Chapter 7

Seven

T he jarring grip on Aric's arm dragged him out of a dead sleep, and he instinctively tried to lash out with a surge of magic. Only the familiar twinge behind his eyes and dulled thud as he hit the barrier answered him, though, and he blinked hard into the darkness until the two figures before him resolved into faces.

Neither of them were Malekith.

"Wait." The darkness shrouding their faces gave way to moonlight glinting off Vizra's onyx skin and Karthax's curling horns as they loomed over him. "Stay your magic, human," Vizra purred, her grip like iron on his bicep. "We have a few questions for you, and it would be a shame to singe off your eyebrows before we've had answers."

Aric's heart pounded in his ears as he scanned his chambers, but there was no sign of the other guards. No alarm raised, no shouts of warning. He forced himself to consider the situation calmly, racking his brain for any plausible excuse. He'd gone to bed in separate chambers adjoining Malekith's makeshift quarters in what had likely been a very luxurious resort in the town center, hoping against hope that sleep would calm his nightmares. But if the prisoners he'd freed had been discovered, if their absence had been noted, then it was all over.

He tried to keep his voice steady, but he could hear the raw edges of panic tearing through. "What's happened? Is it Malekith?"

"Oh, don't concern yourself with the prince," Vizra said, her molten gaze cutting into him. "He is otherwise engaged. No, we have some questions for you, little mage, and we thought now was as good a time as any to discuss them."

Aric's heart lurched. She knew. Somehow, she knew about the escape, and the demon prince's complicity in it. He forced himself to meet Vizra's gaze, scrambling to keep his expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been quite the busy little worm, wriggling your way through the heart of my operation," Vizra said. "But I have to wonder, for all your trouble, what exactly you hope to gain."

"I don't want anything?—"

Vizra's nails dug into the tender flesh of his bicep, and he bit back a cry.

"Get up." Vizra's nails bit into his shoulder, and Aric winced. "I don't have time for your human weakness."

Karthax's meaty hand closed around the front of Aric's tunic, and with a growl, he hauled Aric to his feet. Aric's head spun from the sudden movement, his limbs still heavy with sleep, and he stumbled over his own feet as they dragged him from his room. "I . . . I didn't do anything," Aric said, his voice sounding thin and reedy in the pre-dawn stillness.

A wave of panic threatened to overtake him. Had they found out about the prisoners? Did they know he'd helped them escape? The town plaza was eerily quiet as they hauled him across the wreckage from the feast, the only sounds the crunch of their boots on the packed earth and the distant howls of the winged demons making their patrols. No alarms had been raised, no shouts of warning echoing through the streets. If they knew about the escape, surely the whole camp would be in an uproar.

Aric's mind raced as he tried to think of what could have gone wrong. Had one of the prisoners given him up? Or had he been too careless, too eager to absolve himself that he failed to take the necessary precautions? He'd been so focused on the escape that he'd let his guard down, had all but dared the demon lords to catch him. Had they been watching him the whole time?

The command tent loomed before them, the black silk billowing in the cool night air. Karthax wrenched open the tent flap, and a wave of spiced incense and smoky shadows washed over Aric. Malekith was nowhere to be seen, and a fresh bolt of panic shot through him. If the demon prince was here, he could at least try to reason with him, to explain why he'd done what he did, and Malekith would come up with some clever cover story to persuade Vizra that it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But with Malekith absent, Aric was at Vizra's mercy, and he had a sinking feeling that she wasn't feeling particularly merciful.

"Inside," Vizra said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

Aric blinked in the sudden lamplight as he ducked inside the tent, his eyes struggling to adjust after the darkness of night. A tattered map was spread out on the table before him, along with a jumble of notes and sketches in a language he couldn't begin to decipher. Vizra's molten gold eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity as she loomed over him, her long hair spilling around her like a cloak.

"Tell me what these are," Vizra said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "And how the humans plan to use them." She shoved the schematics before him, and his vision swam in a useless blur of lines and curves of ink.

With a grunt, he scrunched his eyes up, then eased them once more. Aric's mind was still fuzzy from sleep, but as his thoughts slowly began to coalesce, a cold trickle of dread ran down his spine. "I . . . I don't know. I've never seen those before."

It was the truth. He blearily recognized it as some sort of magical engineering schematic, the kind that the Arcanocrafters in the Silver Tower designed—magical devices, advanced self-sustaining spells, and more. But it would take him more than a half-awake scan to make sense of them, and likely more access to magic than he currently had—which Malekith had seen to was once again none .

Vizra's nails dug into his shoulder, and he bit back a cry. "Don't lie to me, little mage. We found these in the garrison at the Silver Tower. They were using them to guide their strikes, and now you will tell me how."

Aric's panic subsided slightly, replaced by confusion and a glimmer of hope. They didn't know about the prisoners. They only wanted him to make sense of the magical schematics.

She released him with a shove, and Aric stumbled forward, catching himself on the table. His heart was still racing, but a thread of relief unspooled in his chest. The other captives were safe, for now. He just had to figure out a way to get out of this.

He scanned the jumble of papers on the table, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plan. The schematics were like nothing he'd ever seen before, but he was a quick study. If he could just buy himself some time . . .

Aric leaned over the table, studying the schematics intently. They were written in a mix of arcane symbols and a cipher he didn't recognize, but the diagrams themselves were fairly straightforward. Some kind of offensive weapon, if he had to guess, with a series of lenses and mirrors that looked designed to focus and amplify magical energy. The basic concept was elegant in its simplicity, but as he traced the lines with his fingertips, he couldn't help but notice the glaring flaws, the missing pieces that would keep it from ever working as intended.

But he wasn't an arcanocrafter. He could be mistaken.

But an answering voice in his mind told him—if he didn't know, then these demons knew even less.

"Well?" Vizra's voice cut through the silence, and Aric forced himself to straighten up, his mind racing. "What are they?"

He took a deep breath, a dangerous gambit forming in his mind. One that could either save him or damn him, but at this point, he didn't have much to lose. "It's a . . . a focusing array," he said, the words coming slowly as he searched for a way to buy himself more time. "For channeling magical energy over long distances. But it's highly unstable. It would take a tremendous amount of power to activate, and even then, there's no guarantee it wouldn't backfire."

Vizra's eyes narrowed, and Aric's heart pounded in his ears. He was making this up as he went along, but he had to sell the lie. "Show me how it works."

She was calling his bluff, and he knew it. But he also knew that Vizra was far from stupid. If he could sell her on the potential danger of the weapon, maybe he could buy himself enough time to come up with a real plan.

Aric's mind raced as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. "It's all in the alignment of the mirrors," he said, his voice gaining confidence with each passing second. "If you don't get the angles exactly right, the whole thing will backfire." He smiled sweetly. "If you want to ask Prince Malekith to loosen my bonds, then I would be happy to show you."

Vizra listened intently, her molten gold eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And how do you know this, human?" she asked, her voice like velvet wrapped around a dagger.

Aric hesitated for just a moment too long. "I . . . I read about it. In one of the human mages' treatises. A friend of mine. He—he was designing something similar before I left."

Vizra's lips curled back in a snarl. "Lies. There is no such book." She raised a hand, and Aric flinched, instinctively trying to summon a shield. But his magic was still out of reach, tauntingly close yet agonizingly beyond his grasp. "Enough." Vizra's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. "I tire of your words, human. Let's see what truths your mind holds."

Aric's heart pounded in his ears as Vizra wove a complex spell, her power crackling in the air around them. He tried to brace himself, to strengthen his mental shields, but he was so exhausted, his mind and body drained. He was defenseless, and Vizra knew it.

The first tendril of Vizra's magic slithered into his mind, and Aric gritted his teeth, trying to hold himself together. He couldn't let her see the truth, couldn't let her know about the prisoners. He couldn't risk everything he'd worked for being undone.

But Vizra's power was relentless, a storm battering at the walls of his mind. Agony lanced through him, white-hot and searing, and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought to keep his secrets hidden, but it was only a matter of time before Vizra tore them from his mind.

Aric's mental shields were a fortress, honed through years of discipline and training. He pushed back against Vizra's probing, trying to deflect her spells, but she was relentless, a tide wearing away at the stone. Images flashed through his mind—memories of his friends in the Silver Tower, long dead, their bodies broken and bloodied in a demon attack. The faces of his fellow mages, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and despair as they fought a losing battle. The weight of his duty, his desperate need to protect his people at any cost. The years of research and study, the sacrifices he'd made in his quest to understand the demons and find a way to end the war.

Each memory was a fresh wound, a dagger twisting in his side. The pain of them threatened to overwhelm him, but still he fought to keep them hidden. He couldn't let Vizra see, couldn't let her know the depths of his determination. He had come too far, risked too much. He would not let it all be for nothing.

But Vizra's magic was insidious, a poison seeping through his veins. It clouded his thoughts, muddied his memories, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she found what she was looking for.

White-hot pain seared through him, and he couldn't hold back the cry that tore from his throat. His muscles were coiled tight, every sinew and tendon thrumming with the effort to keep Vizra at bay. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard, his teeth threatening to shatter. He was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and he didn't know if he had the strength to hold on.

"Aric." Vizra's voice was a taunt, a challenge. "You can't keep this up forever. You will tell me what I want to know. It's only a matter of time."

Aric's vision swam, the world narrowing down to a pinpoint of light. He was drowning in pain, in memories he'd long since buried. The smell of smoke and blood, the taste of ashes on his tongue. He had been so sure of his path, so certain of the sacrifices he was willing to make. But now, as Vizra's magic tore through him, he felt himself coming undone.

Maybe it would be easier to let go. Easier to tell her what she wanted to know, to stop fighting and surrender to the darkness that threatened to consume him. The other captives would be safe, and maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to turn this to his advantage.

But the thought of giving up made him sick. He had come too far, fought too hard. He couldn't let it all be for nothing. With a last, desperate surge of will, he pushed back against Vizra's magic, a lone figure standing against the storm.

And then, with a final, ear-splitting crack, the storm broke over his head.

The tent flap flew open with a violent snap, and through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Aric saw a familiar silhouette. Malekith strode in, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable energy. Malekith's dark eyes swept over the scene, narrowing dangerously when they landed on Vizra.

"What is the meaning of this?" Malekith asked, a deceptively calm frost riming his tone.

The psychic assault abruptly ceased, leaving Aric gasping for air. His legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath him as the sudden absence of pain left him dizzy and disoriented. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and focus on the confrontation unfolding before him.

Vizra's molten gold eyes flashed with defiance, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in them as she faced Malekith. "My lord, I was merely questioning the prisoner about?—"

"Questioning?" Malekith's voice cut through her explanation like a blade. "It looked more like torture to me."

Aric slumped against the table, his muscles turning to water as the adrenaline that had sustained him drained away. He was so tired, bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. His body ached, every nerve and sinew throbbing with pain. And his mind . . . His mind was a jumbled mess, a tangle of memories and thoughts that he couldn't sort out.

He forced himself to focus on the present, on the confrontation unfolding before him. Malekith and Vizra were circling each other like predators, the air thick with tension. Aric was the prize, the source of the conflict, and he knew that whatever happened next would have far-reaching consequences.

"You overstep your bounds, Vizra." Malekith's voice was like a whipcrack, the force of his anger almost a physical blow. "This is not your domain."

"And he is not yours alone." Vizra's eyes flashed with defiance as she turned to face Malekith. "You have no claim on him. Not when he can aid our assault. When he can show us how to turn this weapon against the humans who wield it?—"

"He is under my protection. His use begins and ends with me." Malekith's gaze never wavered from Vizra's. "And that is all you need to know."

Vizra's molten gold eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, Aric thought she might defy Malekith's command. But then the tension seemed to drain from her, and she bowed her head in submission. "Of course, my lord. But this weapon . . ."

Slowly, Malekith turned from Vizra to Aric. "A weapon? Human?"

"Indeed." Her face flashed with triumph. "And your little pet is going to decipher it for us."

Aric's heart was racing, his mind still muddled from Vizra's assault. But he forced himself to stand up straight, to look Malekith in the eye. Malekith's gaze was a challenge, a silent dare, and Aric knew that his life, and perhaps the fate of the entire human realm, depended on how he answered.

With a nod from Malekith, Vizra summoned the guards forward, and Aric's arms were seized once more. He winced as they jerked him toward the command table once more, but forced himself to remain silent. He had been through worse, and he could endure whatever was coming, so long as it gave him a chance to protect his people.

Malekith gestured to the schematics that were still spread out on the table. "Explain."

Aric's mouth felt dry, his tongue thick and unwieldy. He was a mage, a scholar, not a warrior. He wasn't cut out for this kind of subterfuge, this dangerous game of deceit and manipulation. But it was too late to turn back now. He had to see it through, no matter what the cost.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. This was his chance to sell the story, not just to Vizra, but to Malekith as well. He had to make them believe.

"It's a focusing array," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's possible they may be able to use it to focus on the magical signature of a being—demonic, for example—and use it to target over vast distances."

Aric's hands shook as he pointed to the array's central hub.

"This is the key here, I think. It has to be powered by a mage's own life force to work. The energy transfer it appears to require, however, is . . . intense." He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "And as unstable as it is, it seems quite likely to cause some magical anomalies as a result. A—powerful feedback, as it were."

Malekith's expression was unreadable as he studied the schematics. "And you believe this could be a threat to our forces as we advance on Brenville."

"It's a long shot, I know. But if the humans are desperate enough . . ." Aric let the words hang between them, the implications clear.

If the humans were desperate enough, they might resort to using the weapon, despite the risks. And that was a chance Aric was willing to bet the demon army couldn't afford to take.

Tension hung thick in the air as Aric finished his explanation. His heart pounded, each beat a thunderous reminder of the precarious position he found himself in. Vizra's molten gold eyes darted between him and Malekith, frustration etched into every line of her face. The demoness's fingers twitched at her sides, as if she longed to wrap them around Aric's throat.

Malekith remained silent, his dark gaze boring into Aric with an intensity that threatened to strip away every lie, every half- truth he'd just uttered. Aric fought the urge to squirm under that penetrating stare, forcing himself to meet it head-on. He couldn't falter now, not when so much hung in the balance.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Aric's chest tightened, each breath a struggle as he waited for Malekith's verdict. Would the demon prince see through his deception? Or had he managed to weave a convincing enough tale to buy himself—and the human realm—some time?

Finally, Malekith spoke, his words carefully measured. "It seems we have much to consider." His gaze shifted to Vizra, and Aric felt a rush of relief so potent it nearly made his knees buckle. "Prepare a full report on the implications of this . . . weapon. We'll need to adjust our strategy accordingly."

Vizra's eyes flashed with barely contained fury. "My lord, we cannot allow this supposed weapon to halt our advance. Every moment we delay gives the humans time to fortify their defenses, to spread word of our ability to breach the wards." Her voice rose, passion and frustration bleeding into every word. "We have the advantage now. The humans are weak, disorganized. If we strike swiftly, we can crush them before they have a chance to regroup."

Aric's heart raced as he watched the demoness argue her case. He could see the logic in her words, the cold calculation that had likely won her many battles. But he also saw the bloodlust that lurked beneath, the eagerness for carnage that made his stomach churn.

"Time is not on our side," Vizra pressed, her gaze darting between Malekith and Aric. "Every hour we waste gives them a chance to prepare, to fortify. And if word of our ability to dismantle the wards spreads . . ." She let the implications hang in the air, heavy and ominous.

Aric's mind whirled, searching for a counter-argument. He couldn't let Vizra's words sway Malekith, couldn't let the demon army march on Brenville unchecked. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Malekith raised a hand, silencing both him and Vizra with a single gesture.

Malekith's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between Vizra and Aric. "Perhaps," he said, his voice low and measured, "this decision is beyond our purview." A chill ran down Aric's spine as Malekith continued, "We should send word to the Sovereign. Let Zaxos choose whether we advance now or not."

Aric's breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd gambled everything on this deception, hoping to buy the humans precious time. But now, with Malekith's suggestion hanging in the air, he feared it might not have been enough.

Vizra's molten gold eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Even she, in her bloodthirst, seemed to hesitate at the thought of involving the Sovereign directly.

Aric fought to keep his expression neutral, to not betray the panic clawing at his insides. If Zaxos decided to push forward regardless of the supposed weapon, all would be lost. The human realm would fall, and his sacrifice—everything he'd endured—would be for nothing.

Vizra's lips thinned, but she bowed her head in acquiescence. "As you command, my lord. But if he commands us to continue the assault, then I fully expect you to comply."

"I would dream of nothing less," Malekith replied frostily.

As the demoness turned to leave, Aric caught a glimpse of the fury simmering in her eyes. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. But for now, at least, he'd bought himself a reprieve.

Malekith's attention returned to Aric, and he felt pinned in place by that inscrutable gaze. What thoughts lurked behind those dark eyes? What plans were taking shape in that brilliant, dangerous mind? Aric longed to know, even as a part of him shrank from the knowledge.

As Vizra and Karthax left the tent to begin their preparations, Malekith lingered, his eyes never leaving Aric's. Aric's skin prickled with instinctive warning, but he held his ground as the demon prince approached. Malekith was like a predator on the prowl, and Aric his helpless prey, caught in the snare of those dark, dangerous eyes.

"Well played, little mage," Malekith said. "But if the Sovereign commands, we have no choice but to obey."