The demon king, p.14
The Demon King, page 14
Not that I feel much safer surrounded by smaller rock demons. Even the more portable-sized ones are far stronger than I am, fast and vicious. Only the most skilled Sharum are trained to fight rocks.
Worse, they are far from the only alagai at the party. Flamers dance atop plinths around the room, providing pyrotechnics in time to the music. Snow demons nestle in great vats of ice, chilling drinks and maintaining great ice sculptures running with clear spirits. Field demons pace the floor with trays of refreshments on their backs.
Not to mention the personal pets of the guests, almost all of whom have a small demon of some sort pacing them like a loyal hound.
Are all of them tame like Sparrow? I wonder. There is an unimaginable amount of electrum jewelry in the room, tethering masters to their alagai. Take that away, and would they still sit on command, or bathe the room in their owners’ blood?
I fear I know the answer, even if these people won’t admit it to themselves. It is an inconvenient truth when their alagai provide them with such prestige, power, and wealth.
I shouldn’t have worried so much about Darin. It only takes him a brief scan of the room to find Cirene by one of the ice sculptures.
“Gonna go get some punch,” he says. “All right without me for a bit?”
I smile, glad to see him making a friend. “Go. I’ll be fine. Remember you’re promised!”
Darin casts me a dark look. “Ent like that, Olive.”
I put up my hands immediately. Darin’s quite funny in his own way, but sometimes he struggles with sarcasm. “Just teasing, Darin.”
He nods, and his posture softens. “Ay. Funny.” Then he’s gone, leaving me with the others. Velena watches him go with a sniff.
“Jealous of Cirene, Velena?” Xevia laughs.
“Not on my worst day,” Velena says. “I could give Prince Darin the night of his dreams, but it’s clear he’s not ready for a real woman.”
Her words are arrogant though not entirely unfounded. Velena is beautiful, rich, and enhanced with magic. She isn’t Joined like Xevia, but there’s no arguing she’s a catch.
It might not be her party, but Velena is dressed to turn every head in the room, and it works. Even Grandmum Elona would call her outfit scandalous, and that’s saying something. Velena displays more bare flesh than covered, and her gown of red silk and scales is so liquid it hugs her body like a sheen of sweat. I feel my own sweat break out when I look at her too long, but I don’t know if it’s Velena’s beauty, some minor enchantment, or the heat of her pet flame demon.
“You look nervous.” Velena smirks at me, reaching between her breasts to produce a small vial, warm with magic. “Scale?”
“I…” I pull my eyes away from her neckline. “What?”
“Powdered demon scale.” Xevia reaches out a hand, little finger extended. The nail on that finger is long, and Velena taps out a dash of glittering powder. Immediately she brings it to her nose and snorts hard.
The change in her aura—already bright—is immediate. She flashes hot, and her pupils dilate. She inhales deeply, shivering from the rush as she blows the breath back out. The effect seems similar to the influx of power I get when I put a warded spear into a demon.
Velena does the same, and I try not to watch how the shivers jiggle her soft flesh. Tryan takes a bigger dose than the others, but he’s a giant, even next to Yndros. Yndros holds up a hand to forestall the offered vial, and Gallivar looks about nervously, as if fearing we will be caught. He does not partake.
“How is that different from Eating?” I am genuinely confused.
“It isn’t,” Gallivar mutters.
Xevia laughs, pinching his cheek. “Oh, Gal, you are adorably uptight.”
“Scales aren’t inherently alive, so they cannot be Eaten,” Velena says. “It would be like Eating your own hair. The change Eating works on the body requires digestion.”
I look to Yndros. “A lesser crime,” he tells me, “but still illegal.”
“A peasant’s crime,” Xevia says. “Mostly to keep the servants from stealing scales as spire demons molt.”
“If your great-grandmother knew—” Gallivar begins, but Xevia cuts him short with a laugh.
“There’s a reason she keeps clear of my parties,” Xevia says. “And if someone were to bring it to her attention, I expect she’d punish the disloyalty, even if she needed to come slap my wrist for appearances.”
I turn to Yndros again. “You don’t use it?”
“He’s just trying to set a good example,” Velena says. “Tell her, Yndros, about the time we flew to the hot springs and…”
“Enough,” Yndros says, before the story has a chance to get meat on its bones. He looks me in the eye. “I will not lie and say I have never tried it, or that I didn’t enjoy it when I did. I think powdered horn or scale is harmless in moderation, especially for the Joined, who have greater constitution. But the drug can become addictive and dangerous. The mind court is right to forbid it.”
“Bah,” Xevia says. “You think Janas never snorted demon scales when they were young? Xorana certainly did.”
Yndros holds up his hands for peace. It’s kind of sweet, how he’s trying to act proper for me.
Xevia is all smiles again at Yndros’ sign of submission. “Let’s not spoil the rush any further, then. Time to hunt.”
“Hunt?” I ask, but Xevia takes my arm and sweeps into the crowd like a bird of prey. I can tell from the way she moves us toward and away from groups who the richest and most influential guests are, though I expect no one gets an invitation unless they are someone of note.
I can see how the crowd is fixed on me, but I work to ignore it, letting Xevia pull me along without appearing to as we meet groups of young nobles, all wearing decadent finery and warm with magic. Some have a flush to their auras I now understand as demon drugs, but others are simply pulling magic through tethers to their pet alagai.
A beautiful young woman fawns over Yndros, putting her hand on his bare chest as she laughs at some moderately amusing quip from the prince. I am surprised to find I don’t like it.
Subtly, I edge in to interpose myself between them, smiling brightly as I offer a courtly bow. “Olive Paper, Joined son and daughter of Leesha, Duchess of Hollow.”
That gets a smile in return as she bows deeper and longer than I did. I begin to wonder what adhesive is keeping her in her low-cut dress.
“Zelis, daughter of Spire Jaramon.”
“Your dress is impressive,” I say. “My compliments to your cave demon.”
As with Yndros, Zelis throws back her head and laughs, though the quip was mild at best. She seems perfectly willing to flirt with me, though she does cast a dreamy look at Yndros. “Watch out for that one, Duch Olive. The prince of Hive has left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.”
Perhaps, I think. Xevia and Velena tease their history with him, but it seems more like the past experimentation of friends who grew up together than anything current. And I cannot blame him, in any event. Many of the powerful in Hive, especially the Joined, have multiple spouses. But tonight, like these last weeks, he’s only had his blue eyes fixed on me.
Zelis looks back at me, and I think she’s noticed it, too. “Not surprising,” she says, seeming a little disappointed. “Deep down, all men want to marry their mothers.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, though the words are not funny. Little is less appealing than knowing you remind a man of his mother. I used to love passive-aggressive repartee like this, but as I grow worldlier, I see it for what it is, a mean-spirited pastime for bored wastrels.
“Do you really use those spears to kill demons in your lands?” Zelis rubs her fingers together, itching to touch them, but she is not as bold as Xevia. Her personal alagai is a tiny field demon nestled in a shoulder purse like a kitten. Instinctively, she angles the demon away from me, as if the sight of the spears will upset the ridiculous creature.
“The alagai war on us in my homeland,” I say. “So we war on them in return.”
I regret using the offensive term for demons as Zelis flinches.
“Savage,” another in the group says. He is tall and sour-faced, heeled by a squat wood demon, still taller than him, and a foot taller than me. “It’s a wonder you walk upright and use full sentences.”
“Stop it, Naldor,” Zelis scolds. “You’re being rude.”
“They come to a party flaunting spears they admit to killing demons with, and I am being rude?” Naldor is indignant. His wood demon senses his aggression, stepping up to me, a low growl in its throat.
He expects me to retreat, but I don’t flinch. “I don’t give ground to alagai,” I say. “Call your pet off before I put it down.”
“Do it,” Naldor dares. “Show everyone gathered tonight your savage ways and see if the mind court can excuse you a second time.” The demon leans in until we are nose-to-snout, breathing moist, putrid breath in my face.
Naldor is smirking, because he knows he’s right. I remember Xorana’s admonishment about my spears and know I can’t kill his demon in front of all these people and get away with it. But neither must I tolerate disrespect.
I reach out, grabbing one of the demon’s horns as I drop, using my weight and a sharusahk trip to throw the demon to the floor. My execution is so quick Naldor doesn’t have time to react, and the wood demon tumbles effortlessly.
Naldor staggers as the tether visits the demon’s sudden disorientation back on him, but that is only the beginning of the lesson. I can tolerate the presence of demons, but as in sharaj, I need to establish here and now that I will not be bullied by them.
I guide the wood demon’s fall, keeping hold of the horn. When the demon hits the floor, its limbs aren’t positioned properly to strike at me or rise. I put my silk slipper on its shoulder and pull hard, twisting its spine and putting torque on a precise convergence point.
The demon and Naldor both let out shrieks of pain. Naldor stumbles to his knees red-faced, fumbling frantically at his subjugation bracelet. “No!” I shout. “Don’t!”
I ease up on the pressure, but Naldor isn’t listening. He pulls the bracelet off and hurls it away, collapsing on the floor as the connection is cut off and the pain abruptly stops.
No longer under his control, the demon reverts to its instincts, thrashing wildly, mindless of the pain. It practically tears itself apart and succeeds in breaking my hold. It swipes at me, but the blow is blunted by my demon scale jacket. I quickstep back, putting my guard up, but the demon has no interest fighting me when there is weaker prey close by.
Naldor is shakily getting back to his feet when the demon pounces. Guests shriek and flee from its path. Their pet alagai move to protect their masters, but none attempts to intercede on behalf of Naldor as the wood demon bears down on him, jaws wide and slavering.
My instinct is to go for my spears, but I fear Naldor may yet win if I kill his demon in a fight I started. Instead, I snatch the whip from my belt and lash out, activating the snare wards. My aim is off, and it cracks against the demon’s armor instead of latching on. The alagai is unhurt, but it’s enough to get its attention.
The wood demon whirls on me, crouching for a leap. I see Yndros rushing to intercept, but this time I find harmony in my lunge and my aim is true. The tail of the whip wraps around the demon’s throat, wards holding fast with a flare of magic.
There’s a rush of power not dissimilar to when I stab an alagai as our auras connect through the tether. Yet here the connection is two-way. Even as the demon’s power flows into me, so does mine flow into it.
Information comes with the connection. The demon is hungry. Ravenous. It hasn’t fed in months. Demons can sustain themselves indefinitely burning magic instead of food for fuel, but magic doesn’t fill their stomachs. The pangs are maddening, but subjugated, the demon could not act on them. Freed, they are a singular driver.
The connection to the demon is something like the one I had with Darin when we dissipated and crossed the sea. Everything I was opened to him, and him to me. Even without trying to pry, his secrets threatened to wash over me. I am thankful we were only connected a few instants, our attention focused elsewhere.
But Darin and I are not enemies. Whatever secrets I keep for myself, there is no one in the world I trust more to always do the right thing. This connection is with an alagai, a plague on humanity I once thought it was my destiny to end. I feel its will pushing against mine, fighting to dominate the connection. Instinctively, with every fiber of my being, I know that is something I can never allow.
I assert my own will, testing the demon’s resolve. It is the will of a stubborn child. The will of a mule that does not wish to pull. Of a cat that does not wish to come when called.
The demon’s will is frail compared with mine, and the creature knows it. It slacks the line by rushing at me, claws leading in an attempt to end my threat.
“Stop.” Even as I say the word, I realize it is unnecessary. My willing the command is all that is needed. The demon stops, freezing in place. Effortlessly, I hold it there through the tether, like the strings of a puppet.
“Well done!” Xevia claps her hands. “Not yet a month on our shores, and Duch Olive has dominated their first demon!”
The crowd, watching the scene unfold with rapt attention, breaks into applause and cheers. Velena gives a high-pitched whistle, and Tryan claps all four of his giant hands in a powerful, rhythmic beat. Yndros is smiling as he claps, and Xevia looks like a cat over its catch.
I look around for Darin. I don’t see him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not watching. Darin is always watching or listening, and in a place like Hive, it is an enormous comfort.
Xevia retrieves Naldor’s subjugation bracelet, offering it to me. “The demon is yours now, Olive.”
“What?!” Naldor demands.
“It is Hive law,” Xevia continues as if he had not spoken. “You subjugated a rogue demon.”
“It isn’t rogue, it’s mine!” Naldor cries, pointing at me. “They attacked it!”
“No.” Xevia speaks as if to a child. “You attempted to use your demon to intimidate my guest of honor, and Duch Olive gave you a lesson in manners.”
Yndros steps forward. “And when you could not bear a moment’s pain, you relinquished control of a hungry wood demon in the crowded ballroom of Spire Shamosk.”
“Rogue demon,” Velena says.
“Rogue demon,” Tryan agrees.
Naldor looks anguished, but now that the Joined have spoken, the rest of the crowd is quick to echo the words.
“You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested,” Xevia says. “Enjoy the rest of the party. I don’t expect the invitation will find you next time.”
In many ways, that is the deepest cut. Too deep. I wanted to teach Naldor manners, not have him ostracized from society. Already most of the room is keeping clear of him as if terrified they will be infected by his fall from grace.
“It almost feels like you planned that,” I say quietly as I take the bracelet from Xevia.
“How could anyone have planned that?” Xevia asks incredulously.
Velena whisks a dismissive hand. “Naldor was always a pompous ass. Time someone put him in his place.”
“His father will do that,” Tryan says, “when he learns Naldor’s lost a wood demon that’s been in their family for seven generations.”
Something twists in my gut. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Anything you like,” Velena says. “It’s yours now.”
“Except kill it,” Yndros warns.
“So I can make it my personal servant?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Have it guard my door at night?”
“Of course.”
“Suck on its magic whenever I want to power a warding or feel tired?”
“Or for no reason other than it feels good,” Xevia says.
I hesitate before putting on the bracelet, studying the wardings. I learned the hard way not to trust gifts of warded jewelry. When I don’t see a blood lock or anything that could harm me, I slip it onto my wrist.
Immediately, one tether becomes two. I deactivate the snare and retract the dominance whip, returning it to my belt.
Still the demon stands frozen, held in place by my will. Once dominance occurred, the demon ceased resisting. I see now how easy it would be to ignore the demon’s needs in this state, letting it Draw on its internal magic rather than taking the time to feed it. The demon’s discomfort is irrelevant. In control of the subjugation, I can repress those baseline feelings or explore them, as I wish.
I wonder if this is the solution to Darin’s magic problem. With such a powerful demon of our own, he can Draw as much as he needs without ever again having to touch the dark emotions embedded in the knife’s magic.
“How far will the tether stretch?” I ask.
“At least a thousand yards,” Yndros says. “Beyond that it varies. The collars are designed to increase the demon’s discomfort the more it stretches the tether. If you mean to leave the demon behind to travel farther, you can tether it to a place or turn it over to one of your servants for safekeeping.”
“What about when I sleep?” I ask.
“If you sleep, your demon will stand watch and protect you, unless given other commands.”
Could I sleep with a demon in the room? I think not, and the fact I am even considering it is deeply concerning. Alagai are the enemy. Tonight’s spectacle only reinforces that. Naldor’s demon turned on him the moment it was freed.
Even considering keeping it is foolish and sickening. I don’t need enemies in Hive, but neither do I want to normalize their demon-centric culture too much.
“This is my demon?” I ask. “I can sell it? Give it away?”
