The demon king, p.15
The Demon King, page 15
“Yes,” Xevia says, “but why would you?”
I turn back to Naldor, standing with his shoulders slumped, near tears. Demons in Hive represent more than status or even power. They are generational wealth and a driver of the economy. What does my claiming this demon mean for his family? Is it the equivalent of losing a horse or losing their house?
I don’t know how to answer the question, or enough about Naldor or his family to gauge the effect. I don’t even know if I approve of any of this. Is using demons as a slave class any better than what Alagai Ka intended for us? He thought of human cities as larders he kept to feed his hive queen after a mating.
But I am not ready to disrupt it all, not ready to accept a demon in my quarters, not ready to suck on demons like a skeeter, as Darin says. Not now, when I understand so little.
I move away from the others, going over to where a woman who might be Naldor’s sister strokes his back, speaking soothing words. She looks up at my approach, eyes glaring daggers at me.
With a thought, I call the wood demon to me. I don’t need to look or worry it will strike at my back. I feel its will, tight in the grip of mine.
“Come to mock my brother further?” she demands, proving my guess.
“I never mocked anyone,” I say. “Had your brother offered me courtesy, then he would have received courtesy in return.”
The demon looms at my back. I see both their eyes rise up in fear, and it gives lie to much of the confidence Hive society is built upon. This wood demon has served their family for generations. No doubt Naldor and his sister climbed the beast like a tree when they were children, as I have seen others doing in public play spaces.
But in the hands of a new master, suddenly the alagai strikes fear into them.
Good.
“Kneel,” I say aloud. The two blink, as if I am speaking to them, but then they take a step back as the wood demon kneels on the ballroom floor.
“Play dead,” I say. The words mean little to the demon, but it calls into my mind the image of a hound rolling to present its belly, and the demon mimics the action.
I take the whip from my belt, but I don’t need a lunge to dangle it above the demon’s head and activate the snare, entangling its throat. As I sense the second tether form, I slip the bracelet from my wrist.
“My mother taught me by example to rule with charity and forgiveness in my heart,” I say. “Your punishment outweighs your rudeness, Naldor, and I wish no quarrel with you or your family.”
I hold up the bracelet. “Will you apologize?”
Naldor bows so quickly he gets tangled in his cloak, stumbling a little. “I apologize, Duch Olive, for my rudeness and the offense I have given.”
Surprisingly, his aura reflects the feeling. He acted rashly and regrets the action deeply for the cost it brought. My peace offering has kindled hope, and he clings to it. A flickering image of a stern man hovers over him, and I know Tryan was right. I am saving him from more than a public humiliation.
“Take it.” To the gasps of the assembled onlookers, I toss the electrum bracelet—priceless in Hollow for the metal alone—back to him like it means nothing to me.
Brother and sister’s eyes bulge as he catches the bracelet, looking back at me as if waiting for some hidden catch. When I offer no further demands, Naldor slips the bracelet back on, sighing visibly.
But then something strange happens. With both of us tethered to the demon, our wills connect through the creature. I can sense Naldor’s fear, how I intimidate him, and the swirl of emotions he is trying to process. I may have saved some face for him with his family, but the public humiliation and the scorn of the Joined at the party have destroyed any sense of social standing he has in the larger crowd.
I sense him trying to Read me as well, but I have learned a little about keeping up my mental defenses and turn his probe away with ease. He looks at me, and we both know I could dominate him, too, if I wished. Reach out through the tether and take control of his body as easily as I did the alagai’s. Force him to keep the bracelet on. Force him to do anything I wish.
Instead my fingers slide over the wards on the handle of my whip, releasing and retracting it back into a coil I hang from my waist. I turn my back without a word, as if daring Naldor to attack me with the returned demon. I am prepared if he does, but I know from the tether that it is the furthest thing from his mind. All I felt was fear, awe, and a growing understanding.
“I am in your debt,” Naldor says, but I whisk a dismissive hand over my shoulder, not bothering to turn.
“Well you’re no fun,” Velena says, but she’s smiling.
“I didn’t come here to make enemies,” I say.
Xevia snatches fresh drinks from the tray atop the back of a field demon, giving me one before raising her own.
“Duch Olive, the generous!”
The crowd, riveted by the entire spectacle, bursts into applause and cheers.
Chapter 10
Cirene
Party’s something else, but it still ent a place I’d like to be. Too many sights and sounds, smells and tastes. The ambient noise of the crowd and music makes even regular folk have to shout to be heard, but it’s worse for me, hearing every sound as if it were right in my ear.
I flinch every time a flame demon spurts fire, and the air is chilly in the direction of the snow demons. I can hear the steady thumping heartbeats of the rock and wood demon guards around the room, echoing in their great chests. Their collective breath is a foul wind.
Hive demons with wealthy owners are washed and bathed more than anyone back home in Tibbet’s Brook, but they still smell like corelings. That stink permeates the room, even if the Hivers are so used to it they don’t notice anymore. Any other time in my life I smelled that much demon, I’d be running like my feet were on fire. Here, it just means a bunch of rich folk are gathered in one place.
Wonder what it’s like for Cirene. She’s got the same senses as I do, but this is her home. I focus my senses on her. Her light, fluttering heartbeat. The tension in her muscles. The symmetry of her breaths, like she’s carefully counting them out.
She knows I am coming, turns to look at me, a smile crossing her face. “It took you long enough.”
“How long you been waiting?” I ask, speaking in a normal tone that is lost in the crowded room, but Cirene, still fifty feet away, has no trouble hearing me.
“Too long,” she says. “Can we go out on the terrace?”
“Creator, yes,” I say.
She’s moving before I get to her, heading for one of the walls with warded glass panels slid open to the terrace. Folk are crowded out there as well, but the open air is refreshing and helps diffuse some of the ambient noise.
“Not there,” Cirene says of the crowds, following along the inner wall until the windows become smooth, flat stone. I blink as she touches the sheer wall and begins to climb, turning her hands and feet sticky to grip the surface.
I follow, relieved to put the crowds behind us. A handful of folk notice, but we’ve left them far behind by the time they start talking about us. It’s the usual nonsense—wondering how a pair of Eater children got invited to such a fancy party in the first place.
Ent used to bein’ around my own kind. The Warded Children back home were Eaters and could do anything I can, but their senses didn’t tend to overwhelm like mine. Don’t know Cirene well, but just knowin’ she understands makes me feel more comfortable around her than anyone I’ve met since I got here.
We stop climbing around twenty feet above the crowd, still well below the next tier. Effortlessly we cling to the wall with sticky backs and feet, looking out over the city. Its spires are alive with wardlight, as are the buildings and boulevards down on the ground where the common folk live.
“Pretty night,” I say.
Cirene shrugs a little sadly. “It’s the same every night. I grew up in the borderlands, with seasons, and starlight not blocked out by all the lights below.”
“Ay, me too,” I say. “Mam didn’t want me growing up too fancy, so she kept me away from all the palaces and manses. Took me back to my grandda’s farm in Tibbet’s Brook, as far from trouble as could be.”
“How did you end up here, then?” Cirene asks.
I blow out a breath. “Trouble has a way of finding you, like it or not.”
Cirene nods sadly at that. “I wish we’d stayed there. They never would have caught us, but Father wanted to cure me.”
“Thought you said the cure didn’t work?” I ask.
“It works, in its way,” Cirene says. “Makes you an Eater. Gives you powers. Regulates your senses.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” I say.
“Everyone who’s done it swears by it,” Cirene agrees. “But this is who I am. My senses are how I relate to the world. Maybe changing them would bring me peace, but I wouldn’t be…me.”
“Maybe you’d be someone better,” I suggest, thinking more about myself. Then I realize how that sounds. “Ay, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right.” Cirene sniffs, and I know she can smell my discomfort. “It would be nice to think that, but the children I know who have gone through the ritual are changed in more ways than regulating their senses. Their whole personalities alter, and they start avoiding those who haven’t done it. When I was little, there were lots of Eaters’ children in our tribe. One by one, they all took the cure. The increase in raids to cure their children was why Eaters became so reviled. I was the only one who refused. Father didn’t tell me we were going on a raid the night we were captured. He meant for me to Eat whether I liked it or not. Said I’d thank him when it was done. Instead he’s been Drained, and I’m trapped here.”
“Your mam still out there?” I ask.
Cirene nods. “Somewhere. I expect Grandmother would make a public example of her if she could be found.”
There’s more to that. I can smell it. But it ent polite to push folk to tell you more about themselves than they want.
“Could you find them again if you wanted?”
Cirene shakes her head. “I’ve looked. They moved locations once they learned we were captured so we couldn’t give them away.”
I smell the lie and work hard not to show it. ’Course she ent going to say something that might get her mam in trouble. None of my business.
Both of us startle at a stomp of boots and a great clattering of wind demon talons somewhere far above. It’s almost like having a mirror beside me, so closely does Cirene’s reaction reflect my own.
The demons are limbering their wings, squawking and shifting their powerful legs as they prepare to take flight. I filter as much of the din below as I can by focusing my attention on the sounds’ origin, but for all I strain, I hear nothing from the approaching skyriders. Either they ent speaking or they’re using magic to silence the sound.
Cirene and I look at each other, and as one we begin climbing around the wall to put ourselves directly beneath them. A moment later they take to the air, a flight of wind demons blocking out the night sky as they wing away from the spire.
Lead demon ent like the others. Even at a glance it’s too powerful, but when I look closer, I recognize its aura like I would a face. Xorana’s mimic demon, which means she’s leading the mission as they turn away from the central city.
“That normal?” I ask. “Judge leading a flight like that?”
“No,” Cirene says. “It’s unheard of.”
“Where do you reckon they’re headed?” I ask.
She smirks at me. “Do you want to find out?”
* * *
—
I think about runnin’ down to tell Olive as Cirene readies her family wind demon, but there ent time if we want to keep the trail. Olive is happy at the party. If I tell her, her most likely response will be to tell me not to go, or to come with.
Looking at Cirene, I realize I don’t want either of those things. Better to leave Olive to enjoy herself. She ent going to get in trouble while I’m gone. Not with her being the guest of honor and Yndros lookin’ out for her. Gettin’ in trouble’s my job.
Cirene ent as skilled a flier as Baxos, but she also ent tryin’ to kill me, so the ride’s smooth as can be expected.
“Banking right,” she says, giving me time to prepare before the shift. She does that for every flight adjustment, and it makes a world of difference. Flying ent so bad when you know what the demon’s about to do.
“It looks like they’re headed for the borderlands,” Cirene says. “This demon has a trace on it, so we won’t be able to cross the wardnet without Grandmother bringing the city Watch down on us, but we can get close.”
We follow Xorana’s skyriders, but not too close. They spot us, I expect we’ll be in a mess of trouble. Thankfully, Cirene and I can see farther than they can, and trail them too far back to stand out in the standard sky traffic of Hive. Most of the rich folk fly around on wind demons, which is what makes the spires practical and separates them from common folk in the city below.
I feel the magic thrumming in the demon I cling to. Again I consider Drawing a bit, but I ent in a state anymore, and I reckon it still ent polite to do without asking.
Cirene has no such compunctions. I see her pull magic through the tether, brightening her aura. I wonder if she thinks trouble’s comin’.
The demon spirals down as we approach the edge of Hive’s outer wardnet. We alight on a rooftop close enough to the border to watch Xorana’s flight with our enhanced senses, but far enough that we don’t get spotted or trigger any alarms.
They fly in formation, turning, rising, and diving in perfect unison, but what are they doing? I shift my attention to the lands below them, lookin’ for a pattern that fits, and find it at last.
“They’re looking for magic Draws,” I say. “That’s how I found Alagai Ka last time.”
Cirene raises a brow. “Did you tell the mind court that?”
“No…but Xorana met with Olive right before the party. Reckon she might’ve said something.”
“There.” Cirene points. “They’ve found something.”
She’s right. The group hovers a moment, then Xorana gives a signal and they’re off like arrows at a target.
Cirene smells…wrong. Like she’s scared and anxious and doesn’t want me to know about it.
“Any way we can leave the demon here a spell?” I ask. “Go have a look on foot?”
Cirene holds up an arm with a jeweled cuff on the biceps. Seen those before and don’t need to ask. “You got a trace on you, too.”
She nods, and I take a close look at the armlet. Reckon I could suck the magic right out of it if I wanted. “I can get that off you.”
“That would alert Grandmother same as leaving the grid.” She shakes her head. “Judge Cyla wasn’t going to let me take a wind demon and come to the party at all until Xevia got Xorana to ask her directly. Even now…”
“You’re supposed to be spyin’ on me,” I guess.
“Actually, yes,” Cirene confirms, but her scent tells me I ent got to worry. Something bigger is going on.
“Mind if I go have a look?” I ask.
“Please.” Cirene tries to sound casual, but I can sense her relief. She wants me to go.
I’m over the side of the building without taking time to overthink it. I skitter down the wall and drop the last twenty feet, sucking in my particles to make myself dense and hard as I hit the ground.
Unharmed, I set off runnin’. When I ent hindered by keeping pace with my friends, I can be as fast as I want to be, and the trees and scrub blur as I pass them like an angry wind.
I see the barrier as I approach, Reading the wardnet the same way normal folk might see the difference between a wall and a door. I can cross it and come back. Nothing will stop me, and I ent big or strong enough to send a significant ripple through the net.
Still, I hold my breath as I put on speed and dash past like I’m running through a waterfall trying to stay as dry as possible.
Then I’m on the other side, and everythin’ changes.
First to hit me is the cold. Temperatures never bother me much, but that’s when they happen naturally, gradually. Jumping from one to the other is a shock. It may be eternal springtime on one side of the net, but on the other there are seasons, and it’s wintertime in the borderlands. Trees stand stark and bare of leaves against the sky, where stars are more visible. All life has magic, and I can see the spirit of the trees huddled in tight, letting their outer layers protect them like a warm coat.
Frozen ground, patches of snow, grass, and leaves crackle under my steps. I pick my way carefully while moving at speed, and I don’t reckon normal folk would hear me, but to folk like me and Cirene I am kicking up quite a racket.
Ambient magic surrounds me, drifting up from the Core through natural vents in the crust of the world. The power is tugged gently toward the wardnet, but here all it takes is an act of will to have it come rushin’ at me. I drink it in like water after crossing a desert, feeling stronger than I have in weeks.
With the power comes information, tellin’ me stories about where it’s been and what it’s seen. Been dark a few hours now, and some of it’s seen a fair bit. I learn more about the borderlands in a few seconds than I did after several nights of flyin’ around on wind demons.
Ahead there are sounds of confrontation. Shouts, wind demon shrieks, flashing wardlight. I quit basking in the naked night and run on, then realize that off Hive’s grid, even that is too slow. Instead I let my particles drift apart until I dissipate, becoming a being of pure magic, like demons when they rise up from the Core. I could slip into a vent and ride it down to the Core myself, but instead I just will myself forward, moving at the speed of thought, without resistance from air or obstacle.
