Page 104 of Crown of Storm and Silence
From her position near the shadows, Elcin steps forward with her usual measured grace. "Tactically speaking," she observes in her dry, analytical tone, "that was an impressive display of controlled aggression and physical capability…" She pauses, studying the still-mesmerized demon audience with calculating eyes. "Also, an effective psychological maneuver. Half these creatures now see you as a genuine threat rather than just political convenience."
Her gaze shifts to Nesilhan, with something softer beneath the professional assessment. "More importantly, it was honest. The first completely honest thing anyone has done since we arrived in this realm of beautiful lies."
"Leave it to Elcin to turn a romantic cultural display into a strategic briefing," Banu mutters with fond exasperation.
"Romance and strategy aren't mutually exclusive," Elcin replies without missing a beat. "Though I notice you managed to turn it into a comprehensive catalog of inappropriate commentary."
"That's what I'm here for."
Erlik clears his throat, clearly ready to move things along, though something calculating flickers in his expression. "Such a... spirited performance. How wonderfully traditional."
Lilith laughs, a sound like crystal being fed through a meat grinder. "Spirit is so refreshing in this realm. Most visitors are reduced to gibbering within hours."
"We're special that way," I say dryly, darkness coiling around my feet like impatient predators as more demons begin to circle like sharks scenting blood in the water.
"Come," Erlik commands, clapping his hands sharply. "The evening's entertainment awaits, and I do so hate to keep our guests waiting for their... educational opportunities."
The palace corridors we traverse smell of copper and old fear—scents that make my shadows writhe with uncomfortable recognition. I've walked these halls before, but never with someone I love at my side, never with the knowledge that every carved demon head and weeping gargoyle is studying Nesilhan like she's the evening's main course. The air tastes metallic, thick with centuries of accumulated screaming, and I can feel my father's power seeping through the very stones. Each step takes us deeper into his domain, further from any hope of easy escape, and the casual way the other demons eye my pregnant wife makes violence simmer just beneath my skin.
"Your father has interesting decorating sensibilities," Nesilhan observes, studying a particularly elaborate frieze depicting what might charitably be called "recreational crucifixion" if you squint and have very liberal definitions of recreation.
"He's always had a flair for the theatrical," I reply, watching as her gaze lingers on a tapestry showing demons playing what appears to be chess using human souls as pieces. "Interior design by someone who learned aesthetics from nightmares and majored in Subtle Psychological Torment."
"The craftsmanship is impressive," she admits reluctantly, then immediately looks horrified at herself. "That sounded better in my head."
Our first stop is what Erlik grandly calls "The Hall of Recreational Dismemberment," which turns out to be a vast chamber lined with display cases containing... well, calling them torture devices seems insufficient. These are sculptures that happen to cause exquisite suffering while looking as though they belong in the realm's most exclusive art museums.
"Magnificent, aren't they?" purrs Count Andromalius, gesturing toward a particularly elaborate contraption that resembles a harp strung with what definitely isn't catgut. "This piece can produce seven different notes of agony, depending on how you... play it."
"Seven whole notes," Banu marvels with false enthusiasm. "What an achievement. Most torture devices can barely manage a decent duet."
"The fairy has such a clever tongue," Andromalius observes with the kind of smile that suggests he's considering how to remove it. "I wonder how long it would take to break that delightful defiance."
Emir's hand moves to his sword hilt with practiced casualness. "I'd be happy to arrange a demonstration on you. I can make it educational."
"Such devotion," Lady Lilith interjects, studying Emir with cruel amusement. "Tell me, does she know what you did to earn those scars on your hands? The ones that look suspiciously like claw marks?"
The tension ratchets higher as more demons begin to circle, clearly sensing the potential for entertainment that doesn't involve their usual scheduled programming. Nesilhan's light magic flickers beneath her skin in response to the mounting threat, while darkness begins coiling around my feet. She is a total abomination to them, and that thought alone makes me want to protect her even more.
"Perhaps," Erlik says with false brightness, "we should move on to the next attraction. The evening is young, and we have so much to see."
The next chamber makes the torture gallery look like a children's playground designed by optimistic angels. What we witness isn't simple torture. It's worse.
A group of mortals—men and women who still have that particular terror in their eyes that speaks of recent arrival—are being "prepared" for their eternal entertainment value. The demons aren't just inflicting pain; they're systematically breaking down everything that makes these souls human. Forcing them to participate in acts that destroy their sense of self, their dignity, their very identity.
"The beauty of this technique," one demon explains to his rapt audience, "is that physical pain heals. But shame? Humiliation? The destruction of one's fundamental sense of self? That's eternal."
I watch a woman who might have been someone's mother, someone's daughter, reduced to something that no longer remembers its own name. The demons applaud as she begs for more degradation, her spirit so thoroughly shattered that she craves the very thing that destroyed her.
Nesilhan makes a sound—not quite a gasp, not quite a sob. Through our bond, I feel her horror crash into me with the impact of colliding worlds. Her hand flies to her belly, protective instincts overwhelming her as she witnesses what true evil looks like when it has unlimited time and creativity.
"Magnificent work," Erlik observes with genuine admiration. "Breaking the spirit while keeping the flesh intact requires such... finesse."
Banu has gone completely white, her usual sarcasm dying in her throat. Even Emir, who has seen battlefields soaked in blood, looks shaken by the casual destruction of human dignity unfolding before us.
From the shadowed corner of the chamber, I catch sight of Elcin watching the proceedings with an entirely different expression. While the rest of us recoil in horror, she observes with clinical detachment, her sharp eyes cataloging every technique, every response, every nuance of the psychologicalmanipulation unfolding before us. She takes mental notes the way a scholar might study an ancient text—disturbing, yes, but undeniably informative. When she notices my gaze, she gives the slightest nod, as if to say she's gathering intelligence that might prove useful later. The fact that she can watch this nightmare with such analytical calm is both reassuring and deeply unsettling.
"I think we've seen enough," I say, my voice cutting through the applause of the demon audience.
