DAIMON (Nerys Newblood Series Book 1)

by Lucy Smoke

  I’m sorry, Nerys. Obidian’s voice is now a strong presence in my mind. After the unbinding, he is now my constant source of relief. His voice is rich, powerful, and, in many ways, fatherly. I know he’s sorry. I know he wishes he could give me what I want. But sometimes what a person wants is not what they need. What I need now is Coen back.

  “We have to move you to the lower towns,” Luca says. “Titus is waiting at the south pyramid to smuggle us out of the city.”

  “No.” I jerk my arm away from Luca. “Coen wouldn’t leave without us. I know he’s still here.”

  Luca closes his eyes briefly, a flash of pain stretching across his features before it disappears. His green eyes reopen and they are awash in determination. I take a step away, expecting him to pick me up and fling me over his shoulder. But, he doesn’t. Luca isn’t the type to do so, Coen is.

  “He’s not in the city, Nerys.” Those words rake across my fragile nerves. “He wouldn’t have gotten away. He’s with them.”

  With Matric–a King in my eyes no longer–I don’t know why I continued to call him such for these last few weeks. All he has wanted to do is find me and destroy me. Well, now, I’ll destroy him. If he hurts Coen, I’ll murder him. I can feel the rage well within me, an uncontrollable demon. I don’t want to leash it. I want to set it free and I want it to wreak havoc on Matric’s Kingdom. I want to see the whole city on fire. And Gods help him if Coen is hurt. Gods help him.

  My eyes close against the reality of our situation, of my situation. Coen is gone. Not gone, but taken. Luca reaches out and hisses when his fingers brush my arm. I’m steaming, literally glowing under my clothes, my skin lit up like the sun as it has only done one other time. I feel a brief second of guilt, but Luca jerks his hand away quickly and other than a smear of red on his skin, he’s fine. His green eyes meet mine, worry and pain churning in their depths. A drop of water hits my cheek, evaporating as quickly as it rolls down.

  Both of our gazes are drawn upward to the darkening sky and winter’s first rain.

  Epilogue Part Two: Coen

  The cell is a dry frozen wasteland. A small five by five section of space within Matric’s dungeon. The bastard hasn’t even had the gall to come down here and talk to me. He thinks that I’m the daimon, the one with the spirit guide. I don’t give a shit what he does to me. My back’s a mess of whip marks stretching from one side of my hips, just above my left butt cheek, to the back of my neck. The wounds are sore and if I move too quickly they reopen and begin to bleed again.

  There’s no light down here, but there is in my mind. I wrap myself around the image of Nerys, laughing and teasing me with those deep witchy eyes of hers, filled with every color–blues, browns, reds, and greens. They swirl with mischief and I can feel her warmth soothe the frayed edges of my sanity. Her bow pink lips and her pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment or anger or any fucking emotion. I think of her as a little girl and as she is now, all grown up and I wonder if they will find me in time. This is for her. I’m strong for her. I’ll remain strong for her. No one can break me.

  The sound of keys rattling breaks me away from my drifting thoughts and I tense as a small figure walks through the doorway. It’s not the king. It’s his son, Prince Edwin. He’s done this every day for the past...well, I don’t fucking know how long it’s been since I was shoved in this hole and locked away. For all I know, he could be coming multiple times a day further mucking up my sense of time. He just stands there by the door and watches me. It’s unnerving.

  “Gonna just stand there again today?” I grunt. He doesn’t answer. He never answers.

  He watched when they beat me too. He watched when they whipped me and the blood ran down my back like broken tears. I saw his face afterwards, when two guards had to unchain me and bring me to this hovel. The expression on his face isn’t the one that he’s wearing today. It was the most gruesome expression I’ve ever seen on someone, a mixture of ecstasy and bloodlust. I could see he craved the pain, though I’m not sure if he wants to be the one inflicting it or taking it. Either way, I scoot closer to the wall as he stares at me from across the shack sized room.

  “You are not the daimon,” he says.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrug, the muscles in my shoulders pulling against the movement, threatening to make me bleed again.

  “You are not the daimon,” he repeats. The door opens again and the King reenters after hours of being away. This time he is alone.

  “What are you doing in here, Edwin?” he demands. Prince Edwin tugs slightly at the leather gloves that always adorn his hands. There’s something off between them. For all of the years Nerys and I lived here, we had always viewed these two rulers from afar. Up close, the King is only human and an old one at that. His gray hair is dull and lifeless like he’s been drained of his glory years. His face is wrinkled and strained. Is this the face of a ruler that fears being overthrown?

  “I wished to speak with our prisoner,” the prince states. His voice is clawed and scratchy, making every nerve under my skin shiver in discomfort.

  “You do not need to see him, son. I suggest you retire for the evening. We will find out who the real daimon is.”

  “I believe he may lead us straight to her,” the prince replies. My throat convulses. Her? Does he know? He can’t possibly know. I keep my expression as neutral as I can, urging myself to give nothing away. They can’t know about Nerys. If this is how they treat me, I cannot begin to imagine the horrors that await her. There is no such luck for me though because as I pray to the Gods that the King did not hear, he does.

  “What do you mean her? It was the girl they were protecting? If that’s the case, then we’ve won. She was obviously dead.” The King lays a hand on his son’s clothed shoulder and smiles, though his lips are dry and cracked there is a softer emotion in his eyes. “You’re safe.”

  Silence stretches between them and I focus on the soreness of my bleeding muscles to keep me from fading into a darkness that begs me to let go. The prince turns his dead eyes towards his father and I see the King flinch, his hand falling away.

  “I think it’s time, father,” he says. There is a tension in the air that threatens to suffocate us. The King senses it as much as I. Prince Edwin is the only one who remains unaffected. What the hell is he? His gaze flickers to me as if hearing my thoughts and the deadliest of smiles stretches the skin of his face. It’s painful to watch as though the motion isn’t natural for him.

  “Son, you know you will be King soon enough, I have this matter firmly in hand. The girl is gone and–” King Matric cuts off with a choked sound. From my position, strung up to the ceiling in a manner of rope and chain, I watch the prince step closer to his father. I see no flash of metal like there would be if he had drawn a blade. The prince merely extends his hand and presses it to his father’s cheek before slowly dragging his palm down to rest against the King’s heart. King Matric’s pulse thrums a quick rhythm, faster than normal as though fearful of what his son might do.

  “You will stop, father.” His voice is low, quiet. I can barely hear it. “Shhhhhh. Your time has come. I will make it quick. I will make it painless.”

  A garbled “no” slips from between the King’s lips as his face loses all color. It is difficult to see him. The color reminds me of how Nerys looked the last time I saw her. Eyes closed. Vibrant skin leached of all color. Out of my musings, I dimly register the King’s body hitting the floor. My shocked gaze snaps to the Prince. He looks down with a tilt of his head before turning to me.

  “Do not worry,” he says as though his father hasn’t dropped to his death at his feet. “I will have the body removed shortly.”

  “Did you just…” He just touched him. There was no weapon. “Did you poison him?”

  Prince Edwin laughs and the vile sound makes me flinch. It is a combination of someone playing an instrument and hitting a sharp cord repeatedly again and again. My muscles protest against the undeniable shudder that
words down my spine. “No, I didn’t. I don’t have to.” One of the Prince’s gloves is lying next to the King’s face, the deceased monarch’s eyes open and staring at the supple leather. When did he take that off? “Now.” The Prince draws nearer to me and though I know it’s futile, I make a move as though to slide away. “You will look at me.” Gods help me, but I do. I cannot deny his command.

  But when I look into his eyes, I don’t see eyes. There is no presence there. No eyeballs in his sockets. No skull in the back of the empty black holes where they should reside. The longer I look, the further I fall into the never ending abyss of emptiness.

  There is one thing that is impossible and one inevitable. Life and Death, the first impossible, the second inevitable. This is the truth that lies silently within those eyes. It’s a quiet dangerous strength; a silence so loud, it ricochets off an endless cavern of oblivion.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you so much for purchasing DAIMON. Whether you borrowed it on Kindle Unlimited or you purchased it outright, it means the world to me. I wanted to write this to let you know, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, there is more to come. Nerys’s story is far from over. In fact, it’s just beginning. By the time you read this I should be halfway through writing the second book (at the very least).

  Nerys came to me after a long writer’s block. There were months between my last writing to Nerys’s birth where I couldn’t even write a single sentence. Let me tell you, it was maddening. Horrendous and suffocating. Having all sorts of voices and characters in my head, each pulling me in a different direction. And somehow, Nerys and Obidian beat out the rest.

  There’s a very important reason for Obidian being referred to as the “inky” man at the beginning of this novel, if you recall. I hope you remember that when this series ends. I’ve been told it would mean so much more to reveal the meaning behind that particular aspect to this story at the end.

  So please remember the “inky” man that Obidian once was and that the worst has yet to come for Nerys and her friends.

  With love,

  Lucy

  About the Author

  Lucy Smoke hails from Charleston, South Carolina. She started writing at a young age and somehow, she hasn’t gotten tired of it yet.

  Lucy is a self-proclaimed creative schizophrenic. She suffers from severe wanderlust and enjoys people watching to find her next character. Who knows, maybe you're in one of her stories as well!

  If you want to know more you can follow her Amazon author account, Twitter, or Facebook page for future releases.

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