Page 54 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I cling to him, trembling. “I saw more,” I whisper, explaining haltingly the images that flooded me. He listens, jaw clenched, guilt clouding his tone.

I breathe shallowly, heart raw with anguish. “We can’t keep running, you said it yourself. We have to face them. Whether it kills us or not.”

He groans, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. “I’m so tired, Calla. Tired of living under this curse—knowing if the old elf dies, I die too, and thus you. Tired of them holding your friends hostage. I— I hate it.”

My throat tightens. I cradle his head, ignoring the flare of pain in my arms. “We’ll do what we must,” I whisper. “Even if the ritual kills me, kills you… we can’t let them keep my friends in chains.”

I lean in, pressing my forehead to his. “I might be blind, but these shards let me glimpse your past, your pain—and maybe the ritual’s secrets. Perhaps that’s our thread, Daeva: a hidden pathin the darkness. We still have time to twist fate a little. Five days, they said. Five days to muster what strength remains.”

He cups my face gently, mindful of my injuries. “You’re not giving up, even like this,” he marvels, voice husky with awe. “You never cease to amaze me.”

A small, sad smile curves my lips. “You gave me my first taste of freedom. I won’t let it end in a Vaerathis dungeon.”

His answering laugh is choked with tears. “Then so be it. We go. We fight, or yield, or do something in between. But we do ittogether.”

Relief mingles with terror in my chest. I let him pull me close, the stench of blood and sweat thick in my nose. My arms wrap around his torso, ignoring the pain. For a moment, we exist in a fragile embrace—two broken souls in a battered hut, the storm of destiny swirling outside.

We have five days to reach Vaerathis. Five days to plan an impossible rescue. Five days to defy an immortal tyrant’s hunger for vengeance. I feel the bond between us, pulsing with renewed resolve. Despite my blindness, despite his lethal injuries, we hold each other in the gloom, forging a vow to shape fate instead of bowing to it.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly, voice muffled in my hair. “If the ritual completes, you’ll vanish with me. If we kill him, I might drag you to oblivion. I can’t— I can’t promise you’ll live.”

My heart trembles, but I steady it. “I made my choice long ago, Daeva. My life is bound to yours. No regrets. Let’s show them that a mortal and a demon can unravel their precious immortality.”

A shiver courses through him. Then he nods, breath shuddering. “We’ll leave soon, once we can stand, once we gather enough strength. And House Vaerathis will face the consequences.”

The flickering fire crackles, lighting the darkness I cannot see. My future is as black as the void behind my bandaged eyes. But in my chest, a tiny ember of hope flares. The silver motes swirl in my mind, reminding me I’ve become something new—a living mirror, a reflection of an ancient evil turned against itself. If that power can help us, I’ll wield it. If not, I’ll still stand by Daeva, no matter what waits at Vaerathis.

I nestle closer, letting exhaustion claim me again. The steady beat of his heart lulls me, a promise that we’re not alone in this nightmare. Outside, the wind moans, the corpse of a second messenger lies in cold pools of blood, and far away, House Vaerathis tightens its net. But we remain in each other’s arms, forging our own path in the shifting currents of fate and magic.

Five days, I think, counting my ragged breaths.Let them come.Fate can tangle and snare us, or break under our will. We’ve come this far, after all—slaves no longer, but conspirators in a dance that might shatter an empire. I cling to that thought as the darkness deepens behind my eyes, drifting into uneasy sleep. And in my final hazy moment, I feel Daeva’s breath whisper over my forehead, carrying a promise unspoken yet fiercely real.

14

DAEVA

Istand at the threshold of the crumbling hut, inhaling the crisp morning air. My side still aches with every breath, and the faint burn of venom lingers under my skin. Yet the day feels strangely alive—cool wind brushing through the withered trees, fragile sunlight peeking through the canopy. Behind me, I hear Calla stir, her breath catching as she pushes to her feet. We’ve spent so many hours—or days?—in the dimness of that shack, recovering, planning, avoiding the inevitable.

Now, we have only a handful of days before we must return to House Vaerathis and face whatever monstrous scheme awaits us. But in this sliver of time, in our battered state, we have each other. She stands by my side, blindfolded with stained bandages, posture tense but head held high. For someone who’s endured so much, she radiates a quiet determination that stirs something protective in me every time I look her way.

I glance down at her. “Ready?” I ask softly, my voice carrying the edge of worry that never leaves me. She’s asked for something small, yet it feels enormous given our circumstances.

She lifts her chin, unseeing eyes hidden behind the cloth. “Yes,” she says, her lips curving in a faint smile. “Take me to the waterfall. Just… let’s be normal for a day.”

Her voice trembles, laced with hope and heartbreak. My heart clenches at the fragility of her request.Normal,in a life such as ours, might be a cruel illusion. But if this is what she wants—what she needs—I won’t deny her.

“I’ll lead,” I murmur. “Hold my hand.”

She nods, sliding her slender fingers against my palm. A jolt of warmth passes between us, the bond thrumming with our shared resolve. Carefully, I guide her from the hut’s rickety porch onto the narrow path that winds through the pines. The morning sun glimmers pale overhead, cutting through drifting wisps of low mist. The air smells of dew and damp earth—a pleasant scent despite the tension in my chest.

We walk slowly. Every few steps, I pause to warn her of a stray root or uneven stone. She stumbles once, and my arm darts around her waist to catch her. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but she sets her jaw and keeps going, refusing to yield to her blindness. I admire that resilience—she’s lost her vision, yet not her spirit.

After a short trek, the silent forest gives way to the distant rush of water. Calla’s face shifts, her head tilting as she listens. She breathes a soft gasp. “It’s close,” she says, wonder slipping into her voice.

“It’s just beyond that bend,” I confirm, my own spirits lifting at her excitement. “There’s a small clearing around it—moss, stones… quite pretty.”

Her grip on my hand tightens. “Describe it more,” she whispers. “Tell me what I can’t see.”

A pang tugs at my chest. She shouldn’t have to rely on my words to witness beauty. Still, I muster a gentle tone. “The trees thin out ahead, giving way to a circle of smooth boulders. Thewaterfall is maybe twice your height, pouring from a rocky ledge overgrown with creeping vines. The water cascades into a wide pool that sparkles green and gold under the sun.”

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