Page 58 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Istand at the precipice of House Vaerethis, my heart pounding so loudly I fear the sentries on the walls can hear it. The air tastes of dust and old magic, drifting from the ancient stones that have witnessed centuries of cruelty. Even with my eyes lost to darkness, I sense the looming spires overhead, the vast expanse of towers and courtyards that once spelled my doom. My bandaged gaze faces a fortress I can’t see but know all too well. And by my side, Daeva’s grip steadies me—a silent reminder that I don’t face this horror alone.

We’ve chosen not to skulk through crumbling catacombs or scale forgotten walls. That might have been our plan if we were whole and uninjured. But I’m blind, and his wounds are still raw. Besides, the House demanded our presence, holding my friends as leverage.They expect us.So we approach through the main gate, footsteps echoing in the courtyard’s hush, fully aware we step into a den of vipers.

The drawbridge is lowered, the tall iron portcullis open. Guards stand to either side—dark elves in gleaming black-and-maroon armor, bearing the Vaerathis crest. I hear their sharp intakes of breath when they see Daeva, sense their tension inthe quiet shift of weapons. We walk slowly, my fingers clutching Daeva’s arm. The midday sun glares down—if I could see, I’m sure I’d find the courtyard bathed in harsh light, silhouettes of spires cutting the sky.

Two days.That’s how long it took us to limp our way here after leaving the abandoned hut, battered but determined. A day earlier than their ultimatum demanded. Better to catch them off-guard. My heart still seizes at the memory of the endless miles, stumbling across forests and hills, guided only by Daeva’s voice. Even he, despite his demon-borne endurance, grew weaker with every passing night. But we came. Because my friends remain in House Vaerathis’s dungeons, and because we refuse to let the ancient tyrant twist our fates any longer.

A guard steps forward, clearing his throat. “We have orders to escort you,” he says, voice taut. I hear the faint ring of chainmail as he shifts, glancing nervously at Daeva. “Follow me, demon.” His tone tries for authority but wavers.

Daeva bristles, and I sense the darkness coil in his chest. He loathes being addressed like some beast, but he inclines his head in a tight nod. “Lead,” he spits. His hand tightens over mine in a protective gesture.

We move into the fortress interior, footsteps echoing on polished marble floors. The corridors smell of incense and old stone, familiar scents that make my skin crawl.I used to scrub these very floors,I recall with a shudder,a slave among many.My breath trembles, but Daeva’s presence anchors me.

Eventually, the guard halts before a set of ornate double doors. “You’ll wait in here,” he says. His voice shudders just a fraction. “The Lady—she’ll come.”

Daeva snorts softly. I hear the soft squeak of hinges as the doors swing open. We step inside, and the guard retreats hastily. A dull thud signals the doors shutting behind us.

I exhale, my stomach twisting. “Where… are we?”

Daeva’s voice, low and tense: “A reception hall. Smaller than the great entrance chamber, but still gilded with trophies and tapestries.” His tone drips contempt. “Vaerathis showing off their spoils.”

I clench my fists. My friends might be rotting in some dungeon while we stand in a hall designed for pomp. I grip Daeva’s arm. “I want to see them—my friends. That’s our first demand.”

He squeezes my hand lightly. “We’ll push for it. But be ready… they might deny us or use them as bargaining chips.”

A wave of anxiety floods me, but I swallow it down. My ears prick at the faint rustle of robes—someone approaching across the polished floor. Daeva tenses, bracing. I feel the swirl of magic in the air, a faint hush that suggests a powerful presence.A matriarch? An elite?

“Welcome back… demon,” a woman’s voice purrs, resonant with arrogance. “And you, dear mortal.” I recognize that condescending tone from countless nights of forced servitude. A Vaerathis noble. “You took your time.”

My heart clenches. She must be one of the House’s leading figures. “Where are my friends?” I demand, trying to steady my shaky voice despite the tremor in my limbs.

She laughs lightly, a cruel sound. “Safe. For now. You’ll see them soon enough—depending on how cooperative you are.” She steps closer, heels clicking on the marble. “So, this is the creature who freed our dear demon from the mirror?” A pause. I feel her gaze on my bandages. “Ah, how tragic. You’ve gone and lost your eyes.” Her fake sympathy drips with malice. “I suppose that’s the price for meddling in dark powers beyond your station.”

Rage boils in my gut.Calm,I remind myself, though I long to hurl shadows at her smirking face. My teeth grit. “I want to see them. Now.”

She gives a theatrical sigh. “All in due time. But first, come. Our Lady awaits your presence. She has… plans for you.” Her voice twists on the word “plans,” sending a chill up my spine. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer we toss your friends into the fire pit tonight.”

Daeva snarls softly. I press a hand to his chest, calming him. “Fine,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Take us.”

A flutter of cloth, and the noble woman pivots. “Follow me, demon and mortal. Don’t stray.”

She leads us through winding passages. I focus on the click of her heels, the whiff of scented oils that swirl around her. My mind reels with memories of these corridors. Even without sight, I recall turning left at the statue of some long-dead Vaerathis champion, or stepping over a mosaic that used to be my assigned cleaning station.I used to cower here.Now, even blind, I walk upright, refusing to show fear.

At last, we reach another set of doors that groan on ancient hinges. A hush of cold air greets us, laced with incense. My stomach twists—this smell reminds me of the catacombs, of ceremonies and spells that echo with suffering. The woman steps aside, mocking courtesy.

We enter a vast chamber—call it a ritual hall or a throne room, I’m not certain. I feel the chill press in around me, sense an open space echoing with each footstep. Tension bristles in the bond between Daeva and me.

Then a voice—familiar in its cruelty—floats across the silence. “Ah,thereyou are.”

Ice floods my veins.Lord Kaelith.My old tormentor, the sadistic scion of House Vaerathis, or perhaps one of them. The one who relished punishing me for the slightest perceived disobedience. My fists clench involuntarily.

The woman guide answers, “Yes, my Lord. They came willingly, as expected.”

A short laugh. Kaelith’s voice carries across the hall. “Willing? Hardly. They reek of desperation.” Footsteps draw near. I shrink back, trembling. Daeva’s presence steadies me, his hand on my shoulder. “My dear mortal, how you’ve changed,” Kaelith murmurs, voice lilting with sadistic amusement. “And you—demon. Tsk. You look worse for wear.”

Daeva growls, low and dangerous. “Get on with it,” he spits. “We know you hold her friends. Show them, or?—”

“Or you’ll do what?” Kaelith cuts in, mocking. “Kill more of our messengers? You’re in Vaerathis now, demon. You can’t simply slaughter your way through these corridors.” He claps his hands once. “Guards! Bring the prisoners.”

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