Page 46 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

He nods, subdued. We gather our packs, stepping away from the ridge and the lingering stench of blood. The night wind rustles the brush, carrying the faint cries of freed slaves in the distance. My heart twinges, hoping they find safety.At least I saved them,I remind myself grimly.Even if it means House Vaerathis is certain we’re here.

We head east in tense silence. Clouds scuttle across the moon, flickering shadows over the stony ground. Each step reopens wounds in both body and spirit. I recall the interrogation, the dark elf’s sneer: “He needs you to complete the ritual… You’re the key…” The notion of being a pawn for Daeva’s death, or for his ancient foe’s immortality, chills me.I won’t let either happen.

Eventually, we find a small depression in the rocky terrain, partially sheltered by leaning boulders. It’s hardly comfortable, but it’s hidden enough to serve for the night. Daeva mutters about scouting, though I suspect he just wants space from me. I let him go, ignoring the pang of loneliness. My shoulder throbs, each pulse reminding me how fragile we both are in this monstrous world.

Hours pass, and I drift in and out of a restless doze. The sky remains moonless, countless stars pricking the darkness. When Daeva returns, I feel his presence loom at the edge of our makeshift camp. He doesn’t speak, simply settles some distance away. Our bond hums with tension, but we exchange no words. I sense his guilt, his worry, but also an iron wall that keeps me from seeing deeper.He’s not ready to share more.A hollow ache gnaws at my chest.

Eventually, I give up on sleep, sitting up to peer at him through the gloom. He’s half-hidden, back propped against a stone. The faint starlight casts silver along the sharp planes of his cheekbones. I recall, vividly, the first time I saw his face whenI freed him. So much has changed, yet we remain bound by secrets and blood.

My voice comes out hushed. “Daeva.”

He tenses, as though bracing for another argument. “Yes?”

My throat tightens. “I… thanks for saving me earlier. Even if you said you didn’t care to get involved.” A bitter edge threads my words, but I mean it. If not for his timely intervention, the outcome might’ve been grim.

He closes his eyes briefly. “I couldn’t just stand by.” His voice is low, carrying a nuance that both soothes and hurts. “You force my hand, Calla, every time you rush into danger.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “Someone has to do what’s right.”

Silence thickens again. I trace a finger over the bandage on my shoulder, recalling his gentle touch. My head spins with exhaustion, but sleep eludes me. Each time I shut my eyes, I see House Vaerathis looming, or that ancient ancestor withered in the catacombs, or Daeva glancing at me with heartbreak in his gaze.

After a while, I sense him stirring. He shifts closer, as if about to speak. My heart stutters.Will he finally open up?

“Calla,” he says quietly, voice strained. “I don’t want you to die.”

My breath catches. Tears prick my eyes. “Then find a way,” I whisper, “to end your curse without sacrificing me. Let’s do it together.”

He exhales, leaning his head back against the stone. “I’ll try. But I don’t know if it’s possible.” Then, softer, “I once only cared about vengeance. Now…” He trails off, leaving the confession half-spoken.

I release a shaky breath. The unspoken words swirl in the cold night air. We remain there, a short distance apart, each grappling with unvoiced fears and desires. It isn’t resolution, butit’s something—an acknowledgment that he doesn’t wish for my demise.It’s a start.

Eventually, the heaviness in my limbs asserts itself. My eyes droop, lulled by exhaustion and the faint sound of Daeva’s measured breathing. I let myself slump onto the cold ground, hugging the cloak around me. Sleep claims me in fits, haunted by half-dreams of mirrors and monstrous shadows wearing the crest of Vaerathis.

Dawn arrives,bleak and uninviting. My muscles protest every movement as I push to my feet. The events of the previous day weigh on me, from the brutal fight to Daeva’s partial confession. He stands at the corner of the camp, eyes on the horizon. I approach, swallowing my lingering resentment.

“Ready?” he asks curtly, not meeting my gaze.

I nod. “Let’s move.”

We set off eastward again, our footsteps crunching over loose gravel and sun-scorched grass. The morning wind carries hints of distant storms. I keep my cloak tight around me, wincing whenever my shoulder twinges. We haven’t spoken about the new revelations beyond what little he shared. I want to demand more answers, but the cautious glint in his eyes stops me. He’s on the verge of letting me in, but not there yet.

Still, a strange sense of unity surfaces. We walk side by side, scanning the surroundings for threats. When we chance upon a shallow stream, he helps me refill our flasks, checking my injury without comment. The tension remains, but not as brutal as before. We’re in silent agreement: House Vaerathis is coming, and we must be ready.

By noon, the landscape changes—rocky hills give way to rolling plains dotted with stubborn shrubs. Overhead, clouds gather, threatening rain. We press on, nerves frayed. Every nowand then, I catch glimpses of dark shapes in the far distance, too far to be certain if they’re travelers or illusions. My paranoia spikes with each sighting.

We rest near a dead tree, the sun hidden behind ominous clouds. Daeva hands me a strip of dried jerky, and I nibble listlessly, thirst overshadowing hunger. I risk a glance at him. “We keep going?”

He nods once. “Until dusk.” Then he hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Your shoulder—how is it?”

“Hurts,” I admit. “But I’ll manage.”

A slight dip of his chin. He tears off a piece of jerky for himself, gaze distant. Silence stretches, broken only by the rustle of the wind. I can’t stand the tension, so I blurt, “We’re nearing the foothills soon, right? That’s where you planned to search for… answers?”

His jaw tenses, but he nods. “There are rumored ruins, possibly older than the House Vaerathis line. Maybe they hold a key to severing curses. Or so I’ve heard.”

A spark of hope flickers in my chest. “Good,” I say softly. “I want to help. If there’s a way to break your bond with that ancestor—without killing us both—I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His eyes lock on mine for a moment, raw emotion swirling there. Then he looks away, swallowing. “Careful what you wish for, Calla,” he murmurs. “Such magic can be dark… or demand terrible prices.”

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