Page 29 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

No matter what happens next, I can’t escape the bitter truth: I have bound us all to a fate we didn’t foresee. And a rarity in the centuries I’ve lived, fear coils in my gut at the thought that I might lose the one person who made me remember my human heart.

7

CALLA

Irise in the gloom before dawn, exhaustion clinging to my bones like a damp shroud. The embers of the fire have dwindled to gray ash, leaving only a faint warmth on the cave floor. Jenna sleeps with her head on Cole’s shoulder, her breathing rough but steady. Ryn dozes nearby, arms crossed, while Silas still stands a silent watch, crossbow in hand. His eyes are bloodshot with sleeplessness.

Daeva, seated against the far wall, lifts his gaze when I stir. Our eyes meet in the flickering darkness, and the weight of last night’s revelation crushes any chance of a gentle morning. I look away, unable to hold his stare for long. My whole body hums with the knowledge of what he told us: that our salvation comes with a terrible price. A soul for a life, or some twisted variation thereof. And I’m the one who unleashed him, forging a demonic contract I never thought through.

Dirroth lies curled near the cave entrance, that massive skeletal waira form half-covered by a patchwork cloak. Amalia rests at his side, her cheek pillowed against a nest of fur. Just a few hours ago, Dirroth tore another waira apart before our eyes,defending us as much as his own territory. Unthinkable alliances—us with him, him with us—tied together by necessity.

I rub the stiffness from my neck and stand, stepping carefully around the others. As I straighten, my limbs ache from sleeping upright on the cold stone. I need fresh air, or maybe just a moment of solitude to piece my thoughts together. But the cave’s confines only remind me how trapped I feel: locked in a demon’s contract, surrounded by monstrosities of the forest, pursued by elves and orcs who would enslave or kill us.

A rustle of movement announces Amalia’s wakefulness. She sits up, stretching stiff shoulders, then passes a fond look at Dirroth. The waira stirs, that eerie red glow flicking beneath his ribs. His aura remains subdued after last night’s fight. I sense no immediate aggression in his posture, though the tension in the cave is thick enough to choke on.

“It’s almost dawn,” Amalia says softly, turning her calm gaze toward me. “We’ll show you the way to the old hunting path. From there, it’s just a day’s journey to the human settlement.” She brushes a few stray strands of hair from her face and adds, quieter, “I hope it gives you safety.”

Dirroth utters a low, guttural sound. “I hope they leave quickly,” he rumbles, though the menace in his voice is half-hearted at best. “My territory is cramped enough without more weaklings to protect.”

Amalia gives him a reproachful nudge with her elbow. “You’re a terrible liar, Dirroth. You almost seem to like them.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement, an affection I find both baffling and touching. How can she be so at ease with a flesh-eater? Yet it’s clear she’s bound to him by more than fear. There’s genuine devotion in the way she looks at him.

Daeva stands. Even half-drowsy, he commands the space with an unsettling grace. Those swirling black tattoos mark his forearms, the same arms that so easily channeled chaos anddeath when we needed it. My chest constricts as I remember the price that remains unpaid. Before I can speak, Silas crosses to me, crossbow slung over his shoulder, expression grim.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

I nod, rubbing my hands along my arms. My clothes still carry the faint smell of rot and waira musk. “Yes. I can’t imagine staying here any longer.”

Ryn and Cole stir Jenna awake, helping her to her feet. She’s pale but determined, managing a weak smile for me. “I can walk,” she insists, though her knees tremble. Ryn supports her carefully, and we gather what little supplies we have left.

As we make for the cave entrance, Dirroth grunts. “Bring them,” he says to Amalia, stepping aside so we can pass. “I will watch for other waira.”

We exit into the predawn hush. The sky glows faintly purple in the east, crowning the distant mountains with a cold, ethereal light. Tall pines sway around us, their needles brushing our shoulders as we move through the undergrowth. My breath mists in the chilled air. I cling to the small hope that once we reach the human settlement, we can rest, reorganize… perhaps figure out what to do about this demonic contract.

Amalia leads us through a twisting path, Dirroth stalking silently behind. The forest here is so thick that the morning light barely penetrates, leaving us in a perpetual twilight. A few times, I catch glimpses of bony silhouettes slipping between tree trunks, other waira perhaps, but none approach. Whether they sense Dirroth’s presence or simply lack the hunger, they keep their distance.

By the time the sun has fully risen, the terrain begins to level out. A narrow game trail emerges between mossy rocks, leading west. Amalia halts, turning to face us.

“This is it,” she says, pointing down the faint path. “Follow it for a day, maybe less if you walk swiftly. You’ll come upon asmall outpost where some humans trade occasionally. They’re wary of strangers, but they should be less hostile than elves.”

I exhale. “Thank you,” I say, voice scratchy from disuse. “You’ve done more for us than we could’ve hoped.”

She just smiles, her gaze flicking to Daeva momentarily. “I did what felt right. And you—” She fixes her attention on him. “Don’t forget what we talked about. You owe them clarity.”

An uneasy tremor slithers through my stomach. Daeva inclines his head, lips pressed tight. “I won’t forget,” he mutters.

Dirroth huffs, crossing his skeletal arms over his protruding ribs. A swirl of greenish color glows between them, some mix of annoyance and territorial pride. “Leave now, or I’ll change my mind,” he growls. But there’s no real threat in his tone. “If you see more waira, run. Or kill them first. Less competition for me.”

A single, awkward beat passes. Then Cole chuckles nervously. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Amalia steps forward, pressing a small pouch into my hands. “Herbs,” she explains. “The same kind I used for Jenna. If her fever spikes again, steep them in water, make her drink. It might help.” Her eyes soften. “Good luck.”

I nod, placing a trembling hand over the pouch. “Thank you,” I whisper, voice catching. For a moment, the lump in my throat is almost too large to swallow. Somehow, these two—Dirroth and Amalia—have become an odd beacon of hope in a world that seems determined to devour us. If they can find acceptance with each other, maybe there’s a chance for the rest of us.

Without further ceremony, we part ways. Dirroth and Amalia vanish back into the shadows of the forest, leaving us alone on the game trail. A hush settles, broken only by the rustle of branches overhead. The path stretches before us, seeming endless. But it’s a direction, at least.

We walk. At first, no one speaks. Jenna leans heavily on Ryn, her feet dragging. Silas maintains a short lead ahead, scanningfor signs of ambush. Cole flanks the rear, dagger at the ready. Daeva drifts closer to me than usual, though he doesn’t speak. My heart thuds with the knowledge that soon, we’ll have to face what we’ve avoided for so long.

Half the morning passes in a daze of step after aching step. The forest gradually opens into rolling hills dotted with scrub and smaller trees. A hawk screeches above us, circling lazily in the milky sky. Rocks jut from the ground like broken teeth, forcing us to weave around them. My shoulders burn from tension, and my mind won’t stop replaying Amalia’s final words:You owe them clarity.

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