The thorns didn’t withdraw, but I saw the throne’s inhabitant flick his bleeding gaze across us, recognised the set of his jaw. He was appraising us with new eyes.

“There is value buried in thy words… as gold sleeps in rock. Thou art… an intriguing creature, Aedervaeni.” Then the red stare settled on me. “So, sorcerer, thy case is stated… and passage secured. All that remains for us is… to discuss thy means of payment.”

“Payment, M-Majesty?”

“One of these three shall suffice. Each has worth to thee.”

It took me a moment to realise his meaning.

“You –“ I licked my lips, suddenly wanting to cry “– thou desirest mine eldritches?”

“Only one. Shalt not Nentheleme sing… of my mercy, sylph?”

“She – she shall, M-Majesty.”

Avaelar’s words were coming out as protracted winces, now – the barbs were starting to get to him. When it came to my own wrist, it felt as though they were biting into bone. How I wasn’t dying yet I had no idea.

How to formulate a plan of escape, when even an arch-diviner was at a loss? Rathal hadn’t been himself since the overly-friendly voice started unpicking his past, but he’d made moves when they’d been obvious to him, like when we’d fought the living statues. I couldn’t just leave someone here, even a native eldritch… not in this nightmare.

The ruler of the realm seemed to understand my resolve, and found my weak-spot instantly.

I already knew the truth of it. I’d read all about it.

“Thou art… fixed in this fate,” our captor whispered. “It is… time for thee… to choose. There is always a… price. Naught is free. Not I… nor ever thee.”

I tried not to shudder, and looked across to my left, meeting the sylph’s eyes. “Are – ahh! ha! – are there any volunteers?”

Zab just whimpered.

“No,” Gilaela said clearly, adamantly, from my other side.

“I hath in me no wish to remain here,” Avaelar murmured. “Yet I am bound, not only by thy magic, Feychilde, but by the chains of mine own faith in thee.”

“I need you!” I blurted, shaking my head.

“Nay,” he said softly, and smiled despite his agony, “thou needst naught, Feychilde. Thou shalt succeed. Remember me, shalt thou?”

“This is a command from your master!” I snapped at him. “I need you. You shall no longer offer your… services to this… this thing.” I cast my gaze back on the rose-throne, weighing the blood-drenched entity’s words.

I can’t leave Zab here. It’d destroy him – that much is obvious.

What does he really want?

Slowly, I turned to my right.

Do I play right into his hands?

“Master.” The brittle word stood alone for her refusal, then, when she seemed to realise it would prove insufficient, she tried to command me: “Do not even consider this.”

But this dark tricorn was different – she was nothing like the unicorn I’d come to respect over the last months. Even her voice, its cold, derisive tones – it made me feel as though she were a different person altogether. The old Gilaela wouldn’t have been able to grovel, either, not given her aloof nature, her demeanour of superiority – but if she’d tried, there wouldn’t have been so much hostility in it. When she spoke to me now, as it was as though she thought she were the one in charge, not me.

“You changed, Gilaela,” I panted through the pain, “and I can’t trust you anymore.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Can’t trust me? I who freed you from the caverns of this madman’s mind, whose power saved you from the cold clutches of countless dead men?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Princess. You can take care of yourself. You’ll be –”

And then the truth of her corrupted nature was made plain.

There was still an obvious connection between us, preventing her from attacking me directly, but none of my direct commands to her had barred her from behaving in an intimidating manner. She whipped about and bore down at me, aiming her horn at my face, stamping and screaming – a bound eldritch had never behaved in such a manner towards me before, never mind one of such overwhelming potency –

I had no shields up anymore, but I didn’t need them. She still couldn’t strike me, and she’d used me as a decoy. Even as she reached my side, pretending at violence, she reared up and turned, throwing herself bodily at the king of this demi-plane, aiming her splintered horn right at his already-broken heart.

For a moment I saw her there, the magnificent dark horse hurtling through the air, a leap of stupendous potential energy – her scream itself was a deadly thing, resounding off the walls –

Then I noticed that the moment had extended, and she was still there, still screaming that same single note, pinned ten feet off the ground. I was directly behind her, so I couldn’t quite tell what had stopped her until the wreath of vines extended about her, and through her, ripping uncountable holes in the shadowy fur.

She didn’t move except to quiver briefly.

What would this mean for us now? Would I still have to abandon Avaelar in order to escape?

There was no way to draw out a shield, not like this, not with the offending vine still wrapped about my arm…

Finally, Gilaela’s last defiant scream dropped away; she whimpered before she fell silent.

Slowly – excruciatingly slowly – our host withdrew the bonds about my wrist, and Avaelar’s too. I gasped in relief, pressing my free hand to the wound – but it was already sealing itself in a matter of seconds, agony becoming pain, pain becoming itching, until nothing more than a tingling heat covered the area.

The guardian’s weeping eyes moved to his new subject; tendrils of inestimable strength lifted her higher, turning her so that I could witness what I’d done to her.

She was silent, and she was bleeding just the same as him, her black blood dripping all over the neatly-flattened earth, smoking white where it landed.

But her eyes stared. Fixed upon me.

She was still alive. She was like him now, almost.

Betrayer. Heartless fiend. I knew what she’d have called someone acting like this; I’d shared a mind with her for so long. Craven. Worthless, putrid, vile little worm.

Even if I’d abandoned a demon to the guardian, for him to do this to them – the old Gilaela would’ve reacted the same. Where was the justice? Where was the good death, the sweetness of the kill, the soul’s release –

Then she spoke, dark horse-lips parting, panting.

His voice. His voice, through her lips.

“The king accepts… thine offering. Thy mightiest weapon laid at his feet… its grip fitted neat to his hand. Tribute… is paid – go in honour, sorcerer, yet speak not of trust… Thou hast already accepted into thyself all… all I might have done to poison thee. Thou alone knowest how low thou hast come. Return to the nightmare… from whence you came, and trouble no longer he whose heart… yearns for slumber’s suffering.”

The dirt floor beneath us seemed to become quicksand, and before I could even raise my hand in front of my face in alarm its darkness rose up and covered me, depositing me onto hard stone.

I glanced about, then saw the glimmer of gremlin-light just off to my right.

“Zab?”

“Master? Oh, Master!”

The little pig-man hopped towards me and hurled himself on me, embracing me and weeping greenish tears that were perhaps more snot than water.

I didn’t care. I embraced him back.

“Zabalam! Where are the others?”

He sniffled, wiped his extremely-wet face on the remnants of my vest, then looked up, raising his hand and amplifying the radiance.

Living lichen. Glowing mushrooms. Pale crystal. Soft moss.

The others were there, having simply been deposited in different areas of the cavern. All of the others – save Gilaela.

As they made their way over towards me and Zab, I raised my hand, preparing to attempt to summon the one I’d sacrificed.

I paused. Whether it worked or not, I doubted it would end pleasantly for us.

Hesitantly, I lowered the hand again.

“It’s done – it’s over,” Tem said. His chest shuddered with each breath.

I stared into his bruised face, the eyes beneath the furrowed brow. “What were you sensing?”

He didn’t answer, his haunted gaze saying everything.

‘You don’t want to know.’

I looked around. “Is everyone else okay?”

Avaelar nodded grimly. Zab was still clinging to me. Rath…

“Look, man, there’s no way he was right…“

The arch-diviner met my eyes; his voice was so quiet.

“He was right.”

Rathal raised the jagged rock I’d used to refresh their marks while we explored the ethereal gardens, and appeared to stab it straight into his neck.

It wasn’t that, though – he was going in at the collarbone, digging its tip deep into the flesh –

He flicked out a gory copper penny, and it bounced on the rocks; he followed it with those burning eyes.

“I did it. I killed her. I shook her – she was choking and… I…”

He fell to his knees, heedless of the rough impact, and he didn’t cry. Not a single tear fell down his cheek in grief, self-contempt.

He moaned instead, as he lost the core of his persona, sending bitter echoes smashing back at us from the cavern-walls.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…”

It was like he’d saved up a thousand gasps of a thousand knives entering a thousand bodies, and loosed them all at once.

* * *