5. Chapter 5

We rushed through the empty village streets, back to Nightsong Tavern.

Eli guided me around the building, taking a rusty metal key from his pocket. He waved his hand, the eyes on his chest blazing, and the earth by the back wall shimmered as a minor illusion dissolved. A cellar door appeared, a rusted padlock and chain binding the handles together.

A million questions burned at the tip of my tongue, but I kept quiet as Eli had instructed, shifting my weight from icy foot to icy foot while he unlocked and opened the hatch.

He gestured, and I climbed down the ladder. I stood at the bottom in the gloam, the scent of damp assaulting my nose. Soon, the hatch slammed shut.

The clicking of bones and shifting of heavy cloth accompanied Elias' descent, the rungs of the ladder creaking. His hand curled around mine again, and he led me forward. I'd heard that Demons didn't need light to see, and perhaps those strange eyes allowed him to do the same.

What if they actually were demonic?

My lip wobbled, and I stuffed that horrible idea back into the recesses of my brain. It couldn't be.

Instead, I focused on the feeling of Eli's large hand on mine, warm and sticky, but soft. His fingers gentle. My face heated. Suddenly, electric tingles sparked where we touched. Out of immediate danger, I was capable of feeling more than an overwhelming wish for survival.

Though judging by Eli's comments, an unknown threat remained, my mind was awash with frivolous concerns of vanity. I couldn't help worrying how terrible I must have smelled; how awful my tangled hair and swollen eyes must have looked.

We halted, and Elias let go. "One moment," he said. "Don't move. Wait here."

Metal clanked before the scrape of a match being struck. He lit a wonky, thick candle and put it inside a tarnished lantern, the little square table wobbling as he set it down on top.

Massive wine barrels surrounded us, laying on wooden stands, half disappearing into the gray stone walls. The head of one barrel had been cut out, random scraps of moth-eaten fabric sewn together with irregular stitches to serve as curtains with a split in the middle. Two chairs with threadbare cushions stood by the table, and anxiety speared through me at the implication of another inhabitant.

Hadn't Elias said something about working with the other killer before he knew who I was?

I turned back to him, the request for clarification rising in my throat, but I found his hands dropping, as if he'd reached for me when I wasn't looking. Clutched between his fingers was a large, clean rag. His chin dipped, and he turned slightly away from me, yet the eyes on his chest stayed fixed on my face.

I swallowed my questions. Eli wouldn't let me come to harm. He promised he'd explain when he could, and I believed him.

"Dry yourself," he said, holding the cloth out to me. "And while we are down here, you may speak freely, Myna."

I gave him a bug-eyed stare as I took the rag. So much I wanted to say, too much I needed to ask. Where would I even start?

"Down here, no one can see or hear us?"

"Correct. Malachar knows of this hideout, but he does not interfere so long as all prey is killed in range of the viewing wards."

"Prey?" I felt lightheaded, my hands shaking as I wiped the superficial dirt off my limbs and bare chest, staining the cloth maroon. It wasn't enough to make me feel clean.

"People like you, brought here to be hunted and slaughtered," Eli said, in a terrifyingly matter-of-fact tone. "The wards project moving images of the dungeon to a room above. They are almost everywhere, the size of a marble and concealed with magic. It's impossible to disable or remove them. But I've become good at detecting them, and there are none here. I suppose Malachar did not expect this basement to be desirable as a killing spot."

My stomach twisted. "Hells, what is this place?"

"Malachar calls it the House of Grief. In essence—though he would never admit—all of this is a failed experiment." Elias huffed a sarcastic laugh while he pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing for me to take a seat, too, but I shook my head. "Originally, he wanted to build a private army to overthrow the Council of Eight. Me and countless others were abducted for that purpose."

For a second, I felt nothing but selfish relief. I clutched the edge of the table, my knees weak.

My brothers hadn't abandoned me.

They were stolen from me.

"What experiment?" I asked. "I-if he wanted an army … Why didn't he recruit mercenaries like he does with his personal bodyguards?"

"Because none would have volunteered for what he put us through. We were supposed to become his indomitable soldiers, enhanced by forcing our souls to bond with Demons. The bindings succeeded, but he couldn't control us as he envisioned, which ultimately led him to put a temporary stop to the project until his mages develop better methods of dominating us."

"Demons?" I tossed the dirty towel onto the floor. I hadn't wanted my first assumption to be right. "That's why he locked you away!"

"Yes. And ever the businessman, Malachar made a freak show of us now. We're earning him a fortune." His hand balled into a fist, but he quickly hid it on his lap beneath the tabletop. "He lets anyone with enough coin spectate our pursuits while they drink and feast, betting on the victims. How long they will survive, that is."

"But why you?" I burst out. "Why couldn't it have been someone else … anyone else?"

"We drew attention, Myna. Zeridia had never seen a band of adolescents make a name for themselves as thieves and smugglers like we did in those two brief years here in Hedonfel. Malachar said our lack of morals, youthful bodies, and exceptional aptitude for violence made us ideal subjects to house Demons within."

I cradled my head in my hands. "How did everything go so damned wrong from a simple break-in? It was supposed to be an easy heist!"

As if my question brought him great shame, Eli turned his head away, but the glistening demonic eyes were still glued to me. They followed any of my slightest movements, from the twitch of a finger to a jerk of my foot. I couldn't say if it was my brother looking at me through their abyssal gazes or the other presence jailed in his flesh.

"Cyn and I should have known it was a trap," he said in a whisper. "A shipment of the realm's rarest alchemical ingredients and tools in an almost unguarded warehouse at the docks. Too convenient."

"If you had a suspicion, why did you insist on going?"

Elias turned to me again, his head cocking.

"For you, Myna. It was meant to be a gift for your sixteenth birthday so you could finally open up your own alchemy shop."

His words struck me like a blow to the chest, but his low laugh that followed was light as gossamer.

"Cyn and I were so entirely besotted with you, little sister. We would have done anything for you. We would have obliterated the realm, slaughtered anyone whose blood you wished to see spilled. A single word from you would have been reason enough to commit the gravest of sins. We would have sacrificed anything for you, even ourselves."

Heat swept across my features. The muscles in his arm shifted as he reached across the table. His bloody fingers brushed mine, the difference in the sizes of our hands making me gasp.

"We still would, Myna," he whispered, and smiled.

Visually, there was nothing left of the adolescent boy I once knew. But his gentle smile—that Creators damned smile carrying deepest melancholy even in the happiest of moments—it was the same. And so was its effect, spreading warmth behind my ribs.

"Then what about Cyn? Where is—"

The cellar door slammed, and heavy boots hit the ground as if the wearer had jumped down instead of using the ladder. Steps thudded, and the hooded killer trudged in from the hallway.

My blood ran cold.

"Shit, good work!" the man yelled, cackling. "You trapped the bitch here!"

He approached me, each footfall leaving a puddle of mud and rainwater behind. I backed away until I hit the wall. Without my bow and dagger, I was helpless.

"Wait—" Elias started, but the man cut him off, tutting.

"I chased her all over the village. And you know what happened then? I lost her. Not an easy feat to throw me off, I gotta say. I wonder if her tight little cunt is as slippery as her escape tactics."

I tensed as he reached for me, but his arm was wrenched away.

"By the Creators! Look. At. Me," Elias said, framing the slightly taller man's face with both hands. "Calm yourself and get it together, Cyn."

Cyn?

My stomach shriveled, constricting. It couldn't be.

This madman was supposed to be my brother?

Elias tugged the hood off the stranger's head, and a cascade of shoulder-length, silver hair fell from beneath, partially held up by a messy half-bun. Eli tucked a slim braid behind the male's left ear, fingers drifting over his tawny skin, caressing along his cheek and jaw. A collar—wrought iron, wide and dull—cinched around this man's throat as well, and he was a Half-Elf, too.

The gray-haired killer glared at me, and my pulse skipped a beat as our gazes locked. Coal was smudged around his eyes, the right one blue, the left one green.

I pressed a palm across my lips, muffling an inadvertent sob.

Cyn.

It was him. But he didn't recognize me.

"Eli, don't you see what a pretty corpse she'll make!" Cyn raved, grabbing Elias' shoulders. "We should take her outside and slice her open, from her perky tits to—"

Elias yanked on Cyn's head, and their lips met. All fear momentarily forgotten, my heart swelled, a smile flickering over my face. It was the sweetest sight I'd ever witnessed, but didn't come as a surprise. This intimacy seemed the most natural evolution of their relationship, and though I wished I was part of it, it wasn't jealousy I felt. I was happy, so long as they were.

Cyn groaned as he dropped the cleaver, the guttural noise both a complaint and a demand for more. He shoved Eli against the wall right next to me, grinding their hips together.

Finally, Elias brought an arm's length of distance between them to speak.

"Cyn, please, don't let the Demon's bloodlust deceive you. You've been blessed with battle prowess like Zerian himself, but you're not seeing clearly, not thinking clearly," Eli said. "Look at her again. You don't want to kill her any more than Zerian would wish to end Dianya."

An erection strained against Cyn's trousers and a growl echoed in his chest, but with a deep breath in and an even deeper exhale, he slowly turned to me. As our gazes locked again, there was clarity in his eyes.

And abject horror.

"Fuck!" he yelled, stumbling back. "Creators, no! What have I done?"

He was shaking, breath ragged. I took a step in his direction, and his hands shot forward, under my arms. He hoisted me as high as the ceiling permitted, looking up at me in wide-eyed reverence.

"Myna! It's you! Is it really you?" He paused, glancing at Eli. "I'm not hallucinating again, right? It's her?"

Elias walked to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I couldn't believe it either, but she has the brand. It's her."

"Fuck!" Cynthian shouted once more. He put me down and pulled me to his chest. His embrace squeezed the air from my lungs, but my arms wrapped around him just as tightly.

"I'm so damn stupid! How did I not recognize our little Hellspark?"

I smiled at hearing the nickname he'd given me during our childhood. Because of my red hair, he'd explained then. And because, according to Cyn, my temper burned hot enough to put the Hells to shame—something I denounced fiercely then and loved about myself now.

"You can't blame yourself, brother," Eli said. "It was the blood frenzy. Not you."

Cyn released me, and as he stood there with drooping shoulders, regret etched on his face, I couldn't help but forgive him.

Creators knew I would forgive my brothers anything.

"It's the damn Demon, Myna. When he takes control, all I see is-is red. There is only flaming rage. The irresistible urge to chop and whip and break. But I would never want to hurt you," Cyn pleaded. "Shit, that's hard to believe now, isn't it? Do you believe me? Please tell me you believe me—you gotta!"

He was just too cute. I couldn't help snickering, the ring in Cyn's right brow shifting as it rose.

"I believe you. And I understand. Besides, I think I have to apologize, too." I worried at my lip as I took his hand, rough and calloused as it closed around mine. "For your nose."

Cyn's other brow quirked as well. "Pah. It's nothing. I'm good now. The Demons make us heal fast."

"About that …" I held my other hand out to Elias, and he took it, thumb rubbing across my palm. "Whatever Demons inhabit your bodies, and however much your appearances might have changed. You are still my brothers."

They smiled, and I feared that any moment I would rouse from deep slumber, our reunion the sweetest nightmare I ever dreamed. One I didn't want to wake up from.

I hated to admit that Malachar hadn't technically lied to me. He had known where my brothers were. In fact, he had brought me right to them.

I tasted acrid fury as I imagined how much coin he would've made with the dramatics of my slaughter if my brothers realized my identity after the deed was done. Even in Hedonfel, long-lost stepsiblings killing each other would've been a gruesome, rare spectacle.

"I wish we could sit and talk, but time is of the essence," Elias said, his expression turning grim. "Malachar is a man of very limited patience. I imagine the delay has already displeased him. If we don't present your execution soon, there will be dire consequences."

My throat tightened.

"What consequences, Eli?"

The two exchanged a long glance before nodding at me in unison.

"That's for us to worry about, Myna. Our burden to bear. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with." Eli set a reassuring hand on my back. "But fear not. We will take care of you, like old times."

"And we swear, little sister," Cynthian said, determination sparkling in his eyes as he pressed a fist to his chest. "We won't stop fighting until you're safe."