Chapter 14

Fourteen

T he walls of the maze crumbled all around him, stone blocks toppling, and dust and debris raining down, thick and acrid in the air. The ground tilted, pitching him sideways, and the sky overhead spun in a dizzying spiral. He was falling, or maybe he was still—never had been—standing. He couldn't remember. He couldn't think.

Instinct guided his hands—he'd been here before, lost in the searing currents of his magic, and he knew what he had to do. His hands were on fire, the flames golden and wild, and he shaped them into a shield as he tumbled, a barrier of blistering heat that the shadows howled against. He huddled behind it, the flames searing his skin through his robes, and drew his magic close, a tether to anchor himself against the storm.

The storm raged on, the howls of the sorcerers echoing through the darkness, but he held fast. The flames burned brighter, a corona of searing white, and he pushed back against the shadows that pressed in around him. He was a furnace, a beacon of blinding light, and he refused to be extinguished.

"Solarian," he growled, each breath a struggle, a labor. "I am Aric Solarian."

He didn't know if the words made it past the storm. It didn't matter. He was a warrior, a protector. He had faced down demons and mages and the deepest terrors of his own soul. He would not break now.

Not when he had come so close to the other side.

Then the storm answered him, the searing light of his magic surging outward.

The walls vaporized in rivers of gold. The stones crumbled to dust at his feet. The air trembled with the furious howl of his flames as he pushed himself to his feet, pressed his bound hands together, and gathered the magic that didn't care about locks or scars or failure.

One of the sorcerers shouted something, his words lost in the roar of the flames. The other sorcerers struck out with their power, dark shadows and crackling energy lashing at him from all sides. Aric staggered, the force of their combined assault like a physical blow, but he refused to back down.

With a shout, he hurled a lance of white-hot fire at the nearest sorcerer, and the world condensed to the taste of smoke and salt and searing heat on his lips. He was heat and he was fire and he was a blade honed to a fine point, and nothing would stand in his way.

"Aric, no!" he thought he heard Malekith cry, but the words were distant, muffled, as he turned his focus inward. The golden flames roared in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, and he let them guide him, let them become his true north. The power was his, and he was its master, its vessel, its unyielding force.

Flames erupted at his fingertips, and he wrenched his hands apart, shattering the cuffs that bound him. The flames surged higher, hungry, and he drank in their heat, their raw power, until he thought he might burst.

He was a wildfire, an inferno, and he would burn everything in his path.

The blasts of shadow and flame crashed together like opposing waves, sending a shockwave through the air that flattened everyone within the circle. Stone shards, embers, and motes of pure darkness rained down around them, the acrid scent of magic and heat and power so thick it was a taste on the back of Aric's tongue.

He struggled to his feet, every muscle aching, every breath a labor. He felt like he'd just run a hundred miles, but he forced himself to stand tall, refusing to show any weakness.

The demon sorcerers were in no better shape, their robes tattered, their pale skin marred with burns and soot. They exchanged a look, silent communication passing between them, before they turned as one to face the gathered crowd.

"Get him."

A growl rippled through the onlookers, and then they were coming for him, a seething mass of scales and claws and bared teeth. Aric braced himself, the flames at his fingertips roaring to life once more.

This was what he'd been training for, what he'd been preparing for, whether he'd known it or not. His magic surged through him, and he welcomed it, drawing on the endless well of power that he'd spent his life honing and shaping.

He was a weapon, and he would not shatter.

The demon sovereign rose from his throne, his obsidian skin gleaming in the low light. His golden eyes bore into Aric, the entire arena heaving like a held breath.

"Satisfactory."

The word hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Aric's shoulders slumped as the guards moved in to unlock his restraints, and he struggled to catch his breath as the world around him slowly came back into focus.

Sylthris offered him a sly smile, her eyes glittering with something like approval. "Not bad for a human," she said, her voice a soft, mocking slither. "You might just survive this after all."

Aric wanted to respond, to wipe that condescending look off her face, but he was too exhausted to do anything but nod.

She had no idea what he was capable of. None of them did.

As the guards swarmed in to lock his restraints, Aric's legs turned to water, and he crumpled to the ground. The world swam before his eyes, the afterimages of the sorcerers' illusions still burned into his retinas. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and forced himself to take slow, steadying breaths. He couldn't let them see how badly the trial had shaken him.

"Careful, little mage." Strong arms encircled him, and the guards backed off as Malekith lifted Aric to his feet. "You did well."

Aric's heart stuttered in his chest at the rare praise, a fragile bloom of warmth in the icy night air. He leaned into Malekith's solid frame, his exhaustion suddenly all-encompassing. "I . . . I didn't break."

"No. You did not." Malekith's breath hot against Aric's ear. "But you need to rest now."

Aric nodded, his eyes drifting closed. Malekith's scent, like dark woods and incense, wrapped around him, anchoring him in the present. He was safe. The illusions, the doubts, they couldn't touch him here.

"You won't . . . leave me?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, a raw, aching admission of need.

Malekith's arms tightened around him, a silent promise. "Never."

Malekith escorted Aric from the center of the arena, leaving the demon courtiers to their whispered debates and frantic note-taking. Aric tried to ignore the calculating looks they cast his way, the hunger in their eyes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd only raised more questions than he'd answered.

"You did well, little mage," Malekith said, his voice low for Aric's ears alone. "They will be . . . curious to see what you can do."

Aric's skin crawled, and not just from the residual magic still humming in the air. "I'm not a sideshow."

"I know." Malekith's thumb stroked the back of Aric's hand, and he shivered at the touch. "But you have given them a taste of your power. A glimpse of what you are capable of."

Aric thought of the way the sorcerers had looked at him, their eyes hungry, and a chill ran down his spine. "I don't like the way they're looking at me."

"It is the way of our kind. We are always seeking an advantage, a means of gaining the upper hand." Malekith's gaze swept over the demon courtiers, his expression unreadable. "You have upset the balance, and now they will be jockeying for position, trying to align themselves with you or against you."

"And what about you?" Aric asked, his voice a thin, strained thread. "Which side are you on?"

He immediately regretted the question, but Malekith's grip on his hand only tightened, his touch a steady anchor.

"I am on your side, Aric. Always."

"The illusions . . ."

Malekith's expression softened, his thumb stroking Aric's cheek. "They are gone. You are safe now."

Aric nodded, trying to focus past the pounding in his head. "The sorcerers. What happened to them?"

"Nothing that they did not bring upon themselves," Malekith said with a smirk.

The infirmary was a blur of motion as the demon healers swarmed around him, their hands glowing with dark energy as they assessed his condition. Aric tried to focus on their words, the strange, lilting language that seemed to shimmer in the air, but the world was still spinning, tilting, and he couldn't find his balance.

Malekith stood back, watching the proceedings with an unreadable expression. Aric tried to catch his eye, to offer some kind of reassurance, but Malekith's gaze was fixed on the healers, his attention elsewhere.

Aric's vision swam, and he slumped forward, the cool stone floor rushing up to meet him. Strong arms caught him before he fell, and a low voice rumbled in his ear.

"Rest now, little mage. You have done well."

Aric wanted to ask a thousand questions that had been burning in the back of his mind, but the darkness was already pulling him under, and he didn't have the strength to fight it.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, he felt a touch on his forehead, a brush of cool lips, and a promise, unspoken, but understood.

There will be much to discuss.

Aric drifted in and out of consciousness, the world around him a hazy blur. He was vaguely aware of the demon healers tending to his injuries, their dark magic hanging in the air, but their words were a jumble, the strange, lilting cadence of their language dancing just out of reach.

But then, in a rare moment of clarity, he heard them speaking in hushed tones, their voices tinged with a palpable sense of unease.

". . . anomalies . . . both realms . . ."

Aric's heart pounded in his ears as he strained to listen.

". . . growing stronger . . . no explanation . . ."

He forced one eye open, the world swimming before him, but he couldn't make out their faces. With a surge of panic, he feigned unconsciousness, but the healers paid him no mind, too engrossed in their conversation.

". . . affecting the ley lines . . . the very fabric of . . ."

The flaws he'd noticed in the design of the human weapon, the same disturbances that had been wreaking havoc with the rifts as they tore open on the battlefield . . . Could it all be connected?

But before he could hear more, the darkness claimed him once more, and he was swallowed up in its icy embrace.

Aric awoke to a sense of unease, a nameless dread prickling at the back of his neck. The air in the infirmary had shifted, becoming charged with tension, but he couldn't say why. He lay still, his senses on high alert, and scanned the room for any sign of what had roused him.

The other patients were sleeping, their forms shrouded in darkness, but the healers were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the infirmary appeared to be empty, the only light filtering in from the high windows, a pale wash in the pre-dawn sky.

And then he sensed it, a familiar presence moving down the hallway, gliding with the effortless grace of a hunting panther. Aric's heart quickened, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching.

The figure materialized in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the soft light, and Aric's breath caught in his throat. Malekith. His demon prince, his captor, his . . . what, exactly?

Aric's mind shied away from the answer, the truth too raw, too painful to confront. He had no place feeling this way about a demon, least of all the one who had taken him from his home, who held his fate in his hands.

But the way Malekith's eyes softened as they met his, the way his expression shifted, made Aric dare to hope. Maybe there was more between them than mere captivity. Maybe there could be.

Malekith moved to his side, his footsteps silent on the stone floor, and Aric's pulse raced at the sight of him. With his pale skin and dark eyes, his beauty was the kind that could draw empires to ruin, and Aric was no exception. He let out a shuddering breath as Malekith's fingers brushed a lock of sweat-damp hair from his forehead, the touch light, reverent.

"How do you feel?" Malekith asked, his voice a low rumble in the stillness of the infirmary.

Aric's voice felt thick, uncooperative, but he managed a nod. "I've been better."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Malekith's mouth, and he sat on the edge of the narrow cot. "You did well in the trial. Better than I had dared to hope."

Aric's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then why the long face?"

Malekith's smile faded, and he glanced around the infirmary, his eyes scanning the shadows. Aric forced himself to stay quiet, to let him speak when he was ready. After a long moment, Malekith leaned in.

"The healers are concerned. Your outburst, the way you shattered the sorcerers' illusions . . . It is not like anything they have seen before."

"I told you, my magic is different from yours." Aric's heart was still racing, the memory of the power surging through him, the flames dancing at his fingertips, making his pulse quicken for a whole other set of reasons. "I draw on the sun's power, and I shape it with my will. It's . . . intense."

"Intense is an understatement." Malekith's expression softened, and he reached for Aric's hand, lacing their fingers together. "But it is beautiful, in its own way. Like watching the sun rise, the way the flames dance and shift at your command."

Aric's cheeks flushed, and he looked away, the compliment too much to bear. "It's a weapon. That's all it's ever been."

"It is a part of you. A powerful, wondrous part." Malekith brushed his thumb against the inside of Aric's wrist. "And one that I am honored to have glimpsed."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the steady rhythm of Aric's heartbeat and the distant cries of the waking city. But Aric's thoughts were spinning still, the healers' words echoing in his ears.

"The healers are not the only ones who are curious about you," Malekith said, his tone casual, but his eyes intense as they met Aric's.

Aric looked away, the memories of the trial still too raw. "I'm sure the whole damn court is abuzz after that . . . spectacle."

"They are not used to having their illusions challenged. It is a rare gift, to see through the deceptions that are woven around us." Malekith's thumb brushed Aric's cheek, and he turned back, meeting those dark, fathomless eyes. "But it can also be a dangerous one."

Aric's pulse quickened at the warning in Malekith's eyes, and he sat up straight, scanning the room. "What do you mean?"

"I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete." Malekith's tone was almost a caress, but it carried a sense of urgency. "Just be on your guard. There are those who will see your power as a threat."

Before Aric could respond, a movement in the shadows caught the corner of his eye. He turned toward it, but whatever it was, it vanished, the darkness closing in once more.

"Aric . . ." Malekith stood, his body coiled with tension. "Stay still."

The next few moments happened in a blur. The figure reappeared in the doorway, the hood of their cloak concealing their face. In one hand, they held a vial of dark liquid, the glass glinting in the dim light. But before Aric could so much as cry out, Malekith was moving, the shadows themselves coming to his aid.

With a flick of his fingers, Malekith wove a spell, and the darkness peeled away, revealing the would-be assassin. But before they could react, Malekith was on them, his movements a blur of speed and grace. He caught the assassin's wrist, and with a twist, wrenched the vial from their hand.

It fell to the floor with a shatter, and a noxious vapor filled the air. Aric coughed, his eyes watering, as he caught a glimpse of the assassin—a demon, by the look of them, with mottled gray skin and a tangle of horns protruding from their hood. They struggled against Malekith's grip, but it might as well have been iron for all the give it had.

"Who sent you?" Malekith's voice was a low growl, his eyes burning with a harsh light.

The assassin spat in his face, their eyes full of venom. "Traitor."

Malekith lurched for them, but the assassin brought their forearm up to block him this time, the sleeve of their robe falling away to reveal sickening blades. Forearm blades. Aric cried out as he recognized them to warn Malekith, but it was too late. They slashed across Malekith's chest, knocking him back. Malekith recovered quickly, but the assassin was already moving, a dark blur in the dimly lit infirmary. With a powerful leap, they crashed through the high window, glass shattering like stars, and then they were gone, leaving only the stench of blood and smoke in their wake.

Aric's hands were shaking as he pressed them to the gash in his chest, the heat of his blood searing against his skin. He looked up to see Malekith's eyes blazing with barely contained fury as he stared after the assassin.

"Lord Karthax," Malekith spat, his voice a low growl. "Vizra's general."

Aric's head was spinning as he tried to make sense of the words. Vizra. Karthax. A sudden, sickening realization washed over him. They were all in danger, pawns in a deadly game of demon politics.

Malekith's gaze met his, and Aric saw the same understanding in Malekith's cold eyes. The same grim acceptance of the truth.

There was a promise of more blood to come.