Page 94 of Demonic Cage
The boy raises his eyebrows.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, and as I nod, his almond eyes darken. “Too bad. You’re not like the others.”
Oh, how much I’ve heard that lately!
“I’ll visit,” I say, looking meaningfully at Darya. It’s only now that I notice the Demon King leaning on his thighs, his gaze darkly intense. His face reveals nothing.
I gulp, then add more confidently:
“Iwillvisit.”
The boy nods.
“Meanwhile, I’ll ask Dad to show me on the big map the country where you live.”
The weight of the promise we’ve made to each other settles on us, and dedication shines in both our eyes. I smile. “Ask him to show you the north, around the area of Kittelfjäll. I think you’ll like it.”
“Will you tell me about it?” he asks with his face lit up, and I oblige.
I tell him everything I know, all my childhood memories. How Bengt and I rolled in the snow, and how we never really felt cold, no matter how much colder it was than in Luxembourg. How Mom ordered us home, how Dad was hardly ever there. He traveled the waters of other countries even then. We sat by the fireplace, waiting for guests. Grandma cooked soup for me, Mom fried fish. She never got used to the big city. She always wanted to go back to her country, but by then we were more attached to Luxembourg. Even now, I often think of the bleak landscape, the endless snowy blanket covering the plains between the mountains, like a sea. We don’t remember it like this anymore in our family. After Bengt’s death, the memories faded away, and our past with my brother went to the grave. We no longer know where we came from, why we’re still alive, why we continue at all. We’re stuck. Does my family miss me the way they miss Bengt? I doubt it. Unlike longing for some familiar security, I don’t think about them much either.
Mathys likes it when I talk about sledding. I tell him about seeing deer and almost colliding with them, about sliding downthe mountain. He draws with every word, barely looking up at me anymore. When I run out of memories, I just watch him create.
Hours go by, and I look up at Darya, but find his spot cold. I didn’t even notice him leave. My throat tightens as I think of him killing Mathys’s parents, but they’re peacefully reading by the living room fireplace when I go out to them. Outside, I spot the Kraldem and wrap myself in his coat. The cold immediately seeps into my bones. The snow crunches under my feet.
“Well?” Darya’s gaze drifts into the distance.
I shake my head.
“We’re not taking him away. We’re giving him a chance.”
Darya laughs bitterly.
“A chance? Do you know he could die any moment? And if not, he’ll grow up in a society that ostracizes him. I thought if anyone knew what it feels like, it’d be you.”
“I do,” I say, trying to sound confident, not thinking about how much I’d like Mathys to come with us. With me. “I won’t take his life against his will.”
Darya turns to me.
“You’d give him a better one.”
“With you and your demons? I’ve never received anything good from you. Neither will he, unless you turn him and, by doing that, take away his mind.”
“Transformation is like my blood,” he explains. “It doesn’t really change you. It just reveals your true self.”
“I don’t care what thoughts you’re nurturing, Darya, the boy stays and…”
“Hey!” Mathys’s voice softly spreads over the wintry landscape.
I spin around, and the little boy runs toward me wearing an oversized coat.
“Don’t leave this here!” he says, putting the drawing he made of us into my hands. I gulp.
“Thank you.”
He nods.
“I’ll try to draw Kittelfil next.”
