Chapter Eleven

Despite her exhaustion, Tanitha barely slept that night.

She hadn't thought it would be a problem. Yes, she'd slept most of the day, and yes, there was the small matter of how she was sharing a roof with a creature that was stronger than her in every conceivable way, but she'd felt so frayed and wearied that she hadn't expected sleep to evade her. At first it hadn't; when she'd returned to the room she'd first awakened in, she'd wrapped herself tightly in blankets and furs, and she'd quickly drifted off. But her sleep had been light and fitful. She'd dreamed of fire and juniper first, but then the memory of smoke and sacrifices had taken her mind to a deeper place, one she'd fought to avoid for years now.

In the dream, she was a child again, a young girl dwarfed by the hugeness of the world around her. At one time, the vastness of the world had been an exciting thing, not something to be feared, but then the plagues had swept through the city of Spaudia like a rapacious beast. Sometimes the plague took the form of a shadowy monster in Tanitha's dreams, but not this time. This time, she saw it as it truly had been; an illness of blisters and blood and swollen limbs and faces.

Hunger clawed at her belly, but still, she kept to the shadows, her hand wrapped tight around Lithra's. Despite their young age, both girls had quickly learned the value of silence in a city where law and decency had been shredded by the desperation that had spread even more rapidly than the plague that birthed it. Smoke was heavy on the air from sections of the city that had been put to the torch in an effort to contain the spread of the illness, and it mixed nauseatingly with the cloying scent of dirimia blooms that had been scattered in ritual pleas to the gods for purification. Tanitha had overheard whispers that the temple of Adathia was still operating, and that the needy could still get food there, if only flatbread. It wasn't far— Tanitha knew it from taking tithes there with her father— but even so, the journey had been agonizingly slow, as they'd hidden whenever they saw another person. The city had mostly fallen silent by then, and most of the people who remained were destitute, mad, infected, or some combination of the three. But they'd long since run out of food, and so had similarly run out of other choices.

In the way of dreams, the scene shifted, and she was suddenly standing between the sandstone pillars guarding the outer borders of Adathia's temple. There was a courtyard that seemed interminably huge between the street and the temple itself, and it was starkly empty. The only sound was that of dead leaves and dried dirimia blossoms as they rattled across the flagstones on gusts of smoke-tainted wind.

Heart sinking, Tanitha tightened her grip on Lithra's hand to turn them both away— it was clear enough there wasn't any help to be had here. In that moment, however, something seized her other wrist fast. She turned with a cry; but the sound had died in her throat as she saw the wizened, liver-spotted hand that gripped her wrist.

"Don't fear, child," the old woman said, but despite the words, Tanitha could take no reassurance in her cracked, brittle voice. The woman's face wasn't visible except for the shine of rheumy eyes in the shadow of her frayed cowl. She was hunched in one of the alcoves usually reserved for statues of the goddess's servants, but the cracked plinth where it would have stood was empty. The woman continued, "The gods have a different fate than blood and pustules for you."

"Let go," Tanitha had whispered, or tried to— something about the woman's eyes, eyes that had seen far too much of this life and maybe the next, rendered her unable to put any force into the words. She tried to wrench away, but the woman only tightened her grip, her bony fingers wrapped tight enough to bruise.

The woman laughed at Tanitha's efforts, the sound tinged with an angry sort of weariness. Lithra clutched Tanitha's other hand, a quiet whimper escaping her.

"You'll fight fate itself too, I think," the woman sneered. "It won't matter. You're the bride of a serpent, no matter how you might guard yourself. It isn't your fault, I suppose; hearts are snared by worse monsters every day."

She finally released Tanitha's hand, and both girls stumbled back. They didn't so much as glance at each other before taking off at a run, not even bothering to keep to the shadows this time.

The dream returned twice more that night, some of the details differing, but the central memory was the same, and each time, she awoke with her heart pounding every bit as hard as it had when she'd run away from the deserted temple.

After the third time, Tanitha sat up in bed, clutching the furs and blankets around herself as she decided that, exhausted or not, she didn't see a reason to continue subjecting herself to it. She wasn't sure why the deeper levels of her mind had chosen to fixate on that event rather than more recent traumas, or on more pressing problems, of which she had many. But then… she was feeling vulnerable in a way that she hadn't felt since she was very young. Perhaps it wasn't surprising that in sleep, her mind might return to examining memories from that time.

She glanced toward the door that led to the balcony overlooking the dramatic mountain snowscape, then pulled one of the furs closer, taking comfort in its weight and warmth. To her surprise, there was a golden glow limning the edges of the doors, barely visible. In this windowless room, it was the only hint that the sun had risen, that the long night had finally ended. Which meant that she was alone once more.

Probably.

She worried at her bottom lip. The knowledge of the demon lord's presence— she wished she at least knew his name— hadn't helped her attempts at sleep, though she was honestly a little surprised that he hadn't featured more prominently in her nightmares. He didn't seem to intend to harm her, but he could, and he wouldn't suffer any repercussions for it. No one would ever know what had become of her.

And if she wanted to change that, she needed to find out the truth of what was going on and make a plan.

Determined or not, though, Tanitha was having trouble convincing herself to leave her bedchamber. Curled up tight among the furs and blankets, she felt marginally secure. More than that, she could at least be certain that she wasn't doing anything that would anger her host. She had no such assurances on that matter if she left this room, especially if she began poking around trying to find clues about something that he specifically didn't want her to know about.

She looked to the other set of doors, the ones that led to the rest of the manor. She'd barred it from this side despite knowing how weak a protection that was against something like him, all the while telling herself that it wasn't necessary anyway, that he didn't have any reason to hurt her.

Except… he did. He had the order of someone more powerful than himself. If she proved troublesome, he might easily decide that protecting her wasn't worth the effort.

She slid the fur down from her shoulders, leaving herself covered only by her shift. It was a fresh one at least, one that she'd found in the immense wardrobe. Though it was slightly large on her, it at least didn't carry the smell of blood and ash and sacrifice. Blood and ash aside, though, the wardrobe itself represented another uncomfortable matter. Or rather, the clothes in it did. Dresses, shifts, chitons, robes, kaftans… she'd even found a few drawers full of gold and amber jewelry, worth more than she could expect to earn in an entire lifetime.

Why was a demon lord so prepared to host a female guest?

There were a few possible answers to that. One was fairly innocuous; he could have a regular visitor who came often enough for him to keep some of her possessions on hand for convenience's sake. A lover, perhaps. The thought annoyed Tanitha, a feeling which she instantly stamped down on for its absurdity— what did she care who her so-called host gave his attention to? Besides, the theory itself had a flaw; none of the clothing showed any signs of wear or use.

So what was it, then? Was this all some sort of twisted game? Manufacture a threat to save her from, practically guaranteeing that she'd feel grateful and indebted to him? Grateful and indebted enough to be receptive to his advances?

Was that what this was? Was she meant to be dressed in finery and jewels, to be turned into a beautiful object to be admired and… enjoyed?

She swallowed. She'd been with men before. Only casually, true— she'd very deliberately kept romantic feelings at bay, even if she hadn't wanted to admit what was at the root of her need to do so— but casual or not, she wasn't inexperienced. Even so, the thought of being kept as a demon lord's amusement left her feeling cold with fear.

She shook her head, tearing her mind from that track. The matter of the clothing was worrisome, but she had enough problems without inventing more. He hadn't given her any real reason to think that he meant to use her like that. If, moving forward, he did express interest… well, maybe she could leverage that, somehow. Men, whether demon or human, could be very foolish when led by their lusts. But she truly hoped it wouldn't come to that. Even if under different circumstances, in a situation where she was free to choose her own actions, she might not have been at all averse to his attentions.

She put her hand to her forehead in exasperation. There it was again, that nonsensical stirring of attraction. Perhaps it wasn't just men that were foolish in this matter. Whatever he'd said about usually being in human form, he wasn't human. He was an extremely powerful creature that could kill her with as much effort as blinking, and she'd be the worst kind of fool if she forgot it. Obviously she just hadn't been paying enough attention to her own physical needs in recent months, if she was entertaining thoughts like that about a demon.

Bride of the serpent. Heart snared by a monster. The words came to mind again, and her entire being jolted.

" No ," she said out loud. Her voice echoed back to her against the stone walls. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. It wasn't a prophecy. Prophetesses and omens were one thing, but a shattered madwoman begging in a courtyard was hardly a reliable oracle. The fact that her words were seared into Tanitha's mind wasn't proof of anything, either. She'd been a child, a street waif, easily startled and easily frightened. She rubbed her wrist. Sometimes she could still feel the pain of the woman's grip, the strength of it belying her frail appearance as she hissed out her warning.

Her ramblings, more like , Tanitha reminded herself sharply. Even if it was a true telling of things to come, or a warning of things that could be… it wasn't referring to her present situation. The demon lord… she supposed there were ways the word ‘serpent' could be applied to him, metaphorically and perhaps even literally, given his shapeshifting abilities. Serpent or not, though, her heart was in no danger of being snared. She'd made sure of that so far, and she'd continue to be sure of it. People talked of love like a trap, but you couldn't accidentally stumble into giving another person that much sway over you. Anyone who said otherwise was trying to justify their own foolish decisions.

But none of that mattered right now, she thought, sitting up. She needed to focus. Her first priority had to be the matter of finding an escape route. She might not have the need to use it— there was, after all, still a chance that her host truly did mean to just keep her here until he'd found a way to address whatever threatened her. But whether she meant to use it or not, knowing that she had the option would go a long way toward soothing her fears and anxieties.

Besides, he'd told her that she was a guest, free to go where she would. He could hardly object to her exploring the limits of her new home, temporary though it might be. He didn't have to know why she was so interested in examining this place in depth.

Her resolve finally bolstered, Tanitha slid the covers and furs away from herself, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Moving quietly, she crossed to the wardrobe and swung its doors open. The sight of the beautiful robes and dresses gave her momentary pause, her earlier thoughts about her host's intentions rearing their heads again before she firmly took herself in hand. This was easy enough to address, she thought. She'd dress simply, and his reaction to that would be a clue itself as to why she was really here. At the very least, it might provide her with an opening to ask a few more questions.

Dressing simply, however, proved to be a more difficult matter than she'd thought. There were dresses from every region and city, styles she recognized from the finery that the women among foreign merchants wore. Dresses, robes, chitons, kaftans, all of them in finer fabrics than she'd ever even contemplated touching, let alone wearing. She lifted a striking blue dress from its hook. It was a lightweight silk that flowed over her hands like water, the golden beads sewn onto it catching the firelight like they were made of flame themselves.

She returned it to its place before temptation could take any further hold. For one thing, the city had laws about people dressing above their class and station, and the dress was so far beyond her that it was laughable to even consider wearing it. For another, she'd already decided to dress simply, and strategy had to trump vanity right now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of smothering the temptation born of the silks and linens, she found a chiton made of deep red cloth. It was still far finer than anything she had ever worn, but it was a simple style, and reasonably practical— none of the trailing sleeves and flowing skirts that the other garments had, finally.

When she put it on, however, she discovered that its fabric draped much lower across the back than any chiton she'd ever seen, leaving most of her back bare. She craned her neck to look at it, perplexed and annoyed at this disruption to a plan as simple as dressing conservatively, but then something occurred to her. Demons rarely— or perhaps even never— took a fully human form. She didn't know if that was a limitation of their shapeshifting abilities or a conscious choice, but in any case, there were a few mostly human forms that were very common. One of these was a human body but with powerful wings, often dramatically colored. This sort of clothing design would make sense to accommodate that.

Annoying as it was, though, this realization did something to set her at ease. It seemed that her earlier supposition that these clothes were meant for a visitor of his own kind was correct. Which was a point in favor of the theory that he was telling the truth about his intentions, at least.

She found a broad silk sash, using it to belt the chiton in close at the waist. The flow of air across the exposed skin of her back was a strange sensation, but a quick look at the other dresses confirmed that it was something she'd simply have to accustom herself to unless she wanted to constantly wear a shawl, and the manor house was a bit warm for that.

She frowned, something occurring to her suddenly. The manor was warm, even to the floors beneath her bare feet, but outside? Those snow-swept mountains? Was there anything here that would be adequate against that? Most of the fabrics were thin and gauzy, some even sheer. There were a few fur-lined capes, but was that enough? She didn't really know. She'd seen drawings of the kinds of clothing worn in colder climes, though, and they were far bulkier than the options she had in front of her. She had to admit that she'd never really considered freezing to death as an actual threat to her existence— who would, in the Shadowborn City?— but it was something she'd need to weigh carefully if she decided escape was necessary.

The thought of going outside sparked another thought, and she looked down at the wardrobe's floor, suddenly noticing something odd. For all the sumptuous clothing, there wasn't so much as a single pair of shoes.

Her brows knitted together. Was that a deliberate omission, to stop her from doing exactly what she'd been contemplating? Or was it just an oversight, the sort of thing that a being capable of flight simply wouldn't think about?

She bit her lip. Oversight or not, that could prove a serious problem. But it wouldn't stop her from exploring the interior, at least, and that was what she intended to do now.

Despite her determination to be as self-possessed and unperturbed as she could possibly manage, she still hesitated before opening her door. Her host— if that's truly all he was— had said that he would be here in the evenings, and her long inability to convince herself that she was safe enough to leave the bed meant that it was now well into the morning. She should be alone, shouldn't have to worry about encountering him. Or, rather, encountering sudden unnatural darkness.

She swallowed, trying to still the tremble that suddenly ran through her hands. She'd been so afraid, and the memory of that moment still made her heart race in remembered fear. But… he'd seemed to genuinely want to avoid frightening her, which meant he probably had good reason for obscuring his identity.

It was strange, though, that he'd feel it necessary to take pains on that front. It wasn't as if she was any expert on the city's demonic overlords. There were a few that she knew by sight— their deviations from full human form made them hard to miss— but not many. The odds of him being recognizable to her were very low, but perhaps he was simply erring on the side of caution. She'd heard it was rare for demons to cultivate more than one humanlike appearance, which would mean that appearing in a non-threatening but also unrecognizable form probably wasn't an option for him.

Which left him with limited solutions besides a shroud of darkness, she concluded. Alarming as it might have been at first, she didn't need to be frightened of that. Nonetheless, she had to brace herself before pulling open the door.

All was silent and still, exactly as it had been the first time she'd stepped into the hall. She considered for a moment. From where the sun had been positioned when she'd stepped out onto the balcony the day before, her quarters were located on the manor's south side. Her host had said that his rooms were on the north side, so she had no interest in exploring there. But the hallway stretched both to the east and the west. She frowned in contemplation. East was the direction associated with the Awakening, with new beginnings and with requesting good fortune from the gods. So, east it was. She turned to the right.

She followed her path from the night before, passing the beautiful mosaics on the walls until she reached the sweeping staircase that led to the dining hall. As she did, the magelights above grew subtly brighter. That was a comfort, but it also brought something suddenly to her attention; so far, she hadn't seen a single window in this place. Glass panes were a luxury, of course, but cost didn't appear to be a limiting factor here, so the absence struck her as strange. Her quarters were on the building's outer perimeter, and yet even they didn't have a window. As for the dining area, she would have expected at least a skylight to allow some natural light in, but even that was absent.

She considered this for a moment, wondering if it hinted at some quirk of demonic nature she hadn't heard of before. Despite her host's apparent predilection for darkness, she'd never heard of demons in general having any particular aversion to sunlight.

When she reached the foot of the stairs, she saw that a second chair had been placed beside the one that had been there the night before. The table was laden down with a simple but generously portioned meal— fresh flatbread and several dishes of various fruits, some of which she didn't even recognize. She looked warily around, but the only sign that anyone had been here was a few crumbs where half the bread had been sawn off beside a strand of accidentally-dribbled honey on the smooth polish of the table. The mental image of a dreaded demon lord fumbling with strings of honey as he tried to flavor his flatbread was so incongruous it almost made her smile, although the expression vanished when she reminded herself that there was nothing remotely amusing about her situation. Dire circumstances or not, though, she drizzled a little bit of honey onto the remaining bread herself. She ate, then returned her attention to her explorations.

She considered her options for a moment. The balcony ringing this room on the upper level was supported by wooden pillars, elaborately carved with geometric motifs reminiscent of plants and flowers, only some of which she recognized. From where she stood, she could see doorways leading to other rooms, though on the northern side of the hall was another set of heavy doors that she'd noted the night before. She'd thought that they were probably exterior doors, leading to some sort of terrace, and she still thought that likely, so she dismissed that direction for now; she'd consider the matter of the grounds after she had explored the interior.

She turned to the left, walking between a pair of wooden pillars. She passed through a room bare of furniture but with walls draped with more beautiful tapestries, then another that was similarly bare. She frowned. This place was strange. It was large, as if it had been built to accommodate a noble household, and perhaps that was its original purpose. But it clearly wasn't being used that way now. What need did one single demon have for a place like this? Surely managing all the spells and constructs that went into maintaining it was more trouble than it was worth?

She crossed to the doors on the far side of the second room, emerging into what was clearly an entry hall. The wall to her left was dominated by an enormous pair of doors made from a type of wood she didn't recognize, dark with a distinct grain. The floor beneath her feet was white marble shot through with gold, and both colors shimmered under the magelight that brightened at her entry. The walls were plaster, the bottom half decorated with a long tile mosaic mural portraying various animals— some predators, some prey— in a thicket of papyrus stalks. She considered it for a moment, unsure why it made her feel uneasy, then gave herself a shake and approached what had to be the manor's front doors.

She only hesitated for a moment before throwing her weight behind one of them. It opened surprisingly easily, though she still gasped at the shock of cold air that rushed in as it did. Blinking at the brightness of the day outside, she peered out, then skittered back a pace. The door opened directly to a narrow, arched bridge that spanned a deep chasm.

On the far side, she could just barely make out the outline of a forest of pine trees through the lightly swirling snow and fog. Her heart beating hard, she stepped forward to peer down, then shuddered as she moved back again. The silver glint of a river was barely visible at the bottom of the ravine. The design struck her as unsafe to the point of foolhardiness; clearly it hadn't been built with people who couldn't change into a hawk as easily as blinking in mind. But… given that, what was the point of a bridge at all?

With extreme reluctance, she stepped out onto the bridge. To her surprise, the stone was warm underfoot, probably with some sort of enchantment to prevent ice from forming. The bridge was about seven feet across and the stone was rough in texture, which should have made her feel safe enough to cross, but the absence of rails or other safeguards made her nauseous with anxiety. Still, she made herself walk across. The wind made her feel unsteady, but it wasn't strong enough to be dangerous, so she continued until she reached the far end.

The bridge's entrance was guarded by two stone pillars topped with carved dragons whose tails coiled down the top third of the pillar. They were both beautifully carved but badly wind worn. She closed her eyes for a moment, reaching out with her other senses. There was a heavy layer of enchantments here, and though she was by no means an expert, she thought they felt similar to some that she'd encountered in the city. Those ones had been magical barriers meant to allow entry only to specific people, like money-traders in the merchants' quarter. She bit her lip, anxiety returning. Was this meant to contain her?

She raised one hand and leaned forward. To her surprise, she encountered no resistance as her hand passed through the enchantment. Not meant to imprison, then. Which meant her first thought was correct; the magical barrier was meant to keep people out, not in. And without more information, she wasn't certain if she should consider that encouraging or ominous.

She peered between the pillars. Though it was difficult to tell with the inches of snow on the ground, it did look like there might be the overgrown remains of a path beneath the overhanging boughs of trees. She considered for a moment, stuffing down a rise of anxiety at the prospect of approaching the shadowed woods. She took one step off the final stones of the bridge, then gasped at the shock of cold as her foot touched the bare earth there. She stepped back hastily, then sighed, her breath clouding in front of her. She'd forgotten that very simple practicality in her eagerness to see if there might be a way away from here. She wondered briefly what her host's reaction might be if she directly asked for shoes and warmer clothing, then immediately dismissed the thought. Maybe she could consider that later, but not now. Not until she had a better understanding of her circumstances.

She hugged her shawl closer, leaning forward to look at the path. It was badly overgrown, and she couldn't imagine that things grew particularly quickly in this climate, so it must have been in disuse and disrepair for some time. Perhaps the path was simply the remains of the road that had been used to bring supplies to build this place and had since fallen into disrepair.

She frowned. There was food aplenty here, obviously, but she doubted constructs could conjure meals out of thin air. Where were supplies coming from now , if this route was in such poor condition that she could barely tell that there was a path?

Strange as that was, though, she wasn't going to find any answers freezing out here, so she turned back to the house, crossing the bridge as quickly as she dared while trying to ignore the sharp drop below.