Page 47 of Hell's Secret Omega

A warning.A warning about something he cannot change.

Chapter 28

CYRUS

General Leuther’s coronation looms.It feels to Cyrus like the point of a long arrow. An ending. But an ending towhat—there are too many possibilities.

Then news comes that the tunnel has broken through.

Sabinus arrives at the storeroom a mess, normally tidy hair erupting from its queue, his uniform hanging open. The patch denoting his allegiance to the Grey Company is missing from his jacket.

“We need to move faster,” he opens.

Cyrus frowns. “There’s moving faster and there’s showing your hand.”

“I don’t care about that. It’s time.” Sabinus runs a hand through his hair, face flushed dark with exertion. “We’re getting new recruits every day. Plus, once Leuther starts building in the wilds, he’ll move the storerooms out there and it’ll be too late.”

“If someone sniffs out a traitor?—”

Sabinus narrows his eyes. “There isn’tonetraitor. He’d never find all of us. And we’re in this together, aren’t we?”

His hand drifts to his belt. Cyrus grimaces.You’re on our side or you’re deadis the obvious message.

“I guess I’d rather get skewered for helping you than for not,” he mutters. It’s not wholly a lie. “When does the Grey Company leave?”

“After the coronation. We’ll cut his numbers in half with how many are joining us—there won’t be enough soldiers left for him to pursue. You’ll have to speak to Claudius to get assigned to a leaving group.”

Cyrus helps him pull away another two week’s worth of grain from the rest of the store and turns his back as more demons from the Grey Company come to collect it. There are five today, nondescript, all minor demons whose names are probably Marcus or Flavius. It wouldn’t take much to sway them from General Leuther’s cause—like him, they must claw their way up the ranks for the barest dribble of respect. At least by leaving the Court they have other options.

He adjusts the ledger and pulls the old sacks forward to make the shelves look fuller. His stomach rumbles as he works, reminding him he hasn’t eaten in days. For a demon, a few days without food isn’t the end of the world. But to go months with only a dozen bowls of gruel is bound to turn some people desperate. It’s no wonder the Grey Company’s numbers are growing.

As soon as his work is done he heads to the cages. The halls are quiet, but the air is potent with tension. The ground under his feet trembles gently with the force of industry deep below. They’re widening the tunnels now, making room for carts to come through.

When he arrives, the cages aren’t empty. A stench billows up from the room that makes his stomach churn. Cages hang high above the hole, their occupants unmoving, faces hidden. Uniformed arms and legs spill between the bars. The usual groans and cries that accompany a full house are absent. His veins turn to ice.

A cull.

Whose faces would he see, if he could see them?

He turns away quickly and climbs down.

Ekko’s cage is silent, and for a moment Cyrus fears the worst.

“Ekko,” he whispers, tapping on the bars.

To kill Ekko someone would have to go into his cave and drag him out, and that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Still, his mind spins with terrible scenarios. He’s relieved when a familiar shape emerges from the shadows.

Ekko looks worse today. Patches of skin show through on his breast where he’s torn his feathers away, and his head hangs low. He tilts his head to look at Cyrus with one glazed eye, hopeful.

“I have nothing,” Cyrus whispers regretfully. He couldn’t take any meat from the last kill.

Ekko turns his head away.

Cyrus grits his teeth against the guilt. From his boot he pulls out his lock-picks and makes short work of the lock. He’s never tried to get into Ekko’s cage, but it’s surprisingly easy. Of course, who would want inside? Slowly, he pulls open the cage door. The hinges creak angrily and Ekko’s head comes up. Cyrus pulls off his coat and stuffs it against them, trying to muffle the sound.

He squeezes through the door and pulls it shut behind him. His heart hammers. Is he a complete idiot? He’ll find out in the next five minutes. The latch shuts with a snap. He takes a shaky step toward the bird.

Ekko’s shoulders are as broad as Cyrus’s. His massive beak is the length of Cyrus’s hand. And he’s starving—he eats so rarely. Cyrus would be a quick meal. Even weak and unable to hunt from the skies like he was born to do, Cyrus wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

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