Page 60 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

My teeth grind.Cooperation.The word reeks of irony. I’m jostled forward, stumbling on unseen steps. Then cold metal encircles my wrists anew, pinning me to an upright frame—some kind of pillar or post? My breath quickens. I hear Daeva’s grunt as he’s secured similarly. My mind reels with memories of the mirror’s sacrificial scene.Is this the same arrangement?

The chanting begins softly, a dozen voices murmuring in archaic elven. A hush of magic thrums, making my teeth ache. Daeva struggles, cursing in a voice edged with panic. We both sense this is it—the final stage of the House’s twisted plan. If the old master emerges, if the tether forces Daeva to surrender, we might be done for.

My pulse roars in my ears. The chanting crescendos, torch flames flickering in my peripheral sense. The motes of silver move behind my eyelids.Focus, I tell myself.Look for an opening.But I’m bound, powerless. The illusions swirl again—like the mirror shards responding to the ceremony. Pain flares in my eyes. The chanting resonates, vibrating the very floor. My heart lurches as I recall how Daeva was once sacrificed in a scene like this.

A hush, then a triumphant voice booms—Kaelith’s or some matriarch’s, I can’t tell. “Behold, the old master approaches. The demon stands ready, his mortal anchor at his side. Today, Vaerathis claims immortality!”

Thunderous footsteps approach. A presence washes over me like a tide of decay—ancient, cruel. My blood runs cold.The ancestor.I picture a withered figure half-lost to time, clinging to life through dark sorcery. The chanting intensifies. My stomach twists.He wants to fuse with Daeva’s essence or finalize the immortality he sought centuries ago.

Daeva growls in agony, head forced back by some invisible magic. I hear him gasp, “Calla—” but his words cut off in a choked cry. My heart seizes.They’re attacking him with spells, draining him.Furious, I strain against my bonds, wrists burning. “Stop!” I scream, voice swallowed by the chanting.

Kaelith laughs over the tumult, smug. “Yes, demon, give him your power.” Another voice—I guess the old ancestor—hisses like wind across a tomb: “Your contract with her moors you, but we’ll break that tether and harness it for my restoration…”

My head throbs with violent pain. The shards behind my eyes blaze, unleashing fresh visions: runes swirling, dark blood, the mirror cracking. I gasp as a memory engulfs me—Daeva, centuries ago, pinned to a stone slab, an older elf’s triumphant sneer, the swirl of runic scripts forging a link between them.They forced him once.Now they try again.

No.Through the haze, I recall Daeva’s vow: he’d break the contract, tear the old tyrant from his soul, even if it means his destruction. My tears leak hot, mixing with the illusions of shattered glass.I won’t watch him die.Summoning every ounce of will, I focus on the swirling silver in the dark, the echo of demonic power that flows through the bond. My body quakes.

“Stop hurting him!” I roar, letting the anger saturate my voice. “Let himgo!”

A wave of chaos magic bursts from me, unexpected and wild. The chanting staggers momentarily, an outcry from the circle of priests. My wrists burn, but the chains screech under the strain of my unleashed power. Sparks crackle around me, fueled by the mirror’s shard-laden energy. The runes in the hall flicker. A brief hush falls.

But the House’s sorcerers recover quickly, chanting anew, forming wards that push back. My wave of shadow fizzles. I sag, panting.No,I think desperately,we need more.Daeva’s groans echo, each one ripping a piece of my heart. The ancestor’spresence looms ever closer, power swirling with unstoppable might. The ritual is nearly unstoppable.

“Calla,” Daeva chokes, voice raw. “I… have… to do it now…” He coughs, fighting unseen bindings. “I’ll break… our bond.”

Terror lances me. “No!” I protest. Because if he tears that bond forcibly, he might vanish, lost to the demon’s curse. “We’ll find another way!”

The chanting crescendos again, thunderous. Kaelith’s laugh resonates. “You can’t escape your fate, demon. Or you, mortal. The House will claim your essence.”

My entire body convulses with fury and anguish. The motes of silver swirl behind my blindfold, forming shapes—like runes etched in my mind. I sense Daeva’s demonic power roiling, building to a cataclysm within him. A final act of defiance. The air crackles.

Suddenly, a scream echoes across the hall. It’s not Daeva or me—it’s one of the elves. I hear a clang of metal. Another voice yells. The chanting stumbles.What’s happening?

Then I realize: behind us, near the entrance, a clamor of steel on steel. My heart leaps.Could it be my friends, freed from their shackles? Or some ally?The House’s focus breaks. The invisible force pinning Daeva lessens. He gasps, catching his breath.

“Now,” he rasps, summoning every scrap of demon power. “I’ll break the curse.”

“No,” I plead, but the swirl of magic around him intensifies.He’s ripping at the tether that binds him to the ancestor.The floor trembles. “Daeva, wait?—!”

A thunderous pulse of demonic energy explodes outward, hurling elves off their feet. I strain my ears, hearing them crash into pillars. The air sizzles with raw chaos. My metal shackles quiver. The ancestor screeches in fury, a hideous sound that resonates with ancient bitterness. My head pounds. If Daeva severs the bond incorrectly, we might both die on the spot.

Sparks shower from overhead. Stones crack. The shrieking swirl of power builds. Daeva howls in agony, fighting some invisible chain that tries to yoke him to the old elf. I sense the old tyrant’s dread, the House’s wards faltering under Daeva’s unstoppable surge.

My tears burn hot, words bursting from me. “Daeva! Let me help!”

He grits out a strangled reply, “I—can’t—let you be bound… no more cost…” The pain in his voice tears at me.

Then a new voice breaks in from behind—Silas? “Calla!” He sounds breathless, as if he’s wrested free. “Duck!”

I react on instinct, folding forward. A crossbow bolt zips overhead, missing me by inches. A swirl of boots on marble suggests my friends have come, possibly disarmed a guard. Cole, Ryn, and Jenna might be here too, battered but defiant. The Hall roars with confusion.

Elves scramble, half of them pinned by Daeva’s shockwave, others turning to face newly freed prisoners. A flurry of swords clashing resonates behind me. My heart thrums with hope.My friends are alive.

The ancestor’s presence looms again, a malevolent hiss. “Demon… you won’t break me,” he snarls. “I am your cradle of existence, your eternal anchor!”

Daeva roars in reply, forcing more chaotic energy into the tether. The floor buckles. The front of my shackles cracks under the strain. I pull, letting the shards in my eyes feed the power swirling in me. Another wave of shadows blasts outward, freeing me from the post. I stumble forward, arms free but useless without sight.

“Calla!” Silas’s voice calls, guiding me. I lurch toward him, nearly crashing into warm arms. Tears of relief surface. “Silas, you’re all right?”

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