Page 91 of Demonic Cage
“Perhaps you’ve lost too much blood, Kraldem?”
I regret it immediately. As soon as his fingers wrap around my neck, I regret it more. His smile is mocking.
“Don’t worry, Kindra. There’s plenty more.”
With that, he leaves me, and I sigh as I try to keep up with him.
The landscape is deserted; we are far from any city. Darya isn’t stupid. In a populated area, I could easily escape. I catch sight of a red-bricked house, smoke curling from its thick chimney.
The building extends into further covered sections, brown wooden fences guiding cows towards sporadically green pastures. I huddle into the coat as the wind howls. I’d forgottenhow it feels to be cold. In Filizi, the temperature is always what my body desires.
A middle-aged man opens the black wooden door. He raises an eyebrow sharply, and my steps crunch uncertainly on the snowy ground.
“What are you doing here?” he asks sharply, but a single glance at Darya and his eyes swim in such euphoria it’s as if sirens have enchanted him. But a snake would be a better description.
I look at the Kraldem, whose eyes spark with a thin, silver streak. The middle-aged man smiles.
“Come in,” he says, gesturing with his hand, the distrust evaporating from his voice. He looks back towards the warm living room. “Olivia, we have guests!”
Another middle-aged woman emerges from the small kitchen, her bewildered expression first turning towards me. Her eyebrows shoot up as her gaze scans my scanty attire. Then she looks questioningly at Darya. A moment later, a dazed smile appears on her face, too.
“Welcome,” she says, her voice laced with warmth.
Darya enters, and I follow. The door closes, and the Demon King turns to the people.
“Where’s your child? We’re spending the day with him.”
The two parents nod as if we’re old acquaintances. The father waves his hand, a smile frozen on his face. The fire crackles in the background like drums. We follow the man, who leads us into a small room. Its floor is like in the rest of the house; dark brown beams reaching up to the ceiling, as if they support the brick structure, but I know it’s just for decoration.
In the corner, there’s a small bed. My heart constricts as I see its owner, who is now sitting at the small white table in the center of the room, drawing. The boy can’t be older than five. He inherited his father’s protruding ears, his mother’s palegreen eyes, and both parents’ chestnut hair. He looks at us in confusion, and when he regards Darya, I wait for the reverence to appear on his face, but his empty gaze eventually settles on his father.
“Mathys,” his father says, addressing him, “we have guests.”
The man looks uncertainly at Darya, as if seeking the answer in the Kraldem’s gaze. He breaks into a wide smile.
“You’ll be with them today. Then I won’t bother you anymore!”
With that, he closes the door. But I saw it. I saw the momentary concern in his eyes.
I look at Mathys, who shrugs and continues drawing. Darya gently nudges me forward.
“Go on, he’s yours for today,” he announces, and walks towards the bed, but before he can reach it, the boy speaks up.
“You can’t sit there!”
Darya raises an eyebrow. I smile. It’s funny to see a five-year-old commanding a thousand-year-old demon.
“Why not?” Darya asks.
“Just because. It’s mine,” the boy states firmly.
“Mathys,” I say, and he turns his apple-green eyes towards me. “Would you please tell the old man where he can sit? Yesterday he thought… he could handle more than he actually can.”
Darya raises an eyebrow, but he’s continuing to pay attention to the boy.
“Are you sick?” Mathys asks impatiently.
Before Darya can answer, I speak up:
