The Demon World

by Sally Green

  Farrow shook his head. “This is a lie. Where is your proof?”

  Catherine felt sick with nerves as she replied, “General Davyon is my proof. He witnessed the ceremony. He will corroborate it, and all know that Davyon is honorable and true to his word.”

  Davyon looked into her eyes and then around the room. What would he say? Would he say anything?

  Eventually he stepped forward, then turned his back to Catherine to face the room. “Lord Farrow, Lord Donnell, and all here present, I confirm all that Princess Catherine says is the truth, and all here and in Pitoria should know it. Princess Catherine is Prince Tzsayn’s wife. I was witness to the ceremony. Prince Tzsayn and Princess Catherine were married just before the battle of Rossarb.”

  Catherine wanted to collapse with relief, but she kept as still as stone.

  Farrow’s reply was more hesitant now, but still with a hint of a sneer. “And were there any other witnesses to this ceremony?”

  Davyon replied, “There were, but I fear all perished in the battle, apart from myself, the princess, and her maid. And of course the prince, who will confirm the truth of the marriage on his return.” He turned to Tanya and said, “As I said, the princess’s maid was there too and will confirm it.”

  Tanya had already wreathed her face in the look of a confident maid to a queen. She curtsied to Davyon and said clearly, “Yes, it’s true. I was there as maid to my mistress, and proud and happy to see her married to such an honorable man as Prince Tzsayn.”

  Catherine now had to force the lords to choose to accept her or not. She turned to Donnell. “Lord Donnell, I am here as your guest, but also as wife to Prince Tzsayn. With the death of the king, Prince Tzsayn becomes king and I his queen. As Queen Apparent I ask for your support for myself and my husband.”

  Donnell looked uncertain for a moment, but then seemed to make a decision and he bowed low to Catherine. “We are all in shock and sadness at the news of King Arell but we welcome you, Princess Catherine, wife of our beloved Prince Tzsayn, now ruler of Pitoria.” He then turned to the room and said, “Please welcome my guest, Queen Apparent, Princess Catherine.”

  The people in the room bowed their heads. Farrow and his green-hairs did not bow, however; they turned and marched out. Catherine looked around the room for Ambrose but he didn’t bow either—he had gone.

  AMBROSE

  DONNAFON, NORTHERN PITORIA

  AMBROSE COULDN’T listen to Catherine any more; he had to get out of the hall and away into some quiet corridor to think. It couldn’t be true. Catherine couldn’t be Tzsayn’s wife. On their journey she had told Ambrose she loved him or had implied it. She’d touched him—caressed him. How could she do that if she was married to Tzsayn? It must be a lie—she had said she was married to avoid arrest.

  And yet it could be true; it was what Catherine would do. She wanted power. Well, this way she had it—she would be queen.

  And it was definitely what Tzsayn wanted. Tzsayn had charmed her with his wit and generosity. He’d not forced Catherine into marriage, indeed he’d released her from the obligation—letting her feel she was free. She clearly liked him, and clearly was drawn to him.

  Ambrose remembered Tzsayn showing her how to throw the spear, his hands on hers and at her waist, and her leaning into him, enjoying his touch. Yes, she’d been drugged on the purple smoke, but hadn’t that allowed her to show her true feelings, her true attraction to Tzsayn?

  And yet . . . and yet, Ambrose still couldn’t quite believe it. So when had this ceremony taken place? Just before the battle of Rossarb, Davyon had said. Which meant it must have been just after the Brigantines had delivered his brother’s head in a box. Just after seeing that! When Ambrose was in shock at his brother’s suffering. When he’d had no comfort from Catherine. Had she been too busy choosing a wedding dress to wear? And Tzsayn had supported Ambrose, had given him comfort, had called on him to speak to the assembled group about his brother when he’d felt like dying. And then, no time later, Tzsayn was marrying Catherine.

  No. It must be a lie. A lie to protect herself, when she had no other option. But if it was a lie, it was a huge lie. And why would Davyon support it? To protect Catherine? Surely he wouldn’t go so far as to put her on the throne?

  None of it made sense—truth or lie. Except that of course, truth or lie, it did make sense. Truth or lie—it didn’t matter to Catherine; she got what she wanted. She was the Queen Apparent. She was the ruler. She had her power. She’d stood so confidently, so sure of herself, and spoken so clearly. A true queen.

  Either way, why hadn’t she told him? Why hadn’t he even got a hint of it in her thoughts in the demon tunnels? Instead she’d given him hope in the last few days—hope that they could be together somehow. Why do that if she was married? Unless she expected Tzsayn to be dead? But, no, Catherine wasn’t like that. She would have acted honorably. But where was her honor in this?

  He paced back and forth, going over it all again and again and again. He had no idea of time and, as for guarding the princess, well, Rafyon would deal with that, and Davyon and Donnell, and all her blue- and white- and purple-hairs. She didn’t need Ambrose now, and he couldn’t face her yet.

  But he had to know the truth.

  Catherine had been given the best rooms in Donnell’s guest house. He went to them and waited for the one person who would tell him what was really going on. When she appeared, he strode to her and took her by the arm.

  “Sir Ambrose, let me go.”

  “Not until you tell me the truth.” He guided her into a small bedroom at the end of the corridor.

  “This isn’t seemly.”

  “I agree with you there, Tanya, but I assume you agree with me that this is a conversation we should have in private?” He took a pace back from her and studied her face as he asked, “I need you to tell me, is it really true? Did they marry?”

  Tanya’s face softened. “Ambrose, I know you care for my mistress and I know she cares for you.”

  “Care doesn’t come close to how I feel for her. Do you know how this is breaking me?”

  Tanya looked down, then back at him. “I’m sorry, Sir Ambrose, that your feelings are hurt. As I said, I know she cares for you very much. But the princess’s marriage is a matter of life or death.”

  “So tell me. Is it true?”

  Tanya stared into his eyes and said, “I witnessed it all. The ceremony was very hurried and she wasn’t even in her best dress, but they did marry.”

  Ambrose shook his head, but Tanya’s eyes were still on him.

  She said, “It’s true.”

  And Ambrose knew in that moment that it was. He turned away and went to the window and stared out at the black sky.

  Tanya joined him. “You must realize that the marriage is to protect Catherine. They’ll arrest her without protection. And arrest you too.”

  “So I should be grateful I have the queen’s protection?”

  “We all do what we must to survive.”

  “I love her. I thought she loved me.” Ambrose shook his head. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps she feared your reaction. Feared you’d leave her. She needs you, Sir Ambrose. She needs your support . . . and your love. She has few friends here. I know this is a blow to you, but please try to understand her position. She is a woman in a foreign country with few friends and many enemies. Please stay with her.”

  “How can I stay with her when I don’t even want to see her again?”

  MARCH

  BOLLYN, NORTHERN PITORIA

  MARCH HAD followed Edyon from a distance after his arrest and saw the sheriff’s man twirl the gold chain above his head and throw it into the river. The ring that proved Edyon’s birthright, the chain and pendant that Edyon valued so much, tossed away as if they were nothing. March stopped, unsure what to do, but he kept his eyes on the spot wher
e the chain had hit the water. Could he retrieve it?

  Only one way to find out.

  The moment Edyon disappeared from sight, March ran into the river. He gasped at the cold but waded on against the fast-flowing water until he reached the spot where the chain had sunk. The water was fast but the chain heavy; it might not get swept downstream too far.

  March moved slowly with his back to the current, leaning against the force of the river. The water was clear and he could see the stones on the river bottom but no chain. He slowly stepped deeper into the water but still no sight of the chain. Perhaps this was the wrong spot. Perhaps the chain had fallen down a gap between the stones.

  But then the sun caught something—not silver like the shine on the water but warmer . . . gold. March wasn’t sure whether to give a cry of relief or despair: the gold chain was there, fallen between two large boulders, but just visible.

  March tried to dive down, but he wasn’t a good swimmer, and he was exhausted already. Then he realized that it was easier to take one of his boots off and try to pick the chain up with his foot.

  He threw a boot to the shore. His foot was already numb with cold, but if he could drag the chain a little farther out, he might be able to get hold of it. He swept his foot over the chain. Already more of it was visible, but no more would come out. He’d have to dive for it.

  March took a breath and sank down. His fingers just reached the chain as the current carried him back. He’d got the chain and it was holding him! The ring was caught in the rocks but March wouldn’t let go. He swam as hard as he could against the current and pulled the chain; it released a little but caught again. March couldn’t fight the current any more, but in frustration he pulled and—he was free. The chain was wrapped round his hand. He’d got it.

  Spluttering, March swam for the shore and dragged himself up onto the bank and held the chain up. But he was horrified at what he saw and cursed with frustration.

  The chain was all there, but the complex gold casing that had held the ring had been ripped open and half of it was missing, as was the ring itself. March was on his knees, exhausted and despairing, when his boot rolled across the grass to stop beneath his face. He looked up.

  Tenny was standing there, a spear in his hand. “Been fishing? Looks like a good catch.”

  March stuffed the gold chain in his jacket, suddenly nervous of Tenny.

  “Where’s Edyon?” asked Tenny.

  “Arrested.”

  “Edyon? For what?”

  “Murder.”

  “Ha! It’s always the quiet ones.”

  “No it’s not. He didn’t do it. Not that you care. Gloria told the red tops about him. She can claim a nice reward now.”

  Tenny lowered his spear so the point was just in front of March’s face. “I don’t like your tone, March.”

  “I don’t like my friend being arrested. We could have been out of here if it wasn’t for Gloria.”

  “I really don’t like your tone.”

  March knocked the spearhead away and cursed Tenny in Abask, as he pulled his boot on.

  Tenny shook his head. “You look real nasty, March, but you’re still a boy.”

  March cursed him again and set off walking.

  “Are you going to help Edyon?” called out Tenny.

  “None of your business.”

  “They’ll have taken him to the sheriff’s office in town,” Tenny shouted after him. “It’s at the far end. You can’t miss it.”

  March didn’t reply and picked up his pace. He was shivering but he soon warmed in the sun as he jogged along. He wasn’t sure what to do, or if there was anything he could do, but he had to try to help Edyon. It was his fault that Edyon was caught up in the murder.

  March considered pleading with the sheriff’s man that he had seen the attack and that Holywell had killed the sheriff, but he suspected that Edyon had been right to deny March knew anything. If March was involved, he’d be arrested as an accomplice. March had to use his freedom to help Edyon. But how?

  In town there were numerous soldiers, some with hair of blue, some lilac, and some green. March found the sheriff’s building, which had a compound in front where horses were tethered. The red top who’d arrested Edyon was just about to ride out again, as March watched him from a backstreet. When the sheriff’s man had left, March walked quickly across the compound and into the building. There was another red top there, sitting at a table. March said, “I believe you have a prisoner here. Edyon Foss. I need to see him.”

  “And what’s he to you?”

  “I’m servant to the prince of Calidor, and Edyon is the son of the prince. I’m escorting Edyon to Calidor, to his father.”

  “Not anymore you’re not.”

  “No, but it is still my duty to serve Edyon. So I need to see him.”

  “Well, he isn’t seeing anyone.”

  March waited.

  The man stared at him. “You still here?”

  March wondered if bribery would work, but he had no money. He stared back at the red top, but then turned on his heel and left. He walked round the building, hoping to find some kind of cell window. There was a sturdy gate with wooden spikes on the top—March had a use for that. He slung the gold chain over a spike and pulled it and worked it until the chain broke. He repeated the process to remove a few of the chain’s links and then returned to the sheriff’s office.

  “I told you: you can’t see him.”

  “He’s the son of a prince.” March threw the gold links on to the table.

  The red top looked up.

  “It’s gold,” said March.

  The red top licked his lips. He picked up the links and felt them in his hand, then he got up and ushered March into another room, to a door that led to a cellar. “Be quick and be quiet.”

  March pushed past the red top and down the steps. “Edyon? Are you all right?”

  Edyon was sitting on the ground, but he got up as March approached him.

  “Better for seeing you.”

  March wasn’t sure what to do but Edyon came to him and smiled. Edyon’s eyebrow was cut and swollen and his wrists were manacled to the wall.

  “I tried to get your ring out of the river, but . . .” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. It’s lost forever. I got the chain, but that was all.”

  “You tried, though. Thank you. And it does my heart more good to see you than anything.”

  March stepped to him and gently put his hands on Edyon’s arms. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Edyon.” And he meant it. March would do anything to make up for his past mistakes toward him. “But I don’t know what to do to get you out of here.”

  “Well, I can assure you I’ve been giving it plenty of thought. They plan to take me to Dornan to trial. But if I go there, I’ll be found guilty—the judge is a relative of the dead man. I need to avoid going to Dornan at all costs. Just because I don’t have the ring doesn’t mean I’m not Prince Thelonius’s son. Just because I’ve lost the letter from Prince Tzsayn doesn’t mean the message shouldn’t get through.”

  “True. But how does that help us?”

  “We need to petition the local lord to delay my trial until I can get confirmation that I’m the son of Prince Thelonius on a mission for Prince Tzsayn.”

  “So the plan is to delay things?”

  “Yes, delay everything. Object to everything. Delay, delay, delay.”

  March nodded. “Yes. That sounds like it’ll work.” He wasn’t convinced at all, but he wanted to sound as positive as possible for Edyon’s sake. “I can go immediately and petition the local lord. Who is the local lord? Do you know?”

  Edyon shrugged. “No idea. We’re in the north. It’ll be Donnell or Eddiscon probably. They’re good men, I believe. Fair. Honorable.”

  March wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t be bet
ter with someone corrupt who could be bribed.

  Edyon forced a smile. “I know you can do it. You’ve saved me before and I know you can save me again.”

  “Time’s up,” the red top shouted to them.

  March hesitated, wanting to embrace Edyon. He missed the reassurance of Edyon’s touch. But he wasn’t sure how to do it, so he just said, “I won’t fail you. I’ll find the lord, petition for a delay, and get back to you as soon as I can.” He turned to go but Edyon grabbed his hand.

  Edyon muttered, “Of course, I’m being ridiculously brave. The circumstances are dire, the conditions disgusting. And there’s a chance that they may beat me to death or hang me in the streets before you can do anything. I may never see you again.”

  March turned back to Edyon and pulled him gently into his arms. “You are being very brave, as always. And you will see me again.”

  “In my dreams, I will.”

  March wanted to roll his eyes but he smiled instead and Edyon kissed his cheek. And kissed it again. And again. And then Edyon kissed March’s lips.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps. “I said hurry up!” the red top shouted.

  March fumbled a kiss on Edyon’s cheek and said, “I will see you again. I will get you free.” And then he turned and ran up the stairs, past the guard, and out of the building.

  TASH

  DEMON TUNNELS

  TASH AND Geratan were still in their hiding place on the terrace. The second new purple demon had climbed out of the central well, and the demons were going about their lives much as before. They needed almost nothing from the human world—not food, not water, not even sunlight—just the occasional human body.

  Geratan put his hand on Tash’s arm. I’m going for a pee. He slid back and then went up the tunnel behind them, leaving her alone. The demon singing seemed to fade and Tash heard a regular but very faint chime.