Page 49 of Demonic Cage
“Kripot mentioned your theory,” he replies simply.
“And?”
“Change your clothes,” he orders.
“Why is it,” I begin, clenching my fist, “that you never finish telling me anything? I have the right to know the answers!” I snap. I’ve been waiting three months to find out any useful information.
“I agree,” he says, a response that surprises me so much my anger turns into confusion.
“There are a few things you should know,” he adds, gliding towards me gracefully. He moves like a dancer. Precisely, mercilessly.
“However,” he murmurs deeply, “if I have to speak to you like this, I’m not sure I could focus solely on what I have to say, and as I see it, you’re not ready for that,yet.”
His snake-like smile turns into a wolfish grin. I look down at myself and blush upon realizing that the rocks have torn my clothes invitingly at the chest. Bengt’s necklace feels cold against my skin. Darya surveys me. I step back defensively.
“Not just yet,” I weakly assert, “but never.”
The Demon King’s grin turns into laughter, and his sharp fangs glint momentarily. Long enough to send shivers down my spine.
“We’ll see.” He winks.
Darya patiently waits outside a cave entrance while I change. His cruel face lights up when I join him. He runs his gaze over me again, lingering at my hips.
“Come,” he says, and heads into the dark cave. I’ve never been in here before and make sure to follow in his footsteps quickly.
“You do realize I’m still not ready to defeat that monster.”
He could see how well my training went today… The truth is, I was proud of myself until Darya showed up. I’ve improved a lot in three months, and I didn’t allow myself to skip a single day’s training. After a few weeks, I came to welcome the adrenaline rush, often waiting eagerly at the door for Nárs to collect me. But when Darya saw me after only managing to run twenty meters, my pride was washed away by shame.
I want Darya to laugh and tell me it was all a devilish joke, that he just wanted to motivate me to attend Kripot’s training sessions, but his words shatter my hope.
“You still have some time.”
I shake my head.
The cave walls widen my field of vision with their crimson glow as we approach the throne room. I’ve become accustomed to this eerie light over the past few weeks. When I last came here, I was so scared that I hardly noticed the surroundings. Now I see the tangled network of roots growing out of the walls. Their thicker parts create the impression of inwardly curving wooden tongues, as if the entire cave may collapse on us.
“Can you move the roots?” I ask the Demon King.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t feel the cave system that the roots permeate. Only Nárs can move them. I gave him the power when he transformed.”
My mouth falls open.
“Yes.” He nods. “I can grant power, but I never know how it will end. The outcome is shaped by the individual’s personality.”
It’s interesting the risks Darya takes with this, giving people a power that transforms some abilities even he doesn’t know about. “What determines who you give power to?”
“I give it to those in whom I see myself.”
“And you’re capable of this because you’re the Demon King?”
“More or less.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’ve arrived,” declares Darya, and I almost bump into him as he suddenly stops.
The robust tree rises before us as magnificently as a skyscraper. Its mahogany trunk blends into the mud walls, revealing only half of it. It’s almost gray, as if the life has been drained from it. Its leaves, like rust, cling tightly, grasping theends of the shorter branches. They’re not moved by the breeze, the plant is as rigid as a statue. I can’t classify its species.
