Page 28 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Amalia steadies Dirroth as he sinks down near the fire. Then she turns to me, her eyes firm. “You see now how dangerous these lands are,” she says. “Dirroth protects his territory, and occasionally helps travelers if I ask him. But he demands respect for it. That waira came to challenge him, or maybe to feed on you.”

Dirroth rumbles, resting his clawed hands on his knees. “No more interruptions tonight, I hope.” He eyes the mouth of the cave warily.

I kneel by the embers, letting the heat chase the chill from my bones. Calla joins me, wrapping her arms around herself. Her gaze flicks between Dirroth and me. She opens her mouth as if to speak but hesitates. I realize she’s picking up on the tension—Amalia’s pointed words about paying a price, the secrets I carry.

Amalia gently places a fur cloak around Dirroth’s shoulders, half-stained with old blood. Then she looks at me, her eyes sharpas steel. “So,” she says quietly, “about that price you owe… or rather, that price your companions oweyoufor your demonic help. I hope you realize the weight of it.”

My throat tightens. Calla’s gaze snaps to me, confusion apparent. Silas frowns, hearing enough to sense trouble. The firelight casts flickering shadows across the cave walls, an ominous backdrop for this conversation.

I swallow, aware that I can no longer keep them ignorant. The vow I made in the catacombs, the contract of demonic power exchanged for our escape, cannot be left in the dark. “I told you,” I say softly, eyes meeting Calla’s, “that every gift from a demon demands a price. We never… clarified what it was.”

Her face pales, breath catching. “I remember,” she whispers. “You said I’d have to pay eventually. But with everything happening, I… forgot. Or maybe I hoped it wasn’t real.”

Silas bristles. “What do you mean? Some kind of blood pact?”

Amalia’s expression is somber. “A demon’s law. Life for life. Soul for soul. Some variation. It’s how these contracts are enforced in realms beyond mortal laws.” She glances between Calla and me. “If the demon doesn’t collect, the magic itself punishes him. If the mortal tries to avoid payment, the consequences can be dire.”

I feel the weight of Calla’s stare. My chest constricts, guilt mingling with an odd pang of regret. She rescued me from that accursed mirror. Without her, I might still be trapped in oblivion. Yet, in that moment, I bound us with a promise. One I can’t simply discard.

Her voice trembles. “What… what do I have to sacrifice?”

My throat constricts. I can’t lie to her, but I can’t deliver that blow easily either. Dirroth and Amalia watch from the sidelines, impassive as though this is a drama that often plagues lesser beings. Silas curses under his breath, stepping closer to Calla protectively.

I force the words out, each one like a shard of glass. “Typically, a demon’s power demands an equal exchange. For freeing me, for the power I used to help you… I require a life. Or a soul. It’s not something I choose arbitrarily; it’s the nature of the old magic that made me what I am.”

Fear and betrayal flash across Calla’s face. Silas hisses, half-raising his crossbow, though he doesn’t fully aim it at me. Cole and Ryn exchange alarmed looks, while Jenna simply closes her eyes, too exhausted to fully react. The cave’s silence throbs.

I wish I could conjure comforting words, but the truth is stark: the bargain stands. “I haven’t demanded payment yet,” I say, hating how hollow the reassurance sounds. “And if there’s another way?—”

Calla’s eyes glisten, shoulders trembling. “So, if I don’t… if I don’t give you a life, you’ll die? Or we all pay the price?”

I hesitate. In my centuries of existence, the specifics of demonic compacts vary. Often, the demon withers or goes mad if the contract remains incomplete. But another route may exist—some hidden loophole or vow beyond my knowledge. I want to believe that, for her sake, though my certainty wavers.

Amalia sighs, kneeling by Dirroth. “It’s not an easy truth. But in my travels, I’ve seen similar pacts. Usually, the mortal offers a proxy life: the life of an enemy, or a sacrifice who agrees to it. Or they forfeit themselves. Or the demon itself dies if the contract remains unfulfilled. None of the options are pleasant.”

Calla’s trembling intensifies, the color draining from her cheeks. Silas curses again. “This is insane,” he mutters. “We’re not killing anyone to feed some arcane law.”

Dirroth’s aura flickers green, then orange, showing mild discomfort at the tension. “Don’t tear my cave apart over your demon nonsense,” he growls. “Not my concern. But don’t forget where you are.”

A miserable silence settles. My stomach churns, guilt threatening to choke me. I never wanted this. Yet the contract is older than I am, an unbreakable chain forged by the dark powers that twisted my humanity. I glance at Calla, hating the fear in her eyes.

She steels herself, lifting her chin. “We’ll… discuss it,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “But not tonight. Not like this.”

I nod, feeling relief and regret swirl together. “Agreed.”

Amalia gives us a sad smile. “For what it’s worth, demon, I can see that glimmer of humanity still alive inside you. And you, Calla—you have a fierce spirit. Perhaps you’ll find a better path.” She stands, returning to Dirroth’s side. “But be careful. These bargains aren’t easily defied.”

No one says more. The fire crackles softly, painting the cave walls in wavering orange light. Exhaustion weighs heavily on us all after the fight with the intruder waira, but the new revelation eclipses any relief we might have felt.

We gather ourselves, forming a tense circle near the flames. Jenna rests against Cole’s shoulder, drifting in and out of fevered sleep. Ryn rubs his arms, eyes darting between me and Calla. Silas stands vigil, brow furrowed in anger and uncertainty. Calla keeps her eyes on the fire, knuckles white as she clasps her hands in her lap.

I watch her, heart aching at the burden I’ve forced upon her. The memory of her bare skin glistening in the moonlit river flares in my mind—an image of fragile beauty and unexpected hope. That spark of tenderness we shared is drowned now by the ugly truth of demonic law. A price must be paid.

In the flickering shadows, I vow silently to find another way. I don’t know how, but I refuse to let her life or another innocent’s be the coin of my freedom. Even if it costs me the last remnants of my power, or my own existence. Yet I can’t speak suchpromises without proof. Words alone mean nothing in the face of ancient magic.

Outside, the forest hushes after the kill, as if acknowledging Dirroth’s victory. We remain still, lost in our own turmoil, hearts pounding with dread. Tomorrow, we’ll face the next step—whether it’s forging alliances with these monstrous neighbors or forging our own path deeper into Protheka’s wildlands. But tonight, in the glow of the dying fire, the weight of the unspoken threat hangs like a blade over all our heads.

I let my senses drift, aware of Calla’s presence near me. She doesn’t look at me, but I feel her trembling. I wonder if she’s thinking of the same question swirling in my mind:If we must trade a soul for our salvation, whose life stands in the balance?

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