The demon king, p.26
The Demon King, page 26
“Apart from executions in the Web,” I say.
“Just so. And perhaps in the bowels of the Judges’ spires, as well,” Hendri suggests. “Demon princes gain the knowledge of the minds they consume.”
“I am well aware,” I say as calmly as I can. “I have witnessed their horror firsthand.” I do not add that it was my love, Prince Chadan, whose brains I saw scooped from his skull and consumed by Alagai Ka.
“Regardless,” Hendri says, “the mind spires were unified in destroying the reputation of Eaters when it became politically expedient for their consolidation of power. It was easy to raise hysteria among common folk and the wealthy by making Eaters a symbol of decadence.”
“Even as they themselves suck on demon magic like mosquitoes,” I say, “and snort powdered alagai horn to make food taste better or enhance their arousal.”
“You begin to understand us better,” Hendri agrees.
“And you?” I ask. “And your ‘many’?”
“I will not deny that I Draw power from my tethered demon,” Hendri says. “Few have the strength to truly give that up when it means being weaker than everyone around you. I have not Eaten, though I see little moral difference between keeping a demon imprisoned for centuries to slowly Drain its power and killing one for its meat. The others are much the same.”
Eater sympathizers. I wonder how many of them there truly are.
I shake the thought off. I don’t want to diverge from the stream of information. “What happened next?”
“When the youngest mind hatched and was given to Spire Zegan a century ago, the great spires struck an alliance, dissolving parliament and forming the mind court,” Hendri says. “Individually they were no match for the Eater minority, but together they declared Eating illegal and began seizing demons and property as punishment. Those who resisted were imprisoned, killed, or Drained, and the others were forced to flee the city and live in the borderlands.”
Hive society worked hard to portray Eaters to me as terrorists, but what choice did they have? If Joined were suddenly declared illegal, I would not go quietly into the naked night.
“The court has held power ever since,” Hendri says, “balanced thus far so none yet has power enough to outright destroy another without weakening themselves before those that remain. They play the game, but make no mistake, all of them are playing to win.”
He pauses there, and I do not press, my mind already whirling as I try to process what I’ve been told.
“The sun will rise soon,” Hendri says. “Rest, I beg, while I make some inquiries about Prince Darin. If I learn anything, you will be contacted. The array may not be secure. You will be contacted in person, but not by me. I have become too visible.”
“Then who?” I ask.
“You will know them,” Hendri says, and then there is the click of a stone being removed, and the connection ends.
Chapter 20
Temptation
Little tunnels connect the huts and burrows of the Eater village to protect folk from the sun. Daylight don’t hurt folk like us, exactly, but it burns away the excess magic you absorb each night, weakening you in the day. Stings, too. Like being splashed by scalding water.
Nice to be around folk who understand that. Damon lets us exit underground to a little hidden shelter just big enough for us to sleep away the day. Ent as cold as sleeping on a pile of snow outside, but it ent warm, either, and we don’t dare draw so much as a heat ward.
Damon wants to keep magic use to a minimum, especially after I tell him that’s how the Shamosk Sky Watch found the last village. All that free ambient magic drifting from vents is tempting to Draw upon, but if you know how to look, you can follow the flows from miles off and be led right to whoever’s sucking up the power.
Cirene got us blankets with the supplies back in town, and I have my cloak. Cold doesn’t bother me as much as most folk, but that don’t mean I like it. There’s enough room for us to bed down separately, but she lies down beside me, close enough to share warmth, with just a little gap of air between us.
Know what she wants. I feel a bit of shame for wanting it, too. Linking is starting to feel like being untrue to Rojvah somehow, though I don’t entirely know why. Doesn’t stop me from slipping a hand from the blanket, though, and pointing a finger at Cirene. She reaches out a finger to hook mine, and we link.
I forget about the cold. Sharing auras is better than sleeping in a pile of hounds. Not sure if the exchange of energy makes literal warmth or just takes my mind off it, but either way, it makes it better.
I can sense Cirene ready to argue with me about Eating, but then she Reads my feelings and knows I was just playing for time.
Damon will pressure us both to Eat as an example to the others, she warns. It will give legitimacy to the theft.
Theft? I ask.
The larder was entrusted to him, but it is not his, Cirene says. Larder demons are meant to be milked, not Eaten.
I’m about to ask how you milk a demon, but again the link is faster. Cirene’s mam showed her a larder once, and the memories come to me as if they’re my own. Demons stuck with hollow needles hooked up to tubes, suckin’ the ichor out of them and into bottles like some kind of twisted wine cellar. Cirene senses and shares my disgust.
Don’t eat or drink anything he offers you, Cirene warns. Consume only what we brought with us.
Reckon I can smell ichor even if he slips it into a cake, I think back at her, but point taken.
You told Olive you have an intended, Cirene thinks. The question is enough for the link to open my heart and mind to her, and she sees Rojvah in my memory’s eye.
I pull back, breaking contact and abruptly severing the link.
“I’m sorry,” Cirene whispers urgently. “I didn’t mean—”
“Ent your fault,” I say, trying to catch my breath and slow my suddenly galloping heart. “Linking does that. Used to shine on this girl when I was younger…”
“Selen Cutter,” Cirene supplies, and then I feel her face flush. “Lazar, I am so sorry.”
“Shhh,” I soothe, even though I’m the one that’s shook. “Kissed Selen once and shined on her so much I never kissed anyone else. Then one night I linked with her to lend her some magic, and wondered if it was the same for her. Just thinking it pulled a flood of her memories into my head. Had to live through her kissing half the boys in Cutter’s Hollow like I was doing it myself.”
Cirene makes a mock gagging sound, and it feels good to laugh.
“Then why did you pull away?” Cirene asks.
“Don’t really know,” I admit. “Ent ashamed of Rojvah, ’cept inasmuch as I know I don’t deserve her.”
“Because you are the son of Eaters?” Cirene guesses. “Her family does not approve of the match?”
“No, that part’s fine,” I say. “Everyone wants the match except Selen, actually.”
Cirene snorts at the irony. “Then how could you not deserve anyone?” Cirene smells so baffled it makes me want to laugh out loud.
“Krasians may call me prince,” I say, “but I’m just a farm boy out of Tibbet’s Brook. Rojvah is granddaughter to my bloodfather and the Damajah. Folk don’t get any more royal than that. Richer than the Duke of Miln and pretty as a sunset. Sings like a seraph. And if you saw her dance…” I trail off, but I know Cirene can see the heat flushing my cheeks.
“You kissed her. Many times.” Cirene touches her own lips thoughtfully. “Now I have, too.”
Part of me wants to dissipate and find a vent. Skate a thousand miles away from the discomfort of this conversation. Suddenly I am very aware how alone we are, sharing a blanket in a tiny burrow an ocean away from my promised, lying close enough to kiss.
“How did it make you feel?” I ask, knowing how Cirene dislikes touch.
“I…” Cirene pauses to find the right words, and even with her scent and aura and tone of voice, I don’t know what she’s trying to say. This is where the link transcends words. “Mother told me it would be different with someone I cared about, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Do you believe it now?” I ask softly.
“I do,” she whispers. “I think I should like to try it sometime.”
Part of me wishes she’d try it right now. Wouldn’t be my fault if she kissed me. Wouldn’t have told any lies or acted improper.
But just thinkin’ it’s improper, ent it? Wanting it. Wanting to reach out and link again, to be one with each other in a way far more intimate than some good-night kisses, or even what folk do when kissin’ ent enough.
“We should get some sleep.” I pull my cloak tighter and roll so I’m facing away from her, but I can still taste her breath. I can feel the resonance of air on her lips and know they would be soft yet resilient if she pressed them to mine.
And if we link again, she’ll know I was thinkin’ it, too. Don’t know what would be worse—or better—her getting bent out of shape about it, or her kissing me straightaway.
Night.
* * *
—
Don’t know how or when I fell asleep, but I reckon it helped to be good and tired after the last few nights. I wake up naturally as I feel the sun setting outside.
Cirene’s lying still next to me, but she ent sleeping. I can hear her blinking and know the difference in the sound of her heart and breath. Reckon she knows I’m awake, too, but after last night’s awkward end, neither of us is in a hurry to break the silence.
Guiltily, I wonder what Rojvah’s doing right now. If she knows I’ve gone missing yet. Probably not. Reckon she’s still making her way home from Safehold with Arick and Selen and Aunt Leesha.
Just as well. Ent like any of them could follow me, even if they knew where I’ve gone off to. Longer they can keep from worrying, the better.
Not that they ent worrying already. Last time they saw me I was headed to the Spear of Ala to help fight the demon queen. Bloodfather and the others there probably think Olive and me are dead. They’ll tell Rojvah and Aunt Leesha that soon enough if we don’t settle our business and find a way back home.
Least they won’t be worried if they think we’re dead. Sad, maybe, but not worried.
That’s better, ent it?
Village is stirring outside, getting ready to bug out. Folk fled here with little more than the clothes on their backs, so there ent much to pack up. They’re gathering and whispering to one another, wondering if there really is a hidden larder.
Cirene and I don’t talk as we snack on nuts from our packs and head out to meet the others.
Damon don’t waste much time, bringing out a scrawny field demon tethered to a band on his wrist. Behind him, some of the older kids haul a cart of corked bottles glowin’ with ichor.
Some of the younger kids have never even seen a demon, and they ooh and ahh over it like a Jongleur’s magic show. Stranger still are the Eaters and older kids, who bow to the coreling like it’s the Town Speaker, callin’ it brother. Seems a strange way to treat your breakfast, but what do I know?
Damon walks the demon to the center of the collecting crowd and comes over to me and Cirene. With the tether, he’s got plenty of power to draw wards in the air to give us privacy to talk without the whole village listening in.
“Stand with me at the stone table,” he says. “We will cut out the demon’s heart and share it, we three, as an example to the others before they feast. Soon there will be others strong enough to dissipate, and the Watch will never catch us.”
“It’s a good plan,” I say carefully. “Ent lookin’ to get in the way of it, so long as everyone gets to choose for themselves. But I ent Eating a demon’s heart.”
“It need not be the heart,” Damon allows. “If you prefer some other…”
“Don’t,” I say. “Not the eyes or a rump steak or a wineglass of ichor. Not Eatin’ demon.”
“Don’t let my sister fill your head with her own anxieties,” Damon says. “Think about what I am offering. Your mind at peace, at last. Your senses regulated, at last.”
It ent nothing. Night, it’s kind of everything. Told Cirene I wasn’t interested, and I meant it or she would have sensed it through the link. But now with the chance right in front of me, it ent so easy to dismiss.
All my life, I been out of sync with everyone around me. Folk will be talkin’ at me, but I’m too busy smelling what they had for breakfast, listening to their heartbeat, or wondering if they know about the lump in their breast to catch it all. Takes all my concentration to follow along sometimes, and more often than not I lose the thread.
Sometimes it’s a help. Know when folk are lyin’, even to themselves. Know when they’re sick and need a Gatherer before they do. Sniffed out where Alagai Ka was hidin’ my mam.
But most of the time, the world…hurts. Wear my hair long because there’s too much light. Keep a scarf or ear wax handy for emergencies, but even normal talk is loud to me. Raindrops bang against the ground or splash into puddles like great stones thrown into a pond. They feel like little hammers on my skull. And don’t even ask what it’s like to be in Town Square on market day. Feel squashed even when there’s no one touching me. Can’t filter out the sounds enough to understand what anyone is saying, and it’s hard not to choke on everyone’s breath and broken wind.
Can’t even eat like regular folk. Anything with more than a few ingredients or too much pepper gets intense quick. Spiced meats that Krasians consider bland are inedible to me. Mostly stick to bread, raw foods, and water. Hive diet actually agrees with me when they’re not being too fancy.
Could I really fix it all by taking a bite of demon meat? Or choking down a few swigs of bottled ichor? Is it really that simple?
Eaters seem to think so. Even Cirene agrees. It could regulate my senses. Not make them go away—just let me focus past them. Speed up my brain so I can accept all the input without feeling like I’m drowning in it. Mam had the same senses as me, but it never bothered her to take a stroll in the rain or stand in a crowd at Solstice Festival.
I’d be me, just not…panicked all the time.
But bein’ panicked all the time’s saved my life more times than I can count. If I start ignoring my senses instead of listening to them all, what if I miss something important? What if my comfort means someone I love gets hurt?
Worse, what if the power’s too much for me? What if it amplifies the frantic emotions I keep bottled up all the time, and I lose control like Ella Cutter? Ella was one of the kindest people I ever met. Taught me tattooing and fishing and more than I wanted to know about the birds and bees, hearing the men that visited her at night.
But when she Ate too much demon, she went wild. Abandoned Olive when there were demons at the wards. Tried to kill Mam when she scolded her for it. If Mam hadn’t been stronger, Draining away Ella’s excess magic into her tattoos, Ella might have succeeded.
Don’t want that. Any of it. And just the smell of ichor’s always made me want to sick up. Don’t know if I could choke it down even if I wanted to.
“ ’Preciate the offer,” I tell Damon. “Really, I do. But no thank you.”
Beside me, Cirene visibly relaxes. I know she sensed my doubts.
Damon did, too, and continues to press. “Don’t be a fool. People have Eaten for hundreds of years. Don’t let cultural taboo keep you from becoming your true self.”
That rankles me. “Am my true self, Damon. Always have been.”
“Your best self,” Damon counters.
“How do you know what his best self is, brother?” Cirene smells of anger as she cuts in. “Darin braved crossing the barrier when I could not to witness the attack on our village. And when he learned they had my mother, he could have let me search for her alone. Instead he had the courage to infiltrate Spire Shamosk, all the way down to the mind himself, to rescue her. What better self could he become?”
“He could have succeeded.” Damon’s eyes darken. “You both could have, and my father might still be alive.”
I move between them, eyes as dark as Damon’s. “That ent fair, and you know it. Where were you while we were risking it all? Hiding here, waiting for an excuse to Eat the larder?”
That tears it, and Damon looks fit to burst. I tense, ready to dissipate if he tries to force the issue. But even if folk can’t hear us, everyone’s watching, and Damon knows it. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, letting some of his tension ease as he blows it out. He spreads his hands, trying to look less threatening. Know from experience that’s a trick some folk use to put you off guard before they lunge, but I don’t think Damon would risk that now, when he’s close to what he wants.
Because he wants to Eat that demon. Wants to drink that ichor. His whole body vibrates with the want. Already he’s suckin’ magic through the tether like he’s licking the batter spoon.
And yet he’s holding control. Even with magic flowing into him, he’s got a lid on it, and that gives me hope. Folk really drunk on magic can’t usually keep their calm when you poke at them.
“I cannot—would not—force you or anyone to Eat,” he says. “But I beg you to consider that the restrictions on Eating are rooted in hypocrisy. They were designed to consolidate wealth and power by creating a false enemy. The scriptures—before Hive had them rewritten—say Lazar himself was an Eater, with descriptions of feasts for his elite warriors where ichor flowed like wine, and they toast humanity’s seat atop the food chain.”
“Ent stopping anyone from doing it,” I say. “Just not joining in.”
“Even now, there are Eaters working for the state,” Damon presses. “Spymasters and officials too powerful to touch, so long as they are circumspect and cloak the power with demon scale robes and warded jewelry.”
