Chapter 2

Two

A ric had been one of the youngest mages ever accepted into the Order, his talent for magic evident from the moment he could crawl, if the scorch marks on the nursery walls were any indication. He'd been a prodigy, a once-in-a-generation kind of power, and he'd known it, too, with a cocksure grin and a toss of his sandy hair. But for all his skill, there was much he still had to learn, a fact that his mentor, Olaya, never let him forget.

"You are like an untempered blade," she told him, her voice a gentle reprimand as they stood in the courtyard, the spires of the Silver Tower rising high above them. "All that raw power, but no discipline to shape it. You must learn control, Aric, or one day your flames will consume you."

Aric bristled at the rebuke, as he always did. He was in control. Mostly. But he knew he had to master the more delicate aspects of magic if he was to achieve his true goal: protecting the human realm at any cost. And if that meant enduring Olaya's endless drills and exercises, then so be it.

One of those exercises involved training the younger apprentices, a task Olaya had assigned to him in the hopes that it might instill a sense of responsibility and humility in her headstrong protege. Aric did his best, he really did, but there was only so much patience he could muster for those who didn't share his burning passion for magic.

"You must always be ready to act," he told the young apprentice he was currently mentoring, a bookish boy named Tomas. "The demons will not hesitate to strike, and neither can we. If you take nothing else from our time together, remember that."

Tomas nodded, his eyes wide as he tried to absorb his mentor's wisdom. Aric had been much the same when he was a young apprentice, in awe of the older mages and hungry for knowledge. But he'd also been headstrong and overconfident, thinking he could master the most powerful spells before he'd even learned the basics. If only he could go back and shake some sense into his younger self.

"Let us begin with the summoning circle," Aric said, leading Tomas down into the chamber where they would conduct their practice. "You have to be precise with your measurements, or the whole thing will be thrown off."

Tomas dutifully set to work, measuring out the intricate design of the circle with a nub of chalk. Aric watched over his shoulder, his impatience simmering just below the surface. There was a time and a place for caution, but this was not it.

"Like this," Aric said, snatching the chalk from Tomas's hand. In a few quick, careless strokes, he completed the circle. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to work."

Tomas winced, but he held his tongue. Aric was not his mentor for nothing, and the younger mage knew that Aric would never strike him for such a minor infraction. "I know it has to work, but?—"

"But nothing," Aric said. "You have to trust in your own power. If you doubt yourself, even for a second, the demons will sense it. They will smell your fear, and they will use it against you."

Tomas shuddered, and Aric felt a pang of guilt. He remembered all too well the nightmares that had plagued him in his early days at the Tower, the visions of demons with their jagged teeth and searing eyes. He had long since outgrown such childish terrors, but in truth, the demons still frightened him. He simply refused to let that fear control him.

"Once the circle is complete, we will begin the incantation," Aric said, his voice softening. "You must speak the words with purpose, with conviction. You are calling the flames to you, and they must answer your command."

Tomas nodded, his face set in a mask of concentration. He finished the final arc of the summoning circle and took his place at Aric's side.

"Are you ready?" Aric asked.

Tomas's voice was fragile as soap bubbles, but there nonetheless. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Aric smiled. "Good. Now, let us begin."

They chanted the ancient words of power, the air around them growing thick and heavy with magic. Aric felt the energy building, ready to spring into action at their command. But as the seconds stretched on, Tomas's voice wavered, and the magic began to unravel.

"Tomas," Aric said, his tone a warning.

"I'm trying," Tomas said, his face pale with the effort. "It's just?—"

Aric swore under his breath and reached out to steady the magic. But it was too late. With a sound like shattering glass, the spell came apart, the raw energy of it lashing out in all directions.

Tomas cried out and stumbled back, his robes smoking from the backlash. Aric moved to help him, but Tomas held up a hand, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," Tomas said. "I tried to focus, but I was scared."

Aric's heart ached for the boy. He knew the terror that the demons could inspire. But if Tomas was to ever become a true mage, he had to learn to master that fear. The demons would not wait for him to be ready.

"I know, Tomas. I know." Aric sighed and let the remnants of the spell fizzle out. "But you have to be stronger than that. You have to be ready to face the demons, no matter what."

Tomas nodded, his lower lip trembling. "I'll do better next time, I swear."

Aric clapped him on the shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. "I know you will."

Malekith led Aric through the labyrinthine corridors of the Wrathforge, each passage more foreboding than the last. The architecture was a study in oppressive elegance, all soaring arches, and stonework that drank in the dim light. Aric's eyes darted to the occasional demon servant scurrying past, their grotesque forms barely more than a shadow in the sconces that flickered and died. What he'd give to be anywhere but here.

Malekith's posture was tense, jaw clenched as if he expected an unwelcome blow at any moment. He said nothing as they wound their way deeper into the heart of the fortress, and Aric didn't dare speak, not even to ask the most basic of questions—where they were going, or what was about to happen. He could taste the raw power that thrummed through the stones beneath their feet, and it filled him with a heady mix of awe and terror.

As they rounded a final corner and the chambers of the demon sovereign himself came into view, it was almost a relief.

Until they nearly collided with the demoness blocking the entrance.

Aric didn't know her, but he recognized the smoldering look in her eyes, the haughty tilt of her chin. She was someone who was used to getting what she wanted, and woe to anyone who stood in her way.

"Sylthris," Malekith said, drawing himself up to his full height. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Oh, I think you were." Sylthris's voice was a low, smoky purr, belying the sharpness in her words. She turned her attention to Aric, and he felt a shiver of unease skitter down his spine. "And you've brought me a little gift. How thoughtful."

Aric hesitated in the demoness's shadow, his instincts at war. On one hand, she was a complete unknown, and in the depths of the Wrathforge, that could be a deadly liability. On the other, there was something about her—something that whispered to the same ancient, long-buried parts of him that Malekith did. She regarded him with far more intelligence than most demons, who only seemed to look at him with lust of one kind or another in their eyes.

Maybe it was the way she held herself, with the same lethal grace as Malekith. Or the look in her eyes, a glimmer of dark amusement that hinted at untold depths. She was a predator, no question, and Aric suspected that getting on her bad side would be even more unwise than angering Malekith.

With a silent prayer that he was making the right choice, Aric sank into a shallow bow. "I am Aric Solarian," he said, keeping his voice steady. "But I suspect you already knew that."

Those enigmatic eyes never left his as she stood aside to let them pass, but the barest hint of a smile tugged at her blood-red lips. Malekith's eyes, on the other hand, remained fixed on the stonework before him, and Aric realized with a jolt that they were watching each other, assessing, testing?—

Circling .

"And as clever as they say, too," she mused. "Indeed, I'll have to keep my eye on you."

"There are far more entertaining personalities around here. I'm about as dull as they come, my lady."

That earned him a genuine smile, cold and lovely as moonlight on snow.

"Is that so?" She trailed a clawed fingertip down his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. Aric fought back a wince, refusing to show any weakness. "I have a feeling that might change." She withdrew her hand. "Sylthris the Gravewhisper. House Ixion and I go way back. Sometime I'm sure I'll have to tell you all about it."

"I'm sure Aric has no interest in dusty old family trees, Sylthris." Malekith's tone was sharp, a warning, as he interjected himself between Aric and the demoness. He placed a hand on Aric's lower back, a possessive gesture that surprised Aric, even as it sent a warm trill through him. "We have pressing matters to attend to."

Sylthris's smile widened, revealing teeth just a touch too sharp. "Oh, but I think he might find it fascinating. The rise and fall of House Ixion... the secrets buried in blood and shadow..." She leaned closer to Aric, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you know, little mage, that the Ixions were once?—"

"Enough, Sylthris. Your games grow tiresome."

A growl, low and perturbed, from Malekith, and Aric felt the air bristle with tension, magic simmering just beneath the surface. He held his breath, caught between fascination and fear, as Sylthris stepped back, raising her hands in mock surrender.

"As you wish, old friend."

Her gaze lingered on Aric, filled with dark amusement.

"But if you ever want to know more, little mage, seek me out. I have such stories to tell."

With a final, knowing look at Malekith, she glided past them and disappeared around the corner.

Aric turned to Malekith, a hundred questions burning in his mind. But Malekith's expression was closed off, his jaw clenched. He said nothing, but he didn't have to; Aric knew what he was thinking. Whether it was Sylthris's parting words, or the confrontation they'd just had in the war council chambers, or something else entirely, Aric was sure there were a dozen different thoughts and emotions churning inside Malekith's head.

"Not here." Malekith's voice was a low rumble, and he took Aric's arm in a firm grip. "These walls have ears, and Sylthris isn't the only one who trades in secrets."

Aric nodded, trying to push down the surge of questions and follow Malekith as he led them into a nearby parlor. The room was opulent, all velvet and gilt, a stark contrast to the sparse chambers Aric had been given. Malekith closed the door behind them, and with a few quick words of power, he sealed the room with a shimmering barrier.

"Who is she?" Aric asked, once Malekith had released him. "And what did she mean about your family's history?"

Malekith's eyes narrowed at the observation, but he didn't deny it. He paced the room, his movements fluid and predatory. "Sylthris the Gravewhisper," he began, his voice low and intense. "An old . . . friend, of sorts. We trained together under the same mage, long ago." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "She was always more interested in gathering secrets than mastering spells."

"Is that how you know her?" Aric asked. "From your training?"

Malekith's look was long—haunted, even—yet it only served to spark a thousand more questions in Aric's mind. "We were . . . close, once. But her loyalties have always been to herself above all else."

"She seemed to know a lot about your family." Aric hesitated, then added softly, "Why did she make you so . . . uncomfortable?"

Malekith's steps faltered, and for a moment, Aric thought he might not answer. But then he sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and came to a stop in the center of the room.

"She knows things she shouldn't," Malekith said. "And she's not afraid to use that knowledge as a weapon."

"Is she working for Zaxos, then?" Aric asked, his earlier suspicions resurfacing.

"I doubt she answers to anyone but herself. But if Zaxos thinks she can be of use to him, then she'll do what she must to stay in his good graces."

"And your family? What secrets was she hinting at?" Aric asked.

Malekith's expression darkened, shadows gathering around him, and Aric feared he'd pushed too far. But then Malekith sighed, and the shadows dissipated.

"House Ixion has a . . . complicated history," he said carefully. "One that's best left in the past." His eyes met Aric's, filled with an intensity that made Aric's breath catch. "What matters is the present, and the future we're fighting for."

Aric nodded slowly, recognizing the deflection but choosing not to push further. Malekith had hinted at that complicated history before—a great-great-grandmother who once led the demon army, yet fought for peace above excess bloodshed. And then there was the question of just what had happened to prune the Ixion family tree down to nothing but Malekith and his stubborn roots. He'd once been intended to claim the title of Sovereign, Aric had heard, but now it seemed he had to fight and scrape and claw for every last bit of respect he could be afforded.

So instead, Aric asked, "Can we trust her?"

Malekith's laugh was sharp and without humor. "Trust Sylthris? Never. But she can be useful, in her own way. Just remember, every word from her lips comes with a price."

Aric nodded. He wished he could say he had never known such people in the human realms, but that, too, would be a lie.

"Come." Malekith strode towards the door, his earlier tension seeming to fade away. "I believe we have much work to do, but you should rest first."

Aric followed him, his mind still spinning from the encounter with Sylthris. And the secrets she had alluded to—the shadows of House Ixion, stretching out in all directions. What would it mean for their mission if those secrets came to light? What dangers might lie in wait for them?

With a shiver, Aric realized he wasn't just thinking about the threats from the human realm.

As they prepared to leave the parlor, Malekith paused, his hand on the door.

"Aric," he said, turning back with an uncharacteristic softness to his voice. "Be careful around Sylthris. She's dangerous in ways you can't imagine."

And then he was gone, leaving Aric alone in the corridor, the cool words echoing in his ears.

A warning, or a confession of vulnerability? Aric chewed on his lower lip as he headed back to his chambers, his mind racing with thoughts of shadowy demons and unspeakable secrets. He'd had his suspicions that there was more to the Malekith than met the eye, but the truth was turning out to be far more complicated than he could have ever imagined.

As he reached his chambers, the faint moonlight filtering in through the narrow window, Aric paused, the last echoes of the encounter with Sylthris still lingering. Malekith's warning to be careful around her—he couldn't deny that he was intrigued by her, by the possibilities of the secrets she alluded to. But he had already seen the danger of the demon realm's political games, the treacherous line Malekith had to walk between loyalty and survival.

He wasn't sure he was cut out for that kind of life, and even if he was, the last thing he wanted was to become like the demons who had ravaged his home. But finding the right path, the one that let him be true to himself, while also protecting his people, felt like an impossible riddle.

With a sigh, he pushed the thoughts aside and set about his nighttime routine. He didn't have the luxury of getting lost in the labyrinth of demon politics, not when the fate of both realms might hang in the balance. Malekith needed his help, his insight and knowledge, and Aric was determined to give it to him.

But as he settled into bed, sleep proving elusive, Aric couldn't dispel the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. Shadows gathered in the corners of his room, and he was almost certain he heard a soft, taunting whisper on the night breeze. He sat up, heart pounding, but when he glanced out the window, there was nothing there.

Nothing but the darkness, stretching out into the night.