under control while her expression pinched once again.


    "Sorry, yes. I didn''t know if perhaps you knew of any other references. Thanks though," he managed, turning towards the exit.


    "Who?"


    "I''m sorry?" he looked back at her.


    "Who is the professor that assigned you this project?"


    "Oh, it''s for one of my electives," he laughed softly, scratching at the back of his head sheepishly as he continued to back towards the front door. "It''s right after lunch and I sleep through it most of the time, couldn''t even tell you what their name is. Thanks again!"


    Waving goodbye before she could ask any other invasive questions he headed out into the cloudy afternoon, wondering why that conversation had become so tense at the end.


    Maybe Pillips wasn''t as paranoid as you assumed, he thought to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as he descended the marble steps and joined the foot traffic.


    He hadn''t been researching for very long, yet there were so many dead ends or vague records that really explained nothing at all.


    Like there is intentional disinformation planted in all the historic documentation.


    Checking the time on the clock-tower on the corner of the street he headed for his Dad''s favorite bistro at a faster pace. He was already going to be late to his shift at the office, so might as well show up with some food and a cup of chicory-laced milk for his boss.


    Opening the door he paused at the moderately long lunch line, but his stomach rumbled in discontent at being denied lunch when he had skipped on breakfast to use his time in the stacks instead. Joining the queue he let his thoughts return to what was already beginning to look like a hopeless endeavor.


    If the librarians reaction to his request was any indication, his ability to scour the university''s shelves would now be marked. But by whom?


    Why would I even immediately assume this is all some conspiracy theory? Maybe she just hates Warlocks, or thought your interest in the subject was too childish for your age.


    Yet his gut instinct was whispering a warning.


    "¡ªattacked last night. Her guards were killed but she was rescued when security posted at the dorms intervened."


    "That''s awful, I can''t imagine coming face to face with a cambion. The poor girl."


    "I''m sorry," the two ladies startled, turning to him with wide eyes. He could read the offense they took to having their conversation eavesdropped upon, but he offered a grin that helped dismantle their defensiveness. "You said someone was attacked?"


    "Yes, some nobles barely survived a cambion attack. Nearly killed the gentleman before it escaped. What was the ladies name?"


    The other girl frowned, lips pouting in the most adorable way as she tried to recall. "Isa?"


    Jalen''s stomach dropped, air rushing out of him as he bolted for the exit.


    "You''re late," Darl remarked pointedly as Jalen threw the door open, pausing at the threshold to brace his arms against his knees and gulp lungfuls of air down.


    "Iscah was attacked."


    "I know," his father replied, looking up somberly from the book he was penning numbers into.


    "She''s unharmed, at least physically anyway. Isren said she witnessed two brutal murders and they''ve taken her back to their estate to recover. Uninterrupted," he added when Jalen reached for the door again.


    "The best thing you can do for her right now is let her get some rest. Besides, I need help updating some records that have come in for last month."


    With a frustrated sigh he relented, hanging his satchel by the door and sitting down as his father vacated the seat behind the desk. He thumbed through the stack of paperwork, a frown creasing his forehead.


    "Are these¡­ birth records?"


    "Death records," Darl replied, grabbing his coat from the rack. "When we''re slow I contract out to the Physicka to help update their censuses. Tedious, but keeps money in our accounts. I''ve got to run some errands but won''t be back until after supper, so close the shop for me?"


    His son half nodded, distracted by the chicken scratch barely legible on the page he held. "I''ll lock up."


    The door clicked shut, and Jalen rubbed at his brow as he began deciphering the tightly written lines. Broken down by dukedoms, the entries were separated by date. Three names were listed on each, and it quickly became apparent that these were parents and the children they had lost.


    I didn''t realize how many children die every month.


    He flipped through a few pages until the handwriting changed, this one from an area he recognized as being along the southern coast. It was a despairing length of names.


    Shaking his head morosely, he picked up the already wetted pen and bent to the task.


    Flexing his hands Jalen exhaled, fatigue wearing on him as he realized the entire day had gone by without a meal. Glancing outside at the bruised sky he closed the completed record book.


    All aspiring accountants or bureaucrats in the city mandatorily attended licensed writing classes hosted freely by the university, their penmanship honed and disciplined until they all could write in the same concise, legible manner.


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    While education was available to all, free time was not so optional for most families, or the handful of outlying schools too far of a travel to attend. Planting or harvest was a priority over writing and arithmetic, and so it had become more of a merchant or upper class privilege despite it being a free service. Thus the far-away records from villages and remote towns was mandated to be re-entered in the same penmanship that the government required.


    Work complete, he set the sheaf of papers in a file box and closed the curtains, digging into his satchel to pull out Athrioclites tome before sitting back down.


    There were so many questions swirling in Jalen''s mind. Had the cambion who had attacked Iscah''s guards been the one she had been having dreams of? Who was the other nobleman in her room that night? None of it made sense, the mysteries stacking one on top of another until he was dizzy with confusion.


    Now more than ever he felt the need to help his friend find answers to the questions she had asked him that afternoon not so long ago. She may have been completely isolated from her task, but he was not.


    Picking up the letter opener he sucked in a deep breath, bracing his finger before sliding the blade against his skin just deep enough to cause blood to bloom in the knick. Pressing it on the book he waited as it transitioned, turning to the lone fingerprint.


    He had found no answers in the library, but perhaps he had missed out on some details that would help give him a break in the case. But as he descended into the spell, he realized as the colors shifted and came into focus that this was not the same memory as the one he had seen before.


    She wasn''t sure if the aching in her body is what woke her or the agonized scream from the Physicker quarters not far away. Either way she opened her eyes to stare at the canvas sheet that made four walls before pushing up into a sitting position on the cot. Every part of her hurt, and sleep had done very little to recover body and spirit.


    Beside her came a male groan, the pile of rags shifting slightly as he stirred. "Barely dawn and the healers are already back at work? Does anyone sleep around here?"


    She gave a mirthless laugh in response, her breath steaming in the biting cold. A shiver ran through her limbs and she focused inwardly, tapping into her soul energy to bring warmth to her blood to chase away the freeze. Begrudgingly the cold relented, and she gave a tired sigh before pushing back a lock of brittle hair from her face.


    "Possibly our last day alive and you want to sleep in. Typical, Orick."


    There was no response from the cot that had been pushed against hers at the failed attempt at humor, and she rose stiffly to shamble over to where a heavy winter coat was lying on the floor. It was military issued, stiff with dry blood and covered in burnt patches.


    "It''s a sad day when warlocks have to wear clothing for need rather than style," he grumbled, having peeked out from beneath their shared blankets. She shot him a faint smile, holding her arms up for a moment to pose in the oversized coat.


    "Do I look like a soldier?"


    "You look like a corpse, Saraf. So yeah, basically."


    Saraf grimaced, letting her hands drop back to her sides dejectedly as she stared at him. He looked no better off. Orick''s once-fiery red curls were now dull, all his roots grey to match the skin that hung off the bones of his face. Only his sunken eyes of cobalt blue remained lustrous, but they too reflected his fatigue. Her retort died in her chest, and she turned away from the shadow of a man she used to know to push the tent flap out of her way and head outside.


    The ground had frozen overnight, turning the mud of the lanes between tents an ordeal to walk across. Saraf pulled the jacket around her tighter before picking up the water bucket a servant normally filled and headed to the river upstream of the encampment.


    The tread was morose, many tents empty or plots where ones used to be bare. The soldiers numbers were dwindling just as the warlocks own were, and there was a silence of defeat blanketing the area.


    Heading into the thinned woods she took the worn path to the river, nodding to the sentries standing on the top of the bank who were huddled in layers of jackets and blankets yet still hypothermic. They glanced at the warlock but knew better than to ask for a touch of warmth, both looking elsewhere than at her.


    Saraf bent over at the rivers edge and reached down to scoop a handful of water, shocked how painful the cold actually was. If this was what it was like for the humans, she did not envy them.


    Filling her pail halfway she struggled to lift it, pausing as alarm thrilled across her flesh and left goosebumps in its wake. Lifting her attention from the task she scanned the opposite bank, looking for something, anything out of place.


    It was empty, until it wasn''t.


    Motion in her peripheral snapped her gaze onto a halfling as he phased out of the shadows of a short cottonwood tree. His  pitch-black eyes locked with hers, and slowly he lifted a single finger to press it to the smile toying at his mouth.


    Seraf''s instincts screamed in warning, boiling pain lancing through her veins as power burned flesh and blood internally. Whipping around her hair caught and tore on the fingers that had slipped through it, backing away from the cambion''s other hand where the dagger intended for her neck was angled.


    She twisted it out of his frozen fingers and tore it across his throat instead.


    Releasing the corpse from her will she glanced back at the other who was stranded on the far bank. Their eyes met, the amusement in his replaced with seething hatred, the smile now a rictus of fury.


    "Guards," she whispered hoarsely, throat dry and cracked from the draw she had demanded of her body. "Guards! We''re under att¡ª"


    A bell began tolling in alarm, the frantic peal joined by others.


    Abandoning her pail she struggled up the bank and past the two dead guards that not moments earlier had been miserably alive.


    Stupid, you were so stupid to risk yourself! She inwardly snarled, knowing she should have tasked a random servant to bring them water rather than expose herself so ignorantly.


    Isenius had lied to them. These were no mindless berserkers, nor simple instinct-driven animals. They were people with minds honed to lethal edges from the decade-long command to war. The invisible collars that had enslaved them had disintegrated when the coven had become too few in number to control the tethers. And so the skills perfected to annihilate the full-blooded demons had turned on their masters with such efficiency that the Royal Army who had outnumbered them seven-to-one stood at a quarter of its original size in just a handful of months.


    The ratio for the warlocks was even more dismal, their ever-weakening powers exposing them to assassinations and focused attacks that before would''ve never succeeded. The cambions knew they were the only true threat and had kept constant pressure on them, never giving them the chance to recover. Now, only a handful were left and all of them too drained to impact the inevitable.


    The camp was a frenzy of activity, soldiers struggling into their gear even as they ran for set rendezvous points. Fear and panic drenched her nostrils as she fought the now-churned mud sucking her run into an arm-flailing jog.


    Orick''s weathered hair caught in the sunlight and flared copper as he searched her out in the chaos. Their eyes met and he headed in her direction, ricocheting off men too terrified to pay attention to their surroundings.


    "Saraf, what''s happening?"


    "They''re attacking the camp."


    "But this location was secure!"


    Saraf shook her head in response, grabbing his hand and changing their direction toward the Lord Commanders pavilion.


    Their conversation dwindled to nothing, both gasping for air as they maneuvered through the bedlam. A lieutenant on horseback nearly ran over her, the man jerking the reins so that the animal reared, squealing as its eyes rolled. Saraf fell and shimmied back through the muck, nearly getting her ankle crushed as its hooves slammed back down.


    Orick cursed the officer, but the offense was lost in the myriad of screams and shouts. Helping her up they waited as a group of soldiers charged past before continuing on to the black and gold flag rolling in the morning breeze.


    The guards posted at the entrance pushed the tent flap back as they approached, and neither bothered with their ruined shoes as they stepped into the main room where Isenius, his advisors, and mages were already gathered. Runners and officers were talking over each other in earnest, each report more terrifying than the last.


    "¡ªattacks on all quadrants¡ª"


    "¡ªallied with the demons and are using a fucking giant to break through the ranks¡ª"


    "¡ªfive platoons are gone¡ª"


    Isenius'' attention snapped behind them as they joined those gathered, raising his hand for silence. All of the strained voices trailed off as the groups attention shifted to the person standing at the entrance.


    Naon.


    He was not the picture of health, but fared better than they. Gaunt but not skeletal, his dark brown hair had fallen out to leave his pate bare.


    Orick couldn''t stop the small sound of disgust from escaping him as their brother bowed to the Lord Commander.


    "It seems, we are now out of options," Isenius spoke over the muted cries of battle outside the canvas walls.


    "My Lord Commander, please," Saraf began, stumbling over her words. "That dagger¡ª with the coven so thin there''s no guarantee the Obyrith that''s unleashed will be controllable."


    "Then give me another alternative, tell me how to save everyone!"


    She recoiled in shock, mind grasping at emptiness. Even Orick was silent beside her, at a loss for any other plan.


    "We are dying," Naon began, garnering their attention. There was desperation in his fevered eyes. "The last of us are dying."


    Saraf looked at those gathered, and saw the same in each of their faces. The arch-mages who had publicly condemned them as incompetent and their abilities accursed. The generals whom before would never meet their gaze, as if that could hide their disgust. Even the soldiers who whispered to one another that their coven was secretly empowering Zidaii''s rebels. Every one of them were now pleading in silence to the three pariah''s with the most dangerous of emotions: hope.


    It was a disease that had spread through the room, none of them knowing or understanding the true consequences of. Her chest clenched, heart aching for the Warlocks long ago. Was this what it had been like for them? Outcast and hunted by their own people out of hate and fear of their magic, had they justified opening the veils to the demons with the same desperation?


    Their survival had killed this world. Corpses of civilizations decayed beyond recognition, their legacies not even capable of being a legend, for there were no longer any memories of them. The world as it was now known was just a piece of a continent they no longer knew the edges of.


    Because of hope, all of it was our fault.


    "We can''t. Don''t ask us to do this," she whispered, tears blurring her vision. Orick''s cold fingers framed her cheekbones and pulled her eyes to his, and what she saw in them made her sob in loss.


    He had been infected, too.

 9| Reality

    The warm breeze whispering through curtains woke Iscah at mid-morning. Just from the smell of hyacinths permeating the air, she knew she was back at her family estate.


    Cracking her eyes open she looked around her childhood room painted in whites and muted spring colors, trinkets and stuffed animals sitting on shelves without an ounce of dust coating them or any of the other items neatly arranged.


    She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face, glancing out the sheer curtains to the gardens outside and wondering how she had gotten here.


    Had it all been a dream?


    As if in response the door opened, her mother stepping through and pausing when she saw her youngest was awake.


    ¡°Your father thought it best to let you rest a while,¡± she said by way of greeting, crossing the room and sinking gracefully into the chair by her bed. ¡°The servants will bring you up some breakfast and tea shortly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± she murmured, not bothering to look away from the window towards where her mother sat primly.


    ¡°Then I shall call the maids now to help you dress. There is an officer downstairs who has been waiting to talk to you for quite some time now, but your father said to let you rest.¡±


    ¡°You already said that,¡± Iscah muttered, more to herself than the older woman. It meant Naomi was unsettled, or disagreed with Isren¡¯s orders, or both. Her mother leaned over, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. She faced her at that gentle touch, her gut sinking at the sadness in her eyes.


    ¡°I will fetch one of Ialda¡¯s gowns for you,¡± Naomi finally said, standing up and smoothing her skirts out, the movement more to settle herself than fix a non-existent wrinkle.


    ¡°What is wrong with my own?¡± Iscah countered, fingers twisting in the sheets nervously.


    Naomi paused at the door, not facing her daughter. ¡°It is best you started dressing as a woman.¡±


    Floored, Iscah couldn¡¯t gather her thoughts fast enough to respond as the door closed.


    By the time she washed her face in the basin her maids had entered with a lilac dress that her sister had worn after her marriage. Expertly they brushed and pinned her hair up into a conservative queue, adding years to her look with the style meant for older women. Iscah took in the changes in the full-length mirror by the door. Already the low bun that had been woven too tightly was summoning a headache at her temples, and the smocked neckline that radiated from her throat hid her collar bones and already lacking bosom felt like it was slowly choking her.


    Anger welled up in her stomach and lodged in her throat; any complaints would only fall on deaf ears. Whatever was going on, it was obvious she didn¡¯t have much of a choice on any of it.


    Iscah turned, waiting for the maid to open the door for her before stepping out into the carpet-lined hall, and headed for the main stair that split the two wings of the house.


    Isren¡¯s rumbling voice pervaded the silence, ending on a questioning note. Iscah slowed, shifting her weight so her footsteps were even quieter on the runner as she stopped at the top of the stairs out of sight to listen to the guests response.


    ¡°The violence was unspeakable. There¡¯s evidence his wife was tortured before being murdered.¡±


    ¡°So it was personal,¡± her father encouraged.


    ¡°From what we can tell so far, yes. But Lord Saurel is missing, though there are signs of a struggle. It¡¯s assumed the assassin has taken him to another location so he can finish the job in his own time, without interruption.¡±


    ¡°Ill omens appearing in the night sky, and now a mule brazenly attacking nobility. These are troubling times,¡± Isren added with finality, and Iscah knew the subject was over.


    Glancing at her ashen-faced maids who had heard the exchange they looked at her with sympathy written across their faces, one even reaching out to touch her arm encouragingly.  Iscah only stared, recalling that she too, had witnessed such violence at his hands, and the household knew it.


    It had been intense, there was no denying that.  Even before their introduction had devolved into bloodshed, she was very aware of his potential.  Like a sword resting in its sheath, its existence solely for inflicting pain and death.  The male could not have been mistaken for anything other than the apex predator he was, and even the realms best trained warriors would¡¯ve been reduced to the same thing Iscah had been in his presence: nothing but easy prey.


    They had expected her to be a wrecked mess, yet all she truly felt was a hollowness inside of her she didn¡¯t want to bother peering into too deeply.  Because despite the fear facing a monster like him had instinctively wrought, another emotion had overshadowed that survival mechanism:


    Thrill.


    Blinking slowly she moved away from the emphatic touch, her steps landing harder, echoing on the wood floor intentionally.  The conversation dwindled as they descended, and a man dressed in the uniform of the King¡¯s Law bowing politely as she crossed the foyer to join her parents.


    ¡°Constable Edever, this is my daughter, Iscah. Now that we¡¯re all present, let us retire to my office for some privacy.¡±


    Naomi met them at the entrance, nodding respectfully to the officer and entering beside her. Isren shut the door and rounded his desk, taking a seat as the other three sat down on the plush chairs, her mother joining her on the two seats that angled towards the desk and Edever.


    ¡°My apologies for pressing you during this trying time, I know you must be still in tremendous shock after having survived your encounter.¡± Edever crossed his ankle over his knee, removing a sliver of linen-wrapped graphite and pad from his jacket pocket before jotting down a few preemptive notes.


    ¡°Unfortunately we need the details while it is all still fresh on your mind. Can you recall what happened after the Cambion Assassin broke down your door and attacked you and Sir Truvien?¡±


    Iscah stiffened, fingers clenching into fists on her lap at the Constables summary.


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    ¡°Who told you that,¡± she managed, not caring he was studying her reaction openly.


    ¡°Sir Truvien gave us his testimony last night after he fought off your would-be murderer,¡± he explained patiently, grey eyes following every detail of her expression. ¡°Is that not what you remember happening?¡±


    There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears as the pieces clicked into place. The officer waiting, her mother¡¯s anxiety and thinly veiled disappointment, the servants gentleness, the adult-style dress.


    Truvien had saved her.


    Truvien had been in her room, and had saved her.


    Her gaze turned jerkily on frozen neck muscles to look at her mothers ambivalent mask, her hazel eyes glittering.


    She and Truvien had been together, alone, and he had saved her from the rampaging Cambion.


    She knew how it would come off if she denied his account. If she defended Apoch and explained how he, the blood thirsty enemy, had saved her from being raped and the guards had been caught up in a fight they should have never been a part of to begin with. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t have, if she hadn¡¯t dismissed them. If they had remained Truvien wouldn¡¯t have been able to break down her door and¡ª


    ¡°I think I¡¯m going to be sick,¡± she whispered, gripping the arms of her chair as the world tilted.


    Gerard and his subordinate would still be alive today if it wasn¡¯t for her choices. They must have gone downstairs to remain on premises, but what they assumed was close enough had actually been far enough away for Truvien to get upstairs without them knowing until he was breaking down her door.


    She was trapped, and the truth would not see her free. Last night was not a dream, but a nightmare that was about to get worse with Truvien¡¯s brilliant move to save his reputation by destroying hers. If she hadn¡¯t been on the bottom end of the arrangement, she might¡¯ve been impressed by the sheer deviance.


    ¡°Perhaps Sir Truvien¡¯s report will suffice, Constable Edever. My daughter is not emotionally fit to have this discussion after witnessing such violence and surviving it,¡± Isren offered as Naomi strode to the door and whispered to a waiting servant.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Edever murmured, though he didn¡¯t turn away from Iscah as if sensing she was unable to share what happened. ¡°Well then, feel free to contact me if you do recall any details, Lady Iscah. Truvien was unable to give us a very good description of the cambion.¡±


    Iscah looked up at the undertone of the his sentence, breath catching in her lungs as she read the questions in his even gaze.


    The door had been broken down by the cambion, yet Truvien, halfway across the room, had been unable to catch a glimpse of the assailant?


    Why was the bed still made up if what your family assumes had happened, did?


    Why were you unscathed while three warriors had been dispatched in a matter of seconds?


    Her gaze flicked to her father, who was watching the two of them closely. Too closely. She swallowed thickly, nodding weakly.


    ¡°It seems this family has quite the luck surviving run-ins with cambions,¡± Edever added brusquely, Isren¡¯s nostrils flaring in irritation. ¡°How long ago was it again that you were kidnapped, My Lord?¡±


    Isren paused, studying the man coldly. ¡°Is this the representative of the Crown asking, or my guest? Because there is already a report of the ordeal on file so I see no reason to repeat information you already have, especially in the company of gentle folk.¡±


    Edever gave a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and pointedly tucked the pad and pencil into his coat. ¡°I read the report; supposedly one of Zidaii¡¯s younger generals led the mission. One of the victims in your ill-begotten party had commented on his human-dominant features. Said he had black hair as long as women¡¯s and pale skin, but red eyes full of wicked cunning that gave away his true breeding, and appetite for murder.¡±


    Iscah flinched, unable to stop herself from looking at Edever in surprise. A shock of adrenaline raced through her chest when she found he was still watching her.


    ¡°What was his name again?¡± He feigned thinking it over, his smile beguiling as if they shared a secret.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Isren bit out sharply, standing up. ¡°Choose your next words carefully, sir, or I will be having words with your superior.¡±


    ¡°My apologies, My Lord,¡± he responded, sounding anything but contrite as he rose as well. ¡°It¡¯s a fascinating tale of survival, one I have often studied to the point of excessive curiosity. Forgive my weakness for wanting to indulge and lack of judgement.¡±


    He bowed to Isren before turning to Iscah and her mother. Iscah could¡¯ve sworn he winked at her before bowing to them as well and exiting without another word, passing the servant who was just entering the study with tea sets for four.


    ¡°Leave¡± Isren hissed to the maid, who backed out quickly with a rattle of porcelain on the tray as she shut the door behind her.


    The Constable knew of Apoch, which meant her father knew of him as well. The family had always hinted of a conflict her father had been involved in but they had all deemed her too young and too innocent to be told the story in whole. This whole mess was connected somehow, but for the life of her Iscah had no idea how to unravel it.


    ¡°It is my fault,¡± Isren finally said into the silence, sitting back down at his desk and pressing his splayed hands into its leather-covered surface, as if to anchor his next words.


    ¡°I sent you in ill-prepared, and allowed you to be taken advantage of.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t touch me,¡± Iscah managed around the lump in her throat, working to contain her emotions.


    ¡°It does not matter, daughter. More than half a dozen soldiers answering the alarm found you in a state of undress and Truvien in your rooms and the only witnesses we have to what truly happened were sent away by you.¡±


    Iscah recoiled at the frustration that whipped her, but still he pressed on. ¡°You have little credibility as a young woman, and even less since¡ª¡±


    He caught himself, and Iscah felt something in her shift. The humiliation and shock transforming into something hard as steel that drew her shoulders back and chin up. ¡°Go on, Father. Say it.¡±


    Isren glared at his youngest, fingertips pressing even further into the desktop. ¡°I failed as a father when I doted on your notions of entering the ranks of the Balenciai instead of listening to your mother¡¯s wisdom and teaching you the arts of the court after you failed the scrying.¡±


    Iscah¡¯s lips thinned, nostrils flaring as the message sunk in. They all believed her silly, inside the family and even more so outside of it. A teenager that had tried to hold onto childish ambitions rather than focusing on future adulthood.


    ¡°Your belongings from the university will be arriving in the next few days. From this moment on you are no longer allowed to leave or meet with anyone without the presence of a chaperone. As soon as Sir Truvien has healed enough to travel, you will be married and head to your new home in Sangrath.¡±


    ¡°Do not make me marry that man. Send me away to our northern estate, tell them I¡¯ve become ill, anything but force me to marry that viper.¡±


    ¡°This is not a negotiation, Iscah. You will do as your family requires, and soon as your husband requires.¡±


    She launched to her feet, fists trembling in barely repressed fury. Taking a few short breaths she fled, needing to get out of this room, away from this conversation. Jerking the door open she stopped, an older woman standing in the way with a heartlessness in her eyes that made Iscah take a step back.


    ¡°This is Madame Korette. Until Truvien arrives, she will be your guardian and tutor.¡±


    Iscah looked back at her father, silenced by the hardened mask she found on his features. ¡°You will find peace in accepting this. Fighting it will only cause you greater misery, daughter.¡±


    ¡°Come child, best we begin now. We have such little time to make up for so much,¡± Korette added, turning to march down the hallway.


    ¡°How lucky I am,¡± Iscah whispered coldly, feeling a part of her heart crumble. ¡°To have a family value their reputation above all else.¡±


    Some emotion minutely fractured her fathers mask, but Iscah didn¡¯t bother waiting around to find out what that was.

 10| Hope

    "So hear me, gentle sisters. It is to love me by honoring your husband, for as he is my body on earth so too do you honor me in serving him."


    Iscah barely was listening to Korette''s clipped, pious tone as she stared blankly at the woman who was reading scripture to her. Already she despised everything about the her, from her watered down blue eyes that missed no flaw to the deep groves bracketing her wide yet thin-lipped mouth.


    Her whole demeanor spoke to a tightness that knew no joy, only a fervent objective of molding her charge into the coming lifetime of servitude.


    "What do you think this scripture means, child?"


    Iscah took a slow breath, ignoring the spasm in her lower back from having to keep her spine ramrod straight at all times.


    "I think it means that it was written by an oblivious old man. I think he wrote it in a time when women were viewed as lesser beings whose sole objective in life was to please men."


    Korette''s lips vanished as she pressed them together, even as Iscah''s own curled in contempt. "And I think it is sad that still to this day women would buy into the idea that''s all they should be."


    Above the mantel a mechanical clock ticked the seconds of silence by as the two glared at one another.


    "God never blessed me and my deceased husband with children," Korette began.


    "Which makes you such a wonderful candidate for teaching all about how great it is," Iscah quipped, not caring about the consequences.


    "It does," Korette agreed, nonplussed. "To not be able to give your husband a sense of purpose, true purpose, or even yourself, can make those that suffer the best instructors because they know true loss."


    Iscah gave a mirthless puff of a laugh at that, looking away before she let her anger and frustration let her mouth run wild. Not that it mattered, the hag would probably reprimand her anyway despite having asked her for an opinion. Yet the older woman didn''t pick up the fresh-cut willow branch she had made Iscah select earlier that morning from the small table between them.


    Rule one; ladies are to be seen and not heard.


    Rule two, she added to Korette''s first rule. Be what everyone else wants to see.


    That was the gist of it anyway. Talk a certain way, sit a certain way be a certain way until everything you are is buried under the mantle of upholding your families reputation. Until you care more about what your child''s situation would be perceived as more than how it had affected her.


    Iscah blinked as the burning in her eyes began to match the burning across the back of her hands where red welts criss-crossed her skin. Lessons of Korette''s matched with cold truths of how her life was now to be, how she was to be.


    She was desperate to escape, but there was no longer anywhere to escape to. Korette had even moved into her bedroom so she had no privacy, the long nights spent listening to the wheezing snores of the older woman that fell silent anytime Iscah so much as moved.


    There had been no time for books, no time to take a breath, no time to even process all the whirling thoughts ricocheting through her head and gather up the shattered pieces of her life.


    Constable Edever knew of Apoch, and Father knew him. Yet to ask her father was not an option; she knew he''d only lock her up tighter if he found out the whole truth. If he knew the cambion had uttered his daughter''s name while covered in the blood of his enemies.


    It had felt like a promise, when he had spoken it. Had felt like an acknowledgement of all the questions she had been asking herself over and over again. Was he real? Did he dream of her too? Did he feel what she did?


    Yes.


    Yet it had been three days since that night. Three days of Korette''s endless droning plaguing her every waking hour until she swore she could hear that inflectionless voice in her head. Three days, each of which made the memory fade until she half wondered if it had truly happened at all.


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    Korette''s voice finally cut through the whirlpool of her thoughts. "You are afraid of a life many dream of having."


    "So you keep telling me," Iscah intoned blandly, giving a slow blink when she realized the hints of tears had dried up.


    "Do you know why we call the Cambions mules?"


    She returned her focus to the woman, interest piqued. "I always assumed it was an ethnic slur meant to dehumanize them, make them simply animals rather than people."


    "In a way, yes, but there''s more to it than that," her chaperone replied. "When you mount a donkey to a mare, their offspring is a hybrid we know as mules. In almost every case, all mules are born sterile. The Cambion have the same defect as those creatures, with one exception; they can still breed with us. Their females can carry, but from what we can tell it is hard for them to conceive, and most pregnancies end in miscarriage. Because of this, it is our women they desire above all else, and so it is that young girls from across our realm go missing."


    "If they''re lucky, they''re sold to a single Cambion as a slave. If not, then to an entire tribe to be kept as livestock, shared by the males, used during the entire duration of their term. When they''ve healed enough, they are bred again. Over and over until they are too old to give birth but are still able to nurse those endless spawn until their milk dries up. Only then, they are sent to slaughter, eaten by the very beings they had been raped by for decades."


    "God never blessed me and my deceased husband with children," her eyes glittered with malice. "After our first daughter vanished at just three years old. Stolen from her bed that was a closed-curtain away."


    "Ah," Iscah replied, letting her spine relax brazenly. "Now it makes sense why you sleep so lightly, why my parents picked you to be my tutor. Thats'' not all you are, you''re a layer of protection."


    "You will have all the chances possible to not only have children, but to be there as they grow into young men and women, not monsters."


    "The court is full of monsters, the only difference is they don''t have horns and tails and visible forked tongues," Iscah snapped, nails digging into her palms once more. "I''m being married off to one, while being told how lucky I am for it."


    Korette''s jaw clenched, the only sign her temper was fraying. The two stared at one another, until Iscah''s defiance shifted back into despair.


    "What would make this easier to bear, child?"


    "Let me see Jalen."


    "That is no longer appropriate."


    "Let me write to him, then," she replied, leaning forward in her desperation to sway the harpy. But already her tutor was shaking her head with absolutely no sympathy for her plight.


    "Whatever you have to say to him, you can confide in me." She reached out, touching Iscah''s hand gently. "I am here for you, regardless of what you may think."


    The appeal was there, the desire to tell someone, anyone, what she was going through. To explain to her parents the dreams, the meeting with Apoch that had gone so, so terribly wrong. To have them understand things were so much more complex than what they assumed. To absolve herself of their disappointment.


    But looking into those grey-blue eyes, Iscah knew she would find no ally.


    The maddening little clock chimed the last hour of the morning, and Korette let the offer of confidence fall away with her touch. They rose, and together headed towards the chapel built on the northern-most wing.


    Most of the hallways were empty save for the rows of paintings and portraits, the servants using alternate means of traversing the building to remain unseen. While religion had fallen out with the aristocracy and replaced with magic, the lesser fortunate still held to their beliefs.


    Korette had taken the initiative to indoctrinate Iscah back into the fold, having found her peace in the prayers and words of the clergy. It was, like all things lately, something Iscah had no choice but to go along with.


    The small chapel drenched in sunlight was peppered with a few of the servants. Though her family had long ago quit hosting priests, they had not barred their employees from practicing their religion, so long as it wasn''t on their working shifts.


    Iscah followed her guardian to the kneeling benches, following her example as she folded her skirts artfully and sank down. She winced, the padless wood bruising her knees that were unused to such meditation.


    With a silent sigh, she stared at the icons of their dieties as Korette bowed her head and closed her eyes in prayer.


    Beside her a servant knelt close, and Iscah''s breath seized in her throat when she caught the wild curls out of the corner of her eye. Agatha bowed her head as well, lips moving in soundless prayers even as her hand snaked out to link her fingers with Iscah''s in companionship.


    The dam holding her emotions back nearly broke, and it took all of her focus to work her throat around the lump that formed from the effort. Agatha gave a comforting squeeze before letting go, careful to make sure Korette didn''t witness the interaction.


    And with that gesture, Iscah realized she had an out. However small it was, perhaps Agatha could help her get word to Jalen.


    Focusing on the statues, Iscah finally had a prayer of thanks to give them.

 11| Tactics

    "Can we have a moment? I promise, her virtue is not in danger."


    Both women visibly tensed, Korette turning an icy stare onto Truvien as he blanched, realizing his poor choice of wording too late.


    "That''s not what I- I didn''t mean¡ª"


    "I will wait nearby," she replied primly, bobbing respectfully to Iscah before slowing her steps to give them space.


    For a few moments neither spoke, the young knight risking a glance over his shoulder to check Korette was back far enough to afford them some privacy.


    "Gods, that woman makes me more nervous than even your Father," he finally confessed, breaking the silence with an awkward laugh and rubbing at his neck with his unbroken hand. "I''ll bet you''ll be glad to be rid of her."


    Iscah didn''t bother replying, not trusting herself to say anything acerbic.


    "I owe you an apology," he finally began, grimacing as he recalled events that had unfolded under the same reasoning.


    "Gods, I really am making a mess of this," he muttered, glaring at the compacted gravel they traversed.


    "The night of the ball I was not me. I mean it was me but I was¡ª well I mean when your father reached out to mine¡ª I mean it was you and I''m me and¡­" he tapered off, blowing his hair out of his face before shoving it back as he tried to gathered his scattered thoughts.


    "I was out of my depth, still feel so honestly. I let my ''friends'' talk me into thinking what you''d desire is some rakish knight that you could tame. Looking back on it, I think they were intentionally setting me up for failure to humiliate me for their own amusement."


    He kicked at a minute pebble. "Our lands are so far away from the capital I had no notion that the court machinations had corrupted my childhood friends to such a degree. Both my parents hate the games the aristocracy like to play with one another, I dare say perhaps their decision left me at quite the disadvantage."


    "On that, we can relate," Iscah agreed, catching his flinch in her peripheral at the barb. "Although yours seemed to have taught you how to play very adeptly."


    "It was my Father''s idea, Iscah." She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat at his excuse. Truvien half turned to her, lifting his hand in supplication.


    "I was so ripped how I even got up those stairs is a mystery. Next thing I knew I was waking up at a physicker with my arm like this," he motioned to the cast. "Do you understand what I''m saying? They drugged me."


    Iscah glared at him coldly, openly studying the damage to his face. In a single hit against her bed post, Apoch had split the skin between Truvien''s brows and down his nose. The bruises had seeped under both eyes, and his nose was so swollen his voice had a nasal quality to it.


    It would''ve been her wearing those bruises if not for Apoch. And to think, I saved his life only to be rewarded in this manner.


    "Well and good. So now I know you''re not only a weak man who is under his father''s thumb, but a mean drunk as well," she finally retorted, lifting her chin defiantly.


    His jaw dropped, dumbfounded by the spiteful words from a girl he had assumed to be meek and gentle. Behind them Korette cleared her throat pointedly, her gaze full of reproach on her charge. Iscah turned, barely stopping herself from stomping off and finding a tree branch to beat them both with.


    "Look, I deserve all of that, I do. You aren''t wrong to judge me so harshly but give me a chance to show you it can be different. I can be different."


    She glared straight ahead, not acknowledging his words as he continued to walk by her.


    "I know this wasn''t the way either of us wanted things to go, but that doesn''t mean they have to stay in such a state. I had my servants take part of the dowry into the city. They''re loading four carts worth of literature as we speak to take back to our ancestral home."


    "Your idea? Or is that one your Father''s as well?"


    "Mine," he ground out, his reply making her flag momentarily as she regarded him again. Seizing on her hesitancy he took her hand in his, a nervous smile ghosting his lips.


    "And no doubt my father will break my other arm for such a frivolity, but if it matters to you, then it''s worth it. We both hate the court and their petty games, so after the ceremony here we''ll go home, and I won''t press you for anything. We can take things slow, take time to grow with one another until we''re ready for something more."


    Iscah looked up into his pleading bruise-ringed eyes, ones she had last seen full of uncontrolled fury. So unlike Apoch. The cambion carried rage and hatred like a mantle rather than as a yoke. His control even when he had broken this man''s arm and murdered her guards absolute.


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    But he wasn''t here, and it was time she began to rely on herself rather than placing her hope in him. Sangrath was southwest, its border touching the wall where it met the sea.


    Aware of Korette who waited at an appropriate distance she worked her jaw, offering Truvien a tepid smile in response. His shoulders visibly relaxed, puffing a laugh of relief before slipping her hand over his cast and continued their stroll through the lovely, empty garden.


    "Well done, my dear. Very well done," Korette murmured approvingly as Iscah stepped back by her side.


    They watched Truvien''s carriage curved away from the house and crunched down the driveway. Iscah''s head was throbbing, yet still she wouldn''t let her demure smile slip. No matter how her stomach churned over the light dinner they had shared before he finally had left.


    Having mistaken her silence for clemency he had prattled incessantly through dinner, lamenting the fact the healers had banned him from the summer contests for aspiring and veteran knights. There had been no questions about what had happened in her bedroom, no curiosity about how he had survived when the two guards hadn''t.


    Korette turned, assessing her ward with a critical eye, noting the lines of tension tightening her brows.


    "You look exhausted, child."


    "I feel exhausted," she confided with a breathless laugh, relaxing her posture to push at the pressure beneath her eyelids. "A bath would be lovely right about now."


    "A bath it is, then," Korette acknowledged, both women turning back towards the entrance cracked open for them by one of the two guardsmen posted at the entry.


    Even now, she could meet neither of the retired soldier''s eyes, the feeling of their silent accusations a knife that twisted between her shoulder blades despite the fact none of the estates protective entourage had said or done anything differently towards her.


    "It''s the guilt of the living," Korette finally offered, and Iscah looked at her in surprise. The older woman canted her head in acknowledgement the peace offering; her own suffering.


    "When Anann was kidnapped, during the whole process we still lived our daily lives helplessly looking while guilt that we weren''t doing enough slowly crushed us. There was always this nagging voice in the back of our minds that our family blamed us, our neighbors judged us, that we were at fault because we lived and she was gone."


    As they walked through the corridors with only their footsteps for company, Iscah mulled over her own feelings, clearing her throat of the dryness that coated her tongue. "I still see it at the most random times. The way Gerard fell, his blood spraying into the air. Over and over again, as if it will make it less real or make me less sane. I still don''t even know the name of the other guard that died."


    "You can''t blame yourself, child. They sacrificed themselves honorably to save your life, to protect you from the assassin."


    But that''s just it, she replied in her mind. It wasn''t a fight, it was a slaughter for nothing. He had spared me, and then saved me from Truvien.


    Was that entirely true though? Her brows furrowed at the train of thought. Would Apoch or even Truvian have shown themselves if her maids had still been present, or guards at her door? Had she saved some lives and damned others?


    She understood the guilt Korette spoke of, but it went an even deeper level. One that made her wonder if perhaps there was something truly wrong with her.


    The dreams still continued, and all she wanted was to see Apoch again.


    Her steps faltered at the base of the stairs, and she turned shyly towards Korette. "I have need of the privy, would it be all right if I meet you in my bathing chambers?"


    The chaperone hesitated, and Iscah did her best to keep her facial expression painfully neutral. Korette capitulated, dipping her head in approval. "Don''t dally."


    Curtsying she turned, and headed straight for the toilet room.


    The house was old, having been in her family for generations. While the grander bedrooms shared bathing rooms, the toilets were still regulated to ancient co-ed chambers located on each end of the house wings. Merged bathing and toilet rooms had become the norm in the city, but for country estates who''s walls were fortified stone, moving plumbing required taking the structures down to their foundations. While her family could afford it, her father was of a mind to not change something that was not broken.


    Iscah glanced back, catching a glimpse of Korette''s shoe on the stairs before vanishing above the ceiling. Picking up her pace she headed for her father''s study, turning the knob as quietly as possible and closing it in the same fashion. His normal evening routine was to retire to the library with her mother, and even if he had been in the office she had plenty of reasons to want to speak to him alone.


    Opening a small box on the desk she took out two pre-cut strips of paper designed to fit into a carrier pigeon''s tube. She checked the top drawers for a fountain pen came up empty, resigning herself to use the feathered quill set in a heavy stone base. Focused on opening the jar of indigo without spilling the ink, she reached blindly for the pen, her knuckles pushing the brass tube it rested in at a forward angle.


    There was an audible click, and her heart slammed into overdrive as she jerked upright towards the door, expecting to have been caught. Instead a bookshelf moved on otherwise silent hinges, swinging into a secret area she hadn''t even known existed.


    Risking more time than originally planned, Iscah approached the opened entry. Rather than a mysterious chamber however, she found a lightless hallway, a draft sifting through the unruly hairs at the base of her neck inwards. She leaned further in, trying to see to the end but it was hidden in the darkness.


    Hands shaking, she bolted back for the desk and tilted the pen back to its original angle. Waiting in terror, she counted the seconds before the shelf closed as quietly as it had opened. The urge to giggle hysterically nearly overwhelmed her, and she clenched her belly to calm down her highly strung nerves.


    Dipping the quill carefully she wrote out a quick note to Jalen and another longer one to Agatha before setting the pen back carefully into place, blowing on the ink and hiding the small scrolls in her sleeve.


    Checking the desk to make sure nothing was out of place as she retreated she turned, pressing her ear to the door and waited three heartbeats. Hearing no noise she pulled it open and stepped out into the empty hallway.


    Once in the privy she hid the papers in a crack of the mortar, in utter disbelief her luck had held out the whole time. She clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle the squeal she had been containing since the office, twirling in victory.


    If Apoch wasn''t going to come to her, then this time she would go to him.

 12| Truths

    Jalen felt like a horse had run over him. No, a demonic-mutated hell stallion, dragging a cart full of screaming babies. That would¡¯ve explained the pounding headache that accompanied his body¡¯s weakened state, and this was him feeling better than he had been.


    The thought of attending his early morning class made him groan in misery, but he had missed two days after surfacing from Saraf¡¯s memory and was still playing catch-up. Even Darl had commented the evening before Jalen had gone to bed early how pale he looked, yet he had no fever. Quite the opposite, actually. Despite the house being warm, his limbs were cold as if they were Saraf¡¯s own still from her time in the frozen camp. Sitting up on the edge of the bed he rubbed at his scalp until his unruly curls were sticking in every direction.


    An anxious knock on the door downstairs, and Jalen tried to stand, only to lose his balance and sit heavily back on the bed. Cursing he tried again, wobbling to his feet and shuffling out and into the hallway.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± he called down the stairwell, clutching the railing as he descended. Slightly winded by the time he got to the door, he opened it to find a boy a few years younger than him standing at the step.


    ¡°Y¡¯Jalen?¡± He asked by way of greeting, shifting from foot to foot with nervous energy. Jalen frowned, but nodded in response, and the youth stuck out his hand to expose a tiny strip of paper he had been holding in his grip.


    ¡°M¡¯Aunt says it¡¯s for you, so I came. No for no-one else, sh¡¯ saids,¡± he rambled, bobbing his head when Jalen took it from him.


    ¡°Your Aunt,¡± Jalen repeated dumbly, blinking as he tried to unravel the thick country accent, but the boy had already turned and bounded for the horse tethered outside the houses iron fence.


    Stepping over the threshold he watched the kid mount with an ease that came with working with the animals full-time. The equine itself was a rare breed, its champagne coat and matching hair a true gold in the morning light as she tossed her head arrogantly.


    That¡¯s Iscah¡¯s favorite mare, Jalen realized as the two cantered down the street. So was that a stablehand from their estate?


    Frowning at the strange interaction he unrolled the tiny strip, lips parting in surprise at Iscah¡¯s short note, written in obvious haste.


    Chasing dreams. His name is Apoch, find Constable Edever and tell him everything. -P


    It was late morning by the time he found the Office of Royal Law. When they had named it office, they had quite literally meant an office.


    Tucked away in an older section of the castle¡¯s barracks, the single room was a lightless cell, all but overflowing with paperwork. Stacks of them lined the walls nearly to the ceiling, each column looking more unstable than the one beside it.


    Jalen¡¯s eyes widened at the looming catastrophe, forgetting to knock on the already open door. Behind the desk piled haphazardly with more work, a man glanced up before returning to his reading.


    ¡°New recruits are in the other direction. Take a left at the intersection behind you,¡± he said by way of greeting.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m here for Edever?¡± Jalen queried, taking an anxious step into the room and trying to not let his obsessive need for tidiness cause him to hyperventilate.


    ¡°You¡¯re reporting a death, or a missing person then?¡±


    There was a moment of silence as Jalen processed the Constable¡¯s cavalier attitude towards a tragic subject matter. ¡°That seems a rather insensitive way to broach a painful subject if I was.¡±


    At this the man let the paper droop, motioning towards the mess strewn everywhere. ¡°Son, do I look like I have time to pat your hand and hear the life story of whoever it is you¡¯ve lost?¡±


    For the second time that day, Jalen¡¯s draw dropped as he realized every single stack upon stack was a report of a missing or deceased person.


    ¡°A-are you the only one who works these cases?¡±


    ¡°Do you see another desk in here?¡±


    He gave a gormless shake of his head, and Edever gave a soul-crushing sigh before settling back in his chair.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to report either,¡± Jalen finally managed, fidgeting in place. ¡°She said his name was Apoch.¡±


    Edever frowned in confusion, thrown off guard by the whole statement. His brows rose as it dawned on him what the youth meant.


    ¡°Apoch,¡± he corrected, the ¡®ch¡¯ sounding like a ¡®k¡¯ in his pronunciation of the name. Silence ensued as Edever studied him with a stare that was now more hawkish than man.


    ¡°My name is Ja¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know who you are,¡± he cut in, still unblinking. Without looking away he set the paper he had been reading on top of a grouping on his desk, the column swaying perilously for a moment.


    Jalen could feel sweat forming on the nape of his neck, his anxiety ratcheting up another notch. Had this been a mistake? Had Iscah just thrown him to the wolves and he had walked into it fully trusting her?


    Was this guy ever going to blink?


    ¡°You hungry?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah,¡± he stammered, surprised by the sudden shift in subject. ¡°Yeah, I could eat.¡±


    Edever grunted in response and rose, finally blinking once to Jalen¡¯s near visible relief. He grabbed his sword belt and strapped it on while crossing the cramped quarters, sliding past Jalen and out into the corridor without another word.


    Flabbergasted, Jalen followed, sensing the Constable wanted to continue their conversation somewhere other than here.


    The two stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, the day already hot for spring. Edever tucked his hands into his pants and lengthened his pace when Jalen fell in step beside him.


    The southern thoroughfare of the royal district was lined with cheap food stalls and restaurants, a smattering of small businesses that served the castles soldiers and servants both. It was an oasis to the commoners, and a stain upon the otherwise flawless estates that backed into its shops. Edever continued, passing all of the options and heading out past the inner wall and onto the commoner streets.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve talked to anyone else about what you¡¯ve told me?¡± He finally asked, glancing at the youth out of the corner of his eye as the traffic began thinning around them.


    ¡°No, she had been pretty specific about it being you,¡± Jalen explained, handing the slip of paper over. Edever¡¯s brows furrowed, squinting at the tiny writing as he brought it almost up to his nose.


    ¡°A carrier pigeon; clever girl. P, though?¡±


    ¡°A nick-name,¡± Jalen surmised with a shrug, figuring it was best not to correct his assumption that was how he received the note. The whole situation seemed off, and Edever¡¯s vagueness was doing nothing to assuage his worry.


    That feeling only escalated when they turned off onto an alley lined with trash piles. He glanced over his shoulder as they plummeted into the shadow of the buildings lining either side, wondering if this truly was a mistake. Flagging further behind, his companion seemed oblivious as he stepped between two towering piles of ripening oyster shells and grabbed a doorknob.


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    Edever turned, assessing him. Jalen realized with growing dread the Constable had one hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword.


    ¡°Iscah,¡± he simply stated. ¡°In case you were wondering if I was just going along and had some plan to poke a couple holes in you.¡± Shoving the door open the smell of sour beer and briny seafood spilled out into the alley, mixing with the already fetid scents of rotting debris. ¡°Honestly was just in the mood for some oysters though.¡±


    If that had meant to put him at ease it had not quite done the job, but Jalen gritted his jaw and immediately regretted it as he got a whiff of the miasma of odors with his mouth closed.


    Inside was empty, save for the one-eyed bartender who managed to look disappointed at having customers arrive. Edever headed for a table in the corner, farthest away from the frail light shining through windows hazed with grease.


    Sitting down he rapped his knuckles on the table and faced Jalen as he sat opposite of him. ¡°Now, we can talk. Guessing from the fact your eyes are about as wide as plates and pallor just as pasty as one I should start first,¡± he began. ¡°I saw her the day after the attack, but her Father would not let us speak alone. Protective Father; good quality, but unfortunately it meant she couldn¡¯t tell me what really happened.¡±


    ¡°What really happened?¡± Jalen blurted, and now it was Edever¡¯s turn to look skeptical. Jalen held his hands up. ¡°All I know about the attack is rumors. He really did try to kill her?¡±


    The bartender finally approached them with two tankards of ale, setting each down heavily as if to enunciate his irritation at having to serve them. Jalen offered the bald man a nervous smile, reaching for the ale and nearly choking on the first sip.


    ¡°Oh Gods¡ª um, do you have water?¡±


    Their host spit on the floor in response and headed for the kitchen. Jalen looked at Edever in disbelief as the older man picked up his drink and took a long pull. Giving an overly dramatized exhale of satisfaction he set it back down with a shrug. ¡°It grows on you.¡±


    ¡°What, like a psychotic ex?¡±


    The honest nod in response appalled him almost as much as the beer had.


    ¡°The maids said Iscah returned early from the ball very upset, and had dismissed them along with her two guards, though they apparently had remained on premises. Whether she was expecting Apoch or not is still a question, but it looks like Truvien broke her door down and interrupted whatever was happening. It seemed like she was more unsettled about Truvien saying they had been alone together than having come face-to-face with a cambion.¡±


    ¡°Which means it wasn¡¯t an attack,¡± Jalen summed up, pinching his lower lip in thought with a nod.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t their families first interaction with him, either,¡± Edever added, pausing to take another drink before launching into the history.


    ¡°About twenty-five years ago, Isren along with three others including your father had been kidnapped by a group led by Apoch. Supposedly they had managed to escape, and the military had spotted them on the other side of the wall running for the only gate in existence.¡±


    ¡°My Dad?! Wait¡ª isn¡¯t that wall hundreds of miles long?¡±


    Edever saluted him with his tankard. ¡°Actually, less than a hundred miles, but my point exactly. It was luck, they said, not circumstance, that they had just happened to pop out of the woods right in front of it. Unscathed.¡±


    ¡°Isren confirmed in our meeting he hadn¡¯t disclosed any of that event, and Iscah was surprised to find out about it. Yet when I had given descriptions of Apoch, she had known exactly who he was.¡±


    Jalen nodded again at the hanging question in the statement, rolling the tankard between his palms.


    Find Constable Edever, tell him everything.


    ¡°For months, she¡¯s been having dreams about him. Dreams that from what I could gather were more¡­intimate, then most.¡±


    Jalen could feel his cheeks burning, and thoughtlessly he took another sip of ale only to gag on it again.


    ¡°Gods, that is just, so awful. Like sour milk and old peoples feet. Anyways,¡± he winced, scraping his tongue off between his front teeth as if that could rid him of the flavor. ¡°She had been trying to find a reason why these dreams had begun, and possibly how to get rid of them in the University library, when she ran across¡­¡±


    He trailed off, looking up from what might¡¯ve been the distractedly worst tasting ale to the completely empty room. Even the bartender still hadn¡¯t returned from the kitchen, leaving them in total isolation.


    As if it was all by design.


    Jalen gave a slow, measured blink, his voice thin and reedy in his own ears. ¡°Why did you tell me the details about the attack, and about what happened to Isren and my Dad?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Edever replied, his body language remaining non-threatening even though his gaze was intense. ¡°That cambion¡¯s name was only known by five people, until you and Iscah.¡±


    ¡°A-are you going to kill me for it?¡±


    ¡°Cause you know too much?¡± Edever taunted, the smallest of smiles edging the corners of his usually expressionless mouth. ¡°That¡¯s the most ironic thing I¡¯ve heard all week,¡± he muttered into his tankard before tossing back another swig.


    Jalen didn¡¯t have a clue on what that meant, but he hoped that meant he wasn¡¯t getting murdered anytime soon.


    ¡°Does the name Saraf, or Orick mean anything to you?¡± Jalen queried, stilling as Edever thought it over before shaking his head in negation. Blowing out the breath he had been holding he pulled out the tome, and set it on the empty table between them.


    ¡°Cut yourself, and press your blood onto the cover.¡±


    Edever stared at him as if gauging if he was jesting or not before releasing his ale. Unsheathing just enough of the edge of his sword to cut his thumb on he swiped a trail of red across the book. Jalen leaned forward in anticipation.


    Nothing happened.


    The Constable cleared his throat pointedly after a few seconds, and Jalen shifted awkwardly. ¡°It ah¡­ was supposed to do something. Why didn¡¯t it do something?¡±


    He frowned, pushing the book as if to motivate it to respond. Scratching at his scalp in irritation he huffed, wondering how many times he could get cut and not scar at this rate.


    Holding out his hand, Edever took the hint and pulled out a dagger at his other hip to set in Jalen¡¯s palm.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t make me look like an idiot,¡± he pleaded under his breath, drawing blood on the blades edge and touching it to the tome.


    Instantly the transformation happened, Edever¡¯s normally unflappable demeanor giving way to shock. Without prompting he opened the book, scanning the title before giving the next page his full attention.


    ¡°It¡¯s so weird,¡± Jalen wondered aloud. ¡°It worked for Iscah and me, I wonder why it doesn¡¯t work for you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because,¡± Edever answered, his expression causing Jalen¡¯s heart to stutter as those grey eyes rose to meet his. ¡°I¡¯m not a warlock.¡±


    Jalen burst into laughter, he couldn¡¯t help himself; that notion was as absurd as it was untrue. ¡°Ok for starters, everyone knows Warlocks have the strange blue eyes. Secondly, Naon was the last warlock, and he died five hundred years ago.¡±


    Edever gave a tight-lipped smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Then who is this Saraf?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to figure out.¡± Jalen slouched back, rubbing his forehead absently. ¡°We¡¯ve checked every public record accessible, there¡¯s not one mention of her anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Lots of dead ends, eh?¡± Edever teased, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the table. ¡°Let me tell you something else you won¡¯t find: Naon is not the last warlock, and he was not originally hailed as a hero of the war. He was the catalyst to a realm culling of the remaining warlocks and their sympathizers. The executions were public festivals, and were not limited to adults. They burned children alive, and celebrated while doing it. The ashes from the pyres would be collected and added to drinks the elites would consume as an aphrodisiac. For the lesser gentry, they were added to pastries that became known as ashbuns.¡±


    Jalen blanched, inwardly lamenting the origins of his favorite sweet.


    ¡°Eventually they ran out of warlocks, but the masses were hooked. It became anyone with blue eyes was sacrificed for their entertainment, and then it became any infants born with blue eyes.¡±


    ¡°But-¡± Jalen interjected, stunned by this knowledge. ¡°Aren¡¯t most children born with blue eyes that darken over the first few months?¡±


    Edever tipped his head in acknowledgement, using the pause to take another long drink. ¡°King Janius¡¯ eyes were a normal blue, as were his son and daughter¡¯s. Rumors began spreading he and his children were warlock usurpers, and so with the help of historians, the church, and bards that retired very wealthy the narrative quickly changed to paint Naon from Monster to Saint and that he was, indeed, the last Warlock.¡±


    Jalen shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. ¡°But you¡¯re saying he wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying he wasn¡¯t,¡± Edever repeated, rapping his knuckles on the table for emphasis. ¡°Being a warlock is not a hereditary trait nor is it something that can be learned. It¡¯s completely random who is born one.


    ¡°It is why every coven had at least one if not more of their members trained by the physicka and given the role as traveling healers. Their blood magic made them unparalleled Physickers, but the true reason was they were the ones who tracked down those born with the eyes to bring back to their true family.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re saying there¡¯s still a secret coven of warlocks?¡± Jalen hedged, brows scrunching together at how crazy that conspiracy theory sounded saying aloud.


    ¡°No, the truth is much darker than that,¡± Edever murmured, lowering his voice even though they were still alone. ¡°The genocide never stopped. It just became more¡­ clandestine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but, do you have any proof?¡±


    ¡°I have some leads,¡± the older man replied, finishing off his beer with a smack of his lips.


    ¡°How much do you know about your old Dad, Jalen?¡±

 13| Flight

    Iscah lifted her lantern a bit higher, illuminating the roughly hewn stone hallway that had been slowly descending into the earth.


    It had been a risk to use the unknown corridor in her father¡¯s study, but at the time it had seemed ingenious. Iscah had been on perfect behavior while her nerves had run the gambit during the last week, until finally the planned morning came. She had risen before the first crow of the rooster, claiming stomach pains when Korette had inquired sleepily before having rolled back over without argument. The older woman would be groggy for quite some time, thanks to the valerian root the cook had slipped into her evening tea.


    Agatha had come through brilliantly, meeting her at the office doorway with a bag of supplies containing provisions, a map, and traveling clothes suited for peasantry. She had changed into the drab but well-made dress and hid her hair inside a bonnet as the cook whispered updates to her nervously.


    Her nephew had taken Iscah¡¯s horse into the city under the excuse from Agatha for supplies for breakfast she hadn¡¯t realized she had run out of, and would remain there under the guise that the mare had pulled up lame. With the animal missing the house would assume Iscah had fled by horseback to the city, leaving them to chase dead ends. No one outside of the cook knew she had discovered the secret passageway, and so it bought her time to reach the nearest village, purchase a horse and head to the wall without leaving any trace.


    At least, that had been the theory.


    Already she had been walking for what felt like for hours, and worry rode at her heels as incessantly as the darkness. Checking the level of oil in her lamp had only increased her anxiety; less than a quarter remained, and still there was no end in sight.


    She couldn¡¯t turn back, refusing to take the path demanded of her. Despite Truvien¡¯s vow of patience, she had caught his gaze wander over her too often, his hunger barely concealed. Even though his lands bordered the wall and the journey would have been infinitely more comfortable, she held no faith that he would respect her on their wedding night, promises or not.


    There was only one way to go; forward.


    Just as she resigned herself to continuing with or without a light, the path came to an abrupt end. A stone doorway framed by two unlit sconces barred any further progress, the door itself a solid plate of rusted iron.


    Setting her pack aside and lighting the scones, Iscah studied the two heavy sliding bolts securing the door. Rubbing her palms dry on her dress she set to pulling them free, surprised but also grateful that they had been recently greased to make their movements easier.


    The door¡¯s six hinges had also been cared for in the same fashion, but it didn¡¯t offset how heavy the barrier truly was. Grunting with effort as she pitted her weight and strength against the solid wooden structure reinforced with iron plates on both sides, every inch hard-won. She was winded by the time it was cracked open enough for her and her to slide through, and what greeted her on the other side left her utterly confused.


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    It was an underground larder.


    Earthen jars that came up to her waist were sealed in thick wax, each marked with their contents of grains, legumes and water. On the shelving that ran both sides, smaller ceramic containers labeled salted meats and dried fruits, bottles of oils, wines and harder liquors, even medical supplies.


    ¡°But why,¡± she murmured to herself, taking note of the provisions that could last for weeks, if not months. Closer inspection yielded everything was covered in a light dust, meaning it was tended to often but not recently.


    Did Agatha know of this? She mused, wondering who all was involved in this strange secret.


    As if in answer, the other door at the opposite end of the room jerked open without warning, a conversation in foreign language cutting off abruptly as her lantern illuminated a cambion¡¯s face that held the same surprised expression as her own. A squat male peered around his comrade, both blinking as Iscah stood motionless in shock.


    ¡°M-Mister?¡± The taller one tried, bobbing his head respectfully with an uncertain smile that displayed crooked teeth.


    For a moment it didn¡¯t register he was referring to her, the three of them staring at one another awkwardly. Then Iscah found herself talking, the rest of her mind having to catch up to her subconscious that had already launched into a reply.


    ¡°Pardon me, sirs. I was sent down here to check the stock,¡± she managed smoothly, curtsying the way she had seen her maids do a thousand times. The shorter of the two looked up at his partner curiously as he translated, both turning to look back at her in confusion.


    ¡°The-¡­the stock?¡± He repeated again, a pained expression across his face as if he was having trouble understanding her. Iscah nodded in affirmation, and with a shrug to the other cambion and quick explanation both stepped back out of the doorway, waiting for her expectantly.


    Unsure of this new turn of events she paused before moving towards them, becoming aware of sounds she hadn¡¯t realized had been a background noise during the entire encounter; muffled crying and hushed voices. Alarm deafened all other emotions as she stepped past the two into a hallway lined with cells full of people connected by metal collars to a chain.


    Very few of the caged humans looked up, and if they did they averted their gazes quickly, hopelessly. Grime and dust covered them all, and Iscah noted the bruises and lacerations covering the two young men¡ª no, boys¡ª and some of the women as well. All of them looked to be near her age if not younger.


    ¡°Good stock sir, you see? Take much good care of them,¡± the lanky male explained enthusiastically, motioning to the slaves. ¡°You feed them much, no worries. Good cared for.¡±


    Keeping her gaze away from him she fought to control the rising panic. Korette hadn¡¯t been just trying to scare her about the Cambion¡¯s abductions, she had been telling the truth.


    She could turn around and leave, save herself from joining their miserable ranks. Laud approval on the two¡¯s efforts, return to her home and¡ª and then what? A hundred issues all presented themselves to her at once, from stepping back into her father¡¯s office to exposing her families involvement, and everything that sat in-between.


    ¡°I have a message from my master that needs to be personally delivered to yours,¡± she found herself saying, turning to face him with a bravado that was superficial.


    ¡°I¡¯m to go with you,¡± she surmised with an air of finality when the slaver¡¯s brows furrowed in thought.


    There was only one way to move; forward.

 14| Prey

    Apoch canted his head, studying the older woman as she wheezed lightly in her sleep. Moonlight bathed her face, deepening the wrinkle-lines age had carved into her skin, her open mouth the reminiscent shape of a dried-out corpse.


    And to think, she''s most likely only a third of my age.


    That thought tugged the edge of his lips upwards, and he rose from his squat by her narrow cot, careful to not let his shadow fall over her closed eyes. Instinctively he knew this one slept lightly, but so had many other of his victims.


    Looking over the room he rounded the bed, gaze drifting over the various knicknacks and paraphernalia lining the shelves, all of it childish and useless. Picking up a decorative pillow on the veritable mountain of them piled against the headboard he sniffed it, her scent faded beneath the floral laundry soap.


    Sheets were replaced recently. She''s gone, not for very long though. A day, maybe two.


    Setting it back in place he wandered the rest of the room leisurely before heading into the bathing room. He paused at the doorway, taking in the beaten-copper tub and marble vanity that stretched across an entire wall littered with more frivolities. Picking through a few of the items, his attention snagged on a silver comb inlaid with abalone and mother of pearl. It was a vain object, but well-made combs were hard to come by. He tucked it into a pocket, ignoring the overpowering perfumes and priceless jewelry before wandering past the room divider where rows of clothing hung neatly along two walls. Traveling cases were still tucked on the upper shelves, none of them disturbed.


    Very little of the clothing carried her scent, and a quick perusal through the drawers that held underthings yielded the same results. As if it was all new, pretty shells to wrap the girl in. Irritation tightened his brow as he contemplated that realization. Originally, he had assumed she had fled to her fathers estate to try to escape him. Yet if that were true, why was she not here?


    Leaving Iscah''s personal quarters behind to scout the rest of the upper wing, his steps were unhurried yet utterly silent across carpet and hardwood both. While the grounds had been swarming with mercenaries, there were none stationed inside the mansion; another clue that the girl was no longer on the property. Even if there had been guards stationed inside, he had no fear of getting caught, not with the humans weak senses. Plus the little affinity he had for shadow was more than enough to guarantee his passage would remain unmarked.


    The half-demons had penchants for a type of magic they had labeled as affinities. They were more feral than their human counterparts, gifted with enhanced physical assets that made them utterly lethal on the battleground. Some of their kind had been gifted with abilities, but it was all a pittance in comparison to even the weakest of any human mage accepted into the Order of the Balenciai. Healers could speed up healing so that it took weeks rather than months, Druids could bless crops to be less susceptible to blights, and in his case Assassins could wrap themselves in surrounding darkness to be less noticeable. Not invisible, although some of his brethren could shadow step short distances, but he had never been that good. Instead he had trained obsessively to make up for that weakness and proved hard work could destroy talent time and time again.


    It had been one of the main reasons the Masters of The House had chosen him to continue their legacy at one time. That had been before they had demanded more than he was willing to give.


    Now as he opened the door on the well-tended hinges to the master bedroom he reflected on that twisted irony of his life once again. It was hard not to, especially when he stood staring down at Isren¡¯s sleeping form. The last time he had seen this man he had been in his late twenties, and time had placed its marks upon him like it did all their kind.


    He had despised him then, and for no reason he could explain, still did. But Zidaii¡¯s words echoed in his mind, shredding against memories as sharp as broken glass.


    This is say three times to you: Do not harm these humans for any reason.


    Zidaii had never told him the reason for the entire mission. Why those four men needed to witness just how many of the Cambions were slaughtered in their defense against an Archfiend. Apoch, being the obedient second-in-command that he was, never raised the question even though it sat like a stone in his gut. By the time he had finally decided to query the Warchief, it was too late; Zidaii had been assassinated.


    There had been nothing to link it as retaliation to the kidnapping, but Apoch¡¯s fingertips itched to feel the weight of his blade, his nostrils flaring in desire to smell Isren¡¯s blood spill for no reason other than that shared sliver of history all those years ago. Instinct roared at him that he was somehow involved in that loss, and so it should have been no real surprise to find it was the same man¡¯s daughter hounding his dreams.


    But why? Is this your doing, Isren? Is this your machinations? Somehow, I doubt that.


    He took a controlled breath through his nose, their anxiety still sharp even in sleep. They were aware of what hunted their daughter and feared for her life, though the scent was heavier on the woman. Isren¡¯s wife lay curled in a tiny ball all the way across the bed from him, both hugging their relative edges of the mattress. As if even that distance was not enough. In the darkness he could slit his throat easily, or even suffocate him beneath a pillow and she would never know until the morning. From what Apoch could tell from the woman¡¯s subconscious body language, it might be doing her a favor.


    Yet Zidaii¡¯s ghost whispered to him imploringly, commanding, and even after so many decades he obeyed. Followed the unseen spirit out of the room and drifted with it through the hallways until he found what he was looking for.


    The laundry room was not far from the kitchen, garments fetched from earlier that day waiting in sorted bins to be washed and hung to dry on lines just outside the door. Apoch located the stack of feminine clothing, sucking his tongue against the back of his fangs in irritation before delving into the garments and digging to the bottom.


    Pulling out a slip made of white lace and satin he returned the rest of the clothes that had fallen out, stepping back to make sure nothing looked out of place or tampered with. Satisfied he turned his attention back to the article in his grasp.


    Twisting it into a ball he lifted it to his face, burying his nose and mouth against the cool fabric, and in the solitude of that room inhaled deeply. Her scent enveloped him, flooding his sinuses and coating his tongue in amber and subtle vanilla. Involuntarily his eyelids fluttered closed, unbidden thoughts drowning all reason as the slippery material cascaded over his knuckles.


    He played out their encounter again, from her summer storm entrance to the point where she had left herself vulnerable in her need to be alone. The perfect opportunity to complete his intent.


    His heart accelerated, just like it had then when the door had closed and it had been just the two of them. Releasing the shadows so that she could see her death approach he had pinned her to that counter, stunned when eyes of the darkest blue widened up at him.


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    Blue-black, not the cobalt of his dreams. In that hesitation she had touched him, her voice a sigh of relief, of awe. With those syllables that was his name across her lips he had realized she hadn¡¯t been the orchestrator of any of this, but was just at a loss as he had been. And yet his treacherous body had betrayed him.


    His fingers tightened as he released a shallow exhale before breathing in once more, imprinting her scent. Searing his olfactory system with her signature even as his cock hardened.


    It had almost been his undoing. He had wanted to grab her by that offending hand and spill her across the bed. That maddening nightgown ripped away, her struggles dominated as easily as if she were a sparrow in his grasp.


    Her cries would¡¯ve been muffled beneath the mockery of intimate kisses, even as he forced his way into her. Setting her body jerking with every invasive thrust until he was fully seated inside, utterly beholden to the desire plaguing him.


    And when his climax neared he would¡¯ve wrapped her delicate neck in one hand, cutting off her ability to scream and the blood-flow to her brain. As her heart fluttered its last he would¡¯ve found his release, watching from mere inches away as the light died in her eye¡ª


    The room tilted slightly, jarring him out of the fantasy. His stomach knotted in sickening dread as sweat prickled his temples in alarm.   Crushing the garment into a smaller ball he squeezed his eyes tighter, evening out his breathing when he realized he had been taking too many deep breaths, flooding his system with excess oxygen.


    It was only mild hyperventilation, not the thought of killing her, that had made him dizzy and his stomach roil. To drive this point home he focused on his indigence, attempting to build a wall of stone around this misplaced indulgence that was her.


    If he no longer believed she was the engineer of all of this, then perhaps together they might find out who was. Which meant it did not end here, that he needed to track her down once more. He hated the feeling of relief that soothed his subconscious.


    Fingering the expensive material one last time he shoved the garment into a pocket at his hip, slipping out the back door of the laundry room and into the chilled spring night. Navigating past the added guards patrolling the grounds was as effortless as it had been inside the house. The increased security was almost flattering, but it wouldn¡¯t have made a damn bit of difference in the end; the human¡¯s misplaced sense of security was comical.


    He vanished into the thick woods, heightened eyesight allowing him to easily lope down the game trails with just the thin beams of moonlight that struggled through the canopy illuminating his way. A mile into the forest Apoch paused, turning to track movement in the brush to his right. Bu¡¯u prowled out of the undergrowth, posture deferential as he approached the Cambion.


    In response Apoch held out Iscah¡¯s slip, and the denimal sniffed it over thoroughly before lifting to stare almost accusingly at him.


    ¡°What,¡± he growled, squaring his shoulders to the beast defensively. Bu¡¯u only snorted as if saying you¡¯re insufferable before slipping back into the darkness.


    She had a two day lead on him, but the hunt would have to wait until he finished with one last loose end. Besides, he mused, the corner of his mouth flexing in contempt. In the end it didn¡¯t matter if she had run away or had been sent away, not even a two-week lead would save her from him now.


    Salas had stopped yelling for help, which was a good thing. It had been a wasted effort to begin with, but Apoch had allowed it so the male would understand just how hopeless his situation truly was.


    Sitting crumpled against the ground, he no longer fought the ropes binding his hands behind his back. He was too weak to even move when Apoch entered the abandoned hunting cabin buried deep in the woods, the structure so aged mildew and decomposition had long erased any scent of its previous inhabitant.


    ¡°Did you¡­find what you were searching for?¡± Salas rasped, his sentence broken and slurred by shallow breaths. Apoch cocked his head to the side as he mused over just how much to tell the dying male.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone, but not for long.¡±


    ¡°¡­She?¡±


    ¡°Isren¡¯s daughter.¡±


    For a moment there was only silence, then Salas gave a strained laugh that ended with a pained groan. Apoch could feel his jaw clench with dread as his victim sagged further against the wall in relief.


    ¡°Oh,¡± he gasped, head lolling to the side as he opened fever-bright eyes. ¡°You poor fool. After all this time, you have no idea, do you? Zidaii told you nothing.¡±


    ¡°Look who¡¯s chatty this evening,¡± Apoch purred, crouching down in front of him as Salas responded with another coughing chuckle. The motion caused fresh blood to trickle out of two small wounds in his belly that reeked of decay and fester. ¡°Finally ready to talk?¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have killed my wife. My beautiful Emma,¡± he moaned, tears illuminating the reflective silver eyeshine of his eyes.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it fair she suffer for your actions, or would you rather have had me continue to use her as motivation to get you to talk?¡±  Apoch pressed a locked arm against the wall next to Salas¡¯ head, voice husky and intimate. ¡°Carved her up while you watched? Remove her piece by piece until¡ª¡°


    ¡°Enough,¡± Salas spat, swallowing thickly. Apoch huffed a laugh, reaching for the waterskin and helping his prisoner drink a few unsatisfying gulps. Still the male exhaled at the temporary relief to his thirst, knowing full-well every sip was only prolonging his suffering. ¡°I imagine you expect me to thank you for that small mercy you granted her.¡±


    ¡°I could give you the same, if you give me the answers that I want: who ordered you to put a contract on Zidaii? Who disguised you as a human?¡±


    ¡°Want to talk about betrayals? Let¡¯s talk about yours,¡± Salas murmured, licking his cracked lips and rolling his eyes up tauntingly back to him.  ¡°How you¡¯ve turned your back on your duties, over and over again. Oh, I know all about you, Apoch of the House of Shadow. That you manipulated Zidaii to save you from your old Master¡¯s vengeance after you slaughtered their entire breeding harem.


    ¡°I know you personally picked out the female companion for Zidaii that night, the one who slit his throat, clueless to what she really was until it was too late. How you¡¯ve abandoned the tribes on the war-front and left them to their petty squabbling that¡¯s costing all of our people more lives than ever before.¡±


    He managed another tepid laugh, catching his breath before forging ahead. ¡°Zidaii fought those Archfiends for centuries and held the tribes together, but you couldn¡¯t even last thirty years. Tell me Warlord, how is Nedivah? Does she know you¡¯re here chasing after a sweet, innocent, young puss¡ª¡°


    Salas¡¯ jibe eroded into a blood-curdling scream as Apoch shoved his hand against the open wounds. He slammed his skull back against the chinked logs, braying a victorious laugh that sprayed bloodied flecks of saliva. Apoch leaned closer, eyes smoldering with fury as he slid a finger in through the sliced wall of abdominal muscle and into the torn intestine leaking poison into his guts.


    ¡°I¡¯m running out of patience,¡± he ground out, and Salas gave him a red-slicked smile.


    ¡°No, you fucking bastard,¡± Salas gasped, words slurring as he began to lose consciousness. ¡°You¡¯re running out of time.¡±


    Removing his digit from the wound he cleaned it on Salas¡¯s expensive silk frock, fuming internally that he had escaped inquisition by blacking out. He retreated from the cabin, needing fresh air that didn¡¯t smell of impending death. Salas was right; he wasn¡¯t far off from breathing his last, and as the sepsis progressed he would lose more and more lucidity. Apoch had counted on the fever to help break down his defenses, but the male had been maddeningly stubborn.


    Dek and the rest of his people would celebrate when he brought Salas¡¯ skull back. Would call him a hero and claim a great victory and would¡¯ve been none the wiser that the truth was Salas was just a pawn to someone else, and Apoch was no closer to figuring out who that was.


    Want to talk of betrayal? He snarled internally, searching the darkness for the ghost that he couldn¡¯t let go of. Why didn¡¯t you tell me the anything, Zidaii?

 15| Betrayals

    Saraf could already feel the tension headache forming behind her eyes, fists clenching beneath the table they had taken over when Isenius and his advisors had left them to ¡®deliberate over the fate of their people¡¯. The ungracious prick¡ª nothing they did for him or their kingdom was ever enough, and now he had dropped this responsibility solely upon them in the final hour.


    This didn¡¯t feel like a cry for help though, it felt like a trap, and the last members of their once-thriving covens were blindly rushing towards it for their own individual reasons.


    ¡°Might I remind you all the last time we summoned the aid of demons, they destroyed the world,¡± she interjected into the current debate that had turned towards supporting Naon¡¯s insane plan.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a portal,¡± Naon replied appeasingly, spreading his hands. ¡°It¡¯s a single demon.¡±


    ¡°And what guarantee do we have this single, powerful demon can be controlled,¡± Saraf retorted, trying to contain her frustration.


    ¡°With your help, I can bind him to me. He will be tethered to my mortal body, but his power would be mine to command.¡±


    Shocked silence met his statement, dread pooling at the base of Saraf¡¯s chest. ¡°You would allow the Abyssal Prince to take possession of your body?¡±


    Their history was tatters in the wind, but they had gathered enough of those slips of knowledge to piece together that Orias had been the very first to step through that portal the Warlocks had opened centuries before. He had organized the legions as they spilled out onto their virgin lands like a river of nightmare, and had been the guardian who had stopped them from closing it initially.


    How their ancestors had defeated and bound the demigod they had named the Abyssal Prince to his own bone, shaping it into a blade had never been discovered, but the weapon had always been so feared it had remained untouched.


    Until now.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Naon replied immediately, without hesitation to her question. ¡°Just as the dagger is a fraction of his body, only a small remaining part of his soul is imprisoned inside of it.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± she responded, ignoring the nods of agreement that were being offered around the table. ¡°That dagger may just be a fraction of what Orias once was, but it¡¯s the fraction so powerful that it couldn¡¯t even be destroyed!¡±


    ¡°Saraf,¡± Xalu interjected, and she turned towards the mahogany-skinned Warlock. He leaned forward entreatingly, ebony dreads now bone-white at their roots snaking over his shoulders. ¡°We are going to die here if we continue to do what the General demands. At least with Naon¡¯s plan, we will go down in history for what happens this day.¡±


    She looked around at her brethren, and knew the tide was against her.


    ¡°At least offer him a halfling¡¯s corpse to take possession of,¡± she pleaded desperately. ¡°That would guarantee us some measure of control over it rather than risk yourself.¡±


    Naon¡¯s patience frayed, his expression darkening.


    ¡°We are out of time,¡± he pointed out, motioning towards the wall of canvas that did nothing to quiet the sounds of battle raging around them. ¡°While we squabble here, the remainder of our army is being slaughtered.¡±


    ¡°Then we can leave, shadow-step home¡ª¡°


    ¡°And be branded as traitors,¡± Orick finished for her, turning to regard her hurt expression calmly.


    ¡°They will hunt us down, every last one of our kind for that betrayal. Besides, none of us are strong enough to draw the sort of power shadow-stepping would require any longer without risking the burning.¡±


    ¡°I can turn them,¡± Naon offered in the silence Saraf was taking to gather her emotions back under control. ¡°With Orias¡¯s power, I can turn that entire army back into ours.¡±


    The Cambion¡¯s had been their slaves previously, and thus the Kingdom¡¯s enslaved military by proxy. Warlocks had held their leashes via soul-magic, dispatching them to fight against the very demons that had sired their race. They had been so brutally effective it had afforded the humans time to begin to rebuild, to recover. Over the centuries following that First War between the Mages and Warlocks, their slaves had continued to hone their martial abilities, massacring the legions and driving those that survived further and further back from the now-established Human realm.


    Those tethers had frayed with distance and time and treachery of man. With the threat of attacks no longer looming, the Warlocks had found themselves embroiled in a different kind of battle, more nefarious and even more fatal; political war.


    He read the defeat in her expression, turning back to the group as he took the lead.


    ¡°Come, we don¡¯t have much time,¡± Naon urged, heading out the tent purposefully. Saraf hesitated, watching as they filed eagerly behind him, like sheep behind their shepherd.


    We truly have become the sheep, she thought to herself hopelessly, letting Orick take her hand and guide her out into the gloriously sunny day. The scent of blood and death was heavy in the cool breeze, the sounds of battle so close she thought at every turn they would come upon men fighting for their lives. Yet Naon lead them through the encampment safely, and onto a trail that rose towards a ridge.


    Struggling physically up the ascent they were all out of breath by the time they reached the top of the gentle hill, another reminder of how much they had lost over the last few months.


    Naon let them rest for a moment as he pulled out Orias¡¯s dagger from its sheath at his hip. He drew the dulled edge across his wrist, yet it paired his flesh easily. Lifting the blade into the air he released it, but instead of clattering to the ground it floated in the air, positioning itself between his spread arms. Instinctively they spread, forming a loose circle around the hovering weapon.


    ¡°Brothers, Sisters, give me your power.¡±


    Saraf choked back a sob as Orick was the first of them to respond, using his own dagger to cut into his arm. Blood welled and rose, twisting into threads that wended their way towards Naon and fed into his wound. Around her the other Warlocks followed suit, until she was the last.


    Orick handed her his knife, and she met his gaze. There was so much regret there, so much hope and love.


    She hadn¡¯t even known it had been happening, but at some point in time during this campaign Orick had fallen in love with her. And she with him, she realized. Her breath caught in surprise, and he nodded in affirmation.


    When this is over, his eyes seemed to say, softening. When there is once again time.


    Without looking away from him, she sliced into her wrist. The connection to Naon was immediate, but it wasn¡¯t until the line of blood reached him did she feel her power become his to command, his to control.


    Her heart thudded, skipped, and then began to hammer furiously in her chest. There wasn¡¯t enough air, her lungs no longer strong enough to provide. She swayed, and Orick stumbled closer to grasp her so they could brace against one another.


    ¡°Naon-n, s-stop,¡± Ifrin, the youngest of them managed as she collapsed to her knees. Her death knell was nothing more than an exhaled squeak, skin turning to parchment and eyes shriveling into hollowed sockets as her corpse fell onto its side, continuing to curl in on itself.


    ¡°Proud Saraf,¡± Naon taunted, and she wrenched her horrified gaze away from the corpse that was now a smoking heap. ¡°Arrogant Saraf, always thinking you were so much better than me.¡±


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Xalu was the next to fall, reaching a clawed hand towards Naon as if begging for mercy, but the man didn¡¯t look away from her to witness the death.


    ¡°Do you know how long I''ve been waiting for this? Gathering strength, for this?¡±


    She gasped, understanding his meaning. They were not the first ones he had bled the power out of. How many Warlocks he had murdered, she could only imagine.


    ¡°I will be the most powerful warlock in existence, and you will be nothing. You will be forgotten.¡±


    Behind him Isenius and Zidaii crested the hill together, not bothering to hide their approach as their weapons and armor clanked noisily. Saraf stared in disbelief, the two males coming to stop behind Naon as one by one the warlocks fell, their life sucked from their bodies. In the distraction Orick gripped her arm over the wound her life was draining out of to restrict the flow.


    ¡°Almost done,¡± Naon crooned to his silent audience, now fully restored and hale. As if this had all been planned.


    Zidaii glanced to Isenius who took the cue, the Commander unsheathing his sword as he approached Naon and buried it without hesitation into his back.


    The Warlock arched, mouth gaping in a silent scream.


    ¡°Yes, you are,¡± Isenius responded victoriously. Naon twisted violently, surprising even the older man as he splayed his palm over his face.


    The connection wavered, and Orick turned to her desperately. Free from Naon¡¯s control his blood switched direction and began pumping into her open vein he held beneath his palm.


    ¡°I curse you,¡± Naon seethed in Daemonic, the two-toned sound of his voice grating like an iron file across her brittle bones. He lifted Orias¡¯s dagger and dug through Isenius¡¯s armor like it was made of clay to sink into his chest, the man held immobile by the dying warlocks will.


    ¡°I curse your bloodline.¡±


    Panic laced through her again as the flow switched, Naon¡¯s damning words twisting the summoning, driving the power he had stolen not into the blade, but into Isenius.


    The blue sky dimmed as if clouds had covered the sun, yet there was not a cloud in the sky. Instead the sun seemed less bright, less powerful as Nuada¡¯s Moon suddenly burned red, casting its empowered glow upon the world and bathing everything in blood.


    Nuada¡ª oh Goddess, what is happening?!


    Zidaii moved, but Saraf¡¯s attention shifted as foreign magic set the hairs on her arms erect, an ancient feel to it as it wrapped around her and flexed. Shock rolled through her as she realized it was coming from Orick.


    She might have screamed, but the power that whipped her flesh mercilessly drowned out any sound she made. Involuntarily she was pulled into whatever this spell he was sacrificing himself to make.


    The last thing she saw before the crease in space shut was Orick sliding to the ground, his corpse igniting without flame and turning to ash on the wind.


    Jalen jerked away from the book and into the back of his chair, gasping for breath as he fought a wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him down like it had Saraf at the end of that memory.


    Gone, they were all gone. In a matter of seconds, they had been betrayed, and betrayed once more.


    He pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes to try to ease their burning, shocked at the depth of his empathy as he took another slow breath to try to calm. This wasn¡¯t some story¡ª this had been someone¡¯s life. Though they had been slaughtered nearly five hundreds year prior, to him it felt like it had been just minutes ago. Saraf was now on her own, alone.


    Or was she?


    Jalen¡¯s attention shifted to the death record sitting before him. It had been weeks since his first meeting with Edever, and it had taken every second of that time to get his head to stop reeling from what the Constable had told him.


    Some of it was still unbelievable. Fantastical even.


    ¡°There is an unknown society dedicated to culling any newborns whose eyes are the tell-tale cobalt.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me every midwife in every town has been and will continue to murder babies?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edever replied somberly. ¡°Warlock infants are not prevalent, but stillborns or complications while giving birth are quite common. It¡¯s easy to masquerade their death and the parents would be none the wiser.¡±


    Prove it, Jalen had demanded, and Edever proceeded to tell him of the death records that would¡¯ve been coming in to his father¡¯s office. For the Physicka yes, but only because they were wholly owned by a nefarious organization, if they weren¡¯t the actual organization to begin with.


    As he had flipped through the pages, the alarm over Edevers words lost its edge. There was no annotation, nothing to show one specific death was a Warlocks over what, as Edever had pointed out, could¡¯ve been a complication at delivery.


    It had all the markings to be one delusional man¡¯s conspiracy theory gone out of control and yet¡­


    His attention shifted to Saraf¡¯s journal, disguised as a dead man¡¯s documentary. Edever had said King Janius had used Naon¡¯s folly as a means to kill all remaining Warlocks in the realm, and it wasn¡¯t until later that the narrative had changed to what they were taught present day.


    The whole foundation of that being the written history in Saraf¡¯s cleverly masked tome seemed hypocritical.


    Did that mean Saraf survived past The Day of Darkness? Did Athrioclites even exist, or did Saraf create a persona to hide behind? Would all the copies of this book react the same way this one does to blood?


    His breath caught, letting his train of thought trip and zigzag across so many questions that when the door to the office swung open he nearly fell out of his chair in surprise.


    ¡°Whoah,¡± Darl remarked, pausing as he watched Jalen flail around in an attempt to get flying limbs and papers under control. ¡°Been hitting the tea a little too hard lately, son?¡±


    ¡°No, just caught me off guard. Was engrossed in my reading,¡± Jalen managed, holding up Athrioclites tome for his father to see. At the sight of the book Darl¡¯s smile became forced.


    ¡°Warlock history books? When did that become a subject in Accounting and Records?¡±


    ¡°Elective class,¡± Jalen offered with a bland grin, his stomach flipping when Darl stilled, no longer attempting to hold on to the good-humored facade.


    ¡°Which class is it?¡±


    His mind emptied of everything but panic, opening his mouth to offer something, anything, but all that came out was a stammer before looking away in embarrassment. Finally he gave a strained laugh, tossing his arms in a shrug.


    ¡°Ok you caught me. It¡¯s not for a class, I just have become really fascinated with that part of history. Not much is known about the Warlocks, you know? Nothing really survived that era.¡±


    Darl nodded, his shoulders relaxing at the explanation as he turned to hang up his satchel by Jalen¡¯s.


    ¡°Supposedly,¡± Jalen finished, wondering if his father could hear his heart pounding from across the room. Darl flinched at that word before continuing his task, staying turned away for a couple seconds before revolving back to assess his son.


    Jalen was sure he was wilting beneath that stare, but he held firm, hoping his expression told a different story than the sweat-slicked palms flattened atop the desk were.


    I know you know what I mean by that. And now you know I know, too.


    What he knew, he honestly had no clue on, but his father capitulated. Shutting the blinds and locking the door calmly he came to the desk, sitting in one of the client chairs and folding his hands in his lap. It was a pose Jalen knew all too well; he was now in Business Mode.


    He tapped on the death record before pushing it forwards. Darl¡¯s eyes tracked the movement, remaining silent. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    Relief flickered through his father¡¯s eyes, and Jalen knew immediately he had asked the wrong question.


    ¡°I wanted to give you the choice, to make your own decision about your life before you decided to follow in my footsteps and take on the mantle of this business.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m ready,¡± Jalen quipped, having no clue what that really meant. Darl smiled, as if he too, knew his son was unsure of what he was even asking about. His amusement vanished, sobering as he regarded Jalen in complete seriousness.


    ¡°If you go down this path, there is no backing out. You may think you have it all figured out, but there is more to this than what you think you know. Dark truths, even darker intents to preserve the greater good. Are you sure you¡¯re ready, that you don¡¯t want to finish school first?¡±


    Jalen didn¡¯t rush to answer. There is more to this than what you think you know. How true his father¡¯s words were, on so many levels.


    His decision to help Iscah had already altered the course of his life, and he knew even without this offer on the table between them, there was no going back. Childhood had been swept away by the memories of a long-dead warlock, and Iscah¡¯s dreams he still didn¡¯t have an answer for had snagged him in completely.


    Ever since she had brought them to his attention, he had become ever increasingly aware of this own experience every night. Awareness had not amounted to action though, at least in his subconscious. Still he floated in that darkness, lethargic and at peace with it.


    He wasn¡¯t as resigned to his fate when awake.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready, Dad.¡±


    Darl nodded, somberly. As if he was mourning the loss of his child¡¯s innocence rather than celebrating the next step of his life. Jalen felt the hairs on his arm rise in warning.


    ¡°Tomorrow I¡¯ll reach out to our associates, let them know you¡¯ll be joining us.¡± He stood up, attention lingering on the tome.


    ¡°These last few centuries of peace have come at a price. I hope you can understand that, when the time comes.¡±

 16| Reunion

    Iscah pressed the burnt end of a twig against the map, marking a small dot on what she hoped was a good proximation of their current location.


    It had been two days of traveling along the ravine floor, following a well-worn path that paralleled an unknown creek. Every night they stopped had always been the same; a doorway hidden in the rocks or brush that opened to cells and a larder stocked with shelf-stable provisions. The slaves were locked up, and then as the cambion had told her when they first met, fed well and given thick blankets to keep themselves warm.


    The group consisted of six captured humans and the two Cambion escorts, the tall one who Iscah had learned went by Ram, and the short, squat male Iscah had dubbed Toad. Toad had laughed when Ram told him the nickname, and had slapped his belly in approval.


    It was hard not to like them, especially when neither seemed particularly violent or cruel. Ram was gentle but stern with their charges, and Toad was more interested in cooking surprisingly flavorful meals and his crossbow.


    The weapon was new toy, Ram had explained to her the previous evening as the chubby male used lard to wipe down the wooden stock and condition the gut string lovingly. Despite it being a weapon he had never handled before, he seemed to be very adept at using it if their dinner of fresh pheasant was any indication.


    Iscah sighed, admiring the way the water glinted like a thousand diamonds as it tumbled over a rocky bedding. No matter how she felt towards the two harvesters, inevitably the plan was to save the six humans they had kidnapped.


    Somehow.


    Which was why she was here, under the pretense of a bathroom break to secretly mark the map Agatha had given her. Folding it neatly she lifted her skirt to secure it between the dress and her stomach.


    The crunch of river stones behind her made her whirl, fear flooding her system as a creature out of nightmare stepped out into the small bank.


    ¡°Ram,¡± she tried, but her lungs had seized in terror. It lifted a reptilian muzzle, sniffing the air with a toss of its head before turning an eye the color of molten gold upon her.


    The claws tipping its three-fingered arms curled up out of sight, offering a crackling purr that revealed rows of serrated teeth behind scaly lips. The demon took another step forward on hind legs, exposing an elongated tail that had been hidden in the brush, and the entirety of its size. Nearly twice as large as a horse, there was no mistaking it for anything other than an apex predator.


    In her fright all she could do was stare dumbly, frozen by the beautifully deadly anatomy as it approached. As it closed in on her she took in more details, from the crest of iridescent grey-brown feathers that ran down its bird-like neck like a mane to the long, elf-like ears swiveled back innocuously.


    Instead of attacking it sniffed her delicately before weaving its head side-to-side, studying her face. Carefully those formless lips chmped at the tie of her bonnet beneath her chin, catching the bow and unraveling it gently before tugging the covering over her hair free.


    With the material hanging out of its maw it backed up slowly, giving her space. It made a cheep noise to her as if saying goodbye, the sweet sound so paradoxical to its lethal build her mouth fell open. Without another glance at her it vanished back into the forest, only this time its steps were completely silent on the loose gravel.


    Iscah stared at the now empty bank, blinking rapidly.


    What just happened?


    She took a moment to gather her wits before rushing back to the perceived safety of the group, offering a weak smile to Toad when she caught him staring at her hair that now hung freely down her back.


    For some reason she felt that telling her two companions what had happened would do more harm than good, and so the day swept by quickly as she mulled over the strange encounter.


    ¡°Aan,¡± Ram declared, patting the trunk of a tree as they passed it.


    ¡°Aan,¡± Iscah parroted back, brow furrowing slightly as she tried to memorize their word for Elm. It had become a past-time for the three of them as they walked, naming various objects and seeing just how sharp her memory was.


    ¡°Te ze?¡± Toad asked, pointing to an Oak. And this?


    ¡°Mmm,¡± Iscah hummed, thinking it over before her scrunched brows released in a brilliant smile. ¡°Atch¡¯ta.¡±


    But the two were no longer paying attention to her, both frozen as if they had heard something she had not. And then she heard what they had earlier; the baying of hounds. The sound echoed, chorused and joined by more as they picked up their scent.


    ¡°What?¡± Ram managed, his voice pitched higher in alarm as one of the boys whooped in elation, the other five picking up his hope and rattling their chains, screaming over here! Over here! as loudly as they could.


    ¡°You need to run,¡± Iscah managed, looking at the two cambions who seemed at a complete loss as to what was happening. ¡°I¡¯ll distract them, go.¡±


    Bloodhounds erupted from the brush, circling through the group with furiously wagging tails as familiar huntsmen followed on their heels.


    Iscah gasped as Benny, her father¡¯s Master Huntsman took in the scene of kidnapped humans and the two Cambions by Iscah¡¯s side.


    ¡°Ah shit girl,¡± he exhaled tiredly, the usually affable expression on his craggy face no where in sight as he pulled off his hat and slapped debris off of it in frustration.


    Ram and Toad shifted uneasily, neither eager to begin what most certainly would be a bloodbath as the other hunters circled their group, leaving nowhere to run.


    I had been the target, she realized with dread as the frenetic dogs nosed and licked at her hands, their tails beating her skirt.


    ¡°Jeh s¡¯aff,¡± Benny greeted the two Cambions in their own language before switching back. ¡°She¡¯s coming with us,¡± he motioned to Iscah who blinked in surprise. ¡°Let¡¯s go, girl.¡±


    Obediently she took one step towards him and paused, glancing back to her two hosts. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to kill them, are you?¡±


    Benny didn¡¯t look at the Cambions, instead he looked at the slaves. A stone sunk in her gut, nausea roiling as he was no longer able to meet her gaze. Her attention drifted to Toad¡¯s resigned expression. Resigned, not fearful.


    As if they knew their haul was about to be culled.


    ¡°No,¡± Iscah whispered, but it was lost in the twang of bowstrings at Benny¡¯s curt nod.


    She stared at the lifeless bodies, arrows jutting from skulls, the ground, and in the trees just beyond them, having passed through their organs.


    Why, she wondered. What purpose had killing them served? There had been no screams, the hunters aims had been true. They had died without making a sound. Not a gasp, not a cry out against the injustice, not even a plea for their lives. Six humans who had thought to be freed by their people were murdered by them in a matter of seconds.


    ¡°They died because of you,¡± Benny spat in answer to the question she had unknowingly said aloud.


    Blinking too rapidly she took unbalanced steps to face him again. Wondering if she, too, was about to be murdered. She could see it in his gaze. The thought, the idea that this predicament he found himself in could all simply go away if she were cut down. Because now? Now she knew too much.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a choice,¡± he said instead, the threat passing as his shoulders sagged from something other than old age. ¡°None of us do.¡±


    There was a moment where his anger morphed into fatigue from the heavy guilt he carried, a moment where she wondered if he regretted what he had done, present and past. But all of that was swept away as a blur of browns and tans and talons flew out of the undergrowth and tackled him off of his saddle.


    And then the screams did begin.


    Violence erupted without warning.


    The predator she had met at the creek¡¯s edge was not alone; Apoch had ambushed the group from a different position downwind while their focus was narrowed upon the monster.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Before the hunters could rally a defense or even respond Ram and Toad joined the attack, and it became a wholesale slaughter.


    A remaining survivor managed to flee, barely in control of his mount but Toad leapt, taking a few precious seconds to line up a shot that sent his horse crashing into the earth. The body of its rider ricocheted off a trunk, leaving a splatter of scalp and brain across the bark before it fell in a pile of twitching limbs.


    Iscah had backed away, watching in abject disbelief.


    My fault, all my fault. This is all my fault again!


    She sank to her knees, the mantra playing over and over in her mind, not even aware the sounds of battle had subsided and all that was left was the whimpers and pained squeals of dying animals.


    Apoch glanced across the massacre callously, assessing any lingering threats but the two harvesters were already moving to finish off those still suffering. Eliminating the blood off of his blades with sharp flicks of his wrists he sheathed them as he approached the girl.


    ¡°Iscah.¡± He cupped her face in his hands, crouching down to block her view of the carnage. ¡°Look at me. Breathe.¡±


    But he was too late. Her eyelids fluttered closed, limbs going slack despite his commands from the trauma of witnessing more death.


    Clicking his tongue in irritation he swept her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing before heading towards where Bu¡¯u was licking the meat and clumps of fur off his talons.


    ¡°Wait! You can¡¯t take her,¡± the tall, skinny harvester protested.


    Apoch didn¡¯t break his stride, but did at least offered a response. ¡°She¡¯s coming with me.¡±


    ¡°B-but she said, she said she had a message for Dek.¡±


    He jerked to a halt, processing what he had said before slowly turning towards him. ¡°You know her language?¡±


    The male swallowed almost audibly, furry ears flicking back and forth in trepidation. ¡°More or less?¡±


    Voices speaking. One of them close, the familiar resonance of the low timbre vibrating through her bones, inciting memories from childhood. Of floating upon a pond while the summer sun seared her skin and painted the world behind her eyelids vermillion, the waters transferring every sound and motion, making her feel one with them. This was that same feeling of peace, that same connection.


    The warm embrace securing her to a chest where a heartbeat pulsed a slow cadence against her temple tightened minutely, attempting to rouse her.


    ¡°Iscah.¡±


    That voice once more, close and intimate. His breath tickled her cheek, urging her to awaken. She groaned in protest, pressing further against the wall of muscle and draping her hand around the unyielding curve of a waist. A sharp inhale in response, the reaction rousing her interest and lifting the numbing fog of unconsciousness. Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking up at the crimson irises peering down at her.


    Eyes the color of blood.


    Blood dripping down the plants. Running like sluggish water where it did not soak into the earth immediately. Blood spraying as a furry body was flung like a toy, its entrails whipping through the air around it.


    She took a short, spastic breath, then another, eyes widening in alarm.


    Screams of the dying, of fatal agony.


    ¡°Iscah.¡± Demanding now, he tried to catch her attention and disrupt the gasps that had become erratic and terrified.


    Benny, his body nearly torn in half and lower extremities twisted unnaturally, sightless eyes staring at her.


    Apoch grimaced, dropping the reins to curve his hand around her throat, framing her jaw between his thumb and index finger before slanting his lips across hers.


    Everything froze as he took advantage of her surprise, his tongue invading her mouth, claiming control. The shock of his kiss had her inhaling through her nose, breathing in the acrid tang of smoke clinging to his hair, the buttery leather of his armor, and beneath it all the scent of him.


    The fingers wrapped around her neck tightened minutely, sending a fission that reverberated through her extremities before pooling low in her stomach. Another unhurried pass of his tongue, the motion staggering as it tore through all thoughts and drowned the panic, leaving an aching want behind for more.


    As if he knew her desire he began to withdraw, lips brushing across hers in finality as he released his hold on her.


    She lingered, unraveling and memorizing the experience of her first kiss. Savoring the taste of sweet fennel that had been on his tongue, the thrill of his touch against her skin. Some small part of her knew propriety said offense should be taken for his liberties, but that moral compass had been decimated by lips whose brand still tingled on her own. It had not been the chaste, nervous peck she had always expected her first experience to be. Instead it had been dominant, full of masculine confidence and promises her mind could not comprehend yet her body instinctively knew.


    Languidly she opened her eyes once more to face the detached, clinical expression in his gaze.


    The molten euphoria flowing in her veins coagulated, tarnishing the moment and leaving her disconcerted. She ducked her head to evade his scorn, face burning in flustered humiliation.


    Muscles in the legs she was draped over flexed, and the smooth motion of the beast they had been riding on came to a halt. Iscah lifted her head from where it had rested on the swell of his shoulder as he called out a rough order to their traveling companions.


    ¡°Mister!¡± A familiar voice chimed from nearby, Ram¡¯s tone one of tight relief.


    Apoch wedged a hand beneath her knees, their abrupt shift in balance causing her to loop an arm around his neck. He twisted and dismounted from the monster that had attacked the hunters without setting her down.


    ¡°Am ok?¡± Ram queried, wringing his hands nervously as he looked between the two of them.


    She didn¡¯t even know how to answer that honestly, but Apoch saved her from having to. Finding a downed log he set her on it, his motions gentle despite the darkness hardening his features.


    He sat on the ground before her, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees. Without glancing to Ram he began speaking, the other two joining them though they kept a healthy distance.


    ¡°Is this your doing?¡±


    Ram startled at the accusatory question, earth-toned eyes widening as he stammered a translation to Iscah when Apoch¡¯s ire shifted to him momentarily.


    Iscah shook her head, arms hugging around her middle self-consciously before responding.


    ¡°No,¡± Ram replied for her, his answer delayed and choppy as he tried to unravel what she was saying. ¡°It began two¡ª no six, six months ago. No answers in¡­in room of books, though she looked very hard and very long.¡±


    Iscah took in a slow breath, gaze lifting from the ground to address Apoch, her spine straightening slightly.


    ¡°She says, every night she sees. . .¡± Ram¡¯s forehead was creased as she continued, obviously not able to follow along with the topic, having assumed they had been speaking of the hunting party. Understanding dawned on him and he stood abruptly, backing away in terror.


    ¡°Warlord,¡± he pleaded, the stench of his fear sour in Apoch¡¯s nose. ¡°Warlord please, we don¡¯t know anything. We found her in a supply room and¡ª please don¡¯t kill us.¡±


    ¡°What did she say,¡± Apoch demanded quietly, enunciating his words so that flashes of those elongated canines were visible.


    ¡°Th-that every night she sees you in a dream. That you are calling to her, and she to you.¡± Ram licked his lips worriedly, hesitating to add the remaining but blurting it out regardless. ¡°That you are seeking, wanting.¡±


    Wanting.


    That word burned like acid in his thoughts. It scalded in its truth, and he raged against it because at its core it was not his own choice, but fed to him continuously in those cursed dreams. None of what he felt for this girl was real, and she was too naive to come to the same conclusion.


    Even with her sitting elevated on the log, they were nearly eye-level. She was untested, her innocence an offensive aura that disgusted him. Everything about her was unattractive, and yet the feel of her still lingered on his lips. Enticing, damning every poisoned thought.


    He had no idea what he was thinking when he kissed her. She was panicking, her anxiety spiraling out of control and he had not wanted her to black out again. While she had woken up quickly this time, he couldn¡¯t be sure if she had gone under again she would¡¯ve recovered just as fast. But for that to have been his first reaction had rattled him, his self-disgust turned outwards upon her.


    You stupid girl, he wanted to snarl at her. You should be running away in fear, not looking at me like I¡¯m the answer.


    If he was being honest though, he didn¡¯t know the answer either. Neither of them did it seemed. His motivation to kill her had withered at that first touch. The irony of that when his past was all but drowning in blood was not lost to him. Understanding why was not a simple thing he could nail down, and so for now his focus shifted on what they were to do next. If neither of them knew what was going on, then all that was left was one raving lunatic that might.


    You¡¯re searching for a treasure, but refuse to believe in its value.


    The plan reeked of desperation, and was enough to make him want to end his own misery at the edge of a blade.


    ¡°Warlord,¡± Ram tried again, desperate to save his life. ¡°Please¡­¡±


    The muscles in his jaw feathered, releasing the tension that had his teeth clenched. ¡°I don¡¯t need to kill you. The minute you tell anyone about the girl, someone else will do it for me.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°They were looking for her,¡± Apoch stated, tipping his head towards Iscah and both nodded in agreement. ¡°They killed the slaves simply because they saw her. Their leader didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in either of you, which means one of two things.¡±


    ¡°That he didn¡¯t want to start a turf war by killing us,¡± Toad mused. ¡°Or he knows someone else will do it for him the moment we mention her.¡±


    Apoch jerked his chin in affirmation. ¡°I¡¯ll take her, and suggest you both forget she ever existed.¡±


    Toad nodded once more before clearing his throat, spitting a wad of phlegm in Iscah¡¯s direction. Apoch was surprised by the sudden impulse to cave in the chubby male¡¯s face with his bare fists for the slight.


    ¡°We got had, and frankly I¡¯m not much for being had again. Rest and share our food tonight, and tomorrow we¡¯ll part ways with our thanks and silence.¡±

 17| Allies

    The group had continued on to the next shelter, arriving earlier than they normally would have without any slaves in tow. Those corpses had been dragged away from the trail, the hunters picked over for any valuable items by the three cambion¡¯s before joining their victims in a shallow grave.


    It had always been mostly quiet when she had traveled with the two, but now the silence was a different sort. One that weighed on her as they sat around the fire, waiting for Toad to declare the pot of salted pork stewing in lentils finished as Ram baked hand-pressed bread on a metal tray.


    ¡°Ram,¡± Iscah tried, winding her fingers together tightly. She had been trying to figure out what to say to them all day as she processed her own thoughts. In the end, the best answer seemed honesty. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that they died, for what it¡¯s worth.¡±


    His attention drifted away from her and back to the bread, flipping the piece over before it could burn. Iscah could see the firelight glimmering in unshed tears.


    ¡°Was hard, to watching them die,¡± he replied, voice rough with emotion. ¡°Is big loss.¡±


    ¡°Why do you do it, why kidnap us? I understand you can¡¯t have children, but don¡¯t your kind live for centuries anyway?¡±


    He shook his head, lips pursing. ¡°We can long live, yes, but many not; we all dying.¡±


    ¡°From what, disease? Famine? War?¡±


    Ram opened his mouth to respond, but Toad jabbed him in the ribs with his wooden spoon and spat a reprimand, as if they were no longer allowed to talk. Ram retorted with an explanation that escalated into a frenzied quarrel which abruptly ended as Apoch stepped out of the darkness. As if his very presence demanded obedience both of them seemed to wilt, looking anywhere but his direction. He glanced between the two before eyes the same colors as the embers slid across to her.


    ¡°What did she say,¡± he asked softly, tone that of an alpha used to being followed. Ram shifted uneasily, still staring sullenly at the ground.


    ¡°She was sorry, for the breeders death. She wanted to know why we need them.¡±


    The little chit had enough of a spine to continue meeting his gaze, though he could read the tension in her shoulders, in the tightness of her lips.


    Silence reigned again as Apoch dropped his saddle bags and sat down across from her and Ram, the pop of the occasional log interrupting the simmering of the stew.


    ¡°Furr-rr.¡±


    The group shifted their attention to her.


    ¡°Fai-urr,¡± she tried again, pointing to the flames and trying to ignore her embarrassment.


    ¡°Fire,¡± Ram corrected with an approving nod, dusting his hands off as he set the last piece of browned unleavened bread aside. Toad grumbled in disapproval, but didn¡¯t badger him as they resumed language lessons. Apoch studied the two silently, and when Ram caught him watching his genial smile faltered.


    ¡°She picked up the word ¡®fire¡¯ on her own,¡± he explained with a little shrug.


    ¡°Is she quick?¡± Apoch asked curiously. All he knew of her was from the small bits and pieces he had seen of her life. The university room had shown a vastly different individual than the one the country manor had. A motley of cumbersome dresses had all hung unused in the oversized closet, while simpler garments were tossed haphazardly over any furniture backings available. Books had been piled around a well-used couch in front of a hearth topped with empty tea mugs. Even her toiletries in the bathroom consisted of bare necessities and very few luxurious goods.


    It told of a girl hungry for knowledge and caring little for social propriety. A girl whose life was vastly different than the one her parents had created for her at the estate.


    ¡°Incredibly so. I wish I had more time to teach her,¡± he admitted, and Toad snarled in response as he pulled the pot off the fire.


    ¡°Yes, please tell us how you wish you had more time with this girl who cost us our haul and has put our lives in mortal danger,¡± he groused, ladling out the thick stew. ¡°I swear, your tender soul would see us in the bellies of scavengers and our bones cleaned by maggots.¡±


    He handed the first bowl to Apoch, who passed it to Iscah. Toad hesitated, filling another bowl for the Warlord before ladling himself and his partner noticeably smaller portions from the remainder. Iscah waited until they all had their servings, confused about how they were expecting to eat without utensils. She watched as the three males tore their flatbread apart to use as scoops, and mimicked the method.


    The first taste was even better than it had smelled. An unusual blend of warm spices and peppers was mellowed by the bread, and she moaned in delight at the strange mix of flavors. Toad¡¯s scowl softened at her sound of appreciation and Apoch froze mid-bite, his focus shifting entirely to watch as she took another dainty mouthful to savor just as noisily.


    ¡°It is good,¡± Apoch muttered after clearing his throat. Toad grunted as if the praise didn¡¯t mean as much to him as it truly did.


    ¡°I served under Eiken,¡± he offered by way of explanation, and Apoch looked up in interest.


    ¡°The chef Eiken?¡±


    ¡°The one and only asshole. Threatened to cut off my parts more times than I care to remember for not seasoning something or another perfectly. Still though, managed to learn a thing or two.¡±


    ¡°His honey cakes started more fights than the whores did,¡± Apoch replied wistfully, using his finger to wipe the inside of his bowl clean. Iscah offered her half-finished meal to him, fanning her mouth that was burning from the dried chilis. He took it and proceeded to sip the remainder down since she had used all her bread to try to tame the heat.


    ¡°I learned how to make them,¡± Toad boasted, grin turning sly at Apoch¡¯s look of incredulity.


    Half of the warriors swore the only reason they would fight to survive was for another taste of the flaky pastries soaked in honey, and it was well-known the chef zealously guarded his recipe and method for making it.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t say he taught me, at least voluntarily. I could make them for you, if you were inclined to continue traveling with us for a few more days.¡± His attention slid to Iscah who was leaning back on locked arms, enjoying the satisfaction of a full belly. ¡°It¡¯s always nice to cook for those that appreciate it.¡±


    Apoch assessed the way Toad and Ram seemed to lean towards one another as both looked upon Iscah with affection. Despite what had happened, she had still managed to win them over by simply being herself. A few more days and she might have them tied up around her pinky finger.


    He almost snorted at the notion.


    Stacking the empty bowls he placed them in the iron pot, the offer remained hanging as he stood with the dirty dishes. ¡°I¡¯ll do clean-up and take the first two watches.¡±


    Iscah jumped up to follow him, motioning her intent to help as they headed out into the pitch black of the forest. She slowed, steps becoming unsure and Apoch turned in time to catch her by the arm as she stumbled on a root he had easily avoided. Making sure she was balanced again he realized just how limited the human¡¯s night vision was as she blinked eyes that were too large and staring at nothing.


    Escorting her patiently to the stream they both squatted at the water, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. Apoch glanced up at the small view of the sky they had from the bottom of the ravine just in time to catch the brilliant ending of a falling star.


    Bu¡¯u chirped in greeting as he joined them, and he scented Iscah¡¯s fear as she stood up and backed away. He rose and turned to the denimal, reaching his palm out for Bu¡¯u to press his snout against.


    ¡°Iscah, come here, he will not attack you. Come,¡± he repeated, motioning her over.


    Biting the inside of her lips nervously she took a few cautious steps closer, and Bu¡¯u lowered his head, offering a soft peep to her. She glanced at Apoch for confirmation as she lifted her arm the way he had, and he stepped aside as Bu¡¯u moved closer to sniff her trembling fingers. He licked her palm and she exhaled a startled laugh, shifting her stance to reach his nose and explore the warm, keratinous bumps armoring his muzzle. Bu¡¯u moved closer, slow and non-threatening as he offered his ear towards her to scratch.


    ¡°Bu¡¯u,¡± he explained by way of introduction, patting the denimal¡¯s shoulder fondly. She seemed to understand, rubbing at the base of it which earned her a rattled purr of pleasure from the predator. Bu¡¯u pushed his skull against her hand, demanding more attention and she gave another breathless laugh and complied.


    Apoch returned to scouring the iron pot with sand from the stream as he observed the two, keeping his features neutral despite his surprise. In the decades together, Bu¡¯u had never taken to anyone so quickly, so easily. Even Giss had worked to earn his trust, whereas Bu¡¯u seemed to be eagerly attempting to earn Iscah¡¯s.


    Why? What was it about her that seemed to draw all of them closer?


    The denimal kept her entertained while he finished the dishes, standing to rescue her from a night of endless affection. Iscah followed him back carefully, and he kept his pace slow, intentionally making enough noise for her to follow.


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    As they entered the room again he glanced back to catch her trying to finger-comb the snarls out of her long hair, breaking away from the three as Toad poured them herbal tea to retrieve the silver comb he had stolen from her parents estate. He handed it to her before sitting down to take his warm cup, aware she had stiffened in surprise at the item she now held in her hand. Quickly she turned to Ram, firing off a tense question.


    ¡°Warlord, she wants to know if you took this from her home?¡±


    At his nod her eyes widened as all the implications that meant sunk in. He had come for her. He had gone to her home, been in her bedroom, her bathroom. Had he been there all along, watching the misery she had been going through with Korette and her family?


    ¡°You were already gone,¡± he offered without waiting for her to ask, monitoring her worried expression over the rim of his cup as he let the steam tickle his lips. She lifted those dark eyes to meet his, the dread of her next question already causing tears to glimmer in her lashes.


    ¡°Did you kill her family? Anyone there?¡±


    He shook his head slowly, relief rounding her shoulders and bending her head momentarily before she scrubbed the tears away.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered in their language, and set her comb to the knots with a sniffle, asking no more.


    They stood upon a raging sea of blood. Azure moonlight turned the chaotic, frothing peaks a bruised maroon, the horizon an endless scape of violence. Apoch faced her with a look of such adoration it bordered on zealotry, his hand guiding hers upwards where she gripped a white dagger. He slid the blade into his chest, eyes rolling back in ecstasy even as blood began running over his lips and chin, the trickle turning into a river as he moaned in a voice not his own.


    Iscah woke to adrenaline pumping cold fear through her limbs, disoriented and unable to recall where she was.


    A noise grabbed her attention, helped her center once more; low grunts of pleasure. Craning her neck over the blanket she saw bodies in motion in the low light of embers, Ram¡¯s horns visible over Toad¡¯s arched back.


    Mollified she flipped back over, shoulders scrunching around her ears as the metric slapping of flesh intensified. Struggling free of the blanket, she fled out of the underground room and into the forest, taking in steadying lungfuls of cold, crisp air.


    Movement out of the corner of her eye had her jerking in fright, and she backed away as a shadow loomed, amber eyeshine rising to tower over her before stepping out into the thin starlight.


    Apoch.


    Her lips parted, taking in another breath past a constricted throat. He approached silently, head tilting in a question she had no words to respond with. Pausing, his nostrils flared with an audible inhale before his gaze slid to the entrance of the tunnel, mouth quirking as he realized the source of her apprehension.


    Understanding dawned on her; the male could smell exactly what the situation she had been in such a hurry to escape from was.  Is that how he had been able to track her down? She had so much to learn about him and his kind if that were true.


    ¡°Akhee,¡± he murmured, reaching a palm out towards her expectantly. It was the same word he had used before.


    Come? she wondered, placing her sweaty palm in his. His fingers curled around hers, swallowing her hand and reinforcing just how much larger he truly was than her. Carefully he lead her down a game trail, until they came to a break in the trees, exposing a sky full of stars. He pulled his cloak off and spread it on the tender spring grass, motioning to her to join him as he lay down on his back to stare up at the celestial theatre.


    She sat down on the edge of it, shuffling until she could lay beside him without touching on the material still warm with his body heat. A shiver tickled its way down her spine as the cold air bit her exposed hands and face.


    Apoch pointed up at the brightest star in the sky; the north star.


    ¡°Ish¡¯lan,¡± he named it, waiting as she nodded.


    ¡°Polaris,¡± Iscah responded in a scratchy voice, wrapping her cloak around her tighter. She jerked as a shooting star flashed in the blink of an eye, another following close on its heels. Awed, she watched as tiny flashes winked in and out of existence, so quickly she wondered if she had even seen them at all. A large one streaked across the sky in a trail of emerald, as if confirming their existence, and she laughed, turning to see if Apoch had seen it too.


    But his gaze was not on the heavens, it was on her. The tension that normally narrowed his eyes and lended cruelty to his mouth was gone, replaced by intrigue. They shared a fragile moment, untainted, before he looked back up and began speaking slowly, finger tracing over the constellations. She couldn¡¯t follow what he was saying, but she got the impression he was telling her a story.


    Did the cambions have legends about the stars too? Gods and religion? None of the books really offered anything about their mixed race, save for that they were a people of ruin. Yet as he continued she could almost imagine it:


    A fable of a Goddess whose daughter had been abducted by a God. Taken to a foreign sky and claimed by her kidnapper, yet from the nefarious act love had grown and life had taken root to create the world. So when the mother finally tracked down her daughter, she had found a beloved wife rather than a victim. Returning to her distant heavens she stood on their edge to shine brightly, her light a beacon of eternal love for her child to always be able to see.


    Iscah let her eyes close, the deep, lulling cadence of his voice weaving a suppressive spell over the memories that had turned her dreams to nightmares. Sleep came peacefully, and this time there was no more blood.


    ¡°Well?¡± Toad asked as they finished a breakfast of boiled oats topped with evaporated milk and dried pieces of fruit.


    Apoch paused, picking a wedge of apple stuck in his back molar free before shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯re returning to our lands, not back the way you¡¯re going.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well that¡¯s understandable,¡± he nodded, pursing his fat lips. ¡°A shame you don¡¯t have a map or I could mark the stockrooms along the way for you two to enjoy.¡±


    ¡°She has one,¡± Apoch remarked, secretly bemused when the two males jerked in surprise. Ram looked at her and switched languages, questioning if it was true.


    Iscah¡¯s face blanked too quickly, and she shook her head as she answered.


    ¡°She says she has no map, Warlord,¡± Ram summed up uselessly.


    ¡°Yes, she does. Give me the map,¡± Apoch demanded, holding out his hand expectantly.


    Iscah¡¯s expression turned petulant, snapping another negative reply Apoch needed no translation to understand the context of.


    The silence was almost physically painful as she met his glare stubbornly.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± he purred. Without a word the two cambions fled the storage room, and as Iscah went to follow Apoch rose to block her path. Her head tipped up to meet his eyes, and she took an inadvertent step back as he intentionally crowded her.


    ¡°Give me. The map,¡± he repeated, voice low and threatening retribution if she did not submit.


    But he could already see the fearless obstinacy in the pout of her lips and scrunch of her brows. He lunged forwards, her retreat ending abruptly as her back hit the wall with a startled yelp. Snagging her flailing hands he pinned them above her head in one of his as the other frisked down the side of her body all the way to her ankle.


    Iscah shrieked in defiance, jerking her knee up to catch him in the jaw but he leaned out of the way casually, her knee bouncing off the thick armor of his chest muscle. With ease he flipped her so she was face-first towards the stone, switching his grip on her wrists to check down her other side.


    This time he felt the edge of the paper as his hand slid over her belly, tracing the square outline of the folded document despite her incessant wiggling. He pulled her dress up, exposing the oversized drawers she wore beneath, and with a quick tug to the drawstring tie he jerked them loose so they fell to the ground. Sputtering with outrage the little hellcat reared back and sunk her blunt teeth into the arm holding her wrists.


    His snarl boomed through the larder, drowning out her protests as he shoved his chest against her back and bit her neck in retaliation. The body beneath him froze with a gasp, her attack on his bicep relinquished.


    Immediately he was aware of her, of everything about her. The taste of her skin still caught in his mouth, her scent filling every breath. The bare flesh of her waist under his palm. How little she was beneath him, yet that petiteness was no longer disappointing; it spoke of all the things he could do to her.


    In an instant the violence stuttered, shifting as he relaxed his jaw slightly, her jugular bracketed between his fangs pulsing erratically.


    Hungry for more, his touch slid across her lower belly. The strangled sound she made in response drowned every logical and spiteful reason he had been feeding himself why he didn''t want this. Forced him to acknowledge just how long it had been since last he had found release. All because of her. This tiny thorn embedded between his talons, unable to be removed.


    No, that wasn''t true, he knew how to rip it free. It began with the girl whose head was arched back against his shoulder, lost in the turmoil of unfamiliar pleasure. The temptation caused him to run his tongue across the unbroken indents left by his canines on her neck as his fingers dipped lower, teasing over the top of curls that felt softer than down. She shook her head, unaware he could scent her arousal rich as honey in the air despite her husky denials.


    ¡°Warlord?¡± A meek voice echoed from far off, dousing the haze of lust from his awareness. His exploration stumbled, sobering to a toxic mix of horror and disbelief. Altering course he snagged the map and pulled it free, releasing her and backing away as she collapsed against the wall. The girl clutched at it before sliding down into a trembling pile of limbs, hiding in shame behind the curtains of hair as she kept her head bowed, shaken just as badly as he.


    Fuck me, this is dangerous. So, so dangerous, he thought to himself, the paper crackling noisily in his clenched grip. His heart was thrumming through his veins, cock straining against the leather pinning it to his stomach. If Ram hadn¡¯t interrupted¡ª


    Carding a hand through his disheveled hair he abandoned her, walking out to where Ram and Toad waited by the trail nervously. He tossed the map towards Toad and stalked away, trying to rein in the need roaring through him.


    ¡°Is she¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± he snapped roughly, pacing as he waited for his nerves to settle. Rolling his shoulders he cracked his neck side to side, their wide-eyed stares irritating him. ¡°Mark the map and be gone.¡±


    Toad obeyed quickly and set it on the ground between them, unwilling to get within arms reach. Iscah still had not come out to say goodbye, but neither wanted to ask The Warlord for permission to go to her. Instead they simply shouldered the few supplies they carried with them and left, following the path north where they would begin the process of escorting abducted humans all over again.


    Their cravenness only inflamed his temper more, though for what exact reason he couldn¡¯t understand. This girl was making him lose his mind as well as his mettle, it seemed.


    Whistling for Bu¡¯u he retrieved the saddle and packs from inside, ignoring her intentionally, as if that would somehow negate the hyper-awareness he had of her now.


    By the time his mount was bridled and ready Iscah finally came outside, her arms wrapped insecurely around her middle and lashes damp from tears. Glancing around her surprise morphed into hurt when she realized their companions had departed without a single word. A glint of accusation flickered through her eyes as she met his stare, knowing it was his fault. As if those two were allies, and wouldn¡¯t have sold her at a hefty price to any of the slave traders.


    The bidding war would¡¯ve been unprecedented for her unique features and beauty. And the fact she was a virgin? Even her father wouldn¡¯t be able to rescue her from the greed of the Favored who would simply plead ignorance as they pocketed the significant profits.


    Apoch doubted even he¡¯d be able to save her if that happened.

 18| Ravenous

    Apoch flung the sweat threatening to trickle into his eyes free with a snap of his head, the cold air steaming off flesh heated by his morning routine training. The first rays of sun still had not branded the sky, but there was enough light for him to see by as he approached camp and rummaged in a saddlebag for the threadbare blanket used as a towel.


    Unable to help himself he used his periphery to try to catch sight of Iscah¡¯s sleeping figure. It had become a common torment; denying he had any interest in her only to find himself seeking her out when he wasn¡¯t paying attention. Giving up all pretense when he didn¡¯t see her bedding he looked over to Bu¡¯u who was resting on his side, balking at the thin arm thrown over the denimal¡¯s neck.


    She was spooning him!


    Bu¡¯u twisted his neck to lay his jaw flat against the earth, offering a muted preet.


    ¡°Pushover,¡± Apoch growled, quietly enough not to wake the girl. Bu¡¯u¡¯s lower eyelids rose sleepily, giving a rather smug trill though his nasal cavity in response as the cambion stalked off for the creek with a sound of disgust.


    Things had become tense between them. Without the company of Ram and Toad, there were no distractions, no one else to interact with other than each other. So he avoided her as much as possible, guarding from afar with his own toxic thoughts as company.


    At least with the help of the map they were easily provisioned, but he denied her rest in their safe holds. Setting a brutal pace that began at sunrise and did not end until sunset to cover as much ground as possible, they easily doubled the amount of distance per day covered on less than half the food she had been getting.


    All of it a test to see how spoiled and entitled the little noble¡¯s daughter was.


    By the end of the first day she had blisters, and those had rubbed open by the second. Bu¡¯u had managed to win her trust enough that she began riding on his back, which in turn had worn the skin on her legs raw.


    Yet not once had she whined or begged for respite. Grimacing in pain and limping when she thought he was not watching, she did her best to hide it when she knew he was. She was not physically strong nor had any experience traveling in the wilds, but mentally she could endure, and he couldn¡¯t help but respect that.


    She was nauseatingly innocent, incredibly naive, and so maddeningly congenial.


    Without bothering to remove his pants he walked out into the shallow water, squatting in the ankle-deep current to wash off briskly as he kept his hearing focused for any threat. Blessedly they had not crossed paths with any other slave parties, but that didn¡¯t mean it still wasn¡¯t a possibility.


    The less souls that saw her, the wider their lead became. But as they neared the wall, that advantage was about to all but vanish.  The slavers would have sentinels crawling on both sides of the underground entrance, which spelled disaster. It might be one thing if she had typical human features, but the pristine white hair would be a dead giveaway to her sire. The frilly bonnet Bu¡¯u had stolen to track her by would only get them so far, but it wouldn¡¯t be enough close-up.


    If he could find a walnut tree he could collect enough of the exterior shells from the previous season to use as dye. Claim he was escorting a girl specially requested by a client, but that was a weak cover that would disintegrate under scrutiny all too easily as well. He had never accepted any mercenary work, plus Dek would demand to know who had dismissed protocol and tried to bypass the slave masters profits.


    He splashed the last bit of sweat off his face wearily, at a loss to solve their predicament. They needed anonymity long enough to remove this mysterious curse, and then she could return to her world, and he to his. Unscathed. He had old debts, ones he did not want her to fall victim to, and time was not on their side.


    But for the first time in ages, the Warlord felt doubt tainting every decision made thus far. Being adaptive to situations afforded a level of control he was familiar with, but ever since he had made contact with her, every thought, every action had been reactive. He felt completely out of control, and completely out of his comfort zone.


    He buried his face in his palms, exhaling slowly before combing damp fingers into his hair to push it back from his eyes.


    Warlord, indeed.


    Drying off he headed back, freezing when a gravelly voice echoed through the woods. His breathing deepened evenly in preparation for combat as his heart rate spiked, sprinting the last dozen yards to burst into camp, only to slide to a halt in surprise.


    The beggar had found them.


    He sat crouched before Iscah, cupping her heel as he gently dabbed a salve on the sores still bloody on the pads of her feet. The girl inhaled sharply at Apoch¡¯s sudden arrival, eyes and lips widening as she took in his exposed upper body. A blush suffused her face instantly and she jerked her gaze away, her grip on the log she sat upon turning white-knuckled.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve been so kind to your little lamb, Apoch.¡± The elder opened with sarcastically, releasing her foot and motioning to the other one. She complied awkwardly, too flustered at seeing Apoch half-naked to deny the assistance. If it was any other situation he might have been amused, but instead the old male¡¯s derisive tone and the way he was touching Iscah made Apoch¡¯s hackles rise, baring his canines instinctively.


    ¡°How did you find us? Who are you?¡± Apoch snarled, body language menacing as he stormed towards them.


    ¡°Triki,¡± the vagrant offered, offering a yellow-stained grin.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about your name,¡± he retaliated, voice guttural in alarm as he grabbed Iscah by the arm and hauled her behind him defensively, ignoring her hiss of pain. Triki¡¯s expression turned appreciative at his need to protect the girl, oblivious to the peril his life was now in.


    ¡°Who are you!?¡±


    ¡°Smart and dangerous,¡± Triki mused, scratching at his jaw. His smile turned cunning, eyes sharpening as they shifted to focus on the agitated male. ¡°I¡¯m the answer to your problems, the key to your release. I am the harbinger of forgotten memor¡ª¡±


    Apoch lunged for him, and Triki scrambled back out of reach as he quickly added, ¡°¡ªand I know a secret way past the wall!¡±


    In the end, Apoch had trusted him. It had come at the cost of a lock of Triki¡¯s hair dipped in his blood that he and Bu¡¯u could track him by, but he had capitulated. There had been no other safe options.


    With directions memorized and no backward glances they had parted; Triki and Iscah to take the undiscovered passage, Apoch and Bu¡¯u via the known tunnel to return to the slave master. If he had followed them, Dek would have questions how he had passed his sentinels unnoticed. Apoch had to play the game and take a leap of faith that Triki harbored no ill intentions towards either of them.


    But he had not gone directly to Dek as intended.


    Instead he had fucked his way through a brothel for two days, taking advantage of the owners good graces. Not that they didn¡¯t deserve it. The prices had been reduced to ¡®honor him,'' when really it was to keep him from visiting any other competing houses. All for the boasting rights at having hosted The Warlord, and so he had no compunction using them in turn.


    The latest whore had every attribute he had found appealing not that long ago, and yet it maddeningly hadn¡¯t been enough. Handfuls of caramel rump to keep her from escaping as he drove his hips mercilessly against the backs of her thighs, hadn¡¯t been enough. Watching her bare, heavy breasts bounce as he had pounded into her, hadn¡¯t been enough.


    No, it had been the memory of a pretentious, frilly grey dress pooling onto the floor, exposing a slender, pale backside. The hint of pink nipples visible through a gossamer-thin night gown, and silky skin beneath his callouses that had been his undoing.


    He had roared in fury, and the female currently splayed across his sweaty chest was ignorantly smug, as if she had been enticing enough to give him release. Release yes, yet he was still not satisfied.


    Fucking hell.


    ¡°Is the Warlord pleased?¡± She purred breathlessly, tracing playfully over the ridges of his abs as he worked to gain his breath back. The question was too eager, revealing the brothel was not the only entity competing for his attention.


    He gave a snort, rubbing at the perspiration along his brow. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


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    The explorative fingertip slowed before lifting away, the whore moving to afford him space so that he could cool off.


    ¡°She must be something very special,¡± she murmured after a moment, perching her head on a folded elbow. Apoch blew out a heavy breath at the bated statement, glancing at her beneath the veil of lashes. ¡°Tell me about her.¡±


    Someone knocked on the thin door, too loudly to be anything but driven by frustration. Saving him from lying, or worse, telling the female who was too observant for her own good the demon¡¯s cursed truth at the cost of her life. He jerked upright, swinging off the bed that reeked of lust and pain to cross the room and throw the door open without bothering to dress.


    The gigantic male whose left eye was still swollen shut took a nervous step back, and Apoch looked pointedly down the hall in both directions.


    ¡°I told you to come with backup next time, Anal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Ainayl, sir,¡± the stupid brute responded back, shoulders scrunching as he put both palms out submissively and ignored the intentional barb. ¡°Dek isn¡¯t looking for a fight, he just wants¡ª¡°


    ¡°I know what he wants,¡± Apoch retorted, not caring his irritation was in control. ¡°He will wait until I¡¯m ready.¡±


    Without waiting for a reply he shut the door, turning to retrieve his clothing strewn across the room.


    ¡°You¡¯re toying with a dangerous male, Warlord,¡± the whore murmured, puffy lips tilting down in concern as she wrapped the damp sheet around her luscious curves while he dressed. ¡°This isn¡¯t the warfront; you don¡¯t have an army backing you up here.¡±


    Apoch¡¯s fingers stilled on the front laces of his pants, half turning towards her. Her breath caught at the thrill of intimidation he inspired from such a simple movement. Their frenzied activities had left his muscles pumped with blood, forcing veins to visibility all along the dips and swells covering his body, mapped like rivers and tributaries by a cartographer beneath his skin. And the candlelight did nothing to diminish his allure, sweat highlighting his build and making it even more savage, more provocative.


    She knew his restless aggression was born of a torment no skill or stamina would assuage, at least not by any here. For whatever reason he was in complete denial that whoever she was would be the only one able to satiate him.


    A knowing smile edged the whore¡¯s lips at the thought of how that encounter would play out when he finally caved in. If he would feed the fire with a slow burn, or just consume her entirely. Either way, that mystery female would be in for a very good, very thorough time if her own recent experiences with the male were anything to go off of.


    Misreading the desire in her eyes he stalked back over to her, and she reached for his spent cock still covered in their fluids to suck down her throat willingly.


    She might as well enjoy herself at his expense, since he was too stubborn to put two and two together.


    Honestly, love-sick males were so silly.


    It was fully dark when Apoch stormed out of the brothel, sick of the mediocre fare and craving something other than overly ripe fruit and raw strips of fat-marbled meat.


    He paused in the moonlight, taking in the sparkling mica powder covering his arms and hands, knowing it was probably ground into every pore on his body at this point. The reek of alcohol, sex and jasmine perfume assuaged his nostrils and he grimaced, knowing he was their source.


    Right¡ª clean up first, then food.


    Changing directions he made his way towards the bathhouses that ringed the thriving sex district of the city. Despite the hour the streets were still full of cambion and their purchased companions, many of the customers members of the trade caravans eager to spend their freshly received pay.


    He slid through the crowd without paying much attention to the detail of the faces surrounding him, aware only enough to avoid hawkers and thieves.


    Days of fucking, and yet still the itch rode him. A constant companion as if something had awoken in him he could not get rid of. Sex was a normal part of their existence, a pleasure in lives that had too few of such things. He had entertained many partners over the years, some fleeting, others longer term. Nedivah he had assumed would be his last. She was easy to be with, she was comfortable.


    He blinked, ashamed to find this had been the first time he had really given her thought in weeks. It was almost embarrassing what that said about him, if she truly was his mate. Their intimacy had never lacked, she had been attentive and he in kind, and yet¡­


    Surprised to find he had stopped walking he took in his surroundings, focus shifting onto a building whose structure was made of elegantly hewn stone and fashioned to resemble a human mansion. Small abnormalities marked it for what it was though; all the windows were barred in heavy iron, and a matching gate blocking the entry into a beautiful courtyard where conversation, and the scent of flowers in bloom wafted.


    One of the very few brothels in the city who offered human whores. It was where the women who were barren were sent. Even infertile, they were treated as prized possessions. Wrapped in garments of the finest cloth and detailed with jewels, for the price to have a night with any one of them was heavy. Despite their expensive decorations, fastidious care and elegant housing, the one thing none of them had was freedom.


    In the end, it was nothing but a beautiful prison.


    Human women were no mystery to him, in fact his first experiences had been with the breeding harem of The House. They had enjoyed it, he had enjoyed it, until he had realized one day their shackles were really no different than his own. It had been the beginning of his hatred for humankind. He hated that his race relied on them to continue to be, hated their misplaced egos, their weak bodies and even weaker minds.


    The Warchief had seemed to have benevolent empathy, borderline affection for humans, but for him? He left them as corpses. Zidaii had leashed his bloodlust, but Zidaii was no longer here.


    Canting his head his lips parted, sucking a pheromone-laden breath across the roof of his mouth as he eyed the building with dark intent. The price to bed one of the women was heavy, the price to kill one, even heavier. Maybe that was what he needed, a visit back to an old vice where he had satiated both his lust for flesh and death all within the same body.


    But as he shifted his weight to move in the direction of its gates that unfamiliar disgust blossomed in his stomach, forcing him back to stillness. He focused on that revulsion, that same nausea he had experienced anytime he so much as considered harming that girl. Did that now extend to fucking any of her kind, too?


    As if it would have done any good, anyways. The last few days had convinced him all he was doing was drinking saltwater in an attempt to slake his thirst. And he knew, despite his desperation, that this newest attempt would only end in the same frustrating disappointment.


    Blanching at that final thought he turned away, continuing on to one of the more reputable places to wash at.


    Entering, he tossed the host sitting at the front desk enough to cover a private chamber and attendant. The spindly female snatched up the payment in one hand while two other arms grabbed one of the better towels and rang a small bell.


    A younger worker appeared, bowing hurriedly before leading his customer through the communal bathing area. Conversations and laughter echoed off the thick mud-and-stone walls as less than a dozen cambions lounged in the various pools or on their ledges.


    They passed the open baths and into a narrow hall lined with doors on both sides. Reaching the last room the youth waited by the door as


    Apoch stripped and used a bucket of soapy water to wash the first layer of grime the brothel had left him coated in.


    Descending into the thermally heated water he sat on the ledge as the attendant began lathering his hair, deceivingly strong fingers scraping over his scalp and down his neck where tension had seized his muscles tight. Apoch closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the massage. Yet his mind wandered to the feel of her hair twisted around his fingertips, her fragile neck beneath his canines.


    Instincts screamed a warning and he whirled, snagging the boy¡¯s hand where a needle-thin blade coated in sedatives was clutched.


    ¡°Tell Dek this one is for free,¡± he purred, not even bothering to remove the weapon from his grasp. The youth stumbled back when he released him, eyes wide in fear. ¡°The next attempt will be with interest.¡±


    He scurried out of the room, and Apoch stood motionless as his thoughts clash turbulently. Here again was proof his instincts were not flawed, that they were not misguiding him. Yet still they gave no warnings when he thought of her. No signals of danger or alarm, and that concerned him greatly.


    Either someone was working some deep, dark fucking magic on him, or this desire for her was genuine. So which was it?


    He sank back down into the scalding water, stretching his arms out along the pool¡¯s edge and letting his head tip back to stare up at the ceiling.


    It was possible for The House of Shadow to have orchestrated this. Fear of Zidaii¡¯s promised retribution should they ever cross him again had kept their righteous vengeance in check.


    In the face of annihilation, they had released Apoch from his lifelong servitude when Zidaii had marched the entire army onto their doorstep. It had been in retaliation for the assassination attempt he had been dispatched to complete on the Warchief, and he had demanded Apoch as collateral. They had refused to remove their claim to any children he might sire, though. In his exhilaration of winning his freedom with that perilous gamble, he had eagerly¡ª stupidly¡ª accepted that single term. He had been careful to leave that requirement unfulfilled by any means necessary, so it had never truly bothered him.


    Until now.


    ¡°You have five seconds before I drown you,¡± he managed through clenched teeth, not looking away from the ceiling as he tried to process that final, infuriating thought.


    A small, grey being slithered partially out of the shadows where his voice had echoed and no door existed. It was child-like in size, but the face was malformed. Silver eyes too large for its skull sat beneath a brow that curved up and tipped into horns at its earless temples. Even with the thick, humid air carrying its scent, he could not identify its gender. It bowed to him with grace that marked it older than its emaciated adolescent body.


    A nightmare demon.


    ¡°Warlord,¡± it whispered in an androgynous voice, the latent power in just that one word causing him to flex his core in an attempt to control unbidden terror. ¡°I bring tidings, and answer from my master: the debt will be paid, in full.¡±


    Apoch managed to bark a laugh at the audacity, fisting his hands as more adrenaline flooded his system his close proximity to the demon was causing. As it vanished back into the shadow, he felt his whole body loosen in a way the past few days had not managed. His business in this city was nearly done, and he could return to focusing on unraveling the mess he was embroiled in with the girl.


    Now that I think about it, he reflected as he retrieved the soap and rough-spun wash cloth the steward had abandoned. Dek¡¯s kitchens had served pretty delicious food.

 19| Judgement

    The guards milling at the alley did a double take as he and Ainayl strolled down the pitch black, empty street towards them. None of the dirty faces were familiar, but all of them held a menacing air born out of desperation.


    Newly hired muscle, but green, Apoch noted, taking in their scrawny builds as they brandished newly acquired weapons threateningly. He might¡¯ve worried about them hurting themselves if they continued their ridiculous display, but that would mean he actually cared.


    Ainayl had remained behind him, but in his field of view out of respect after Apoch had extracted the brute and Salas¡¯ remains from the whore house. He hadn¡¯t mentioned his relief at the Warlord coming voluntarily, but it wasn¡¯t a far flung notion to assume Dek had been taking it out on his hide that Apoch had refused to return.


    Inside more of the hired gang members loitered, a few approaching him to confiscate his weapons and do a full, though not thorough pat-down to check for more blades. With a nod from one of their seniors they stepped back, and Apoch turned to Ainayl expectantly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll guard your weapons, Warlord,¡± he responded without having to be asked, offering a deferential nod of his thick skull.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Warlord?¡± One of the urchins whispered to an older brother as Apoch passed them. ¡°He doesn¡¯t look that scary to me.¡±


    Apoch stilled, and every person in that room stepped back, preparing in their own way for bloodshed. The threat lingered in the air long after he continued past, that relieved silence broken by the sound of the youth who had run his mouth being cuffed upside the head. Hard.


    Dek had not invited Apoch into his office previously, and yet he knew where it was regardless. Opening the door he sauntered in without knocking, glancing at the two other souls that occupied the room as he took seat in front of the massive desk.


    Leaning against the wall to Dek¡¯s right was a female dressed in fighting leathers, two wicked swords strapped to her hips. Her piebald braided hair was sleep-mussed, expression irritated and impatient as she glared at him. She was short, but muscles were visible everywhere her skin was exposed.


    Occupying the only other chair was a male larger than even Apoch, his pose casual. Thin dreadlocks bleached to sepia fell to wide shoulders, his yellow-toned eyes full of cunning. Dark brown and subtle green dappled his skin, his facial structure too sharp to be human.


    Both of them screamed danger.


    Ignoring the posturing, Apoch tossed the bagged skull onto the desk as a greeting.


    ¡°Imi,¡± Dek pondered, tilting his head as he studied Apoch with narrowed eyes, ignoring the gory trophy. ¡°What did we do to the last arrogant shit who decided his balls were bigger than his brains?¡±


    ¡°Locked him in a cell with his children and that prized breeder he was smitten over, I believe. Let them starve for a few weeks before butchering her in front of them, then served her up slow roasted with a side of vegetables. Potatoes and leeks if I recall. They gobbled her up like little piggies.¡±


    Apoch grunted, clearly unimpressed. ¡°Speaking of which, I¡¯m hungry. It¡¯s rather rude to let your guest of honor starve.¡±


    Dek¡¯s features darkened, motioning to the other two. ¡°Our guest of honor,¡± he mocked sourly. ¡°Is the new gang boss of the city, King.¡±


    ¡°King?¡± Apoch repeated sardonically, glancing to the other warrior who gave a nonplussed shrug.


    ¡°The boys chose it, not me,¡± he explained, the chair creaking as he shifted his muscled bulk.


    ¡°King has big plans, ones we¡¯ve allied over. Now that the territories have been consolidated under his rule, he¡¯s graciously accepted my invite to attend this meeting.¡±


    Apoch had not looked away from King as Dek explained his presence, and he watched as a smile that promised forthcoming pain stretched his elfin features. Apoch knew it was not bravado, and he returned it in kind.


    ¡°You think you still have power, Warlord? You¡¯re no one any more. A failed General that was only that because Zidaii thought you were something special.¡±


    Apoch let him have his moment to gloat before he turned his attention to Imi, and boredly commanded, ¡°leave us.¡±


    Dek gave a laugh that abruptly cut off as Imi pushed off the wall and headed for the door without sparing them a second glance.


    ¡°You too, Bune,¡± Apoch added, addressing King by his true, given name.


    He too, complied without hesitation.


    The soft click of the door was perilous as they were left alone.


    Soundless tension stretched out, thinning to an anxiety-ridden precipice as Dek processed the betrayals and scrambled for a means to regain control over what had become a deadly situation for him.


    ¡°Did you really think,¡± Apoch began in a tone of lethal calm, canting his head as he studied the growing uncertainty in Dek¡¯s eyes. ¡°That you could purchase what blood had already bought?¡±


    Dek squirmed uneasily, weighing his survival odds before capitulating, his posture wilting. ¡°Look, you publicly snubbed me. I couldn¡¯t let that slide; any sign of weakness and I¡¯d be gutted. You know I could¡¯ve sent more muscle to drag you in, it was simply for show. You have to know this is true.¡±


    A contemptuous smile ghosted Apoch¡¯s lips. ¡°Which is why you¡¯re not bleeding all over this gaudy carpet, and instead we¡¯re having a discussion.¡±


    ¡°And is that what this is?¡± Dek hedged, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. ¡°A discussion?¡±


    ¡°It could be, depending on the answer you give,¡± Apoch drawled, letting the threat hang in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the oldest of us; centuries old, if the rumors are true. Chosen specifically by Zidaii after he brokered our freedom, you helped establish the foundation of the slaving operations.¡±


    The slave master choked down his surprise that Apoch had knowledge of a part of his past very few knew, suspicion crossing his features at the subject matter.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t that hard to believe, then, that the Warchief also put Salas into place as Lord Saurel. As a spy perhaps, or to have some influence in the machinations of The Pact¡¯s human counterparts.


    ¡°But something happened, something changed, didn¡¯t it? We went from controlling the terms through fear and intimidation to our authority being undermined until it was nonexistent. The power shifted to the greedy, self-centered humans who have forgotten why the Pact is in place to begin with. Zidaii survived a lot¡ª centuries of slavery and battles too great to be numbered¡ª yet he couldn¡¯t survive the one thing he never expected; betrayal from within.¡±


    He let the amicable mask fall, letting the other male see the murderer that existed at his core. ¡°And then there¡¯s you. You¡¯ve been very, very good at surviving where others have failed, Dekarabia.¡±


    Dek stilled at hearing his true, demonic name. Somehow, Apoch knew the truth¡ª that he was not a cambion, but a full-blooded demon. Apoch¡¯s race had succeeded in nearly obliterating his kind, and had continued to develop those skills against the Archfiends. Despite his earlier taunts, Dekarabia knew regardless of eschewing the title or not, he was currently being addressed by The Warlord.


    Which meant this wasn¡¯t discussion at all; it was a sentence.


    ¡°It¡¯s interesting that when I told you I had found Salas, you didn¡¯t ask how I had come across that knowledge. Do you want to know now, who double-crossed all of you?¡±


    Apoch leaned forward and rose slowly, approaching his desk and placing both palms upon the top, as if it were his own.


    ¡°The assassin, right before I slit her throat.¡±


    ¡°I can give you anything you desire,¡± Dek opened with, a tremor running through hands wadded uselessly in his lap.


    ¡°The name of every demon, cambion and human presiding over The Pact.¡±


    The male recoiled in horror, a thousand excuses and pleas flashing across his features before the storm of emotion settled onto the one Apoch was afraid it would come down to: silent resignation.


    The same expression Salas had worn to the very end.


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    ¡°So be it,¡± he seethed, and Dek didn¡¯t put up a fight either as his sentence was executed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Imi repeated again.


    Apoch stared up at the ceiling, mesmerized by the dried blood spatters the servants had failed to notice when they had cleaned up his mess.


    He had bathed again, every inch of him scrubbed with fine horse-bristle brushes and masculine soap, his skin luminous from the oil that had been poured and kneaded into it. Not a trace of Dek¡¯s blood remained on him, not even under his nail beds.


    Yet he could still smell it. Years and years of blood of every kind. Demon. Cambion. Human.


    ¡°Warlord,¡± Imi¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts, focused his attention back to the present.


    ¡°It means,¡± he began sluggishly, closing his eyes to study the inverse pattern on the back of his eyelids. ¡°That Dek was intentionally restricting us of breeders. And if he was considered the Favored¡ª the most successful slaver trader here¡ª then at this rate our kind will be extinct within the next century. Maybe less.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t even try to hide it,¡± Bune added, his voice a steadfast cadence that Apoch had always found soothing. Gone was the obnoxious swagger, leaving a quietly confident male whose mind was as sharp as his fighting skills. ¡°At this rate he should¡¯ve been losing money, yet his coffers have only grown.¡±


    ¡°Investments, perhaps?¡± Imi asked, her voice altering directions towards Bune.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Bune hedged dubiously. ¡°I¡¯d need to look into this more, get access to all his financial records, but I¡¯m leaning more towards bribery.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your gut feeling say?¡±


    Apoch puffed a laugh that went unnoticed as his two veteran companions carried on. When he was Warlord, his closest advisors and officers had been those whom he had fought with, suffered with, bled with. The ties that bound them together ran deep, and so when he had abandoned the warfront, they had left with him without question. Imi and Bune had been two of those warriors, and when he had asked of them favors, neither had hesitated to take on their assignments.


    They had been working on this for years, and now all he could focus on was her. Strange how fate had dropped a little human into his life as the reality of their race¡¯s survival came into question. She was the catalyst that had sprung the trap Apoch had been carefully building, but now he wondered if it had all happened too soon.


    Or too late.


    As he dragged a breath in he caught the faintest hint of what he had been unconsciously searching for; amber and vanilla. Like it had indeed bonded to his sinuses. Distracting him from the pervasive iron, from the chronic frustration he had been in a constant state of. Distracting him from the current conversation and its larger issue.


    What¡¯s your gut feeling say?


    ¡°How much do either of you know about The Pact?¡± Apoch broke in, lowering his head and opening his eyes to catch the two share a glance at the abrupt shift in subject.


    ¡°That it was a truce Zidaii brokered before we could win the war against the humans.¡±


    He nodded absently, sucking his lower lip in-between his fangs as he gathered his thoughts. ¡°A decent summary, but not exactly.¡±


    ¡°Zidaii had his beginnings as a warrior-slave to the humans first king, Janius, nearly five hundred years ago. The Warlocks, who were on the losing side of the first mage war, had enslaved the first of our kind and conscripted them to fight against the demons. It was no real loss if we were killed, but to their surprise, we were good at battle. Very good.


    ¡°The humans got complacent, letting Zidaii¡¯s battalion wander further into the forgotten lands once the demons had been exterminated from near the newly established Tzarren City. Away from the tethers of their Warlock masters, Zidaii found more of our kind while continuing the genocide. He built an army through alliances with the wild tribes as the humans expanded their city and began their precious wall across the narrow peninsula.


    ¡°On the day the last brick was laid in fresh mortar, Zidaii returned. Only the few hundred Cambion that he had been dispatched out with had grown into the thousands. The Warlocks knew that while they might be able to control some, that many was well out of their capability.


    ¡°Faced with such odds, the humans agreed to Zidaii¡¯s terms; that as a free people, they would continue to be the forward shield against the still-present demon threats, in exchange for a tithing of women every year to replenish our ranks that were lost in battle.


    ¡°The treaty nearly fell apart then and there, when he demanded payment immediately. King Janius was brash, and Zidaii knew better than to trust his word. The only human he did trust was a Captain by the name of Isenius, whom boldly left the false safety of the wall to promise Zidaii the tithe would be fulfilled while his King and country watched on.


    ¡°He was to deliver them personally in a few months. Only the next time Zidaii saw Isenius, it was at the head of the Royal Army as newly appointed Commander.¡±


    ¡°So he was betrayed by his only human friend,¡± Imi concluded, tapping the armrest of her chair in irritated judgement.


    Apoch paused, brows scrunching together as he looked away from the two, lost in the memories of Zidaii¡¯s ruminations. How the old male had always been nostalgic rather than embittered when he talked of those times.


    ¡°One of the clans who had joined Zidaii had been obsessed with the art of murder. The original creators of the infamous House of Shadow; my Masters,¡± he spat that final word venomously, upper lip peeling back from his canines in revulsion. ¡°Became Zidaii¡¯s most lethal weapons, targeting the Warlocks attached to King Janius¡¯s army. They were the biggest threat to us, he had said.¡±


    ¡°Not Commander Isenius and his officers?¡± Bune queried, and Apoch pointed at him, giving credit for voicing what seemed to be a critical oversight in any strategy of war.


    ¡°Yet we still ¡®won¡¯. Conveniently for all, the last of the Warlocks were exterminated, and Commander Isenius was allowed to retreat with the remnants of his army.¡±


    ¡°Whoah whoah, wait. Wait,¡± Imi interrupted, jerking to the edge of her seat in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re telling us Zidaii had the humans by the throat for a second time, and just let them go again?¡± She scoffed, tossing her head as she added: ¡°Were he and Isenius lovers?¡±


    ¡°The Pact wasn¡¯t a treaty, it¡¯s an alliance,¡± Bune mused aloud, piecing together the little hints Apoch had been giving over the history lesson.


    His eyes widened, focus snapping back to the Warlord. ¡°Dek?¡±


    ¡°Dek was not a Cambion. His demonic name was Dekarabia, and he was one of the first Zidaii tasked to establish the slave trades for our kind.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be shitting me,¡± Bune mumbled, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose as he wilted in his chair. Imi looked like she had been gut-punched.


    Not all demons had been eradicated, some had been smart enough to know their odds of survival if they did not join their offspring, like the nightmare demon Bune had used to contact him with. They were few in number and easily identified, or so they had believed.


    The idea they could hide- no, were hiding in plain sight was nearly impossible to believe, but what was even more preposterous was the notion of an alliance between the humans and demons¡ª their literal mortal enemies.


    ¡°Were you ever going to disclose you had me maneuver into position to be second for a fucking demon?¡±


    With intentional slowness, Apoch turned his entire focus onto Imi at the insubordinate tone. The female visibly flinched, gaze dropping to the floor in submission.


    ¡°I had assumed our side of this had been losing power to the humans,¡± Apoch continued, ignoring her biting remark. He tapped the financial ledger before him. ¡°But maybe that wasn¡¯t the case after all.¡±


    ¡°You were his second, Imi,¡± Bune tried carefully, dropping his hand to assess her.


    Apoch observed the way Imi scowled at the gentle accusation. ¡°He wasn¡¯t exactly forthcoming, since apparently he was an immortal who had no plans on going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Zidaii never opened up about any of this either,¡± Apoch offered, dissipating the tension between them all. Imi looked back up to him with a new appreciation for his conflict.


    He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the freshly waxed desk. ¡°If he didn¡¯t include you in his plans, then there¡¯s a chance whatever this organization he and Zidaii were affiliated with might. Mind you they may not, but I¡¯m hoping if you continue like nothing has changed with Dek¡¯s passing they will, because I¡¯m running out of threads to unravel. I need you to stay, but you also need to understand what I¡¯m asking; your loyalty to the death.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve always had it, Warlord,¡± she replied without hesitation, her eyes hardening with resolve. They both knew what life he had saved her from all that time ago, and though Apoch had never perceived it as a debt, she did.


    He gave a short nod, shifting to Bune. ¡°Then I need you here as well. If they do contact Imi and it goes sideways, you¡¯re her out, and also her line of communication. Continue this charade as King.¡±


    Bune threw his head back and laughed. ¡°What makes you think it¡¯s a charade?¡±


    That gave him pause. Apoch had never asked Bune about his past, it was one of those unspoken rules to not pry unless it was offered. Now, though, he wondered if Bune had once been a little gutter rat himself, barely above an animal as he did anything to survive before showing up to join their ranks in the desert.


    Perhaps he was building the family he never had growing up.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s settled,¡± he finished, pushing to his feet and heading for the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be back within a month. If something happens before then, send that nightmare demon you¡¯ve got in your employ, Bune.¡±


    ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling us,¡± Imi asked quietly. Apoch froze with his hand on the knob, turning his head just enough to regard them out of the corner of his eye.


    ¡°If we¡¯re in as deep as you say we are,¡± she added. ¡°I think we have a right to know.¡±


    There was no valid reason not to tell them the truth about the girl, neither one had ever betrayed him. Yet he hesitated, blood thrumming as he weighed disclosing his personal ordeal. He knew they would have his back and would not judge, but the less that knew about her at the present, the better. He would tell them later on, but not now, not yet.


    He prowled out of the room and closed the door behind him gently.


    Bune rubbed at his chin in thought before those wolfish eyes slid to Imi. ¡°Well, that was interesting.¡±


    Imi tilted her head in agreement, lips pursed. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen him that distracted before, that restless. Any ideas?¡±


    He grunted noncommittally, thinking back to the day Apoch had returned from hunting down the bitch assassin who had killed Zidaii, her head dangling by dirty, tangled locks in his grasp. He had looked so troubled, so lost.  Everyone had assumed it had been because of the murder of his mentor, but now Bune wondered if it had been because Apoch had somehow caught wind of The Warchief¡¯s secret, darker dealings.


    The last time he had seen Apoch this conflicted, their whole world had changed with him too.


    It was a good thing then, that he was preparing should the worst happen this time around.

 20| Tomb

    The darkness around her was as absolute as the darkness inside.


    Cycles of guilt, anger and denial, but sadness was the constant in that torture. It ate at the lining of her stomach. Swelled her throat nearly closed and burned in tears that felt made of acid. The only reprieve was sleep, but even that held its own nightmares.


    Anger at Orick for having sent her away, guilt at having let him. She could¡¯ve stopped him, if she had really tried. She hadn¡¯t even fought Naon, and no matter how weakened she was, she should¡¯ve at least tried. In every way, she had failed.


    Her mind went around and around on that argument.


    Anger. Guilt. Loss. Failure.


    Time became meaningless in the prison that was her mind. Days or weeks, it didn¡¯t even matter anymore. Time slid by, it¡¯s passing marked by pangs of thirst and hunger that she at first welcomed, and then despised when they became all she could focus on.


    She deserved the pain, deserved to die slowly, but her flesh would not succumb so easily. When she rose and began exploring the pitch black Orick had sent her to, she didn¡¯t even know. Her body¡¯s needs overpowered her depression, the darkness lending a dream-like state to the experience as her breath sawed through the silence, arms sweeping through emptiness until they brushed against the cool stone of a wall. It was the same texture as the floor she had laid upon, a silicate carved so flawlessly her fingertips slipped across it like wet soap.


    Trailing the wall she mapped out the square room, circling again and again when her explorations yielded nothing but smooth walls. No shelves or keyholes. No entry or exit, not even gaps where a door might have been.


    It was a tomb.


    A laugh scraped through her throat still raw from mourning at the ironic thought. What had Orick said not that long ago? She looked like a corpse, yes. How fitting to find herself in a room that was perfect for a final resting place.


    Struggling to swallow past a tongue thick from dehydration she turned her focus inwards, to the small ember that was once a roaring inferno. Fire was easy for warlocks to summon, the basis of their creative yet chaotic magic. The first step in their dark arts, and lately their last.


    Frail light filled the space, sparkling off the grey crystalline walls and refracting the dim glow into a million sepia stars. Saraf turned in place, awed at the subtle beauty and simple perfection before her eyes came to rest on the wall opposite of where she stood.


    Written in old blood was three circles of runes, the outer band a security protocol, the middle a preservation, and the inner a power siphon off of¡­


    She gasped in disbelief, crossing the distance to study the name closer, as if she had misread it to begin with. But no, there in flawlessly detailed script was Nuada¡¯s name implored and granted.


    With the blessing of Nuada there was no need for blood to activate the stored memory, at least not in theory. The sacred grimoires predating their God¡¯s betrayal they had in their archives were inaccessible because their source of power had been tethered to Her. Many warlocks past and present had endeavored to unlock their secrets to no avail, yet someone had done it.


    Did that mean they had been able to access the lost knowledge too?


    Even after all she had been through fear sluiced through her veins, making her hesitate to place her palm atop the handprint in the middle of the runes. She had a pretty good notion that the answers to her questions lay there, but did she really want to know?


    What was the old saying again? Ignorance is bliss?


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± she whispered, and having nothing else to lose besides her life she slapped her hand atop it.


    The runes blazed in azure, illuminating the chamber. The walls, floor and ceiling vanished as the crystals in the stone caught the light, creating an optical illusion that she stood among the stars.


    No, it¡¯s not an illusion, she realized, mouth hanging open in wonder as celestial bodies she knew became three-dimensional, distant clouds of prismatic colors speckled with points of light.


    ¡°They¡¯re called nebula¡¯s,¡± Orick¡¯s voice interrupted. Startled, she turned to find him standing behind her. Gone was the frailty, his skin flush and cobalt eyes sparkling as they met hers before he gazed upwards. ¡°The birthplace of suns, of entire galaxies like what our world is but an infinitesimal part of. Our ancestors had begun to learn of such things, in comparison we know nothing.¡±


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    ¡°Orick, you¡¯re¡ª¡°


    ¡°Dead,¡± he finished for her somberly, though he offered a gentle smile. ¡°This was created in the event of such a thing; I couldn¡¯t be the last.¡±


    ¡°But why, how?¡± She managed, fresh tears blurring his details as her chin wobbled. At her emotional response his smile failed, and he exhaled slowly.


    ¡°It was no genius of my own; Nuada chose to allow me to activate one of the old scriptures. I think¡ª I think she is lonely. Has been for a very, very long time. She¡¯s waiting, Saraf.¡± His expression turned worried, doubtful as he chewed on his lower lip. ¡°She¡¯s waited for a very long time.¡±


    ¡°Waiting for what?¡±


    He shook his head grimly. ¡°The memory she allowed me to see was a time from before the demons, before the world was torn apart into the tatters we know it as, before we were even known as Warlocks. An age where she spoke to our ancestors from across the veil.¡±


    Cupping his hands together he reached out, and she felt the echoes of power activate¡­something. It was as invisible as the wind, just as simple and easy to feel, yet she could not understand how he had done it. Stars fell into his palm, gathering together into a single bright orb until he set it free to float back out again for her to witness.


    ¡°She taught them things that would¡¯ve taken centuries to learn on their own,¡± he continued. The orb rotated open like a kaleidoscope, a halo of light framing a darkness so deep it warped the space around it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why, but they betrayed her after opening the way into our veil¡ª our reality.¡±


    The ring collapsed in a blinding flash of light. Saraf shielded her eyes and cringed away from the painful glare, and when the light dimmed enough to see again a single blue moon now hung full where the black orb had been.


    ¡°It can be reversed, Saraf. This could change everything for us, for our people.¡±


    She watched as the moon shifted to red, then turned a dead grey. Such a casual shift of colors, as if the history associated with those events had not been so catastrophic to their world.


    To their kind.


    Saraf waited a breath. Two. Still the lunar satellite did not alter colors but remained the muted grey, just like the one that truly hung in the sky above them. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say but your hope ends here; I have nothing left but embers of my power, of my life.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Orick replied, offering a sly smile. The map of the sky faded as the walls began to glow, highlighting veins of iridescent blues that ran through the smoky depths. Like flames captured in stone.


    A frozen fragment of Nuada¡¯s power that stretched like the extensions of roots in varying, random directions every which way through the earth, the main line vanishing far, far into the distance. It was as impossible as the spell was, as Orick¡¯s presence was, yet it existed.


    Without needing to be prompted she reached out, the magic as welcoming as a mother¡¯s embrace. It sank into her skin, nourished her emaciated body and restored her soul. She took a deep breath, the first one she had been able to take in so long, and the exhale came out as a keening sob as her sorrow began anew.


    If she had just picked herself up off the floor. If she had just got the fuck up and raged against this prison she had found herself in.


    If. If. If.


    ¡°Find a way to release Nuada, Saraf. She can teach you the depth of your true powers, and return me to your side. Forever.¡±


    ¡°Again, you¡¯re tasking me with the impossible,¡± she whispered, lips trembling again. ¡°My appearance is known, and just as surely my eyes mark me for what I am.¡±


    Before she could tell him of their annihilation on that hill in the Cambion territories, fragments of the smoky opalescent stone broke off from the illuminated tomb. Marbles no larger than her thumbnail gathered for her to take from the air, a single one lowering into Orick¡¯s waiting palm.


    ¡°When it is time, return to me and I shall make you whole again.¡±


    ¡°Come with me,¡± she implored to Orick, but the warlock shook his head.


    ¡°You know I cannot.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re not Orick, not truly.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. Your Orick did find this place, and his will became the new controlling parameter. He intended for you to continue his quest, which is why you¡¯re here.¡±


    His expression turned grave, and he stepped closer to her without offering an explanation of anything he had just said. ¡°But he could return. He could be resurrected with Nuada¡¯s power. Before the humans named you Warlocks in their hatred, you had been known as something else.¡±


    He reached out to touch the stone below her breast, and she gasped as the first wave of pain choked her lungs.


    ¡°Soulcasters.¡±


    From the black maw of a nondescript mausoleum, an old crone stepped out into the darkened cemetery.


    Time had curved her spine, thinned her so that bones as fragile as birds were visible under papery skin. Taking a moment to gather her bearings, she pulled her shawl up over her freshly shorn skull to keep the evening chill at bay, casting her face in shadow.


    Hiding the sharp, alert eyes of blue-black that did not match her withered frame as they came to rest on the castle on the hill.


    She hobbled down the steps onto the gravel pathway, and began to make her way towards those lighted parapets.

 21| Bound

    It hadn¡¯t been the ending he had wanted with Dek, in fact it had left more questions than answers once again. Imi and Bune would take their new roles of power and keep him apprised when the council approached them.


    For now, it was time to tie up the loose end that was the human girl. Dek¡¯s execution would send shockwaves through the underground, ones that placed him at the epicenter. He didn¡¯t expect retaliation since Imi would take over operations without a hitch, but he hadn¡¯t survived this long letting his guard down or making assumptions. The sooner whatever this link was between he and Iscah was severed, the sooner she could be returned to safety with her kind.


    Bu¡¯u wasted no time tracking down the two via the scent markers both had left along the trail. As if he understood what Apoch had done could now impact the girl. That, or he had missed her company.


    The vagabond¡¯s cave was anything but what Apoch had expected. A main hearth set in the center of the surprisingly large, circular room that had a dripstone system set off to one side. The old male had built a stone basin for the water flowing off the stalagmite to fill, and the overflow was directed via a small trench to a pool large enough to bathe in.


    Triki had set up various areas in the free space. One for sleeping, another for food preparation and wooden racks where herbs hung to dry. Shelves of various odds and ends lined the walls of the cave. He had everything he needed to not only survive but do it comfortably.


    Apoch eyed all this before heading back out the narrow entrance, ducking the thick hide splattered with mud which served as a camouflaged doorway to go unpack Bu¡¯u.


    By the time the denimal was unbridled and free the mouth-watering aroma of mutton stew was wafting from the entrance, and he picked up the packs and shouldered them before going back inside the cavern to drop them by the entrance.


    Triki and Iscah had waited for him, both sharing a cup of tea and holding a rudimentary conversation via sign language and dirt drawings. He sat down near her as Triki picked up the bowls and ladled out servings to them.


    ¡°Iscah and I were just talking about your adventures coming here.¡±


    Apoch tucked into the food without a reply, finishing his bowl and serving himself up another nearly overflowing portion in the ensuing silence.


    ¡°Why am I here? Why do I have this useless girl trailing me, driving me insane in my dreams?¡±


    Triki grinned. ¡°She¡¯s a warlock.¡±


    He laughed viciously, shaking his head as he downed another heaping spoonful. ¡°If that¡¯s true, should I not execute her immediately?¡±


    ¡°Quite the opposite; you were chosen to be her guardian.¡±


    At this Apoch set the bowl down hard, staring back at him in disbelief. He leveled a finger at the Triki, brows furrowed in anger.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather shlith her throath than shtay a minute longer with thish...¡± His frown deepened at his slurred speech. ¡°She¡¯sh..¡±


    Beside him Iscah¡¯s bowl spilled as her hands grew limp, her upper body following suit as she rolled onto her side, unconscious. He witnessed it in stunned silence, focus snapping back to the elder and his grin.


    In a heartbeat he was moving, Triki''s gasp cut short as Apoch grabbed him by the throat. He stared bug-eyed into his smoldering glare, aware the Warlord had his dagger out with murderous intentions. Apoch¡¯s movements suddenly became sluggish as he collapsed, releasing his grip as the drugs finally won, blacking out.


    Triki inhaled a whining breath before coughing dryly, his old heart thundering in his chest at how close to death he had come.


    ¡°Yes Apoch,¡± he finally addressed the sleeping form between gasps. ¡°I¡¯m more than aware of what you think you want.¡±


    After a moment to let the adrenaline wear off he ambled to his feet with the aid of his staff, crossing his abode to the rickety shelves where various magical items were cached. Lifting up a cedar box he brushed the dust off before returning to Iscah¡¯s prone form. He cleared his throat one last time, leveling his free palm towards her.


    ¡°Cy¡¯nath ragosh noch-k!¡±


    There was no response.


    Frowning he set his hand across her forehead, closing his eyes and exhaling a rattled breath. Below his palm faint blue light emitted weakly before guttering out. He sat back with a grunt of disappointment.


    The spells inhibiting her were stronger or more complex than he expected. This was something else, something altogether out of his range of knowledge. A flicker of doubt passed over his face, wondering if indeed any of his brethren would be capable of unlocking the wardings.


    No matter. There were others who were more powerful than him that might be able to assist in awakening The Key¡¯s power. It had been a shot in the dark, and at least here in the isolation of his home, not a hit to his ego in front of the others.


    It wasn¡¯t what his task was, anyway.


    He smiled wistfully at this thought, uttering another spell casually.


    The two began to stir awake, Apoch rousing first and sitting up, rubbing his forehead before looking woozily up at him.


    ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in a state we call the Waking Dream. You¡¯ll remember this, but for now, that incredibly congenial personality of yours is inhibited.¡±


    As Iscah roused Apoch''s attention on Triki''s explanation waned, turning to reach for her with a relieved exhale. Without uttering a single word, he kissed her.


    Triki cleared his throat to interrupt the two after a decent moment, and Apoch acquiesced, breaking away to toss a boyish grin over his shoulder to the Shaman.


    He chuckled dryly, amused at the killer playing kitten. Rubbing his throat at the thought he opened the box, pulling out a calligraphy brush made of bone and two small alabaster bowls so thin they were near translucent.


    As he set them down with an air of formality, Iscah shifted beside Apoch for a better look, head cocked curiously.


    ¡°What are they?¡±


    Triki¡¯s grin widened, aware that the girl was speaking in the old dialect now. Or more appropriately, in the old language; Daemonic.


    ¡°Elements for a binding spell,¡± Apoch answered for him. Iscah glanced back to Apoch for more explanation, but the Warlord was studying the elder now.


    Triki could feel his heart stutter under that vicious scrutiny, and he wondered if the lambda pollen had failed.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Shaman,¡± he finally stated, and Triki felt his anus disconnect from where it had lodged in his stomach from fear as he nodded in affirmation.


    ¡°It is a custom that is practiced rarely,¡± Triki said, continuing the explanation to try to keep the topic on subject. ¡°Few are willing to bind themselves to another so completely that only death can sever the link created. It is a powerful spell, one that has many advantages. I¡¯m surprised you knew of it, Apoch.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them on the fields of battle. Brothers linked, bearing the marks. Husbands and wives, children and sires. Fighting, dying side by side.¡±


    As if it were a foregone conclusion Apoch removed his bracer, peeling his sleeve back over his forearm as Triki lifted a small obsidian blade. He took Apoch¡¯s hand, cutting his palm and holding it over one of the bowls to fill it with blood. When it was full he pulled a white paste out of a small glass apothecary jar and swiped it into the gash to stop the bleeding.


    Triki set the salve aside, lifting his right arm and taking the hem of his tatty robe he wrapped it around his wrist before holding it down single-handed ceremoniously.


    With his garment no longer a threat of trailing into the fresh ink, he lifted the brush up in deference, watching with solemnity as the crimson bristles shifted to gold in the light of the fire.


    Apoch took Iscah¡¯s hand in his own and held it out to Triki as he dipped the brush in Apoch¡¯s blood.


    The silence grew somber, and both watched as the glyph began to take shape, noting how Triki¡¯s shaking hands were not only suddenly quite steady, but also skilled.


    ¡°You had said something about battles?¡± Iscah finally ventured, her gaze tearing away from what Triki was painting on her skin. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been a war in generations though.¡±


    Apoch snorted with a hint of his caustic personality as Triki tossed her a quizzical expression.


    ¡°There¡¯s always a battle at your wall, and a true war at our southern quarters. Powerful demons we call Archfiends cross the Enders Desert from unknown origins. We¡¯ve managed to keep them from continuing further inland, but at great loss,¡± he elaborated at her curious glance. ¡°There¡¯s times we need any advantage we can against devastating odds, like this one, but even then the fatality rate is still disparaging.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea,¡± Iscah whispered, shocked at the revelation of the Archfiends and the amount of bodies the cambions left rotting under the desert sun.


    Triki finished and lifted the brush carefully, turning to set the tip into the fire to both their alarm. The blood flared bright, erupting into tiny bright sparks in a sudden flash. When he removed it from the flames the bristles were clear and unmarred.


    Iscah held her palm out nervously, her swallow nearly audible as the Shaman picked up the obsidian blade once again.


    ¡°You¡¯ve tortured me for weeks,¡± Apoch confessed abruptly, and her attention snapped from the knife to him.


    ¡°I have?¡±


    ¡°This need to touch you, taste you,¡± he purred. Iscah gaped at him, her cheeks and ears turning a bright red at the implications before jerking as Triki made a shallow cut into the meat of her thumb.


    ¡°Y-you could barely look at me, and I''m supposed to believe that?¡±


    Apoch''s low laugh made her stomach clench, and she tucked her chin to hide behind her curtain of hair.


    ¡°What does this binding do?¡± Iscah asked, desperate to turn the subject away. Apoch¡¯s smile was knowing, but he allowed it now that Triki had been able to fill the other alabaster bowl.


    ¡°It gives abilities beyond normal,¡± he replied, holding out his arm and eyeing the pen skeptically as Triki dipped it in her blood and began scrying the same intricate symbol around his forearm.


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    ¡°The binded I¡¯ve witnessed fought like berserkers to the edge of death and beyond, until death would finally win and take them both, or not. If one is healthy enough, they can bring the other back from what can be fatal circumstances. But the binding is to one, and one alone, for this lifetime. Friends or siblings who commit never part to find mates, if they live that long anyway.¡±


    Triki nodded in agreement to Apoch¡¯s explanation, Iscah frowning at the implications. ¡°You make it sound like they expect to die regardless.¡±


    ¡°Whenever an Archfiend rises up, the earth is drowned in our blood. They know the power the spell can give them which might save other lives, and also its penalty.¡±


    ¡°Your Apoch would know first-hand, Iscah. He was a Warchief¡ª a General¡ª in his own right.¡±


    Iscah felt her face flush again at the endearing ownership Triki had bestowed, but it quickly faded as what he had divulged sunk in. She met Apoch¡¯s gaze and he stilled in that predatory way of his, as if waiting to see what her reaction would be before responding in turn.


    In the sparse knowledge she had gleaned from books and the stories her father had told, there had only been one Warchief that had kept the tribes united. If he truly had held that honor, it meant he had lead the Tribes of the Cambions into battles, winning that merit by deeds she could only imagine, deeds he had actually lived.


    Her father had named him Assassin, but he was so much more than that. This male was not just another cambion, but one respected by his kind and feared by hers. She bit the inside of her lip, realizing his body and mind had been shaped by two wars she knew nothing about. Yet he was here with her, those crimson eyes softening as they saw the newfound respect and understanding in her own.


    ¡°Let my strength protect you so you have nothing to fear.¡±


    Triki barked a laugh at his words, shaking his head when both looked at him questioningly. ¡°Such arrogance! What makes you think it¡¯s merely you protecting her?¡±


    ¡°Oh? Am I binding myself to a wolf in a lamb''s skin?¡± He grinned mockingly back to the Shaman, the sarcasm faltering when Triki¡¯s grin widened. Iscah looked between the two, her brow furrowing in confusion by Triki¡¯s words.


    ¡°The hearts cannot hide their intentions, even if the ego wants to doubt it,¡± Triki mused before Iscah could ask, abruptly changing the subject without answering him. ¡°Very well you two, let¡¯s get this done before the drugs wear off and Apoch tries to kill me. Again.¡±


    Apoch admitted to himself it was more of a work of art than the simple markings he had seen before. The two lines were even and unwavering, looping and joining in a complex pattern that circled the back of their wrists.


    Triki cleaned the brush in the fire one last time ritualistically before setting it down and lifting up the depleted bowls of blood, offering them forward.


    ¡°Drink.¡±


    ¡°You said to one and one alone,¡± she murmured, not taking the proffered bowl as she let her gaze drop to the floor. ¡°It sounds like this is even one step further than marriage vows.¡±


    ¡°Marriage?¡±


    ¡°A vow, in my culture. A promise between two people of a lifetime of partnership.¡± She bit her lower lip, voice quieting to nearly a whisper. ¡°And love.¡±


    He lifted her gaze up with a gentle knuckle beneath her chin, letting her see the emotions in his eyes, reading the nervousness in hers. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°So, we will be married?¡±


    His attention dropped down to her lips as his thumb rubbed along her jawline.


    ¡°Marriage, married¡­call it whatever you want to, Iscah. It doesn¡¯t change the fact no matter what I do, I can¡¯t stay away from you,¡± he confessed gently, turning his wrist to trace the back of his fingers down her neck. She held her breath, hoping he couldn''t feel how her pulse quickened beneath his touch.


    She hesitated still, too distracted with his exploring fingertips. Clearing her throat to try to remove the huskiness in her voice she took his wandering hand in her own, if only to be able to focus.


    ¡°Yes but marriage is not come to so quickly. There is a length of time, months or years of courtship, and only then the man asks for her hand.¡±


    Apoch tilted his head to the side, amused by her explanation.


    ¡°This ''courtship'' sounds like another word for a waste of time. Either you know they are the one for you and you delay for propriety¡¯s sake or they aren¡¯t and you delay until you can find a decent enough reason to call it off. I have no doubts, do you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she managed softly.


    ¡°Besides,¡± he drawled teasingly, the corner of his lip rising in a half smile to bare a flash of canines as he pulled her closer. ¡°I am not a man.¡±


    His lips canted over hers before she could respond, tongue flicking against her closed lips, pressing, insistent, until she parted them to him. Her pulse slipped, becoming erratic as chills flashed through her limbs before settling into warmth.


    His tongue brushed up against hers before retreating momentarily, blood flooding her mouth, coating her throat. Before she could react he sucked her tongue into his mouth and pierced it with a fang carefully, drawing her blood to mingle with his.


    Iscah stiffened, a low moan escaping him even as she writhed in pain as the glyphs flared red-hot, turning a deep rust as they seared permanently into their skin.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never tasted anything like this,¡± he groaned, licking the blood smeared on his lips and teeth before searching her dark blue eyes.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t just a human, are you?¡±


    ¡°That she is not,¡± Triki replied for her.


    As if remembering the Shaman was there Iscah felt the tension more than observed it from Apoch, and their host seemed to sense it too. With a grunt and the aid of his staff he stood, clearing his throat overly loud.


    ¡°I just remembered there is a herb that blooms at night that I''m running low on," he explained to the two, fetching his burlap bag and a lantern hanging by the exit. ¡°I''ll be back in a few hours, then.¡±


    ¡°Morning,¡± Apoch corrected for him, an undertone of threat in his voice.


    ¡°Ah, right. I''ll be back in the morning,¡± he nodded agreeably before stepping outside.


    With Triki gone Iscah felt a small alarm, though for the life of her she couldn''t remember why she should be worried at all. The male holding her felt so right; his scent, his taste, the way he felt against her.


    This was how it was supposed to be, this was why the dreams had led them to each other.


    As if reading her thoughts he pulled her in for another kiss. Her heart was stammering, breaths mingling with his own as his tongue slid back in her mouth, fully exploring until her lips were red and swollen.


    She felt a tug at her back, her dress loosening as he leaned away, sliding it down her arms. He tracked its slow progress, drinking in the sight of the flesh being exposed.


    ¡°That first night, I watched as that boy put his hands on you.¡±


    His hand slid across the silk she had wrapped her chest in, finding the tucked end with such ease she instantly knew the night he spoke of had not been the only time he had watched her.


    ¡°I was so jealous, maddened by this overwhelming need and raging against it all at once,¡± he confessed, tugging the silk loose and letting them fall, exposing her small but tight breasts.  ¡°It needed to be my hands on you.¡±


    She pressed her arms over herself to hide, but his touch slipped beneath her grasp to brush their undersides, feather-light and devastating. Iscah gasped, eyelids falling closed as the sensation shot another ache straight down into her core.


    ¡°It couldn''t be my hands on you.¡±


    A warm breath was her only warning, and then he was dragging his mouth across the swell of her cleavage, nibbling towards the peak of a guarded breast. She surrendered when he nudged at her arm with his cheek, his lips molding around an already tight nipple.


    Iscah came undone, gripping him by the hair as her head fell back, the world tilting in a strange way as he flicked his tongue across the hardened tip, tugging on that string tied to her core.


    ¡°Apoch, I need¡­¡± His mouth receded, her thoughts returning from their unraveled state only to scatter again as he latched onto the other nipple she hadn¡¯t even known she had let go of.


    She was lost in the growing anticipation, unconsciously moving in his lap. The beautiful torture abated, coolness trailing in the wake of his tongue as he ran it over skin she could''ve sworn was burning.


    ¡°I know what you need, little lamb.¡± He lifted his head, carding his fingers through her hair before cupping the back of her skull. ¡°You¡¯ve complicated everything, and I¡¯ve tried so hard to deny what every part of me already knows to be true."


    Her confusion was swallowed as he crushed his mouth against hers hungrily, whimpering as his canines raked over her tongue carelessly, nearly scoring again. She tried to pull away, a feral growl rumbling up his throat before he twisted, spilling her onto the furs and pinning her beneath him.


    Still cradling her nape he forced her head to the side, uneven breaths searing the skin along her neck, tracing the vein pulsing down its length. Iscah stiffened, unable to move or wedge an arm between them to protect her exposed throat. Fangs scraped the flesh above her collarbone, the flexed muscles caging her in shuddering as he teased at his intention.


    ¡°You are mine.¡±


    Pain blazed across her shoulder as he sunk those primary canines into the muscle. The taste of her more powerful a narcotic than anything ever tried in the addict dens. An electric tingle sour on his tongue, sparking down his spine to make his balls tighten. His groan vibrated through her chest even as her back arched, trying to buck him off and only succeeding in pushing her mound against him.


    The fingers controlling her head vanished, and grabbing her skirt he jerked her dress up roughly so it was gathered at her waist without ever breaking away. Cloth ripped, her underwear shredded and discarded, the kiss of cold air against her soaked core.


    The ache at her shoulder had been superseded by the ache between her legs as he ground his pelvis into her, his cock straining against the leather pants keeping them apart putting such exquisite pressure on her nerves. Teeth were replaced with tongue as he laved the puncture wounds clean, until her blood had clotted. Pushing up onto his knees he stared down with molten hues that now glowed in the dim light.


    He unfastened his armor unhurriedly, shrugging his shirt off in a way that had his muscles flexing arrogantly, knowing how the sight of him naked affected her. How much smaller the human men were in comparison as they played at being warriors. Releasing the ties of his pants still slippery with her wetness his cock sprung free, a desperate noise escaping her at the sight of it.


    ¡°Peace,¡± he commanded soothingly as he pushed his pants off. ¡°I have no intentions of your first time being in this shit-hole of a hovel, with the smell of a lesser male surrounding us. Besides,¡± a sinful grin curved his lips at her sound, canting his head playfully. ¡°Morning is not nearly enough time to do with you what I want.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She blurted, but he was already moving, taking her knees in either hand and shoving them wide open so she was completely exposed.


    ¡°Oh Gods, no¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head at the first lash of his tongue across her sex, his moan vibrating against her in a way that had her making the same sound.   She felt his lips form words in a way that had her shuddering, barely capable of paying attention to what he was saying with the way he was using the simple act of talking as torment. ¡°You¡¯ve consumed my thoughts for weeks, it¡¯s only fair I get to return the favor.¡±


    There was no more finesse to his movements; he feasted from her. Sucking on her flesh until it was clean of her essence despite her humiliated cries. Iscah tried to cover herself but jerked at his warning growl, hiding her face in her palms instead, as if it would protect her from enjoying the debauchery.


    ¡°No, Iscah.¡± He released her, pulling her arms away so she couldn¡¯t hide. ¡°No shame in this, stay with me.¡±


    He didn¡¯t give her an opportunity to question his meaning as he settled back down, dragging his mouth against her once more. Gone was the uncontrolled feeding, replaced now with a skill that had her mindless with need.


    No matter how she twisted or mewled he gave no quarter, tracking what her body responded to until he had her mastered, his tongue playing over her clit that had her go utterly still, strung tight as a bowstring. Her breaths turned harsh and limited, hips lifting of their own accord before she was screaming as a climax drowned her, writhing, lost in the sensation.


    When she finally returned to awareness she found him towering over her on his knees again, one hand denting the soft curve of her thigh, the other pumping his member he had yet to impale her on.


    Hypnotized with fascination that bordered on dread, she watched as he worked the thick head dripping with need, using it as lubrication along the handfuls of his shaft.


    ¡°Innocent mate,¡± he began gutturally, his breaths unsteady as his pace increased and more fluid ran from the tip in a constant stream. ¡°Let me show you what I will fill you with soon.¡±


    Goosebumps raised across her body at the implication, at the claiming title. The sight of her anticipation was his undoing, baring teeth stained pink as if she was to blame for this denial.


    His seed arced, spurting lines across her stomach, drenching her in his essence. His grip finally left her leg to rub it into her skin, across the thatch of pubic hair before sliding a soaked finger into her still virgin core. She moaned unabashed, her insides gripping the invading digit, causing him to chuckle darkly.


    ¡°So eager,¡± he murmured with a lazy, triumphant smile, gaze lifting to meet hers once more. Still his eyes were molten, twin orbs of living embers in the low light as that smile shifted to a promise of pleasure and pain.


    Her knees pressed together tightly in response, and with one last stroke inside of her he slid his finger out. Choking on another whimper, her body twitched involuntarily as he nuzzled the hairline at her temple, palm coming to rest along her hipbone.


    ¡°Sleep, my Iscah.¡±


    ¡°No, there¡¯s so much I need to ask you,¡± she murmured, lashes fanning out over her cheeks as her body sunk into lethargy despite her protests.


    ¡°What did you mean, not just human?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later, we have time,¡± he managed, entwining his limbs in hers and conceding to the uncontrolled free fall into the darkness the drugs were inducing at last.

 22| Consequences

    Vertigo the drugs had induced made recovery a slow process, and so Apoch laid where he was, coming back to his senses and surroundings one thing at a time. The first realization was that Iscah was tucked alongside and slightly underneath this body, his arm stretching across her marked with the beautiful scrolling glyph.


    With every fiber in his body he willed himself to sit up, swaying dangerously as his vision reduced to small pinpricks of light with such a simple motion.


    ¡°Shaman, what have you done!?¡±


    The magnitude of his roar astounded even himself, Triki jerking in surprise when he found the Warlord was already awake.


    ¡°I will explain if you¡¯re willing to listen.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s human! You¡ª you bound me to a human!¡± He continued venomously, attempting to crawl to his knees as he stared in disbelief at the markings that matched the girls own.


    Beside him Iscah stirred awake from the ruckus, rolling over to blink dazedly up at him. The sight of her sent him into a rage, and he grabbed his dagger out of its sheath at the same moment he pulled her up by the scalp, forcing her neck back as the blade touched against her throat and stalled. He clenched his teeth and bared down, willing the blade to move, if only a little, and end this catastrophe.


    ¡°Shit. Shit!¡±


    Letting both the girl and weapon go he stood up and lurched away, crashing into Triki¡¯s herb rack and breaking it as he fell. Struggling back to his feet he turned his fury on the Shaman.


    ¡°Unbind us!¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    His scream was rabid, grabbing broken pieces that had made up the drying racks and throwing them across the cavern, the wood splintering on impact.


    ¡°DO IT!¡±


    Triki stared in shock and Apoch turned to his shelves of precious artifacts and bent his fury into destroying them. Iscah cried out as a pot exploded into shards beside her when he threw it blindly, her voice snapping him out of his rampage long enough for him to stumble backwards and nearly fall over again. He caught himself on the shelving, ripping it down so that it toppled over as he swayed, gasping for breath.


    She uttered his name pleadingly, covering her ears with her hands. His lip curled in disgust at her pitifulness, and no longer able to stand her presence he fumbled out the cave and into the morning.


    Iscah stared as Apoch fled, her blood still covering his chin as his seed still covered her body.


    The words had made no sense again. Whatever he had been screaming she could no longer understand, but the way he looked at her: Panic. Complete and total panic.


    He had set his blade against her with the same intentions as before, and once again had been unable to follow through. Death had been in his eyes. A raging, vicious intent, and yet he hadn¡¯t been able to follow through.


    Because of the glyph? Because he doesn¡¯t want to die, either?


    She looked to Triki who was wearing the same surprised expression she no doubt had plastered on her face.  Did this Cambion just save me, or damn me?


    A sickening feeling of dread began to chill her limbs, the realization of what she¡¯d done¡ª what they¡¯d done. There was no going back from this. No justifying the tattoo the mages would surely identify, no hiding the fact she was bound to the same cambion whom she assumed had made an attempt on her fathers life.


    Triki struggled to his feet, glancing to the debris with a muttered curse before wading into the mess to retrieve a pair of long iron tongs. He grasped a hot stone buried beneath the embers with them, carrying it over to the basin full of water and dropping it in, hissing and spitting as it instantly boiled the water around it.


    He repeated the process until steam wafted from the pool, rummaging through more of the area near the herbs to fetch a burlap sachet and jar of oil. Tossing the sachet in he poured a generous dollop of the liquid in as well, setting a brick of soap next to the edge.


    ¡°Iscah,¡± he called, motioning towards the bath before picking up his shawl and knapsack. Without another word he departed as well, though on less dramatic terms than her mate had.


    The title hit her like a punch in the gut, and suddenly there wasn¡¯t enough air. Her lungs heaved, chest tightening as anxiety drowned all logic. Curling in on herself she let her head drop, staring at the marks wrapping her forearm. A maniacal laughter spilled from her lips, another one close on its heels.


    Truvien had whined about how he hadn''t been in control the night he had broken down her door, using the excuse of being drugged. She had judged him so harshly, deemed him weak and beneath her stainless morals and values.


    I just bound myself to a cambion who hates me while drugged, Truvien. How ironic is that? Lord Isren¡¯s daughter, brought so low even the peasantry could spit upon me without fear of repercussion. I bet you wouldn''t even come to my execution for fear of being seen near me now.


    Abandoning the blanket she sat up, touching the dried, flaking semen he had rubbed into her skin. A second mark of ownership and yet here she was, discarded.


    Tears slid down her cheeks as she rose, padding naked to the bath and stepping into the water, letting it soften and dissipate his fluids, rejecting him in her own way. It felt like a paltry victory in comparison to the elegant lines encircling her wrist.


    He hadn¡¯t taken her virginity, though it had been a near certain thing at one point. Her fingers traced over the bites on her shoulder, surprised to find the tenderness of a fresh wound was not present. Even the scabs covering them felt farther along than what they should have.


    Triki had hinted at it, but she hadn¡¯t believed healing could be that accelerated. No wonder the cambions relied on it to fight the monsters plaguing their race. Why did they not just allow them to walk right through to the human territory? It didn¡¯t sound like the wall protecting them from the cambions would do anything against such horrifying beings.


    There were so many questions left unanswered, their opportunity wasted. Doubtful he would be amenable to taking whatever drug Triki had slipped in their food just so she could ask. As if she¡¯d want that experience with Apoch again. The first time had seen to it they were now bound more tightly than any marriage could have, Gods knew what would happen on the second time.


    For better, or for worse, she thought despondently, unaware she had begun scratching at the marks, as if it could remove them.


    Dawn hadn¡¯t broken the next morning when Apoch returned, stepping out of the darkness and hating himself as his gaze immediately flicked over the girl sleeping beneath his blanket. Jaw clenching in irritation he moved silently past, gathering up his pants that smelled heavily of them both.


    Near the fire Triki roused, setting his iron teakettle on the embers as Apoch dressed and checked over his weapons. Snagging a rag he crouched by the fire, retrieving the kettle to pour the warmed water on it.


    ¡°Well done,¡± Triki quipped softly, saluting Apoch with an empty teacup when he froze and looked up warningly. ¡°I expected you back in three days; you¡¯ve surprised me.¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Not bothering to respond Apoch took the damp cloth to his crotch, scrubbing at the visible reminders of their previous evening.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to hear your excuse for what you did before I kill you, Shaman,¡± he finally replied, giving one last contemptuous swipe across the laces before tossing the rag into the embers to hiss and burn.


    ¡°I bound you two for protection. All of the rest of that, claiming her as your mate? That was you. You sit there wrapped up in your injustice and want to blame me because it''s easier than face the truth that maybe you don''t hate her as much as you proclaim you do.¡±


    ¡°You drugged us! You took away our ability to think rationally and now you¡¯re trying to tell me how I feel? This isn¡¯t some small slip-up that can be fixed, you¡¯ve fatally tied me to a useless human girl.¡±


    ¡°Who are you trying to lie to, yourself or me?¡± He motioned to Iscah, who now was awake but listening to their incomprehensible argument in silence. ¡°Deep down you know she means something to you, something important to us all. You tasted it in her blood, that¡¯s why you can''t kill her.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t kill her because now her death would be my own, you fucking lunatic! She is nothing special,¡± he snarled, veins rising across his upper body and down powerfully built arms as he gestured towards Iscah furiously.


    ¡°She¡¯s just another human whose only worth is whelping children on so they can go die in the fucking desert to protect her spiteful, oblivious race.¡±


    Triki glared at him, trying to decide if Apoch truly was so irrevocably stubborn or just desperate to deny everything he felt. ¡°Nuada draws you two to a destiny¡ª¡±


    ¡°Fuck your God moon, and fuck that word!¡± Apoch roared, leaning forward to shove an accusing finger at the elder. ¡°I finally had a life of contentment after a lifetime of being everyone else¡¯s pawn.¡±


    ¡°You''re not the pawn this time, you''re the king!¡± Triki yelled back, slamming down his teacup. ¡°So stop telling me you can''t change!¡±


    ¡°Neither of you can change who I am, what I¡¯ve done,¡± he replied, voice ragged and barely controlled as his fists clenched.


    ¡°That¡¯s who you were, not who you are to become! Or should we go backwards,¡± Triki¡¯s lips curled back to expose his stained teeth worn from age, his next word flung as poisonous as any viper.


    ¡°Warlord.¡±


    Apoch caught himself mid-lunge, fangs on full display and eyes blazing with rage.


    Somehow Triki knew the history of that title, knew it had originally been what Zidaii¡¯s conquered Chief¡¯s had called him behind his back. A slander against the fact he looked more human than they, as if his blood was somehow more tainted with humanity than theirs had been.


    He had shown the first warrior with enough stupidity to call him Warlord to his face that he bled red too, and then claimed the title to spite them all.


    Just as quickly the tension vanished as he reined in his emotions, sitting back down on the stool coldly.


    ¡°There is one who may be able to reverse the binding,¡± Triki finally offered in the strained silence, Apoch¡¯s eyebrows rising as he waited for the rest. ¡°He resides on the Broken Tooth Ridge. Do you know of that area?¡±


    Apoch loosened his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. ¡°Well enough, I¡¯ll head there today.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll require you both.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll bring him here, and in the meantime you can take care of that thing,¡± he countered, nodding towards Iscah as he rose.


    ¡°That thing is now your mate, and your responsibility.¡±


    ¡°My mate,¡± he repeated, the cabalistic grin crossing his face making Triki recoil in foreboding. Looking over his shoulder at her he took in her wary expression, her eyes widening in alarm.


    In a blur of motion he was by her side, pain lancing through her head as he dragged her up by the hair and arched her back across his bent knee.


    Grabbing the neckline of her dress he ripped it down to her waist in one savage jerk, exposing her upper body. Apoch paused, cocking his head as his gaze traveled back to Triki who sat frozen in disbelief at the sudden brutality.


    ¡°Have you ever raped a woman before, Shaman?¡± Apoch queried, tauntingly. Iscah cried out when his grip tightened in her scalp mercilessly.


    Her legs caught in the blanket as she scrambled to seek relief, arching further until she was contorted over far enough that Triki could see her inverted face.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurting her,¡± the Shaman mumbled, words trembling as Apoch¡¯s other hand trace across the healing scabs at the base of her bared neck, marking her as his.


    ¡°Their minds break so easily, but their bodies. Their bodies instinctively know what to do,¡± he explained, voice ominously patient.


    He toyed with her nipple, rolling the peaked tip between thumb and forefinger. Tears filled her eyes and slipped from their corners, dampening the hair at her forehead as she fought to take in a full breath with her spine compressed from below.


    ¡°Their cunts get so wet, so tight. Trying to make you come as fast as possible to keep from ripping internally. A survival mechanism predating our existence, one still used not just by us, but by their own men too.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± Triki whispered, spellbound as his touch trailed down her stomach and continued beneath the torn dress. Apoch¡¯s vicious expression was a challenge, never looking away from him even when his fingers found their mark and Iscah made a strangled sound of humiliation.


    ¡°Do you want to watch me fuck her, Shaman?¡±


    He shook his head in response, but Apoch could see the truth in his glazed eyes that hadn¡¯t left Iscah¡¯s body. Removing the single digit from inside of her he lifted that same hand to his lips.


    ¡°You wagered I''d protect your precious little warlock,¡± he began, pausing to wet all four fingers in his mouth one by one, hinting at his brutal intentions. ¡°But what you didn¡¯t take into account is, who is going to protect her from me?¡±


    The threat roused the elder out of his stupor, and he struggled to his feet with the aid of his staff, facial expression clouding over in indignation that he would inflict such damage on her.


    ¡°I said, st¡ª¡±


    Iscah gasped when he shoved her off his leg, tumbling onto her belly as he stepped into Triki as if to embrace him. The shaman¡¯s demand ended in a light grunt as Apoch buried his blade into his gut.


    Iscah watched in horror as Triki¡¯s staff clattered to the floor, the soft snick of metal entering flesh playing in her mind again.


    No, Apoch had stabbed him again.


    And again.


    She had no recollection of rushing for the staff, but as she picked it up reality snapped back into play as she swung it as hard as she could for Apoch¡¯s skull. On instinct he ducked, letting the old male fall as Iscah stepped through, off-balanced and overcompensating for the attack.


    A wet hand wrapped around her throat, painful enough to leave bruises as he shoved her into the wall, his body flush against hers to keep from ricocheting off of it.


    The world blurred on impact, muted, and came back into focus of blood red eyes burning with hatred and words being screamed so viciously, spittle flecked her face.


    He tossed her like a ragdoll to the ground, her palms skinning as she tried to catch herself on the stone. Before she could even register the pain his knee was digging into her back, crushing the air from her lungs again as he grabbed her arms and wrenched them behind her. The bite of cording at her wrists as he tied them together, and then the pressure on her torso vanished to allow air to return to her chest, barely aware he was repeating the process to her ankles as well.


    He backed off and she rolled onto her side, trussed up but able to see as he crossed to where Triki lay crumpled in a heap. Burying his hand in that wild nest of pepper and grays he lifted the elder with a single arm.


    ¡°No! Apoch please!¡± Violent gaze slid to her, both pausing as if recalling the last time she had used the same words. ¡°Don¡¯t- don¡¯t do this.¡±


    Lips pulled back in the mockery of a smile, he turned so that the body was in her full view, and slit the elders throat. Blood splashed mere seconds before her stomach emptied, tears running freely as she keened in terror.


    Yet beneath that apathetic facade a storm broiled internally, like something dormant had roused when he had laid his hands on her.  That beast sunk its talons into his heart and tore, howling with fury and fighting at the cage that was his chest cavity with every sob of his mate. As if he had betrayed her somehow, as if he was to blame for this.  As if he owed her some sort of allegiance, some modicum of honor and respect.


    But her kind never had deserved any of those things, and he would be damned if he would give it to this girl now.  It was a good thing she finally understood what he was.  It was right she be afraid of him.


    He was a fucking fool to have trusted Triki, and once more again to believe there really was someone who could undo the binding, but it seemed that hope was even harder for him to kill than the girl.


    Apoch left her wailing in grief, stepping into the sunshine of early morning.


    Bu¡¯u arrived a moment later, bumping his nose against Apoch¡¯s arm. The denimal paused, sniffing his rider pointedly before stretching his neck to peer over his shoulder, crooning in concern. Apoch made a disgusted noise at his clear infatuation, tossing the saddle and bridle on quickly before turning to lead him back down the trail.


    He came up hard against the ends of the reins, looking back in surprise as Bu¡¯u stubbornly stood his ground, one gold eye rolling back towards the cave.


    Apoch groaned, rubbing at his face tiredly before glaring at his lovesick denimal.


    The Broken Tooth Ridge was too far a trip for him to leave her here alone, and with her only dress now destroyed he needed to get clothing for her. Karcerak had been less than half a day¡¯s ride from Triki¡¯s home, and Apoch knew the Chieftain personally.


    ¡°We¡¯re coming back,¡± he explained in annoyance.


    Bu¡¯u yipped, leaping into action and racing past his rider. Apoch caught his saddle and mounted on the run as they began the descent into the laurel oceanic forests below towards the town.

 23| Karcerak

    Tucked in a far back corner of an estuary, Karcerak was the main supply center for the smaller villages and farms for the region. Its shoreline hosted nearly a dozen docks that reached far out into the waters, the shallow depth affording natural protection from monstrous sea demons. For this reason it berthed barges, hunting ships and fishing boats that either traveled up the delta onto their continent¡¯s main rivers, or out into the perilous sea.


    From a thick timbered A-frame, the remnants of a massive carnivorous fish hung from multiple hooks, most of the meat already stripped and the leftovers now being noisily picked over by various types of scavenging birds. A squat warehouse on the bank belched fragrant smoke that slid over the water like blue mist, while two empty river barges sat moored on a wharf nearby, waiting to be loaded with the fresh-cured meats.


    Apoch observed the activity from the crest of the road before nudging Bu¡¯u down the sloping entrance to the town. He pulled up his cowl, tilting his head down so that the hem of the garment shadowed the upper part of his face as he guided Bu¡¯u with his knees towards the only trading post.


    Inside he found his supplies with familiar ease, though when he turned towards the clothing section he hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. A girl whom he suspected was the owners daughter approached, all coy smiles and shy glances at her opportunity to assist the attractive stranger.


    ¡°Are you looking for a gift for someone special?¡±


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Apoch hedged, eyeing the slender female long enough to cause a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. ¡°Have anything that fits?¡±


    She was pixie cute, with slate-green skin and freckles of ivory that matched her braided hair. Her lashes veiled amber eyes that were flecked with copper for a moment before she met his gaze playfully.


    ¡°This one,¡± she lead him to the back wall and opened a drawer, pulling out a lovely summer dress of grey silk. The top tied around the throat so that it was backless, the skirt a single swath overlapping a front sheet that would be modest, until the wearer took a step. There was a hungry look in her face and Apoch knew instantly she had stashed it away to buy for herself someday. She pressed it to her chest to model for him.


    ¡°I would wager it would look good on your floor for tonight, if you bought it,¡± she purred. He smiled slowly, tilting his head in invitation. She moved closer to him and he took the dress, his grin changing from roguish to business.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need garb for a slave in that same size, along with a couple other options for a house servant as well.¡±


    The girl blinked, her mouth hanging open in shock as Apoch strolled away from her casually to the front of the store, as if he hadn¡¯t just eviscerated her ego.


    The cashier had rung up all of his items by the time she had returned, slamming what could¡¯ve been brown cotton bags with tubes for arms on the counter before storming off. They were perfect.


    With the travel foods and goods individually wrapped in burlap he put them in the riding packs, tugging on Bu¡¯u¡¯s reigns lightly before walking beside his denimal down to the prominent and only inn in town.


    The sign marking it was a gaudy thing. Carved in cheap wood with gold leaf, it was already cracked and peeling from exposure to the elements.


    So like him, he thought to himself, grinning as he handed Bu¡¯u off to the stable boy who was rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  Apoch let a silver piece walk across his knuckles before it vanished in his palm, gaining the full attention of the youngster.


    ¡°Evening, Honored. Fresh meat, fresher water, you understand?¡±


    The cambion boy nodded exuberantly. ¡°Y¡¯stayin th¡¯night?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back after nightfall. Have him ready.¡± The boy¡¯s head bobbled again and he lead Bu¡¯u off.


    Apoch entered the inn, keeping the door open momentarily to take count of the faces and let his eyes adjust to the dimness so he could see the patrons before they could see him. Finding no attention on himself he found a table tucked near the back and slid into the seat. A maid hurried over, cheeks pink from the heat all the bodies packed in the room was creating.


    ¡°Sorry sir, th¡¯table¡¯s reserved. Seating at th¡¯bar though.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have a Sen¡¯drale.¡±


    She didn¡¯t hesitate, nodding as if her apology had never happened.


    ¡°Fish stew is decent t¡¯night.¡±


    ¡°A large one of those, then. And this time don¡¯t put an entire loaf of bread in it.¡±


    The female snorted a laugh, her tail flicking in amusement as she shook her head and walked away. ¡°Take that up with th¡¯ owner.¡±


    ¡°Cheap bastard,¡± Apoch muttered.


    He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his wide chest as his attention swept across the room the tables location afforded. Sailors and fishers well into their cups made the most of the gathering, maids and local whores working their ranks, earning back the money that the waters had lined their pockets with. A bard sat near the hearth, strumming on a lute and singing a song unknown to Apoch.


    One of the females who had been waiting for his gaze to land on her offered a smile, but he pointedly turned away from her after a moment. Dismissal noted she resumed plying her skills on the big-bellied male whose lap she was currently occupying.


    The waitress returned, setting the stew down with a knowing smirk as Apoch tsked, upper lip curling on one side at the sight of the loaf taking up most of the bowl. Her husky laugh followed her departure, and knowing the bread would be hard as a rock he didn¡¯t bother attempting to dig in until she finally delivered the ale to accommodate his meal.


    With the better portion finally eaten he pushed the bowl away, finishing the horn of salted beer the town was known for. Their proximity to the sea made it so the tavern wenches spun it as a tribute to the bounty the tides brought in, but Apoch knew better; the owner simply diluted the brew with seawater to increase his profit margins. Still, it had caught on and become part of Karceraks¡¯ charm. Something the travelers and workers alike had to look forwards to at the end of a long day or even longer haul.


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    He set a silver mark on the table, but when the maid returned with another overflowing horn she didn¡¯t bother to pick it up. Taking the fresh drink he kicked back, thankful to have a moment to himself to enjoy the company of his own kind.


    The candelabras had become the main source of light by the time he had finished off the second round. The bard had switched genres of music at some point in time to popular drinking songs, the rowdy group slurring the lyrics as he sullenly plucked the melody for them.


    Apoch glanced over as the bar tender returned from the kitchen and waved his waitress over, the two exchanging words before she wove her way to his table, setting a single rusted iron coin down before pocketing his silver.


    ¡°Enjoy your evening, Warlord.¡±


    Picking up the currency he headed towards the kitchen, passing through a narrow, unmarked doorway and up a steep flight of stairs. At the landing two guards eyed him suspiciously but he flicked the coin to one, the male catching it and stepping aside to rap hard on the door.


    A deep voice came from the other side and the male opened it, blocking the doorway with his bulk as he turned a condemning glare onto Apoch.


    ¡°Weapons.¡±


    Apoch offered a mocking smile, the same voice in the office answering for him.


    ¡°Let him through. Not like you could stop this one if he wanted me dead anyway.¡±


    ¡°Garl, you cut me deep. I would never stab you in the back,¡± Apoch replied humbly, entering the room with his palms out. Behind the desk a full-blooded demon with an orcish face sat cutting rows of purple dust.


    ¡°No, I bet you¡¯d gut me from the front like you did Salas.¡±


    At this Apoch laughed, sitting down in the chair opposite of Garl. ¡°You heard about that?¡±


    ¡°Good on you, that traitor. Donned human skin and played their puppet thinking he was safe. Zidaii has been missed by all.¡±


    Apoch tipped his head in reply, setting a small bag of coins that clinked weightily against the wood between him and the demon. ¡°I need some supplies. The regular order, and then some that aren¡¯t.¡±


    Plugging one side of his pug-nose the demon snorted the lines in one inhale, sniffing sharply before finally looking at his guest.


    ¡°So, The Warlord is back. More than a few upstarts are gonna be pissed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not coming back, just cleaning up a few loose ends.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s how it always starts.¡±


    Apoch pointedly glanced down at the empty spot where the bag of money had been. ¡°You¡¯re getting better, Garl.¡±


    ¡°That, or you''re getting older.¡±


    He chuckled low in response, using a foot to push his chair onto its back legs as Garl rose and studied the hutch behind him. Picking out various vials and jars he set them on the desk carefully, sitting back down and opening a drawer by his knee.


    Apoch reached for the tinctures, his hand freezing when a silver slavers collar clanged onto the desk. His smile faded, gaze flicking from beneath his brow dangerously to the demon without lifting his head. Garl held his stare in a drugged stupor for a moment before lowering his voice so that it wouldn''t carry.


    ¡°Not my business why you¡¯re in my town buying clothes fit for a human girl. I¡¯m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the same week I heard you had disemboweled Salas that the old names are, for some strange reason, looking for a maiden with white hair both sides of the wall, and making no attempt to do it quietly.¡±


    He set a brick of black dye next to the collar, Apoch still not reacting. ¡°Call it a customer appreciation bonus.¡±


    For a moment neither moved. Then Apoch leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head nonchalantly, which was somehow more perilous than if he had pulled a blade.


    ¡°I wonder who you fear more,¡± He finally murmured, crimson eyes glowing faintly. ¡°Them, or me.¡±


    Garl blinked in surprise, beads of sweat rising on his brow. ¡°Did you stick your dick in an Archfiend or something?¡±


    Apoch''s brows rose, not understanding his meaning at all. Garl shook his head, realizing he probably didn''t want to know why the Warlord¡¯s eyes were now burning like the titans they fought.  ¡°Your reputation is your enemy from here on out, old friend, not me.¡±


    Apoch mused over this, knowing it to be true. Being a legend in a world filled with the worship of death was not to his advantage at this point. Garl was helping him out, but Garl would also talk when either the time, money, threats, or a combination thereof came. It wasn¡¯t like he couldn¡¯t; too many people had seen him in Karcerak. Killing the demon would be a red flag, one he couldn¡¯t afford. The best he could hope for would be that his old comrade would set the hunters on false trails for as long as possible.


    Apoch stood and rapped his knuckles on the empty desk, Garl belching a laugh when he realized the supplies had vanished some time during their conversation.


    ¡°This shit is good or you¡¯ve gotten better. I guess some things do age well.¡±


    Apoch smirked at him and took his leave, his smile vanishing immediately as soon as he was down the stairs.


    Outside the boy waited with his denimal, and Apoch handed him the promised silver before packing away the final supplies Garl had sold him.


    Mounting he headed out of town northwards under the veil of night, stopping at a bend in a ravine to dismount and climb up the sandstone walls to a hidden vantage point. He glanced at the random indicators he had put in place to alert him of the narrow edges use, but it seemed to be still unknown to most travelers. Bu¡¯u had already continued ahead, leaving footprints to lead any followers onwards.


    Apoch waited motionless for hours to make sure he had not been followed. With just the sounds of the forest as company, inevitably his mind wandered back to Iscah. The thought seemed to gouge talons anew inside his chest, making him wince. He had meant to turn his fury on her, especially when she had been stupid enough to defend Triki after what that bastard had done to them. But with his emotions in check now, there was no denying he regretted it.


    They were all victims of circumstance, and while he held no regrets for past violence against her kind, he knew this time it was different, she was different. Triki was right, it had been his decision to bind her to him as a mate, but he couldn¡¯t understand why he had done it. Yes, there was no denying he wanted her physically, and she wanted him as well, but when had a little attraction ever driven him to such extremes?


    He and Nedivah had been together for years, and still he had never marked her. Had never felt his mouth water and dick twitch at just the thought of sinking his canines into her flesh. It was like the girls blood held some sort of narcotic that he craved, something that wrapped him tighter around her, and it scared the fuck out of him. Not because he was afraid of losing control and killing her, but because he could feel a foreign emotion burrowing deeper into his heart and mind: acceptance.


    His heartbeat slipped as his body cycled through an acute stress response, fighting against the concept that he would actually accept a human not just as a bound contractor, but as a mate as well. It was too much, too fast, even for him. He closed his eyes and willed his body back into calm, acknowledging that processing this horrific turn of events would take time, and currently this was not the time nor the place for it. He had to make sure they were not being tailed to keep his little lamb safe, and keep them both alive.


    It was nearing dawn when they finally arrived at the dry stream bed and turned to follow it to the cave. Bu¡¯u paused near the entrance, ears flicked forwards as he scented the air noisily. Apoch snarled a curse, jumping from the saddle and shoving the hide aside to confirm what her already faded scent had told him.


    Iscah was gone.

 24| Janius

    ¡°For Gods sake, woman!¡± King Janius bellowed as he threw the door open, storming into the underground room.  ¡°I thought you were a healer!¡±


    The old woman sighed, not even masking her irritation at being disrupted, even if it was royalty slamming her door against the wall.  She set her pen down carefully, turning in her chair with the slowness of age to acknowledge him.


    ¡°I am a healer, not a miracle worker.  Not much I can do when you go against my orders and make that ulcer flare ugly.¡±


    ¡°How dare you speak to me like that, I am your king!¡±  He bellowed, the apples of his cheeks growing cherry red in anger.


    ¡°And foremost my patient,¡± she snapped back, matching his glare and temper.


    ¡°I could have you thrown into prison for speaking to me like this,¡± he growled, grimacing as he clutched his stomach.


    ¡°Ah yes, perhaps your torturers could put my spine back into place for me on the wrack.  I¡¯d thank them for chopping off these arthritic fingers at this point, kiss my executioner for putting me out of my misery¡ª¡±


    His loud moan of annoyance cut off her lamenting as he rolled his eyes, dropping his pudgy frame into the only other unoccupied chair in the room.  ¡°Peace you old bat, I might lose my hearing from your wails if you continue.  I already have a wife harping on me for whatever new crisis she can conjure up, I don¡¯t need another woman on my other ear.¡±


    ¡°Then stick to the diet I¡¯ve set you to and you won¡¯t,¡± she replied sourly, working her way off the stool and shuffling to shelves that had been lowered so she might reach them.  Cork-sealed glasses filled with dried herbs and powders lined every inch of them, and she plucked up a few of the unmarked containers and gathered them to her breast, using the other to steady herself against the stone island as she moved for the mortar and pestle.


    ¡°I have! You¡¯ve got that cook trained to heel; my meals are as bland and miserable as you had hoped and yet still I suffer.  If your methods keep failing, I¡¯ll find a new occupant for this room, perhaps a bonny mid-witch with better curves and manners.¡±


    She snorted, both knowing his threats were superficial.  The old woman was a permanent fixture in the castle.  It was rumored her house had once occupied the hill Janius¡¯ had commissioned this castle be built upon, and when the underground rooms had been completed even before the rest of the castle walls went up, she had moved in.


    At the beginning she had only aided servants for more embarrassing disorders; an itchy crotch, an unwanted pregnancy, an unsightly wart.  But as her reputation grew so had her clientele, treating everything from cuts and broken bones to internal ailments the Physickers in the Royal Medica were unable to.


    She was notoriously indiscriminate, the nobles treated with the same level of respect as the servants.  Which meant the same level of disrespect.  There was not one polite bone left in the old creature, if ever she had one to begin with.  But she was effective, and despite her grouchiness was discreet.


    The Physickers had prescribed Janius medicines for the burning in his belly, but they had given nothing but temporary relief.  Despite her crankiness it had been her medicine, her recommendations to add and remove certain foods from his cuisine that had helped the most.  Lately though, even that was not enough.


    He belched loudly, groaning again as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, attempting to focus on the rhythmic grinding of her pestle circling the inner walls of the granite mortar.  The fragrant  sweetness of the herbs being ground to such a fine dust, it floated in the air and teased his tongue and nose with their flavor.  Licorice, fennel, mint and basil.


    The pestle stopped and her wispy, labored breaths filled the silence as she retrieved the kettle always kept ready on a small stove built into the wall.  She poured him a cup, adding the powdered herbs to it and working her way back to him.


    ¡°Here, Your Majesty,¡± she quipped, extending the ceramic cup to him when he opened his eyes.  Accepting the mug he inhaled the steam, taking a careful sip as she watched on shrewdly.


    ¡°It¡¯s gotten worse then, has it?¡±


    Mouth full he nodded in response, savoring the way the concoction calmed his stomach, even though the relief would not last.  ¡°Is there no more you can do?¡±


    ¡°I am no Warlock, sire,¡± she replied bitterly, and Janius scowled.  He understood what she meant by that, and resented it entirely.


    Physickers were educated in medicine, some with a gift for healing though it could¡¯t be called magic.  No, the true wielders of bodily miracles had been the Warlocks who had specialized in blood magic.  They had been travelers, visiting the villages and towns that had sprouted up on the old byways that were now used without fear of demon attacks.  Treating the ill, the injured, and asking nothing in return save for a place to rest and the life of any child born a warlock they found in their wanderings.


    And all of them had been wiped out at his command.


    General Isenius had vowed to replace such a painful loss to their society, devoting himself into establishing a University for their budding city.  The Medica branch was already training the next generation of Physickers, though classes were being held in tent camps since almost all masons and skilled crafters had been conscripted to the castle grounds.


    But comparing the talent of a Blood Warlock to a Physicker was like comparing a crippled donkey to a thoroughbred.  The loss was devastating, and Janius was coming to realize this.


    She leaned back against her stone island, humming a grunt.  ¡°I heard the last executions hadn¡¯t even included any true warlock.¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.Her voice turned somber, lowering.  ¡°A little girl with sky blue eyes and cornsilk braids who screamed for her mother, even while the pyre burned.¡±


    Just that easily the tension her tea had alleviated returned ten-fold.  He blinked as if struck, grip turning white-knuckled around the mug as baby blue eyes slid warningly towards her.


    ¡°Enough, Ath,¡± he ground out wearily, lips thinning.  ¡°You go too far.¡±


    When she had first arrived, it was with the intent to kill this same man whose stomach ulcers she was now treating.  It had become clear early on though that while Janius was King, he was not entirely in control.


    Somewhere along the way, Isenius had begun to undermine his authority.  Magnanimously, he had taken more responsibility for his sovereign after he had returned a hero from beyond the wall, choosing projects that endeared him to the people, gained exposure to the masses.  It had been Isenius whose voice carried over the screams of a child to stoke the flames of hatred and fear higher today, just as it had been over the last few weeks.


    The warlocks were entirely at fault that the cambions had broken loose.  It had been the warlocks fault that so many of their husbands, brothers, sons, had been slaughtered.  Their bodies left to feed those beings more animal than man.


    No more, the people screamed.  Kill them all!


    So they had, until all that could be found, had been found.  Those that survived were so deep in hiding even she could not find them to offer the same protection she had received in that vault beneath the city¡¯s cemetery. The truth of it was, she knew Janius could not bear witnessing a girl he knew to be innocent sacrificed to feed the perverse retribution of the city.  Or any of the others that had preceded her.


    And now, she found herself in an uneasy alliance with the same king who had played a part in the genocide of her kind.  Because the real threat was the Commander who had come home with hair as white as snow and hunger in his eyes.  That cunningly hidden hatred was what she had expected to find in Janius, but the man, while short-tempered and impatient, was actually a natural leader who was not as stubbornly set in his ways as he appeared.


    In his youth he had brought the broken remnants of the human race together through careful negotiations, and when those failed, through war.  Manipulative, yes, as all charismatic individuals were, but she had found he was not as corrupt as she had initially assumed.


    He was a good leader, a good king, but with Isenius circling the throne and growing ever closer, he would not be in power for much longer.  Already rumors were being whispered among the destitute, gathering power as it slipped from lips to ears; Janius was a Warlock, as were his children.


    It was not his diet causing the ulcers, but anxiety and fear.


    Tamping down her nerves, she tilted her head in the direction of the tome opened on the writing pedestal.  ¡°Do you know what that is?¡±


    ¡°Should I care?¡± He replied gruffly, despite the way his attention inadvertently drifted to the book.  It had been a project the old woman had been working on for weeks now, the nobles complaining noisily about the fact unless it was a critical illness or injury she had snapped at them to ¡®go elsewhere for coddling,¡¯ without so much as looking up from its pages she was filling obsessively.


    Unable to hide his curiosity any longer the king rose, flipping back a few pages to scan the paragraphs written in perfect, concise lines across the vellum.  His brows dipped, nose inching closer to the ink before snapping back to glare at her.


    ¡°The hell is this?  ¡®Naon had selflessly laid down his life to close the portal, a testament to his loyalty to the people of the new nation established by King Janius¡¯? These are lies!¡±


    ¡°Tell me sire,¡± she replied back calmly, those dark eyes settling fully upon him.  He froze, alarm trickling down his spine, raising the fine hairs on his arms under that sharp gaze that did not belong in the face of such an old woman.  Her smile was an acknowledgement of his sudden sobriety that she was not what she appeared to be.  ¡°How long have I truly been here?¡±


    ¡°No more than a handful of years, according to my spies,¡± he answered gruffly, expecting to throw her off guard with this knowledge.  Instead those luminous eyes gleamed with amusement, flecks of cobalt catching in the dim candlelight before vanishing, as if it had been only his imagination.  She canted her head, conceding the truth to his accusation.


    ¡°Yet your servants, guards and nobles know that to be a lie.  Your palace was built on the bones of my house, and so rightfully, I belong here.¡±  Her eyebrows rose, a smirk stretching the wrinkles pruning her lips and gathering the ones at their corners.  ¡°More so, I¡¯d say, than even you do.¡±


    ¡°Though we both know that to be untrue, they have accepted this as the absolute truth of me.  The lie fed so subtly, so casually, that every one of them have a family member or friend who remembers my quaint little cottage to some degree.  The notion that a wise, helpful old hedgewitch had infiltrated your walls and commandeered a room in the basement would be preposterous to them.  For though I am prickly, I am a nostalgic part of the history of this place now.  Wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond, eyes distant as he grasped her meaning.  The clever mind that had gathered up the remains of his people and set the foundation for an empire was working again, no longer caught in the trap of fear.


    ¡°He has the attention of the masses,¡± Janius began, fingers drumming on the page of her book.


    ¡°His power over them is based on the perceived threat that the warlocks are still out there, still a threat.  All it would take is a change in the narrative by popular means. Your people flock to religion for a hope of peace after centuries of fear and loss.  To the taverns for reprieve from the days spent rebuilding what we once were.¡±


    ¡°And what narrative would you have me feed them?¡±


    ¡°That Naon was the last Warlock.  It would undermine Isenius¡¯s campaign completely, and since you have never attended the executions, would leave him to take the fall for these shameful trials where innocents have been murdered, all in an attempt to steal the throne.¡±


    At first he contemplated it dubiously, then he nodded in understanding.  Buy the church off, pay the bards to sing this new historic recount, and leave the rest to those who would spread this as the truth.  He looked down at the book, glancing over the text that mixed truth with lies, until it was nothing but lies that became truth.


    ¡°Of course this whole idea will fall apart the minute another Warlock is born, though,¡± he surmised finally.  ¡°It¡¯s a good idea, but not good enough.¡±


    Ath¡¯s smile widened, and the King paused, looking back to her.  ¡°You have a solution?¡±


    ¡°I have a solution,¡± she confirmed with a little nod, fingering the iridescent grey marbles in her skirt pocket.


    Jalen gasped for air as he ripped out of the memory, his bedroom tilting as he stumbled out of the chair.  He could feel his pores widen as sweat sprung to his skin, the vertigo not settling like it normally did.


    I just need to lay down, he thought to himself, blinking rapidly as he turned for his bed.  But his vision was narrowing, the realization he wasn¡¯t going to make it sinking in about the same time his knees hit the hardwood floor.

 25| Pride

    Iscah panted as she crested the ledge, stopping to catch her wind again and take in the view.


    Above the boundaries of the forest, the landscape had shifted to gently rolling plains of wild grass already shifting to gold from summers initial touch. In the distance, rising hills tipped in the dark greens of coniferous trees buttressed jagged peaks of mountains cutting blue and grey against the clear sky.


    Here her vantage point of sea and mountain made directional orientation easy, though the sparse trees miles apart left her exposed to the burning sun and a dry wind the humid forests near the coastline didn¡¯t have.


    Giving her cantina a shake with dismal results she sighed, peeling the wax cap back and taking a small, measured sip.


    She supposed if it got too bad she could go back down into the suffocating heat of the airless forest to look for more water, but for now walking through the knee-high grasses seemed the lesser of two evils.


    The lesser of two evils. A sardonic grin tugged at her lips before decaying quickly at the irony. That seemed the theme of her life lately. Make a choice, and pray the consequences weren¡¯t as horrible as the other options she had to pick from. The latest decision had been made in panic, and that motive still drove her.


    In the time after Apoch had left, she had put herself back together at a rate she couldn''t help but feel a little proud of. Witnessing Triki¡¯s murder had not caused her to faint like the previous attacks had, as if she was growing used to seeing death. She had inched her way across the floor like a caterpillar to a shard of broken pottery, using the sharp edge to saw through the rope he had tied her wrists together with and nicking herself half a dozen times in the process.


    It had taken hours, ones she didn¡¯t even know if she had. Dozens of emotions had plagued her in that time, from panic attacks, to nearly uncontrolled fits of terror to anxiety she would fail before he returned. When the final fray snapped she hadn¡¯t celebrated, instead had just bent to cutting her ankles free even though the muscles in her hands and arms were screaming in pain. It was sheer force of will to not immediately flee once she had cut herself loose, taking a few precious moments she didn¡¯t even know if she had to shed her ripped dress and put on an oversized robe of Triki¡¯s. Another steadying breath, and then she grabbed a shoulder sack and stuffed whatever she thought she would need into it.


    Staying with Apoch was no longer an option. He had shown his true self, and she had realized that while she would be a social outcast, it beat being murdered. She might also be able to use her family¡¯s reputation at the Tower of the Balenciai to seek aid getting not only the dreams ended, but the bond no amount of scratching or scrubbing her arm had removed.


    She had traveled through the late day and most of the night, the biting insects making sleep impossible, but she still felt decent enough to press on. By mid morning that had changed. Her exhaustion was making her take two breaths for every arduous step. The cantina was bone dry, and already she had regretted not taking more time to gather more rations and another bag of water.


    Stopping she adjusted the rope that was holding the hem of the oversized robe in place and scan the landscape before her, needing to rest and get out of the baking heat.


    Not far off a lone acacia tree gave respite, and Iscah grit her teeth and changed course for its shade, her hair rippling into her face with the sea breeze at her back. She had no energy to even try to remove it off of her sweat-crusted cheeks.


    A chirp interrupted the constant whine of the wind and Iscah stopped, wondering if she was hallucinating. Turning she shaded her squinted eyes beneath her hand to study the way she had come.


    Bu¡¯u¡¯s excited greeting echoed again when he saw the girl had spotted them and picked up the pace in his eagerness. Without thinking she dropped her bag and ran for the tree, Apoch bellowing what sounded like a warning.


    Iscah looked up from her tunnel vision on the tree to the tawny-colored animal crouched much too close, panic making her limbs run cold when she recognized the shape of a predator. When she met the alert, gold eyes the lioness sprung into action, muscles visible beneath the short fur as she hurled herself over the ground at alarming speed. The girl froze in paralytic fear, watching the animal barrel towards her with fatal grace before the cat¡¯s side twitched violently as Apoch¡¯s blade sunk between her ribs. She stumbled and lost her footing, crashing into the grass and rolling to a stop in a cloud of fine dust.


    Another lioness moved in Iscah¡¯s peripheral, her focus unbroken by the fall of the other feline as she sprinted for the human. Iscah screamed the words of a fire spell and flames blazed to life across the animals face, the responding roar of pain close enough to vibrate through Iscah¡¯s chest though she had no time to watch.


    The entire pride was in on the hunt, and none of them seemed shaken by the loss of two members.


    A young male leapt for her, Iscah unaware of the attack until she heard the sound of bodies colliding, Apoch and Bu¡¯u launching themselves into the fray. He ducked the massive paw that swung out at him with deceiving speed, lashing out with his remaining dagger though the male had backed off, sensing the lethality of the cambion.


    Two more females flew out of the grass, changing their charge for him instead and he turned to face their feral attacks, moving with his own speed that matched the animals. One of the duo¡¯s snarls cut off abruptly as he dodged her passing swipe and plunged his remaining dagger into the side of her neck, sinking into the powerful muscles easily before shoving the blade down with both hands to cut through her throat. The other female leapt onto him and he twisted with the impact, screaming with the exertion of using his legs to launch over five hundred pounds up and through the air, her tail whipping furiously to land back on her feet.


    The male that had backed off took the opportunity to attack, slapping his paw across Apoch¡¯s back and drawing a ragged scream from the warlord as his claws bit through leather and flesh. Bu¡¯u took the male down before he could sink his fangs into the cambion¡¯s neck, the large sickle-claws on his hind legs butchering the animal with terrifying efficiency.


    Apoch had recovered but there was no fight left, the remaining lions retreating with their ears laid flat and heads low, vanishing into the grasses. Turning he limped back to the corpse of his first kill, retrieving his dagger from her side and exposing the four deep gashes on his back to Iscah.


    She gasped in shock at the bleeding mess though he didn¡¯t seem phased, going back over to Bu¡¯u and rummaging through a side satchel even as the denimal began tearing out mouthfuls of organ. Pulling out needle, sinew and one of the bags of water he rounded on her angrily.


    ¡°Ansato ku queshi,¡± he spat, smacking himself upside the head to signify the demeaning word before moving towards her. ¡°Queshi!¡±


    ¡°Stay away from me!¡± She yelled, backing away and tripping over the hem that had fallen loose in her haste. Struggling to get back on her feet she screamed when he grabbed her, crossing her arms over her head to protect herself from a strike that never fell.


    ¡°Iscah.¡±


    ¡°Get away!¡± she sobbed. He sighed heavily and gave her space, squatting down out of reach and waiting for her to calm down. When she realized he had backed off she sat up, sand-crusted tear lines dirtying her face.


    He slowly held up the waterbag, waiting for her to take it. When she finally did he turned around, flicking the belts open on his armor before sliding it off. Iscah felt her stomach roil at the sight of the ragged meat exposed on his back, taking a deep breath through her mouth as she realized what he expected.


    ¡°You want me to stitch you up? I-¡­I don¡¯t know how. Iyo.¡±


    ¡°Eeh!¡± He snarled, Bu¡¯u flinching at the fury in his voice. Iscah bit the inside of her lip, guilt creeping in at the sight of his wounds from defending her life.


    Picking up the water she poured it over his back, washing the grime and blood away as he unwound the sinew and split it into manageable threads for her. When the skin around the gashes was clean he held up the threaded needle for her to take.


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    Reaching up she touched the point into the edge and hesitated as her fingers shook uncontrollably. Apoch gave a long, noisy sigh, visibly relaxing his shoulders and easing the tension that had strung his body taut. Iscah swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and following his intentionally controlled breaths until her trembling had abated.


    Knowing she''d have to do it sooner or later she took a deep breath, and pushed the needle in.


    She stitched up the first gash awkwardly, but by the end of the first row her sutures were more even. Suddenly she was grateful for the embroidery lessons her mother had dragged her through, although the woman most likely would drop dead if she knew how her daughter was implementing that skill.


    Tapping the hilt of his knife in request he pulled it out of the sheath, angling his arm to hand it back to her without sparing a glance. She cut the sinew and set it back into his waiting palm, and began on the next furrow.


    ¡°You have no idea the damage you¡¯ve done,¡± she murmured, voice breaking as tears began flowing again. ¡°I can never go back to the University I was happy at. I can never read the books that had almost made me feel sorry for the tragedies your race has suffered. But now that I know one so personally good riddance¡ª I hope your whole species is killed off.¡±


    Her wavering voice faltered at that last thought, knowing she wished nothing of the sort.


    ¡°I have nothing now because of you,¡± she continued, losing herself in the patterned work. ¡°I''ll be an outcast, if my family will even take me back. At best I''ll be sent to be forgotten on a distant estate, at worst locked up with the madmen.¡± The third line breezed by as she continued talking, and she stared at the final laceration dismally.


    ¡°What do you want me to do, stay with you?¡± She snorted a laugh, poking the needle into his flesh. His deep rumble of displeasure at her less-than gentle ministrations vibrated through her fingertips. The muscles in his upper back shifted as he glared over his shoulder venomously at her, sweat dripping down his face in heavy lines.


    ¡°Did my prick hurt you?¡± She crooned, stabbing the needle in even harder than necessary as she matched his scowl with her own before pulling the thread through.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you won¡¯t have to suffer my company for much longer¡± she whispered. ¡°If you won¡¯t let me go, then I¡¯ll end it for both of us since you can¡¯t seem to do it yourself.¡±


    She cut the knotted thread and returned his dagger, and he rotated to face her casually, though by the burning look in his eyes she knew he was furious. Reaching up he took the needle out of her hand, locking her palm inside of his so that her index finger was braced extended. With a leisurely movement he jabbed the tip into the pad of her finger shallowly, not allowing her to jerk it back when she gasped in pain.


    ¡°Preek hurss?¡± He teased back with mock sympathy. Iscah glared bitterly at him, clamping her lips together tightly to keep from making any sound.


    Canting his head to the side he twisted her finger, licking the heavy droplet of blood that was threatening to fall. His eyes closed as he drew her digit into his mouth, and Iscah could feel her heart begin to hammer in her chest at the sensation of his tongue running over the small wound.


    It felt like he was drawing something out of her, more than just blood. He shuddered visibly as if he, too, could feel the effect. Her breath grew irregular as he pulled her finger out of his mouth, drawing her wrist up to press his lips against her racing pulse exposed between the tendons.


    She whimpered when he rubbed the front of his canines against the tender skin, as if he wanted to sink them into the vein, heart palpitating as fresh fear sent sweat trickling down her spine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she pleaded, his breath cascading across her exposed skin as he exhaled to take another deep inhale of her scent. ¡°Please.¡±


    Eyes of blood opened once more, and drawing back to study her wrist still captured in his grip. The skin was raw, scratch marks running perpendicular to the permanent stains.


    He knew it was futile. Once, two brothers had tried to find a way around the binding. One had bound his sibling and flayed the skin off his arm, burning the offending marks in a fire. Yet when the flesh had regenerated, it had come back still bearing the runes. Death was only one known way out of this, but if Triki¡¯s associate knew another alternative, Apoch would not give up.


    Still though, seeing such visible signs of her pain bothered him. He was used to harsh realities, used to suffering. If it wasn¡¯t for his races heightened regenerative abilities, his whole body would be one giant mass of broken bones and scar tissue at this point.


    He moved further from her slowly until he could stand, returning the needle and thread to the small triage kit he carried. Taking the waterbag he had left Iscah tipped it back to wash over her face, cleaning the salt and dust away before resealing it.


    Looking out over the now-empty plains, towards the woods edging the mountains, Apoch mulled over the distance. They were deceivingly farther than what they looked. It would¡¯ve been two days of hard riding across the golden belt, but with Iscah¡¯s current state they would have to go much slower.


    They were also well south of the main road used by caravans, which was a blessing and a curse. The ancient roads were built linking water wells together for travelers and trade, many too small to support more than two permanent residence at most. There were watering holes scattered randomly across the grassland, but they could be miles apart and most out of the way.


    They had no choice; being seen was a larger risk than he was willing to take with Garl¡¯s warning.


    Checking the secondary water bag he found it full before glancing at Iscah who sat staring out towards the ocean with a haunted look on her face.


    Apoch had seen the same expression before on warriors after their first kill, the look of facing death for the first time and surviving, forever burned into their psyche and ripping something from their soul. He had killed so many over the decades he had forgotten what that loss even felt like.


    Having left her with Triki would¡¯ve been the best option, but after that lunatic had drugged and bound them, he had to die. He knew Iscah took seeing death hard, and that knife of regret twisted deep in his chest once more as if in retaliation.


    He rubbed his face tiredly, wondering where this had all gone so terribly wrong. A silent laugh huffed from between his fingers. The Great Warlord, bound to a little girl with demon¡¯s knew how many hunters chasing them now.


    Bu¡¯u had eaten the choice parts of the lions while Iscah had taken care of Apoch, swiping the blood and bits of meat off his face with the pads of his fore claws before licking them clean. When Apoch finished rummaging through the packs he still wore, Bu¡¯u moved over to Iscah, sniffing at her dress until she pushed his head away. He nuzzled her again worriedly, licking her hand. Apoch observed their interaction, wondering if maybe Bu¡¯u could help her through healing mentally more than his presence would.


    It would leave him the ability to track for water, and the two could head in a direct path for the mountain ridge Triki had told him to go. He still hated the idea that they were being lead rather than making their own decisions, but if there was a chance of reversing the binding he was desperate enough to comply for now. Besides, what else could they take from them at this point?


    With the course settled he approached her again, trying to ignore the way she cringed when he reached for the water pack. He retied it to Bu¡¯u¡¯s saddle and pulled out a pair of linen pants, jerking the thong out of his hair and sticking it in his mouth before stripping down to nothing with practiced efficiency to switch out of war leathers and into lighter linen and bare feet. All this he did without sparing her a glance, and when the leather thong was wet with his saliva he pushed all of his hair back into a high ponytail and retied it so that it was out of his face.


    He exhaled slowly, stretching out his legs and limbering the muscles in preparation for the long run to come. The sutures were tight lines of red-hot pain, but already he could feel them knitting closed, the wounds itching. When he was finally ready he turned back to her.


    ¡°Come on, time to go,¡± he urged, offering Iscah a hand. She shrank back and looked away from him, Bu¡¯u gently butting his head against her arm.


    Apoch stepped away and let the denimal soothe the girl, ushering her onto his back using soft sounds and crouching on braced forearms to make it easier for her to mount.


    The warlord watched in disbelief.


    How many times had that same denimal gutted soldiers and victims in raids before? How many times had he been covered in human blood, painting that same maw? It was almost like he was treating the girl like a hatchling rather than a person. Was this his paternal instincts?


    With Iscah in the saddle Bu¡¯u turned gold frosted eyes towards Apoch and waited.


    Shaking his head at the oddity he rubbed the denimals muzzle, looking back out over the mountains until he saw the characteristic peaks that marked the Broken Tooth ridges. He squared himself to it and Bu¡¯u rested his jaw on his shoulder, following his gaze and locking on the same location.


    He snorted through his nostrils and Apoch turned, cuffing his snout playfully. Bu¡¯u hissed in response, snapping out with a taloned arm though the cambion ducked out of range, setting off at an easy lope that the beast fell in smooth step with.


    Late into the afternoon Apoch stopped, retrieving the water bag that had already been opened. He offered it to Iscah who declined, shrugging at her choice before pouring the rest of the bag into Bu¡¯u¡¯s waiting maw. The little that was left he drank, shouldering the empty bag and patting his mount¡¯s shoulder affectionately.


    ¡°Keep straight, I¡¯ll catch up. Keep her safe.¡±


    Bu¡¯u barked back, and turned to continue the way they had been headed. Iscah looked over her shoulder to watch as he changed his path and broke into a ground-eating jog.


    Apoch had found his bearings as they had walked through the morning, and he knew of a small watering hole that wasn¡¯t too far away. Still though, it meant two days apart from his gear and mount and only his daggers to see him through.


    It was more than enough.

 26| Thirst

    Every day the dark grey-green of the forest grew closer, and her tormentor did not return.


    She had given up trying to lead Bu¡¯u away from his path. The denimal would allow her to guide him off-course for a few minutes before tugging the reins from her grip and turning back towards the peaks, or match her desperate attempts to force him to her will by simply stopping and waiting until she tired. When she had tried walking away he would nuzzle and snuffle at her endlessly, herding her back towards the looming rise of mountains.


    The nights were the worst. All were spent crying herself to sleep and waking up from the deceptive dreams of Apoch in the morning. How she had begun to despise them. Instead of soothing her like they once did, they only drove her further into a darkness that even Bu¡¯u¡¯s attention could not reach, and by the third morning she had quit trying to escape or force the denimal to change directions. She had also continued to deny herself the water ration, too.


    There was only just to let the time roll over her like a thunderstorm.


    When night fell Bu¡¯u tamped down the grasses for their camp, and Iscah slid bonelessly from the saddle, pressing her palms against her eyes to try easing the ache from dehydration. Her physical wounds had all healed alarmingly fast now that she was off her feet, but it had done little for her thirst. Her tongue felt swollen in her dry mouth, her thoughts and reactions sluggish.


    Bu¡¯u¡¯s attention swung up suddenly, and he trilled a greeting as Apoch stalked out of the darkness.


    Iscah half turned to watch his approach from where she sat on the ground, noting how his gaze touched across her before acknowledging Bu¡¯u.


    This time when he opened the bulging water pouch, he let Bu¡¯u drink his fill before handing her the remaining contents.


    When she refused again he paused, grunting in annoyance as he pushed the waterskin against her arm demandingly. Iscah finally accepted it, but dropped it on the ground next to her, too fatigued to argue.


    The air electrified with tension as he lowered into a crouch beside her, picking it back up and holding it out to her intentionally. As if he knew what she was trying to do.


    Somewhere long ago she had read that a human could go without food for weeks, but only a matter of days without water. And somewhere along the way across the endless grasslands, she had decided there was no point continuing.


    She was tied to a cambion male who despised her, yet it was obvious he would never let her go. Her life had spiraled completely out of her control, and this was the one way she could take it all back.


    Simply end it. No more dreams, no more torment. Just a few more days of pain and surviving him and then she could close her eyes and never wake up again.


    ¡°Iscah, olorru,¡± he commanded, shaking the contents in explanation. When she turned her head away his patience snapped.


    One minute she was sitting hugging her knees, the next he had her by the scalp so she couldn¡¯t move her skull, pulling her back so her neck was pinned against his thigh. As she thrashed he bit the wax seal off and tipped the nozzle over her mouth, trying to get her to drink.


    At the first splash Iscah froze, compressing her lips together and breathing heavily through the pain as she glared murder up at him. The precious liquid trickled unused down her chin and throat, soaking into the front of her grimy robes.


    Apoch met her glare, though his fury was superfluous; internally he was relieved to see the belligerent streak of hers had returned. That he had not broken her spirit, that this tiny female a third of his weight could overcome her fear and still meet his eyes with defiance.


    It was one thing to understand she was hurting, and had thought she could find answers in taking control this way. But she could not be allowed to continue down this path of self-harm. Her choices were now bound to him, and vice-versa for the time being.


    Without being able to discuss it together, he weighed his options on how to overcome this issue. He could easily overpower her. Set his fingers to her cheeks and squeeze until her teeth cracked if she didn¡¯t give in, but there was no joy in that for him. He could threaten her, put a knife to her throat and see if, when faced with death for real, she¡¯d capitulate.


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    Either choice would only make her more terrified of him, and shatter what remained of her trust, if there was any left. No, he didn¡¯t want to hurt her, didn¡¯t want to break the little hellcat.


    ¡°You think this is rock bottom, little lamb?¡± Apoch crooned, voice rough as his attention wandered over her face, intrigued by the freckles now dusting her sun-bronzed cheeks and nose from the time in the sun. Her nostrils flared, breaths shallowing as he leaned in close enough that his lips brushed the corner of her mouth with every word he spoke.


    ¡°You have no idea what rock bottom is,¡± he whispered, hooded lids lifting to meet hers. Closer now, he could see the flecks of lighter azure threading through the midnight blue of her irises. Tilting his head he scraped his fangs feather-light across her chin, enjoying the way her whimper of fear sounded so much like her whimpers of pleasure.


    Hurt and pain were two entirely different things, but pain? That could evolve into pleasure. After all, they were just two sides of the same coin. Just as her wildness could grow with guidance from him. And when it did¡­


    He bent, laving the trail fluid off of her chin and down her throat, sucking at the small pool of it that had coalesced along her collarbone. At her gasp he shot back to her mouth, releasing the meager amount of sweat-tinged water he had lapped up over her clenched teeth. She squealed and tried to turn away, and he retreated to take a swig of water as she struggled feebly once more against the unyielding hold he had on her.


    When he pressed his lips against hers again she locked up, refusing to budge. From inches away they glared at one another, until he set the bag against her hip and gripped her ankle instead.


    Her eyes widened in alarm as his touch slid up, dragging the dress hem with it. He eased his hold on her hair so she could focus on the pleasure he was inciting, watching as her pupils blew wide when he palmed the muscles of her calf. As his fingertips brushed across the sensitive flesh behind her knee her breath grew ragged, and the sweetness of her arousal mixed with the sourness of her fear.


    With a twist of his fingers in her hair he merged pain back into her senses. Her mewl was literally drowned as he took advantage of her distracted state, forcing his tongue past her teeth. The mouthful of water he had been holding flooded into hers, coating her gums and throat with relief, rolling his tongue against hers until she involuntarily swallowed his gift.


    He pulled back, leaving her sputtering as she half choked on what she hadn¡¯t downed.


    Abandoning her knee he picked up the bag and offered it to her again. Her eyes flicked between his and the waterbag, and he could see her calculating his next move. How far he would push her, how long she could last.


    In answer he tilted the nozzle to his lips, taking unhurried drags of water, her attention tracking instantly to his throat. Mesmerized she watched his adams apple work in tandem with the muscles and tendons exposed down a neck thicker than one of her legs.


    When her gaze flicked back up to lock eyes with him once more he let his mask drop, baring his true thoughts. Let her see how much the sweet-and-sour smell of her fear and desire had affected him. Left him thirsting not for water, but what he could wring out of her instead. What he would take from her if she continued this little game he was enjoying playing with her that was taking such little effort on his part, but all of hers.


    With the last mouthful unconsumed he set the bag back down and turned his full attention upon her again, hand curving around the outside of her knee and squeezing her pliant flesh before sliding it down towards her hip.


    ¡°Ok ok, I drin¡ª I drink!¡± she croaked, snatching up the bag and adding what could only be curses directed at him in her language. He waited as she took a sip, growling when she paused and retaining his hold on her until she had consumed nearly a quarter of the bag.


    When he let her go she scrambled away, clutching the container to her chest as if it would protect her. He grinned smugly in her direction, his abs flexing in silent laughter when she all but spat more coarse language at him.


    Someday he would teach her to curse fluently in demaic, but for now listening to her rant in her native tongue was adorable. Leaving her to her wounded pride, he checked over Bu¡¯u once more before collapsing onto his back in the nest of crushed grass, not bothering with a blanket. Within moments his breathing had evened out, and Iscah felt such a bitter hatred well up inside of her at the sight of him. Without thinking she crept to his side, ripping his dagger out of its sheath and resting the edge against his throat.


    Beneath the veil of lashes he monitored her, not even attempting to defend himself or remove the threat of the weapon.


    I could kill you now and end both of our miseries, Iscah seethed mentally. She gritted her jaw, fingers flexing around the hilt.


    His brows rose, daring her to follow through with the threat. When she hesitated for too long he chuffed, rolling over to give her his stitched back brazenly, both knowing she didn¡¯t have the fortitude to follow through.


    She dropped the blade and curled up onto her side away from him, her angry hiss making him smile in amusement as he drifted to sleep.

 27| Indoctrination

    ¡°Gods sake, Wrighter. You look like shit,¡± was Edever¡¯s greeting as he slouched into the booth opposite Jalen.


    Not that it wasn¡¯t a valid observation. Jalen knew what he was referring to; his skin had paled, making the dark circles under his eyes more prominent. His body had leaned down to the point of gaunt, cheeks sunken in and energy levels along with them despite eating whatever, whenever he wanted. Lately, that had been red meat a few degrees above raw and not much else.


    Like that diary is taking a pound of flesh from me every time I access the memories, he mused, tossing Edever a rueful smile.


    ¡°Good to see you too, Cons,¡± he replied back tiredly.


    ¡°Guessing since you reached out to me you¡¯ve made contact finally,¡± he groused, ignoring when the bald-headed owner slammed two mugs down in front of them hard enough they sloshed onto the table. He paused though, his one beady eye studying Jalen to the point the young man squirmed in his seat uncomfortably before finally giving up and tossing an acidic glare right back.


    The man¡¯s lips thinned as if he had said something offensive, and he removed Jalen¡¯s drink without a word before heading into the kitchen.


    ¡°About a month ago, actually.¡±


    Edever sputtered, choking on his beer. He pounded on his chest, coughing the liquid out of his lungs as he glared wide-eyed at Jalen, unable to speak immediately.


    Jalen merely shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. ¡°There¡¯s been no word on when I¡¯d be introduced to the circus, so didn¡¯t really see a point in contacting you until now.¡±


    ¡°How long,¡± Edever managed to croak.


    ¡°Two weeks.¡±


    ¡°Gods damn it son,¡± he bit out, wiping his mouth across his sleeve as he sat back. His eyes were distant, lost in thought before he shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not enough time.¡±


    ¡°For?¡± Jalen asked, dragging the word out as he raised his brows in mock-interest.


    ¡°Did you think that you¡¯d just be inducted into a secret society without a trial? Maybe a nice gathering at a smoke bar to discuss your opinions on the latest dress trends over brandy?¡±


    Honestly, Jalen hadn¡¯t given it much thought. Other issues had taken over most of his time, namely continuing to attend classes he had zero interest in any longer and hours transcribing records when he was so exhausted he could barely hold the pen in his cramping hands or see the blurring pages.


    Saraf¡¯s life had consumed his, pulled his attention away from his own to the point he was constantly making errors. Already his professors had warned him that his scores had fallen below passing, and he wouldn¡¯t have really given a damn except if he was expelled it would¡¯ve meant no more access to their library.


    He was burning the candles on both ends, using his free time to scour the city records on where that cemetery Saraf had left the Orick-who-wasn¡¯t-Orick could possibly be. Five hundred years was a long time by any stretch though, the city and castle having grown, absorbing land as they had expanded over the years to make way for a budding population. All the markers from Saraf¡¯s time were long gone, and so he had accessed the diary once again, hoping for more clues.


    But the memory instead had been of Saraf disguised as that old woman¡ª Athrioclites for Gods sakes¡ª and he had woken up in the middle of the night on the floor, his whole body aching. It hadn¡¯t taken him very long to discover he had actually been unconscious for two days, though luckily his father had been away on a hunting trip with friends. Who knows what would¡¯ve happened if Darl had found him before he had come to.


    Beneath the table, Jalen¡¯s knee started bouncing, irritated by Edever¡¯s sarcasm. The man was usually so stoic that Jalen had assumed nothing could shake his poise, but apparently waiting so long to contact him had.


    ¡°I assumed it¡¯d be some sort of indoctrination ritual fiction books wax poetry about. A blood oath or a¡ª uh¡ª virgin,¡± Jalen coughed, his face burning as he looked up at the blackened ceiling so he didn¡¯t have to face the older man¡¯s scorn.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a sex cult,¡± Edever replied back flatly, not even mocking the fact both knew Jalen was still a virgin himself. ¡°It¡¯s a death cult.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ll have to kill a pig or goat and sacrifice it to some dark god or something?¡±


    When his question met silence, Jalen glanced back to the constable. His knee fell still at the raw pain on Edevers face.


    Not an animal, Jalen realized with sickening dread.


    ¡°How do you know all of this,¡± he found himself asking, inwardly cringing at his insensitive tone but desperately hoping maybe the Constable was just bluffing, or assuming.


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    Edever rubbed his mouth roughly, unable to meet Jalen¡¯s gaze now as he stared at nothing for a long while. Jalen remained quiet, waiting for him to relive whatever memory was plaguing the man.


    ¡°I was married, once. A farm girl who had found her way to our city, and into trouble. I was young back then, full of piss and vinegar with something to prove, but she swore her father¡¯s donkeys were bigger asses than I was, so I married her. Her pregnancy was easy, just like her Ma¡¯s had been for her nine siblings. We were expecting no issues at birth, but still it was our first, so we had a mid-wife from the Physicka present rather than have her family come in.¡±


    He looked down, gripping the tankard of beer but not raising it to his lips.


    ¡°It was a son,¡± was all he managed before his voice cracked, head bowing as his shoulders caved in under the weight of such loss. His exhale was jagged with emotion as he fought for control.


    ¡°Even after all these years,¡± he whispered with an uncomfortable huff, palming the wetness out of both eyes before lifting the tankard and setting it back down once more, untouched. Jalen could feel his own eyes prickling as he watched Edever struggle, knowing he had more than likely drowned his sorrow initially in alcohol, and was fighting to not do it again now.


    ¡°Something inside her tore, right as they pulled him out. So many things happened all at once I didn¡¯t¡ª but she swore. As she lay dying in my arms she swore the baby was healthy, that they were killing him. To please save him, but I couldn¡¯t save either of them. One wail, that¡¯s all I heard from my son, and then he fell silent. They both fell silent.¡±


    ¡°The midwife wouldn¡¯t even let me look at my boy. Just wrapped his tiny corpse in the swaddling and hurried out, leaving me with her body and so much blood. When they came for her, it was an old friend. A blessing and a curse, because I asked him to look.¡±


    Edever met his eyes then, his own insistent, trying to relay to Jalen what he didn¡¯t want to say out loud. What Edever had asked his friend to look at, where he had asked him to look.


    ¡°She hadn¡¯t ripped, it was a tiny, clean cut. Right where it needed to be to bleed her out.¡±


    ¡°They killed her,¡± Jalen surmised, his stomach roiling in dread. ¡°But, wh¡ª¡±


    Warlock infants are not prevalent, but stillborns or complications while giving birth are quite common, Edever had once told him. It¡¯s easy to masquerade their death and the parents would be none the wiser.


    ¡°I tracked the midwife down, and¡ª and I did things to her to find out why,¡± Edever mumbled, ducking his gaze down in guilt. ¡°Sh-she told me everything. Why she had killed my son, why she had taken him, and for whom.¡±


    ¡°Getting in was easier than I expected. I had made this position, taking on the role as Constable to start connecting the dots and find them, all while getting paid for the effort. They knew my mission had put them at risk, and so they reached out to me. I did the little errands they demanded to prove my loyalty to their cause. Almost all of the tasks gave them blackmail to use against me, but I was so far gone in my sorrow, so blind with revenge I hadn¡¯t cared at the time. Then the night of indoctrination came. One final step, and I would be in deep, to finally see the face of the puppeteers, but what they asked of me¡­¡±


    He shook his head, staring into his beer as if it had the answers to his failures. ¡°A little baby girl. And I couldn¡¯t do it, I couldn¡¯t kill her. They asked me why and I said I couldn¡¯t take an innocent life.¡±


    Jalen grimaced, nausea threatening to bring up the stomach acid boiling in his empty guts. ¡°They kicked you out?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no getting out once you¡¯re in, and my position is too valuable to them. A way to dead-end those looking for their missing children, to put them on the wrong trail, to destroy their hope before they dig too deeply. I¡¯ve kept the guise going, in hopes of finding some way to destroy them from the inside.¡±


    ¡°Gods above,¡± Jalen whispered, raking his fingers through his hair nervously. What the fuck was he getting himself into?


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Edever managed, rubbing his lips together in trepidation. ¡°This is too much for you, too much for anyone really¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jalen blurted, surprised by his own resolve. ¡°No. If this is a chance to do good in this world, then it¡¯s worth it.¡±


    It sounded so flimsy, so false in his own ears, but Edever clung onto it like a drowning man. Saraf was long gone, but perhaps he could honor her memory in this way and free the future generations of Warlocks¡ª no, Soulcasters from this genocide.


    The kitchen door shrieked open, which seemed counter-intuitive based on how everything in the place seemed covered with grease, except for those hinges apparently. One-eye set beef stew in front of Edever, and before Jalen a plate of fried liver. The tankard he set down as well was a frothed pinkish-red liquid, the scent of ginger so strong he could smell it over the food.


    Their host grunted, motioning to the drink and Jalen complied, if just to get rid of him. Sweet notes of beet and carrot flooded his mouth, the bite of ginger nearly covering the bitter turmeric and other herbs. It was, in all honesty, delicious.


    A tense silence settled between the three, neither touching their food after such a macabre conversation. One-eye sighed shortly, placing his giant hands on his hips.


    ¡°If it gets cold, it shall taste like shit,¡± he said.


    Jalen¡¯s mouth dropped open, shocked by the cultured accent he had not expected from the giant man who looked more apt to be a backcountry blacksmith rather than what sounded like educated nobility.


    ¡°Eat; the iron in the liver will help you recover faster.¡±


    At that he walked away, and Jalen stared wide-eyed at Edever. ¡°What just happened?¡± He squeaked.


    His companion huffed a laugh, picking up a bent and battered spoon. ¡°That¡¯s Aldren. Once a Physicker, now a humble bar owner.¡± He took a mouthful of stew, enjoying the perfect flavors and beef so tender he had been able to cut it with the spoon. ¡°And one damn good cook.¡±


    Unable to help himself, Jalen cut a piece of his meat and speared a few of the browned onions onto his fork beneath it. Taking a bite he let the caramelized flavor of the onions roll over his tongue, the fried organ cooked just enough to not be rubbery.


    ¡°And another bitter member of the secret society?¡±


    ¡°And another bitter member of the secret society,¡± Edever confirmed, saluting him with the shittiest beer Jalen had ever tasted in his life.

 28| Collared

    By early afternoon the hills of grass gave way to stunted cedar and pine, their height growing as the trio continued along the now constant incline path.


    In just a few hours into the mountains the scenery had changed from the open golden plains into a closed, coniferous forest, the ground cushioned with their needles and air heavy with the scent of vanilla and evergreen.


    Apoch sighed with relief as a stream they had been following the scent of finally came into view, squatting down at its edge to scoop handfuls of water onto his face to wash off the sweat as Bu¡¯u submerged his whole head into the icy water to drink. Iscah slid out of the saddle and moved away from the two, crouching down to drink downstream.


    When Bu¡¯u coughed noisily she looked up to find the Warlord gone, though by now that was hardly something new. Anytime he could he would break away, as if knowing she needed distance from him to deal with accepting the reality of her situation.


    Whatever that was these days.


    Rummaging through the packs she found a few sticks of dried meat to chew on as she sat down on a large rock overlooking the waters edge, glad to be out of the saddle.


    ¡°Iscah.¡±


    She turned, lunch sliding from her fingers before she fumbled to keep the slivers of jerky from hitting the ground, gaping back at him.


    Apoch had apparently found a pool deep enough to jump into, and water dripped from his loosened hair and sparkled off the droplets clinging to the hard lines of his muscles. The now-soaked pants had dragged even lower on his hips, exposing the line of dark hair that cut the two angled lines of his abs in half. Even though she had seen him naked, she still fought to compose her blush and rose to follow him when he motioned to her.


    Further up the rocky climb the tinkling sound of water deepened into gurgles, the streams flow slower as it slid from one deep pool carved into the rock to another.


    Apoch headed up the hill, finding an open space hidden in a copse of aspen that made a light natural shelter from the wind and sun.


    Relieving Bu¡¯u for the day he murmured to him appreciatively. The denimal turned as if tracking prey nearby, and when Apoch gave him a light nudge he took the hint and slid into the forest to hunt.


    Iscah suddenly found herself alone with the cambion for the first time in days, and the meat in her stomach churned. As if sensing her unease he turned to look at her, and she tried not to wilt under his gaze.


    Returning to the packs he pulled out a blanket and a small rawhide pouch that contained his bar of soap and her silver comb, setting them aside as he dug deeper into the folds to pull out one of the burlap bags holding her dresses.


    When he held it out for her to take she almost sighed in gratitude, the thought of a bath and fresh clothes an utter relief until the dress unfolded in her grasp, revealing itself to be nothing more than a long narrow strip of coarse brown material with a hole for her head in the middle and two ties on the sides.


    It was a slave garment.


    ¡°I will not wear that, you bastard,¡± she hissed, letting it drop to the ground backing away. Instantly his casual demeanor shifted, picking the garment up and holding it back out to her.


    ¡°Ash¡¯tan.¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    He groaned, letting his arm drop and looking up at the sky in supplication. Shaking his head he retrieved another dress of the same cloth, though it had substantially more material on it than the other. Setting it on top of the blanket and soap, he left it for her and went to go dig a fire pit for the evening.


    Iscah took the items and headed back to the stream, using her anger at his attempt to dress her so indecently to face the icy cold currents.


    The snowmelt won out, and she raced to scrub a weeks worth of grime off every part of her she could reach. Teeth chattering she dried off quickly, the chill distracting her for a few moments before she turned to pick up the dress.


    It was the slave one again.


    Iscah gaped, looking around desperately. Her soiled clothes were gone, undergarments and all. The dress she had agreed to as well was missing.


    She turned in fury and began stomping up the path, coming up short in only a few steps as fear began to overshadow her anger. What was her plan, storm back to the camp, bash him upside the head and stoically reclaim her clothes?


    The last time she had faced him ended with¡ª


    She swayed dizzily.


    No. Don¡¯t think about that.


    The outcome was already known, by both of them. It just depended how much she really wanted to fight uselessly with him over it. If their altercation out in the plains over her attempt to die from thirst was any indication, she didn¡¯t have a choice in this decision either.


    Turning she went back to where the dress was, letting the blanket fall and pulling the hole over her head. The cloth didn''t overlap, exposing both sides of her body and though the ties low on her hips gave a bit of modesty, it did little to ease the humiliation; it was meant for quick access for the slaves owner.


    She shuddered at the thought.


    There was movement beside her, but she didn¡¯t bother to acknowledge Apoch as he dipped something in the stream and crouched beside her. When it was obvious he was waiting for her attention she looked at the small block that was running black ink down his fingers.


    He motioned to his hair to demonstrate what he wanted, and she looked away from him in response morosely.


    Heaving a long sigh he let his hand drop, rubbing his tongue against the back of a fang as he studied her silhouette and contemplated what to do. They had run a huge risk of being seen on the open plains, but with all he done he had wanted to give her some time before demanding anything else. Lately his instincts had been whispering a warning, and he could not afford to wait any longer, for both their sakes.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Moving behind her he knelt, her back stiffening as his thighs braced against the outside of her hips before picking up a lock of her hair. He drew the dye through the long tresses, instantly regretting the fact they would be forever ruined. There was no choice; the white hair was a dead giveaway to who she was, and it would only be a matter of time before they crossed paths with strangers, bounty hunters, or worse.


    With her hair thoroughly soaked he rose onto his knees, careful to not press his chest against her back as he leaned forward to brush an edge of the diminished brick carefully over her eyebrows before setting it aside.


    Apoch scooped her up and set her down near the waters edge, cradling her neck as she laid back compliantly. He brushed her locks into the stream, letting the current clean the remaining dye out until the water no longer ran dark.


    Helping her sit back up he set the comb to her now ebony tresses, until all the tangles were gone and it hung in silky, drying waves down past the small of her back.


    Reaching for the soiled garments he had returned with he rummaged through the pile until he found the silk bandages she had used to bind her breasts with. Giving them a quick wash he took her arm covered in their bonding marks, carefully wrapping it from wrist to elbow so they were hidden.


    Tying if off he threw the rest of their laundry into the water, the pants he was wearing following suit. He dropped into the pool without a reaction to the frigid temperature, stepping deep enough so that the turbulent surface was at his waist before washing himself while watching her from his periphery in dread.


    She had not been happy about the attire, and she was going to be even unhappier about the last part of her disguise. He sighed quietly at his own stupidity for having wasted so much time without continuing to teach her his language. Now he had no way to explain to her what he was about to do, or even why.


    Their clothes were cleaned with utilitarian efficiency, and he wrung them out before spreading them atop perimeter boulders to dry out in the sun. Wading back over to where she had turned pointedly away from him, he pulled himself out and reached down in the shallow depths where he had hidden the silver torque meant for identifying a breeding slave.


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± he rasped, garnering her miserable stare from the scenic landscape for a moment before sliding the open collar around her throat and bending the metal closed.


    Her eyes widened, lips parting as her hands whipped up to touch it, jerking it insistently as her breath grew rapid.


    ¡°No... No! No, ansuu,¡± she sobbed, cringing away when he reached to comfort her.


    Her temper snapped, and she twisted onto her knees to slap him across the face. His head tipped only slightly from the assault, a deadly warning in his gaze when he rotated back to face her once more. Ignoring the threat, she put her entire body weight behind another strike, the sound of her palm cracking against his cheek echoing in the gulch.


    His skull didn¡¯t budge this time, he didn¡¯t even so much as blink as narrowed eyes remained trained on her despite the bloom of a pink hand-print on his skin. As if even her best was nothing more than an annoying bite of a flea.


    Baring her teeth in rage at his lack of response she closed the distance between them, her lips slamming into his. Beneath her his body froze in astonishment, but it wasn¡¯t until she bit his lower lip and tasted blood that he finally reacted. He gripped her waist and dragged her fully into his lap, soaking her garment in the water still dripping from his naked body as she pushed herself flush against him.


    ¡°Is this what you wanted?¡± She panted venomously, reaching into his damp hair and pulling as hard as she could. ¡°Was this your plan all along for me? A slave to be used?¡±


    ¡°Iscah,¡± he groaned, trying to disengage and give them space but she was relentless. She cut off any other useless things he might babble with another inexpert kiss, lashing at his tongue as the dangerous male shuddered. A savage alpha reduced to imploring a virgin for reprieve, it was comically pathetic.


    When the cock she straddled twitched, she ground her pelvis against it in merciless retaliation to his plea. His iron control cracked, hands dropping to dig into the juncture between her hips and legs bruisingly, grinding her up and down the back of his erection.


    ¡°Ruin me, you bastard. Go on, you¡¯ve ruined everything else in my life,¡± she hissed throatily, ignoring the way her heart was pounding in anticipation as she reached down to drag the paltry flap of dress aside. Helplessly he moaned at the invitation, the now fully engorged member sliding through the crease of her sex. She bit back the sound of pleasure that threatened to spill from her own lips as that rigid length dragged against her clit, barely aware of his canines scratching gently across the scars on her shoulder.


    With an ease that spoke of experience he shifted minutely before lowering her back down, and suddenly that monstrously thick head slicked by both their arousal was applying pressure to her entrance. There was no stopping the cry of shock that ripped from her as her maidenhead stretched, then began to tear.


    The sound made him freeze, and he leaned back to take in her facial expression. His gaze sharpened on her, from her eyes brimming with hatred and desire, to her lips covered in his blood. The legs bracketing his hips flexed, trying to goad him into taking the last precious thing she had left to give but he shook his head, the grip controlling her lower body inexorable.


    ¡°No, Iscah. Not like this,¡± he ground out huskily, lifting her off of his weeping tip so that they were no longer aligned. She pounded her fist against his chest with another cursed demand, tears running down her cheeks. Reaching between them he caught her hand and pressed it to his breast, touching his forehead to hers.


    ¡°Not like this for your first time, little lamb.¡±


    All the fight in her disintegrated at the tenderness in his voice, and she hid her face against his neck and coughed a sob as tremors racked her body. He held her as she fell apart, her wails muted against the swell of his trap as she mourned everything that had been lost.


    From her parents dismissal of her aspirations to selling her off to Truvien, to the nearly overwhelming anxiety of being caught as she fled everything she had ever known and ever cared about.


    There was no chance to ever go back, the door to the realm of her people and family forever closed in shame. All options had been ripped away in the artful runes encircling their wrist, marking her His until death. Enslaved, just in a different way than her parents had planned for her.


    Damned by choices driven from childish fantasy and naive trust, she had no one to blame but herself. Where she had looked upon it all as some romantic adventure where the Gods were trying to connect her to her one true love, he had been sober to the reality that life wasn¡¯t that simple, wasn¡¯t that beautiful. Wasn¡¯t that innocent.


    Now she was fatally tied to a cambion that didn¡¯t even want her. She had seen it in his expression, heard it in the words she couldn¡¯t translate but knew their meaning when he had attacked her: You¡¯re pathetic, you¡¯re nothing. You¡¯re just a fucking weakness, a stupid, naive little human girl.


    And Gods, he was right. She had acted on her need to protect Triki all because that old man had shown her kindness. She had drank up that sweet old grandfather routine, had fallen for it completely. Believed their kind could be good, when all Triki had done was use it as a weapon to ensnare them both.


    The veil of her innocence had been ripped off and used as a death shroud to cover the corpses left in their wake. Apoch had been so careful not to let a single drop of blood touch her skin, yet she felt it coating her conscience, thick enough to choke on. The guilt of those deaths because of her, and every night it had shredded her soul a little bit more.


    Her fingers curled against his shoulders, pressing the edges of her nails into his skin. If he had just left her alone! If he had never cursed her life with his presence, none of those lives would¡¯ve been lost. It had been one disaster after another since he had graced her doorstep. She had thought the dreams so terrible, when truth was reality with him was the real nightmare.


    ¡°I hate you,¡± she whispered brokenly. He pressed his lips against her temple, stroking her hair at the bitter words. She knew he didn¡¯t comprehend, and desperate to make him understand she lifted her head. ¡°I hate you so m¡ª¡±


    He silenced her with a kiss, slow and reassuring. An intimate moment normally shared by lovers after they had found bliss in one another. Every muscle seized in her body initially, affronted he would respond to her anger so dismissively, but then she realized what it truly was; an olive branch. The nails that had curled like talons relaxed as she clung to him, desperate for that connection, for that validation, and he did not deny her.


    When her body melted against his he laid back, keeping her draped across his chest. His hands traversed along her spine beneath the cloth, kneading the locked muscles across her shoulders. Working his fingers into the knots ceaselessly until they gave in to his will, leaving her mewling in relief and utterly spent from the emotional disaster the day had turned into.


    His body heat enticed her into a sleep only those familiar with heartbreak could enter, yet soothing whispers followed her, and somehow that made it all the more bearable.