Throne of Demons (Songs of Death and Life Book 1)

by Edison G. S.

  “The spell can kill original demons—Kazar’s children.”

  “That does not make it special; I can kill original demons with my sword.”

  “Regrettably, that is not true. Kazar and his children are well protected. They have witches on their side and even a mighty sword gilded of silver cannot penetrate original demons to execute them.”

  “You are telling me that in order to kill an original demon I will need your dagger? Nonsense. We have killed thousands of demons with our weapons.”

  “Regular demons,” she said.

  He wanted to put his hands on the dagger and examine it closely.

  “Please take it; it will be handy for you soon,” her words sent chills down his spine, as if something horrible was going to happen.

  “You are no ordinary witch,” his eyes sharpened. “You are one of them, aren’t you? You are one of the seven witches of the order.”

  The woman remained silent, not wanting to threaten the negotiation. Working with a witch was not a conventional undertaking; there were witches born without malice and witches not involved in wickedness, but working with a witch of the order was an entirely anomalous task—evil stirred within them from conception. “No sir,” she replied.

  Andreas did not believe her. Why would this one witch betray her own kin to join forces with me?

  “My husband, my brothers, and my son were taken to join the demons,” she murmured, holding back tears, as if she had read his mind.

  Andreas was astonished. She was truly powerful if she possessed telepathy. “You are one of them,” his eyes widened, a legendary witch of the order in front of him. The elder’s tales told of power potent enough to kill in the blink of an eye, but this witch did not try anything on him. For a second, he felt he could trust her; they both lost loved ones to the demons and they shared a mission for revenge. Yet his men would not agree.

  “I will leave the dagger here for you as well as the potion. Please consider my offer. I am not young enough to use the dagger and the spell myself. But we can make a powerful team.” the woman concluded. Without another word, she put the items on the ground and proceeded to leave, understanding his distrust.

  “Wait,” he protested, “If I can trust you, tell me your name and where I can find you.” The men around him looked shocked.

  She turned around with some effort and replied, “Melantha is my name and you will find me wherever you need to find me.”

  She left and Andreas assured his men he would not trust her. He grabbed the golden dagger as well as the purple liquid with the promise of burning them, though he secretly had contradictory intentions.

  Tara

  The kitchen was full of commotion and was hectic on the anniversary of the prince’s death. He died during the rebellion before the king trapped Lance Maxwell. Tara was exhausted; she usually was required to do all the cooking, but she was terrible at it. Sometimes the king punished her for preparing inedible food. This occasion was too special and if she muddled this she would be severely punished, but everyone else in the kitchen would also be scrutinized. Instead, the maids agreed she would serve the food at the royal table.

  She wore clean rags as to not offend the princes by her appearance as she served them. She was elated the King was not there; the day was too arduous and every year he remained alone in his chambers, only occasionally wandering outside to the parade.

  She served the food carefully, plate after plate, the shiny silverware perfectly arranged for a royal table. Prince Thomas avoided her eyes; he inherited the deep emerald green eyes of his mother, though they had been satiated with tears for many, many years. From his father he inherited his dark coal hair, jutting jaw line, oblong face, and pointy nose.

  When she began serving the first course, she started with the younger prince, Bruno. His round chartreuse eyes observed her giving her a chill down her spine and she hastily continued on sheepishly. She then moved on to the eldest prince, Thomas. She had followed the wrong order of serving, but he did not say anything. Her movements grew awkward; the prince’s presence made her nervous and for a second she felt she would faint atop him.

  She remembered the first time they met; they both were about eight years of age and had become friends quickly. When his father kept her enclosed, Thomas visited her and when she was allowed out, they played and ran and laughed loudly; the servants could not stop them. The king was so saddened by the death of his eldest son; he would not dare to order the prince to stop playing with the betrayer’s daughter. The king’s reaction would be unpredictable if his heir was ordered around. Tara and Thomas grew up being close friends.

  His eyes look very sad, she reflected. After serving, she stood in silence behind the table in case the princes had any requests. The servants had told her to be quick to serve anything the princes demanded.

  She stood remembering her countless talks with the prince. Thomas had told her how he missed his brother. He knew his brother had been very brave and valiant men die fighting, as he did. It mattered little that he died fighting rebels; he died in a fight, which was the only thing that mattered.

  Thomas had confessed he wished he were the one dead instead of Arthur. It was unfair that Arthur died already having everything figured out. He was twenty-one and was to marry a beautiful young woman, the daughter of a rich merchant from the island of Llamil. The girl’s father owned an entire fleet that traded throughout the surrounding islands. But all of the plans were altered after the rebellion started, though the girl’s father still sought the king’s favor, thus he offered his ships to the troops to support the king.

  Every year, the king organized a parade in honor of Arthur. He never mentioned all the other men that also died under his service, only his first heir. Tara imagined Thomas wished he had such positive attention from his father; instead, he was a disappointment to the king. The king despised his young son ever since he reached his teen years, and the entire kingdom knew it to be true. Thomas explained everything that happened on that day to Tara in detail.

  Thomas was twelve and had kissed his friend, the son of a servant. Thomas did not even understand his feelings, yet he felt happy for a moment, until his father witnessed it. The king was shocked and disgusted, not to mention concerned of a scandal. The king slapped Thomas across the face with such strength he fell to the ground. The servant and the boy were taken away and never seen again. From that day on, his father ostracized him. If any in the kingdom commented on the prince’s partiality, though it was no secret to anyone, the king had him or her put to death.

  Since the event, Thomas never followed his instincts. He referred to his father as “your grace” and loathed having to remain in the household. Thomas grew distant from the world and ended his ties with everybody, including Tara. Unfortunately for Thomas, the king tried to change the nature of his son; Tara had witnessed and endured all of the king’s efforts with eyes full of tears.

  “I am not hungry. Excuse me,” Bruno said as he left the table and pulled Tara from her memories. Thomas remained at the table with Tara standing behind him. The silence filled the room causing tension and Tara wanted to leave.

  Thomas turned and looked at her. For a second he just stared as if remembering the times they shared together as friends. Suddenly, his face twisted into anger and he began speaking to Tara, “We both knew my true essence, yet, he forces me to behave like a “proper” man. Will he ever stop punishing me?”

  Tara kept silent for a second. “You do not have to change for him. Leave and pursue your happiness.”

  “Hold your tongue,” he said. “I will not hear advice from you. I want to be the one talking.” He was commanding her as a prince, not as a friend. Tara understood he had been silent for too long and was desperate to talk to anyone; even if they were not friends anymore, he trusted her and needed to be heard. The memory of blood came back to her, tears on his cheeks. The king had committed a horrible act, but she shook her head and pushed it out of her mind.

  “
Recently,” he continued, “he tried to marry me to a woman in the Forest of Dragons. He wanted me gone and I was happy with that. She was a rich widow, needing somebody to administer her assets. She was nice, but…”

  Tara did not need to hear more; she already heard about it in the kitchen. The old widow had years of wisdom and instantly saw the feminine mannerisms of the prince. Her answer was Sorry, but I do not need more flowers in my garden.

  He kept talking, “The asshole hid me in the back of the cart on our way back to the castle afraid people might see me, rejected and defeated, as if I had smallpox or some other disease.”

  Tara wanted to hug him, but she would not dare to touch him, not after what she endured many years ago. The blood, the tears, but she pushed the image away. Their friendship turned to pieces on a deeper level after that day.

  The noise outside stopped the conversation. The prince sat in silence, his back to her. She looked through the window in front of them. There were so many people readying things for Prince Arthur’s parade. The floral arrangements created a path across the main road of Lera that ran perpendicular to the castle. Every year a path of flowers and a cart carried by white horses adorned the way.

  “They brought the white horses, did they?” he asked, but kept talking without expecting an answer, “He loved more than just white horses. The king thinks he knew him well, but he didn’t. White horses were not Arthur’s favorite; he only had one because it was a gift.”

  She kept looking through the window. The cart carried a massive painting of the dead prince. There were musicians playing the harp, people attired in black all wanting to gain the favor of the king. She noticed the king sitting in a makeshift throne in the open road, his eyes lost deep in sadness, yet she did not feel any pity for him. She then looked at the palpable sadness on Thomas’ face. Tara knew well enough how Thomas needed his brother by his side. During their childhood, Arthur had protected Thomas and trained him. Thomas always felt safe with his brother nearby.

  She had a different appreciation of who the “charming” Prince Arthur actually was,—a man that shared the same nasty ideology as his father. He had fought against the rebels instead of trying to help them solve their needs; his father had raised him in his own way. Had Arthur lived, she was certain, the prince would be as much of an ass as his father, or worse.

  “Sometimes,” he broke the silence, “I wonder if he also felt trapped by our father. Did he feel alone? Did he hate him?” He wanted desperately to believe his brother shared the same mindset he had, but Tara knew if Arthur had lived long enough to discover his brother’s preferences, he would have hated his brother, too.

  “But he broke free,” he said, melancholy in his tone. “I still envy him for that. I wish I were brave enough to take my life,” he said, his words reflecting frustration.

  “Please, do not say that,” Tara beseeched, hearing her own words. The prince looked at her with compassionate eyes.

  “I will not require you anymore. You can go to the kitchen now,” he waved her away with a gentle hand swipe.

  Tara hesitated a moment. Disobeying the prince was punishable, yet she needed to stay there a bit longer. She needed to give her former friend her sincere opinion, whether he liked it or not. “Leave,” she said tearfully. “You are free to go, to live, to find your happiness.” The volume of tears escaping her eyes shocked her. “You don’t have to be punished all your life for being who you are. You deserve happiness.”

  The prince did not mutter a word. A second maid came in, but he waved her away. “I can not,” he grumbled, peering out through the window. “Bruno needs me. He is only nine and is a troubled boy.” He looked at her with serious eyes, “there is something wrong with him that is not of my comprehension. I am . . . afraid . . . What if he inherited our mother’ sickness? If so, he needs love and understanding and my father is incapable of giving any.” He seemed to recall memories, “ as soon as mother became ill, he sent her away and remarried that…girl.” His eyes filled with tears. “He will do the same to Bruno. Just like mother, I will never know where to find him or if he even lives.” His voice was loaded with panic.

  Tara remembered the woman—a very beautiful lady, tall, with skin as pure as milk and shining emerald eyes. The poor woman became in a different person when Arthur died. She grew anxious and paranoid in only a few years. Tara could not recall much, but she heard people whispering about it. A few months after Bruno was born, the king finally got rid of her, without even telling Thomas.

  Thomas emphasized, “I fear for him. He confided in me that he hears voices,” his voice grew darker. “I told him to keep it a secret. If father finds out…. I cannot let that happen. I just need to stay and help Bruno hide his hallucinations until he is grown up and married. He will inherit the crown and father has to eventually die. Bruno will be at no risk, and I will leave.”

  His eyes seemed uncertain and Tara knew he was lying to himself. It was obvious Bruno would never be king; he was not strong enough. Moreover, the king’s new wife was already impregnated; if she gave birth to a boy, the king might make him his heir if he wished. Tara knew how Thomas needed his older brother while growing up and wanted desperately to be there for Bruno.

  ..

  She did not need him to admit it, but she knew Thomas had another reason to stay—fear. He dreaded living his life, going against what was expected of him and a life outside of Lera would be risky.

  Tara realized he was not ready to run away and made an effort to understand him and support his choices. “Then stay for your brother,” she concluded as she gathered the dishes and started walking away. Thomas looked at her with placid eyes and a warm smile. Maybe our friendship is not completely over, she thought.

  “Thank you,” he said gently, but Tara had left already.

  Holga

  Omar turned twelve yesterday, but there would be no celebrating for him, or anyone, for a while. Instead, she took him and Neil for a walk around the famous castle that he wanted to see with his own eyes. Unfortunately, they did not stay long; the wagon driver would not wait for them. “You pay me to take you to Caira, not to take you around,” he said hoarsely.

  Back in the wagon, their journey continued. It had been over two weeks and the exhaustion was intense. They made sure to stay hydrated all the time, but felt at some point they might just die on that wagon. Neil was the only one of the three of them who slept most of the time, even when it was uncomfortably hot.

  The few coins she had, were beginning to diminish with the purchase of food and transportation. She realized they would certainly make it to Caira, but they would not be able to afford a ship once there. What will I do then? she wondered.

  On the way, they passed many small villages the king had turned to rubble during the rebellion. From the appearance of the corpses strewn about it was obvious the demons had also attacked recently.

  The children still living in remnants of the town ran behind the wagon asking for food and screaming. Holga’s heart was broken; she wished she could help them, but she needed to feed her children first. Dismissive, she looked away and the children stopped running and started cursing her. One of them found a stone on the ground and threw it at them, but it did not reach the wagon. The driver pressured the horses to go faster until they were outside the small village. A few minutes later they reached another village, but the wagoner kept at a fast pace until they rode through six villages, never stopping for food.

  She realized it was getting dark again. Neil had fallen asleep already and Omar was fighting to stay awake. Like every night, she asked the wagoner to stop at the next hostel, but he told her the villages were surrounded by hostels for thieves and rapists. She looked around outside the wagon, but the road was empty. She knew they would need to sleep there in the open, and she feared for her boys’ lives. They slept holding each other while Holga clutched a wooden spear the driver gave her. She would not know how to use it, but she felt safer with it. She barely closed her eyes and eve
ry time she dared to she envisioned demons coming for the remainder of her family.

  * * *

  The next morning, their journey resumed. She was grateful the demons did not attack them as they stood vulnerable on the side of the road. They entered one last village before going to Caira and once again she saw people in pain, some even mutilated, but alive. She saw many incomplete families and identified their pain.

  She looked at Omar with a smile, hoping he would never find out why the demons attacked their house, though she knew he would eventually discover the truth. He was growing up and his true potential power would be reached, which put him at risk.

  She could remember every minute detail of the day he was born. She remembered the pain she felt, but also the joy. With every child she had the same feelings surfaced, but Omar was different. Her mother told her long ago she had magic blood within her, but Holga refused and ignored her birthright until the day she stared down into the eyes of her newborn son; he was just starting to live, but what kind of a life would he have if he carried the curse of her family?

  She had refused to believe it, but the energy he emitted did not lie. One day she finally admitted the truth and tears began to roll down her face. When Ernest found her crying, she just said she had received a letter from the Forest saying a cousin had passed, but she conveniently lost the letter.

  Her mother told her demons could track down witches; they were attracted by strong powers.. Holga had never been strong. Growing up she had been endured the constant accusations of witchcraft against her family. Frightened to be burned, she did not accept her power. Her magic was never practiced and it had died inside of her, latent waiting for her to accept herself. If the day came when she accepted her powers, she would be truly powerful and the demons would find her. But she made sure that day never came.

  What she did not expect was for her son to be born so powerful. She could feel his energy growing day after day. It would be ideal for her to train him to slow down his own power. That would keep him off the demons’ radar and he could live a happy life, never to be found by the demons.