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The girls slink off the bed, their eyes downcast as they all fiddle with their shirts or fold their hands behind their backs.
“In case I was not clear enough before,” he continues, his voice harder than granite. “You are not to bother her. Do not barge into her rooms, do not berate her with questions, and absolutely do not touch her.”
Their eyes still glued to the floor, the three girls nod and murmur their agreement.
“Go to your rooms. All of you. I will call you downstairs when I’m ready to discuss this further.”
Without so much as a backward glance, the three girls file out of the room, and only when they’re in the hallway do I hear hushed whispers.
“NOW!” He shouts over his shoulder, skittering steps echoing in response. Left alone with only the angry demon, I pull the covers over my head, fruitlessly hoping that they’ll somehow shield me from his wrath.
The door shuts quietly, and we’re left in suffocating silence. With anyone else, I would have assumed they’d left the room once I heard the door shut, but it’s like I can feel his presence, his eyes boring into where I’m lying on the bed.
And when he speaks, I’m not surprised. “I’m sorry for the girls. I had told them explicitly not to bother or disturb you, but as you can see, they don’t listen very well,” he says, his tone genuinely apologetic.
I don’t respond, not sure what I’m supposed to say to the demon loitering near the end of my bed. My heart is still pounding in my chest, and a heavy tremor grips me.
“Their behavior… well, they’re children, I suppose. I’ve never really known what to do with them.” He sounds so tired all of a sudden that I have to fight the urge to peer over the top of the blankets. I suppose it’s easier for him to be honest, to show some vulnerability, if he can pretend I’m not listening.
I’m all too aware of him as the end of the bed dips beneath his staggering weight. The demon sits on the edge of the mattress with a sigh. I can’t tell if he’s exasperated that I haven’t come out of hiding or that the girls clearly have minds of their own. Perhaps both.
Silence settles between us once again, and in comparison to the ruckus, it’s almost… comfortable. I keep my breathing as even and quiet as possible, trying not to think too hard about the fact that we’re both in bed, regardless of the fact that we have a mound of blankets and a solid foot of space between us.
I feel his weight shift, a surprisingly human mannerism. Almost as if he’s trying to decide whether he should leave the room or not. He must decide against leaving, because I feel him turn his body toward me to look at where I’m buried beneath the plush quilt and silken sheets.
“You do know why you’re here, don’t you?” He asks, his voice quiet and grave. My blood runs cold. Is he going to demand that we fulfill our… obligations, right here, right now? My palms turn slick with sweat and I nod, not sure I could summon my voice if I wanted to.
I realize that he might not be able to see me beneath the covers, so I poke my head out, repeating the gesture. Despite having the chance to observe the demon several times now, I still find his presence unnerving.
His head is cocked slightly as if he were a predator sniffing out his prey, his pitch-black eyes gleaming in the dying light streaming in from the windows. He nods, repeating my gesture, and holds my gaze.
“Good.”
71
KHA’ZETH
Long ago, when I was a student of Pli’thel, a Soz’garoth master, he brought to us a dazoneth, freshly trained. Despite its finger-length, razor-sharp teeth and claws, it whimpered in the corner, eyes averted, muscles coiled as though expecting a blow.
The sight had made me sick.
I am reminded of the beast, beaten by magic into terrified submission, whenever I look at the human. They have the same eyes, or rather, the same cautious way of looking through them. Downcast, but ever alert. She lies on her side now, the blanket pulled up to her nose. It should be a relaxing pose, but she looks ready to flee, even now.
Does she ever stop waiting for the switch to fall?
Has her life made her like this, or have demons treated her so poorly? The thought of anyone striking her sticks in my chest, hot and thick. Lights flicker overhead, and her eyes widen.
She’s so still with her fear, so silent, that it’s easy to misread her as calm. I see that now. She isn’t simple or docile at all. Her blank expression masks an abject terror I can’t even imagine, one I’ve only seen on prey just before the inevitable kill.
“You are afraid.” I smooth my expression as best I can, but I don’t suppose it’s much help. I must look like something out of a nightmare for her, with my horns and teeth and markings of chaos magic writ boldly across my face. “You need not be.”
Slowly, cautiously, she peels the blanket back. It’s more to appease me than anything else, I think, but I’m grateful for the gesture. She keeps her gaze pointed at my feet, and she twists the blanket until her knuckles pale, but eventually the blanket falls, revealing a beautiful woman.
A beautiful woman in rags.
The triplets had said something to that effect, but they’re prone to exaggeration. Elincia in particular is convinced that any fashion more than a season old is as desirable as ur’gin dung to wear, and she makes no bones about berating me for her suffering.
But this is truly unacceptable.
