Page 48 of Quiet Burn

Come to mama, tasty treats.

“Never seen anything quite like this, huh?” Oriel asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he plucks a crunkleberry from the pile to feed it to Dottie. She chitters happily and I smile a bit.

“Only in movies or books. And definitely not exactly like this,” I admit, the spectacle erasing the earlier anxiety and replacing it with a childlike wonder.

As we fill our plates, the excitement of the Samhain Ball finally seeps into my veins, chasing away the shadows of dread. We pick out a mosaic of Hell’s cuisine, then make our way to the table emblazoned with our caliphate crest, a beacon of familiarity in a room where I’m still treading water. The clinking of glass and the hum of demonic chatter serve as a soundtrack to my jitters.

“Slash, do you think Anton and X will be able to tell if this stuff is safe?” My words are barely above a whisper, betraying a vulnerability I can’t fully disguise. “Poison could be on the menu, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Slash responds, his voice a low rumble of assurance that momentarily eases my nerves. “They are both able to test for that sort of thing to some degree without preparation.”

Dottie seems to sense my unease because she detaches from her perch on my shoulder, her small paws clicking against the tabletop as she inspects our haul. When she pauses at a dish —a quivering mass of what looks like garnet jelly—she dances and waves peculiarly, catching all of our attention.

“What’s she doing?” I mutter, a frown creasing my brow until the realization dawns. “Oh.”

Without ceremony, Slash grabs the plate and sends it spinning into the abyss of the ballroom. There’s a satisfying crash followed by indignant shouts, but he only grins, showing off a row of shark teeth. “Sorted.”

“Thanks,” I say, my smile genuine.

Slash’s lack of pretense is refreshing, especially tonight.

The moment is interrupted when Jasper and Zavida stride over, their expressions alive with the urgency of news too tantalizing to keep. Since the Prince rarely looks this eager unless he’s giving me shit, I lean my face on my hand to let him speak without a remark.

“I’m disappointed by what’s buzzing around amongst students. It’s useless. But. amongst the nobles and wanna-be adults demons…” Jasper says, leaning forward with an air of conspiracy. “There’s talk of what will happen after the Games this time. Most of it is cloaked in metaphors and sideways phrasing because people are afraid it might be treasonous.”

“After the Games, people think a similar thing to last time will happen,” I echo, my curiosity piqued despite the weight of the word. It reeks of trouble, yet the prospect stirs something in me, an ember of excitement. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“It is not something that should happen now,” Zavida adds carefully. “Those who make strategy for the actual leaders in waiting placed the timing of this differently, and now that timeline could be pushed forward with little consideration for the rest of the occupants of this realm by bad actors. It will go badly if those demons can succeed.”

Motherfucker. Our suspicions are being confirmed by rumors that certainly have been planted to spread to other parts of Hell at this event.

Before we can discuss it further, Anton, X, and Salem return, bearing a constellation of drinks. Dottie scampers back to my side as Anton sets down the beverages, his eyes scanning our arrangements like a general reviewing troops. He sniffs each drink, his focus intense. Relief washes over me when they pass inspection—no foul play detected in the sweet scent of Fae Fizz or the smoky haze of Shadowbrew.

“Looks like we’re clear,” Salem declares, and we all take our chosen drinks, the cold glasses a comfort in my clammy hands.

“Cheers, my brothers,” X begins, breaking the brief silence that follows. Their gaze sweeps the group, sharp and calculating, ready for whatever game we’re about to play. “Now we have to figure out how to survive the rest of this room full of crooked predators and their progeny without being scarred for eternity.”

Uprising

Oriel

The chandeliers above cast an otherworldly glow over the underground ballroom, their light reflecting off the raven-black feathers in my hair. A symphony of clinks and clatters surrounds us while Dottie busies herself with the last bits of her snack.

That mischievous creature is more than a common familiar, but I haven’t solved that riddle yet.

“Help me finish these, Oriel,” Kit says, nudging a bowl of crunkleberries toward me. He’s been popping them into his mouth like candied treats, which is making Jasper growl every once in a while. A chuckle escapes as he chews a handful, the sound almost musical amidst the hum of conversation, and it’s like a breath of fresh air to see the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Careful, or you’ll lose your strong sense of decorum,” I tease, but there’s warmth in my voice, relief washing through me at the sight of his rare, unguarded joy. His PTSD or anxiety might be triggered by the party, but I was more prepared for that than his happiness.

Xerxes leans forward then, the scales along their neck catching the light as they do. “So, about this imminent rebellion,” they start, eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and concern. “What’s our strategy?”

“Why do you need a strategy?” Kit asks, his eyes curious as looks at us.

A collective shift of discomfort passes among us—this isn’t the place for a discussion about our plans, not with prying ears and watchful eyes lurking behind every face. Before anyone can attempt a discreet answer, a resounding chime halts all conversation, drawing our attention to the grand staircase.

Two figures stand at the top, their presence commanding silence throughout the room. Jasper groans, the sound muffled by his palm, while Zavida’s many tails become his personal shield. Kit’s gaze follows mine upward, landing on the crown of jewels and demon bones dipped in precious metals that seem to pierce the very air with its sharpness.

This night just got so much worse…

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