by Emma Fenton
“How delightfully primitive,” a deep voice drawled, startling Ria out of her thoughts.
That’s what a demon sounds like? Ria frowned. She’d expected something a bit more gravelly, ancient and monstrous. Not this bizarre, melodic, smooth-like-honey tone. It was too pleasant. Too normal.
There was a sharp snapping sound, and the candles flared to life again. Ria blinked at the sudden brightness. In the center of the pentagram stood what looked to be a young man. Even in the warm glow of the candlelight, he looked like he was cut from marble: all sharp angles and unblemished skin. Not a single strand of dark brown hair was out of place, not a single aspect of his face disproportioned. He was so much more human-looking than Ria had imagined, and yet everything about him screamed of a too carefully crafted image. Beautiful but terrifying, Ria thought. Dangerous.
He was dressed from head to toe in a sharp, black suit. It was comically out of place for the environment; his attire was far more suited to a high-society function than the middle of the woods. And yet Ria could not imagine him wearing anything else. There was something about his entire appearance that provoked Ria’s most primal instincts, warning her that the being standing before her was a threat, something dangerous she couldn’t hope to overcome.
His power radiated from him, nearly as tangible as the trees around her. It was potent magic, stronger than anything she’d felt before, and yet different. The dark magic in the palace had left the air smelling singed, much like the air after a lightning strike, and it always pin-pricked her skin. But his was more like the lightning itself: so overwhelming it could blind you, kill you. She could sense it, feel it all around her, and yet it didn’t hurt her like she thought it would. I’m protected, Ria realized, remembering the first half of the incantation from the ritual. Magic was shielding her because she’d asked it to.
The demon’s gaze fell on her, heavier than a stone upon her chest.
“Tell me, little caster,” the demon said as he approached her, dark eyes alight with something dangerous. “Do you know who stands before you?”
“A demon.” Ria stood up straighter. She refused to be intimidated by him. Or, at least, she refused to show it.
Much to her surprise, he rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But do you know which one?”
“A demon who can make a deal with me,” she said, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off, “Which is all I’m really interested in.”
The demon snorted. “Of course you are. Mortals these days. No respect. No cowering. Just straight to business. And what do you ask for? Wealth. Or for me to make some poor sod fall in love with you. In the old days, when someone summoned a demon, they wanted to start a war. Revenge. Plagues. All that good stuff. Everyone’s boring now.”
“Trust me, I’m exactly what you’re looking for,” Ria said with all the confidence she could muster.
“You mortals all think you’re so special.” He sneered at her. “You seem like the love type. So, who is it? Jimmy the shop boy who’s in love with someone else? A rich duke who won’t even look your way?”
Ria stared him down, unimpressed. “Tomorrow I will fight my sister in mortal combat for the throne. I ask for your assistance in killing her, discretely, during the fight.”
This brought him up short. He paused for a moment, dark eyes looking her over. “There’s a fee.”
“Name your price.”
He barked a laugh. “Bold of you to think you can afford me, darling.”
“This is the best offer you’ve had in ages,” Ria said. She walked closer to the salt line, stopping when they were mere fingerbreadths apart. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’d rather go back to playing matchmaker.”
He reached out as if to grab her, face twisted into a nasty snarl. The pentagram stopped him, but not before Ria flinched away. When she met his gaze again, his eyes twinkled with dark amusement. She cursed herself. Any leverage she had gained had evaporated the second he perceived weakness from her.
“Your price,” she snapped, voice firm in an attempt to regain some control.
His responding smile was sharp. “A favor.”
Ria eyed him critically. A favor. What does that really mean? He’s a demon. He wouldn’t name that as his price if he didn’t see some benefit to it. It’s quite vague. He probably thinks he can trap me into agreeing to something without telling me what it is.
“A favor?” she asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “What kind of favor?”
“I don’t quite know,” he said, leaning forward against the magic barrier that separated them. It was firm enough to support his weight, and he used it to get as close into her personal space as the pentagram would allow. Ria refused to step back, refused to give this demon another opportunity to see her fear. “There’s nothing I really want right now, but a favor from the Queen of Helhath? That’s worth quite a bit. No more than what I’m doing for you, of course.”
It was a trick. Ria knew it was, and she’d have to be a fool to agree to something like that. He would get the better end of the deal, possibly trick her into selling away her soul or something like that. Still, she needed his help with tomorrow’s fight or else she’d die. Besides, Ria thought, so long as the wording stays vague, I can make this work for me. Wording is everything in these kinds of bonds. Let him think you’re giving away more than you are, and he won’t question it.
“To reiterate for clarity, you will assist me in killing my sister during tomorrow’s fight, and in return I shall owe you a favor to be collected at a time of your choosing,” Ria said. “This is all you ask?”
The demon smiled at her and it would have been charming—swoon-worthy, even—if she had not known exactly what he was. In hindsight, his beauty should not have surprised her. Pretty things were often the most dangerous. How else were they supposed to catch their prey? Ria would not let herself be deceived by this demon’s smooth voice and pretty smiles.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked.
Ria met his gaze stubbornly. “I only sought your help because I have no desire to die prematurely. So long as the favor you ask does not jeopardize my well-being, I agree to these terms.”
His face twitched. For a brief moment, she thought he would refuse, and then she’d really have to up the ante and do something reckless like threaten him with eternal entrapment. But then his expression smoothed back into that charming façade.
“So mote it be,” he said, grinning like a shark. The candles flared again as Ria felt the magic stir between them. It was almost addictive, the way the magic warmed her when it wrapped around her without malice. The pin-prick sensation she’d come to expect and despise from magic was gone, replaced by the softest thrum of heat under her skin.
“So mote it be,” she responded, and the magic around them calmed. Ria nearly sagged in relief. Whatever else was to come, she was sure she could handle it. Jaya would not kill her tomorrow, and for now, that was enough. The ritual had taken a lot out of her, though. She would need her rest. She turned as if to go when the demon cleared his throat.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He gestured at the salt circle, irritation flashing in his eyes though his smile stayed pleasant.
Heat rose to her face. She’d completely forgotten that she would have to release him from the pentagram once they’d made their deal. She dragged her foot through the salt to create a gap and raised an eyebrow at the demon as if to say, “Happy?”
He stepped forward, no longer inhibited by the magical boundary, and grabbed Ria’s wrist. She froze, instinct urging her to yank her arm away, but fear—and a faint glimmer of morbid curiosity—kept her where she was. He turned her hand over and pried her blood-stained fingers from where they were clenched against her palm. The cut she’d made during the ritual had stopped bleeding, but it was a nasty ragged thing that stung any time she moved the surrounding muscles, and she was sure that moving her hand too much would only serve to tear the wound open again.
Slowly and
with only the slightest pressure, the demon dragged his thumb across the cut. Ria winced at the stinging, but any notion of pain was immediately drowned out by the sheer wonder she felt as she stared down at her palm. It healed before her eyes, becoming little more than a thin, slightly raised scar. She scowled up at him, waiting for the trick she was sure would come.
“You’ll need your hands tomorrow,” he said, one brow raised in amusement. “I can’t exactly hold the sword for you.”
And then, before Ria could so much as open her mouth to speak, he gave her a quick wink and evaporated into shadows right before her eyes. She spun around, wondering if he’d somehow teleported behind her, but he was gone. With a sigh, Ria packed up the tools she’d brought with her and kicked dirt over the pentagram. It was unlikely that anyone would come to this part of the forest and see what she’d done, but Ria wasn’t willing to take any chances.
She trudged back towards the palace, the exhaustion finally taking its toll on her body. The morning would come far sooner than she liked, and Ria felt certain that even with the help of a demon, tomorrow would be far from easy.
***
Sleep had come easily thanks to exhaustion, but when Ria woke in the morning, she was a jittery mess. Her hands shook. Her legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. Her eyes darted to the clock every five minutes. Deal with a demon or not, she would have to face Jaya when the older girl was at her most lethal. Just the idea of Jaya swinging a sword at her with murderous intent was enough to roil Ria’s stomach. She hadn’t been able to keep down her breakfast.
A part of her wondered if it had all been some sort of exhaustion-driven hallucination. In the light of day, it seemed impossible that she could have summoned a demon, and even more so that the demon—if he really did exist—would agree to make a deal with her.
She traced the thin scar on her left palm to soothe herself. Touching it sent a small tingle through her palm, the remnants of the magic the demon had used to heal her the night before. It had to have been real or else she wouldn’t have the scar, just a nasty cut from a failed summoning. It had to have been real. If it wasn’t, Jaya would win.
Sofi bustled into Ria’s room, sagging under the weight of an armful of leather armor. Choosing leather over metal plating had been a strategic move. Ria wasn’t fast or strong even without heavy metal armor weighing her down, and with the Thaw causing temperatures to rise, a full suit would be utterly suffocating. Leather would give her easier mobility and keep her from succumbing to heat exhaustion, though it was far easier to penetrate. But Ria had been paying attention. She’d had nineteen years to watch Jaya, and if there was one thing she knew, it was that Jaya was predictable.
When given the choice, Jaya always fought with two curved knives. She didn’t need a big weapon to inflict a lot of damage. Ria had seen the shredded remnants of the pig carcasses Jaya practiced on. The older girl was fast and deathly efficient—a single swipe over a crucial artery could be the final blow—but the fact remained that the weapons she fought with were made for slicing rather than puncturing. Leather armor, especially that which had been coated in bee’s wax, would hold up against any slicing or cutting. The real issue would be whatever skin was left unprotected.
Ria tried not to worry. She had a demon backing her up, after all. But even with all her planning and precautions, Ria still worried that Jaya would somehow find a way to win in the end. Jaya always won, and this time, Ria would die because of it.
Stop it, she told herself. You’ve made a deal that guarantees your safety. What more do you want?
She wanted it to be over already, the whole ordeal far behind her. She didn’t want to worry about being murdered. She didn’t want to have to watch her back in her own home. She wanted everyone to stop looking at her like she was already dead, the way Sofi was looking at her now.
“It’s time to get ready,” the servant girl said almost apologetically. “I think your brown dress will be the easiest to move in if—”
“No.” Ria had considered every aspect of her battle outfit carefully, and she had ultimately come to the realization that she had to take every advantage she could get. And that meant trading out her usual fighting dress for something more practical. Pants. She’d “borrowed” clothes from a kitchen boy who was about her size, though the shirt was still loose, and the pants had to be tied with a belt.
Sofi gasped in horror when she saw the clothes. “You can’t wear those. Those are…those are men’s clothes.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Ria said dryly, not in the mood to defend her choices. If she won, no one would dare criticize her choice in clothing. And if she died, at least she wouldn’t be around to hear them. She slid on the brown pants and tucked in the dark blue shirt. Her own boots, thankfully, would suffice. “Help me with the armor, would you?”
Sofi, still looking scandalized, nodded stiffly. Together, they worked in silence to tie on the chest-piece, shoulder-guard, and the arm-guards, securing the leather straps and tugging to make sure each was tight enough. There was no helmet; Ria hadn’t wanted to risk anything obstructing her vision. Finally, she tugged on her gloves, running her fingers over the scar on her left palm one last time for luck.
Sofi pushed her into the chair in front of the desk mirror as she had done so many times before and began pulling Ria’s hair into a braid. This one was more complex than usual: half a dozen smaller braids pulled together to weave into one long one. There were no fly-away strands this time; her hair wouldn’t be getting in the way.
“Braiding your wild hair is my favorite part of this job,” Sofi said, fondness and something sad lacing her voice.
She thinks this will be the last time, Ria realized. She might be right.
“Even if I try to get rid of it every other day?” Ria asked, trying to lighten the mood. Sofi laughed and patted Ria’s now-complete braid.
“Try not to let your sister cut off all my hard work.” Sofi stood back, suddenly serious. “You are very smart, your highness. Maybe you can win.”
Ria met Sofi’s eyes in the mirror. “I will.”
***
Ria stood just outside the makeshift arena, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jaya was somewhere on the other end of the arena, mercifully out of sight for now. She didn’t want Jaya to see how nervous she was. Ria could already feel the sweat forming on her brow and on her back where the kitchen boy’s shirt stuck to her skin. It wouldn’t be long now.
The Council, in their effort to turn the fight into a pseudo-celebration for the Thaw, had converted a mostly-unused jousting field into the fighting ring. They’d put up high fences—probably to keep me from fleeing mid fight—and refurbished the dilapidated stands so guests could comfortably watch. That meant that most of the nobles were here along with a good portion of the common people from the city. Even from outside the arena, the thundering clamor of hundreds of voices was overwhelming. She hated them, the spectators. Most, if not all, were there to take entertainment from her death. Jaya was the obvious pick for winner. Ria was the lamb going to slaughter. There would be few, if any, who thought otherwise.
She took a steadying breath. I will not die today. Ria’s hand clenched around the broadsword in her scabbard. It was light enough that the weight wouldn’t be a hindrance and not quite as unwieldy as a battle axe. Besides, it was the only weapon she’d ever really learned to fight with. Jaya would be expecting it, but there was nothing else she could do. Ria wasn’t going to risk fighting with something completely unfamiliar when her life depended on it.
The doors swung open before her, revealing the arena. They’d put sand in there instead of leaving the hard-packed dirt. Presumably this would be softer to fall on, but Ria doubted it would make much of a difference. If she fell, she was as good as dead. The stands were packed as she’d predicted, but Ria instantly spotted the Elder Scholar sitting calmly next to the Council. His eyes met hers and he dipped his head in acknowledgment, though not enough for anyone else to notice. She scanned the rest of the s
tands. Izan, predictably, was on the other side of the Council whispering something to Nasir. Planning his own coronation as king a bit prematurely, no doubt.
Other nobles that she recognized were there, eagerly gossiping amongst each other. None of them were taking bets, she noted, a pit forming in her stomach. Why would they? No one is betting on me. The same could not quite be said of the common people, though. Nearly a hundred or more were packed together, standing room only, opposite the nobles, and slips of paper changed hands so fast Ria could hardly keep up. It made sense, Ria supposed. They wouldn’t necessarily know that she couldn’t fight and that Jaya could. At least, they wouldn’t know enough to realize that betting on Ria was nearly as good as throwing their gold into the sea.
Except Siraj, of course, who surprisingly stood in the midst of the havoc. He looked as unimpressed as ever, so absurdly relaxed in the chaos that Ria had no difficulty spotting him. His eyes met hers and he winked before making a show of sliding a thin slip of paper to the bet collector next to him. The message was clear: you’d better win. It was almost comforting, his confidence in her. Or nerve-wracking. Ria couldn’t quite decide.
The one person that Ria did not see, perhaps the only person who really mattered at this point in time, was the demon. She’d asked for discretion, but he was nowhere to be found. Can demons make themselves invisible? She pressed her fingers to her left hand—feeling the tingle of the magic even through her gloves—to reassure herself that he was real. That he was going to help her. He had better be here.
Jaya strode into the arena, head held high, and all eyes were on her. She wasn’t in full armor, just a chest-plate and chainmail layered over her usual sparring dress. She glittered silver in the sunlight, looking every bit the future queen of Helhath. As predicted, the twin daggers were strapped to the belt at her waist. Ria almost smiled. Jaya wasn’t wearing a helmet either. Not that it’ll be easy, she reminded herself. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
