Page 70 of Brimstone
“Ahh! Shit!” Carrion hissed, his body jolting as he, too, was stung. His hands were still glued to the ground in the entrance of the octagonal room, though, so he couldn’t brush the scorpions away as they crawled up his arms and into his hair. “Kingfisher!” he called, a note of panic rising in his voice. “A little help?”
But I couldn’t help him. The scorpions were under my armor, crawling up my back, stinging me as they went. Each individual sting was like a hot bolt of lightning, racing along my nerve endings, stealing my breath.
The scorpions were many, but they were also one. The demons of old weren’t spoken of very often anymore, butIstillknew of them. I’d spent countless afternoons in my mother’s library while the rain hammered at the windows of Cahlish, reading the books my mother set out for me. Old legends. Tomes on old magics, written in Old Fae. Tales of grand heroism and good prevailing over evil. And then stories about the old demons who had once plagued the lands of Yvelia. She had read them to me over and over again, giggling with me as she’d tucked me into bed, pretending to be one demon or another as she “attacked” me.
When she had been Joshin, demon of the desert, fractured into his multitude of stinging scorpions, she had pinched me lightly, tickling me, all the while demanding as she always did, “And how will you stop me, sweetheart? What will you do to send me scattering into the dark?”
I hadn’t been able to breathe then from the tickling.
I couldn’t breathe now from the pain.
As a boy, I had panted, “The—the li-li—”
Now, I did the same. “We need to let—let in the li-light!”
Joshin, Lord of the Desert, King of the Dark Dream, couldn’t bear the light. That’s why he had chosen to hide inside this black, windowless tower. Why the demon trap had been laid for him here on the floor as well. Whoever had etched the Alchimeran runes into the floor of the room up ahead had known this would be the only place a beast like Joshin could seek refuge.
“Light,” I gasped. Gods, even being eaten by Morthil in the maze hadn’t been this painful. “We need . . .light.”
Shah cackled. “This place is a tomb. No cracks in the walls. No holes in the floorboards. Joshin will come! Joshin will feed!”
Ahh, fuck this.I wasn’t being eaten by another demon. Not this time, when the magic of Malcolm’s cursed maze wouldn’t bring me back from the dead.
Carrion sprawled out on the floor and started screaming. The pain was total. No breath. No thought. No way out. The smuggler wasn’t used to it.
A carpet of glistening, oily black carapaces and vicious pincers swept over him, swallowing him from view. And then he was gone.
Fuck.
We didn’t have much time.
I wasn’t trapped by the snare that had been etched into the floor. Not yet. Two paths stood before me: I could turn, and I could run.OrI could enter the demon trap and commit to the dark nightmare that was already unfolding in my blood.
If I left, I could find the silver on my own. I could find Hayden Fane and drag his ass back to Yvelia. But if I left, the smuggler would die a horrific death—one I knew all too well—and I would have to explain to Saeris that I had abandoned her friend.
“Orillith ken mas cree, Carrion Swift,” I spat under my breath. I hadn’t cursed in Old Fae in centuries, but sinners, did the situation warrant it.
I stepped over Swift’s prone body and into the demon trap.
The ground seethed, lit up by the glowing runes. With every step, I felt the crack and the give of the scorpions beneath the soles of my boots.
Now that I’d entered the demon trap, I saw the trunks stacked high on the other side of the room. Ten of them. More. Jewels, coins, and beaten golden cups spilled out from the closest trunk, reflecting the light cast off by the shining marks etched into the walls. The body of a man lay curled in the fetal position close by. His clothing was torn to shreds. Flesh still clung to his bones. Joshin had obviously been savoring his last meal.
“Fisher!”Carrion’s cry was panicked.
Darts of agony struck all over my body. The scorpions stung through my pants. They were in my boots. In my hair. I crossed the room, slowing with each step, bile rising hot up the back of my throat.
“Hate to be . . . a bother,” Carrion wheezed. “But if you’re not in a position to . . . save me right . . . now, then . . . could you possibly kill me instead? This . . . reallysucks.”
Gods, how was hestilltalking? I couldn’t even think.
“Oh no, he can’t kill you. No, no, no,” Shah chattered. “Joshin wants his prey alive. Joshinprefersit that way.”
I was going to flay Vorath Shah. Just as soon as I tore a hole in the side of this bell tower. See if I didn’t.
The very fibers of my being were alight and burning by the time I made it to the wall. Tears streamed down my face, but even so, I could see Vorath had been right. There were no cracks in the stonework. No seams between the blocks of sandstone. The roomhadbeen sealed by magic. The only thing that could counter this kind of magic was magic itself—the kind of magic that would hurt.
I drew back my fist and took a deep breath.
