“Move him to low-max once he gets back from the Corrective Colony.”
The warden slapped a hand down on her desk. “Why are you so stupid?”
Yolkov didn’t look at her. “I made a promise to him.”
She stared at him a moment. Then her face became cunning. She leaned back in her chair and gripped her armrests.
“Okay, Yolkov. I’ll grant your request.” She feigned coyness. “We need the volunteers, after all. And he did save your life.”
Yolkov waited.
“But you must take personal responsibility for him. You will need to be his guard not just for the voyage out, but the entire eight months he’s working on the island.”
“Agreed.” He spoke without hesitation since the bitch was bluffing.
She leaned forward. “I’m going to handcuff you to him on the boat.”
“Understood.”
The warden snorted a laugh through her nostrils. “Great! Then I have a prisoner volunteer and a guard volunteer. I’m going to hold you to it.”
His heart started to race. The island was polluted, wasn’t it? But—they needed guards. There had to be someone with the prisoners, right? But—eight months? Was there shelter? When—when did he have to leave?
The warden typed at her computer. “I have work to do. Get out.”
He managed to walk out with a semblance of dignity, despite his head still being in a whirl. By evening he’d come to terms with his fate enough to seek out Zhirov.
Before he went to the lower floor he secured himself in a safe junction to pause for a momentary fantasy.
‘Zhirov,’ he’d say, ‘They’re going to accept you into the colony. You’re going to the island.’
He’d see Zhirov shocked for the first time. ‘My God. You’re joking.’
Once he convinced him he was sincere, Zhirov would sweep him into his arms. He’d rest his head on his shoulder and be absorbed by his embrace. And it would last—more than a minute, more than five minutes. Time would cease for both of them as their bodies joined just as deeply as their spirits had.
Yolkov swallowed a lump in his throat. The sweetness of the dream made him want to cry.
Then the gate at the far end of the junction clanged open and Yolkov had to speed out of the passage for a prisoner to be moved through. It was a disgusting specimen who had a skull tattooed on his face. He was probably headed for high-max.
Yolkov had meant to go there also. Somehow though, he’d lost the will. Zhirov couldn’t embrace him. Private meetings like their dinner were risky, and too many guards were on shift right now. Even if they could be alone, reality would never live up to his dream. First he had to fight through the terrors of just going to the pit’s gate. Bad memories would sour his joy.
And what if the warden was messing with him? What if he ended up giving his friend false hope?
Yolkov went back upstairs to have his tea break. It was best to live with the fantasy of his triumph for now.
***
In the week that followed Yolkov became more preoccupied with memories of the riots. It had been hard to enjoy Zhirov’s company then. Now he relived several instances with tenderness.
“Are you married?” Zhirov had asked him.
“Divorced.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“I don’t care for infidelity. I prefer you single.”
Yolkov was astonished. It was day three of the riot. He’d begun to trust the man. “You said you wouldn’t rape me.”
Zhirov smiled. “Not physically.” He tapped his forehead. “But in here, we’ve made love quite a few times.”
“Psh!” Yolkov feigned levity despite his racing heart. “Was it good for you?”
Zhirov fixed on him with brown eyes that pierced deep into his soul. He spoke with such absolute sincerity—Yolkov felt a shudder.
“Magnificent.”
The fourth night was the worst. The rabble had gone out to the other levels as far as they could reach, and then retreated back to the depth of the pit when officers started launching tear gas. It was the beginning of the end, and all the scum knew it. They lit a bonfire in the middle of the floor and did a war dance of some kind—sheer insanity. Zhirov stood at the door facing them. Yolkov didn’t know why. He’d gotten used to the feeling of relative safety with the man. Now his protector was bristling.
“What is it, Zhirov?”
He said nothing, which left Yolkov stricken. When he finally looked out towards the firelight he saw they focused their pounding, maddening dance towards Zhirov’s doorway.
“Just building up their courage—their craziness,” Zhirov said, “So they can rush me.”
Yolkov’s mouth went dry.
“There’s a shank stuck between the mattresses.”
Yolkov dug for it. The knife with a tape handle had been made from sharpened scrap metal. He clenched it with both hands and moved to stand beside Zhirov. The larger man swept him back with his arm.
“Ha! No, beautiful dreamer. I don’t want you to stand with me. They’ll just drag you out.”
Yolkov stared at him. (Were the dancers getting closer?)
“The knife is for you to slit your throat if they get past me.”
Yolkov squeezed his eyes closed.
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Demon Consort
As a bad joke born from desperation, priestly Prince Harsen offers himself as the ‘bride’ his demonic conquerors have demanded. Unfortunately for Harsen the bizarre prince Romi is thrilled to accept him.
Crystalline Priest Prince Harsen’s world has turned upside-down. The people have switched their allegiance to the gods of Darkhelm, thus ending Harsen’s regime. Worse still, his sister has run away meaning they don’t have a bride to offer their new rulers. Harsen knows he can’t survive in a world ruled by Darkhelm. He decides to offer himself as ‘bride’ so they’ll kill him in outrage and prevent him from suffering.
Harsen is stunned to find his conquerors civilized and even kind. This goes against everything his father taught him. When he offers himself as ‘bride’ the young prince Romi enthusiastically accepts him. Harsen’s shock at the situation eventually transforms to curiosity about his betrothed. Romi is eccentric and effete—the sort of person Harsen would have bullied mercilessly if they were children.
Finding himself in a position of power over his demon fiancé, Harsen decides to see things through. His world has become inverted, and dark indoctrination rituals await him. The demon Romi so entrances Harsen he just can’t run away—even if he knows the worst is still to come.
“Well. We’re ruined,” Prince Harsen said with a disgusted smile. He stared out of the castle’s highest parapet to behold two towers as high as mountains in the distance. The mist cleared to reveal that the tower of onyx now stood higher than shimmering crystalline tower beside it. If Harsen could see it from his castle then the demonic royalty of Darkhelm could surely see it from the east.
Iyla, his miniature red dragon, rubbed herself against his neck. Harsen ignored her. For now he stood immobile, staring outward as tendrils of dread coiled tightly around his insides. His snide derision masked the horror stirring within him for only a minute, perhaps less. Knowing the change was coming didn’t ease the blow any. It was the end of his life. The end of everything he cherished.
“Harsen, darling, please,” Iyla said after a strained hour of silence, “you must tell Princess Leeta her fate.”
His stomach felt like it twisted. Harsen put his face in his hand. The dragon brought up a nauseating fact he refused to allow into his mind. While his existence would simply end, his precious sister faced far worse a fate. With thei
r father dead and mother insane he had the duty of explaining it to her.
“Brace me, Crystalline Father, I beg you.”
“Now, now,” Iyla said, “It shan’t be so terrible. Leeta’s young and feckless. She might see it all as a wild new adventure.”
Harsen scowled, but resisted knocking the beast from his shoulder. At least anger distracted him from his anguish. He descended the parapet stairs with determination.
“Leeta’s an angel. I kept our hell spawn mother away from her all her life. Now I’m to hand her over to demons? She had a chance to succeed before this. A real chance.”
“Harsen, darling, I’ve lived through a Darkhelm era. It’s different—but not horrible. Leeta can thrive if she adapts.”
He met the dragon’s yellow eyes. “Adapting is gifting your soul to Hell. Not for me, thanks. Not for Leeta either, but—“
“It’s not your choice.”
“It’s not my choice.”
He entered his sister’s bed chamber without knocking. Leeta’s golden hair cascaded in the streaming light of the window as she knelt before her travel chest. Harsen sighed. His darling sister never looked so radiant—so pure. She resembled Blada, the Crystalline goddess of…
His brow furrowed. “Why are you packing?”
Leeta darted a wide-eyed look toward him. She froze in terror.
Harsen waited. His sister chewed her bottom lip the way she often did when conjuring a lie.
“Don’t tell a fib. What in blazes are you doing?”
“I’m eloping with cousin Skade!” Tears began to pour down her soft pink cheeks. “Don’t you dare try to stop me. I’ll run away the first chance I get. You’ll have to keep me a prisoner. I swear you will!”
Harsen stood staring as she continued hiccupping with sobs. Iyla turned toward him where she perched on his shoulder.
“What…what brought this on all of a sudden?”
Leeta removed a packet from her travel chest. She held a dozen or so letters tied with red ribbon. “It’s not sudden at all. We’ve been writing since last year.”
“Leeta, dearest,” Iyla said, “if you wed Duke Skade you shall no longer be a princess.”
Harsen put his finger on Iyla’s tiny mouth.
Leeta crossed her arms. “I don’t care. I love him! I love him with all my heart.”
“You were packing to flee to Acquiline?” Harsen said.
Leeta nodded with hesitation.
Harsen turned to go. “Continue packing. I’ll have the stable boy ready Esmerelda.”
“Brother!”
He paused at the door to look back at his beaming sister. Harsen forced a smile. “Con…congratulations.”
“You approve?”
“Most definitely.”
“Then you must come to our wedding!”
He maintained the hollow smile. “You know I can’t escape my duties for that long. But do send Duke Skade my best.”
“I will! Oh, thank you, brother!”
He closed the door to lean against it. For a second time that day he felt too stricken to move.
“Harsen, what in heaven’s name are you planning?”
He drew in a long breath. “Well. That takes care of that, doesn’t it?” He continued down the corridor.
“Skade is a most unworthy husband for—“
“Shut up. Of course I realize that. Last year it was…who? Corinne?”
“She’s quite a fickle girl.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Harsen pursed his lips. “She’ll be gone from here and her hand will be spoken for. She’ll be safe.”
“The Darkhelm royal family will be here in less than a fortnight demanding Leeta wed their prince Romi.”
Harsen went into the chapel. “Didn’t I say shut up?”
“The conquered clan must offer a bride to the conquering clan. It’s in your bible, Harsen, dear. You know that.”
He went behind the altar and retrieved a bottle of communal spirits. His hand shook as he poured a glass.
“Think, my darling. You’ve always placed your faith above all. You even refused the throne to focus on your duties as a Crystalline priest. Your bible tells you to submit to our new rulers. Can you abide forsaking this?” She leaned her small body against his neck. “My sweet Harsen, even if you intend to take your own life, can you end it on this sacrilegious note?”
Harsen clenched his teeth. “I can’t give Leeta to the demons. She’s all I have. She’s the only thing…the only thing I’ve managed to keep pure.” He snuffled. His eyes had welled with tears but the first staunch drink held them back.
“What…what do you intend to do when the demon royals arrive?”
“I’ll die, of course.”
“What of your obligation to provide a royal bride?”
“Bride? Where does it say bride? It says consort as I recall. I’ll offer myself.”
Iyla blinked a few times.
“Why not?” His eyes took on a self-satisfied glimmer. “Didn’t they foist a male bride on us some generations ago?”
“As a trick to ensure the Crystalline royals couldn’t produce an heir. When the king died, a bastard took the throne, causing such a backlash the people switched their loyalties to Darkhelm almost immediately. The onyx tower raised half a mile in a single night.”
Harsen downed another swig. “One good turn.”
“What do you think will happen, Harsen dear?”
“They’ll kill me. That will put Aunt Sedona next in line. She’s not too old to pop out a brat for Romi—if he can get over her face.”
Iyla’s voice grew teary. “Leeta would never abandon you if she knew your fate.”
He poured out the remainder of his bottle. The warm liquid seeped through his breast. He saw a glistening tear on Iyla’s red scaled cheek, and touched it away with the tip of his finger.
“That’s why I didn’t tell her.”
***
Harsen loathed how ordinary the Darkhelm royal family’s procession appeared. They came in ornate black carriages drawn by shiny dark horses. No tentacles of black energy poured from the carriage windows. Serpents did not trail them nor lead. He sneered.
“Do try to find your sense, Harsen dear.” Iyla nuzzled him. “If you plead that Leeta ran away they may show you mercy.”
He gathered his robes to descend the stone staircase. “Killing me is a mercy.”
His ninety year old mentor Eldridge met him on the landing. “They’re here! Oh, dear me!”
“Steady now.” Harsen continued past him. “I’ll greet them after a final prayer.”
“After a—oh do hurry, lad! Don’t make me stall them.” He turned to go in the opposite direction. “I’ve no idea what to say. Oh wretched fate! Thank heavens your father never lived to see this.”
He continued rambling, but Harsen moved out of earshot. He knelt before his altar and finally allowed the tears to come. Iyla coiled her serpentine body around his nape.
Harsen shuddered when he entered his throne room and saw a demon page standing before him. This was the first Darkhelm demon he’d seen besides his own mother. Like her he had ruddy skin decorated with tattoo-like pigments.
He wondered if his mother sensed the regime had changed in her people’s favor. They hadn’t spoken since last spring when he came to tell her about his father’s death. (She was jubilant over the news, as he expected).
Harsen sat in the solitary throne of the room. Eldridge stood beside him chewing his nails.
“Presenting His Royal Highness, representative of the demon god Exinious, and the new ruler of Sencrysi, King Esther the Malevolent Saint.”
A dozen demon servants carried in King Esther on a perfectly balanced litter. He appeared to be a contemporary of Eldridge, though Harsen knew he was at least thrice as old. Age made him look shrunken in his lavish royal costume. He kept his yellow eyes fixed on Harsen as the servants lowered his litter. The page knew when they were finished without turning back to look.
�
�Presenting Her Royal Highness, second wife to King Esther the Malevolent Saint, and mother to Prince Royal Romi, Queen Ashla the Serene.”
The demon queen’s kind expression seemed to prove her moniker. Thankfully nothing about her demeanor reminded Harsen of his mother. (Since he had to have a demon mother, why couldn’t it be a sane benevolent-looking one like Ashla?) If she were mortal her appearance would suggest an age of 50 or so. More likely she was at least half the age of her husband. The servants lowered her litter close enough for King Esther to take her hand.
Harsen noted the slight smile Esther gave his wife when their eyes met. He felt a pang in his middle.
“Presenting Prince Royal Romi, sole heir to the Darkhelm throne.”
Not only did the prince have relatively pitiful introduction, he strode into the throne room on foot. Harsen found him strange, even for a demon. First, he was smiling in the nervous, ditsy way Leeta smiled when she was introduced at balls. Second, he walked in with his hands cupped together and held against his chest. When he took his place just diagonal to his parents’ litters he looked at them and giggled. The laugh made one of Harsen’s eyebrows shoot up. The king and queen nodded to their son in return.
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