The Janessi was stilted and out of tone, lilting strangely, but his voice was rich, and the words crawled under her skin with an undertone like crackling electricity. The demon’s energy slid into the atmosphere like a hot cloud. She didn’t know how he had hidden it from her before, but she felt it now—heated, corrupt, like dirty iron glowing in the dimness of a forge room, smoking with impurities, so hot, it made the air bend around it.

A second later, he came into sight.

He was tall. Tall as the largest human, and half that again. Filtered gaps of moonlight passed over the smooth white bone that covered his face, the stag skull triangulating into a nightmarish mask that appeared to hover in place, the sharp points of its nose and jaw like jagged teeth. The rack of antlers stabbed the air in ragged points, a mockery of the forest king imagery. His skin was smooth underneath the bone and black as night—not a dark brown, not like in some of the Southern continents, but black, as if he’d been dyed in ink or cut from a type of matte obsidian. Thick muscle sloped into and under his robes. The cloak he wore dragged through the leaves behind him, silver threads of embroidery catching the light in a rakish design. Armor protected his body, along with bands of rentac sigils that almost mirrored the positions of the mercari scripture imprinted in her own armor. His eyes, a soft glow of red behind the stag’s eye sockets, seemed to narrow as they fell on her.

There was something predatory in them. A hunger that pierced right to her bones.

He likes to hurt things.

Volaon pressed her further into the ground, making her broken elbow spike with pain. Her breath guttered in her throat as the agony smashed through her, rocking through her skin like an ocean wave.

As the demon’s gaze slipped over her, crawling through her neck and shoulders and back, her mind flashed to a brief glimpse of Tarris. Green eyes in the dark, the flicker of fire against stone. The feeling of vulnerability, disbelief, shock. Pain from her broken elbow joining the mix in a surreal juxtaposition.

A low ringing crept up in her ears. She gripped her left fist tight and fought against the feeling as her vision began to tunnel.

No, no, no. Not now.

“A rnari soldier,” the demon said, his voice a thoughtful monotone. Quieter, as if he were speaking more to himself than anyone else. Her body shivered, pain riding with anger and fear and desperation. Gods, they were going to die. If she didn’t get out of this—

A fresh wave of pain spiked through her arm as she tried to squirm free of Volaon’s grip.

She hissed.

“You will be valuable to my collection. Stay alive for now. I will heal that arm of yours before I take you.”

Take her?

Her heart froze. He meant necromancy.

She stayed quiet as the demon moved on, trying to ignore the images that his words conjured in her mind and the bile threading up the back of her throat. Less than an arms’ span in front of her, the edge of his cloak rustled over the ground, some unseen foot below snapping a twig.

He stopped in front of Nales.

As the demon looked down on the prince, it felt like the entire world was holding its breath. Cold fear threaded through her nerves. Her body began to shake.

They were going to die, probably violently. And then, the demon lord was going to resurrect their minds and bodies for his army.

Something shifted. Even held down as she was, with her woodcraft slipping in and out of focus, she could sense the change in the air.

She didn’t dare to breathe.

Maybe they could get out of this. Maybe, by some divine miracle, a bolt of lightning would crash down, give her Kodanh back, and she could cut them free, blast everything into ice, and race into the forest with Nales. Or, if the demon didn’t recognize him—

“Is that demon blood I detect in you?” the demon said.

Tits.

She swallowed hard, every molecule of her body focused on the conversation.

“It is.” Nales’ voice was somewhat strained, muffled by the angle he was being forced into. “I am Prince Nales Cizek, second in line to the Teilanni throne. I have been trained to wield Andalai, the blood-cursed sword.”

“Nales!” Her heart jumped in her chest. She swung her head around. “What are you doing?!”

The question devolved into a pained yell as Volaon tightened his grip. His cold flesh burned against her skin.

The demon didn’t so much as twitch at her outburst. Instead, another small silence filled the space.

Then, Nales switched to rentac.

She’d never heard the demon language spoken before. It sounded a bit like the patois goblins used, except far more complex—less nattering. But the tones were all wrong to her, jarring and abrupt. And this seemed oddly formal.

It made her skin crawl.

The demon lord regarded Nales with a quiet stillness. He looked huge from this angle, able to strike her down with barely a flicker, his aura like a long-burning signal fire smothered in caustic smoke.

Her ice runes, despite their dormancy, itched in response.

Her jaw clenched. Temdin, what was he playing at?

The demon replied in rentac, his tone amused.

Her mind raced, eyes widening. What were they saying?

Nales spoke again, polite but pointed.

“Plus, I have you kneeling before me with a knife at your back,” the demon replied in Janessi, his tone dry as winter leaves—but his accent curled, and he said the last word slowly, as if considering something.

Nales spoke again, more insistent, louder, a hardness to his tone.

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Grobitzsnak chuckled. “Fine. The rnari goes free—for now.”

Her heart stopped.

What?

“Nales!” she yelled. “What are you doing? Are you in bed with demons now?”

To her surprise, Grobitzsnak waved his hands, and the fey holding Nales down let go and stepped back. One of them handed him back his sword as he stood.

The air punched from her chest as her mind pieced the realization together.

They made a deal. He’s joined the demon.

She sucked in a breath, denial and disbelief rocking through her. Cold rushed through her like a gasping wind. Her mind shuttered, slamming over the emotion storming through her chest. She watched in shaking fury as he wiped the blade of debris and resheathed the sword, the metal rustling into the wood and leather with a hiss that slid straight through her spine. A dull roar rose in the back of her mind.

Traitor. He’s a traitor.

“What the fuck?”

The anger shook through her chest, rattling her breath. Nales looked down at her, eyes meeting hers, cold and distant as they regarded her on the ground. He relaxed, turning his attention to adjusting his cuff as he spoke.

“Lord Grobitzsnak is wise and benevolent. I made a deal with him. You would be wise to do the same. He has agreed to give you one week to return to the Raidt and give them news of his rising. They can either join him in life, or die and join him in death.”

She froze for a moment, her mouth opening and closing.

Wise? Benevolent?

Anger burst like a pot of magma.

“You made a deal with him?” she sputtered, breathless with rage. “In what realm of insanity is that a good idea?”

“Demons aren’t just evil, mindless thugs, Catrin. They are a multifaceted series of races with their own minds, ideas, and structures.” He glanced to the side, then back, meeting her eyes. “And Lord Grobitzsnak has quite a strong hold. Why wouldn’t I make an arrangement with him?”

“Yes,” she spat. “Your family is quite good at that, aren’t they? Coming to arrangements with demons.”

A small silence met her words. Nales kept his expression calm and resigned, body equally so—though she could feel the tension underneath.

Then, he took a step forward. Metal flashed as he bent and picked up the blade she’d lost. She cringed back as he knelt beside her and slid it into her right-hand hilt. After, he reached for her face, a hand tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. A brief flash of Tarris’ green eyes pushed into her mind. Nales’ were blue, their silver-gray undertone deep and flickering in the light of the closest fire. His smell came to her, sweat and rushlight smoke and river stone, a hint of blood from a cut on his knuckle.

“Catrin, go home. You can’t win here.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she said.

His mouth twitched, though not in amusement. For the first time, she detected something else behind his mask—fear, linked to the tension in his body.

Renewed confusion slid through her. She went rigid as he leaned forward.

She didn’t need to see him to feel his shadow as he leaned over her, the way the energy of his body brushed hers. His breath flowed across her ear and neck, a raw murmur that she didn’t doubt the demon lord had no trouble hearing.

“You’ll have to find me first, underling.”

His lips touched the shell of her ear, then pressed down just above it in a chaste kiss. His hand shook where it rested against her neck.

What in the ten fucking hells?

Rage filtered up. She snapped her head back, slamming it into his nose. Felt the now-familiar crunch of bone break under the force. Nales grunted, jerked back.

Volaon shoved her back down. She snarled as pain stabbed from her elbow, rocking her skin in a searing wave that hit through her shoulder all the way to her navel. When she looked up, the firelight glowed on the new flow of blood dribbling down Nales’ face from a now-misshapen nose.

Good.

She forced her tense jaws apart to spit in his direction.

The demon lord gave another low chuckle.

“It would be easier to keep her in a cage. Are you sure she’s worth the trouble?”

Worth the trouble? Of what? She frowned, attempting to roll her head around to see his head—however much one could read expression on a mask of stag bone—but Volaon kept her locked down. His hair tickled her shoulder, its tendrils moon-bright against the darkness of her armor. She could feel his body over hers, pinning her down in a tight hold. Her nerves buzzed with pain from where he held her broken arm.

“Yes,” Nales said. “I will enjoy breaking her.”

Her eyes widened.

What the fuck?

The demon lord chuckled again. Then, he nodded. Lifted a hand.

Movement shifted at her back. She cringed as a new wave of pain sliced through her.

Then, Volaon loosened his grip.

She was up like a shot, ground whirling as her rnari instincts took over. Pain screamed through her broken arm. She staggered as she snapped around, the scent of sulfur and rot piercing her mind as her woodcraft lit up, giving her the speed and exactness the rnari elves were most known for. Her good hand went to her hilt.

The fey stood around her in a broken circle, their black eyes watching without emotion. Volaon was closest. His wound still oozed, but she could now recognize the hint of death that clung to him, despite the life in his eyes. Her woodcraft senses traced the hint of magic that animated him—and that tied him to the demon lord at his back.

None made a move to attack her.

She paused, eyes wide, heart racing.

What in Elrya’s divine name was going on?

“Leave, Cat. This isn’t a fight you’re going to win, much as I’d enjoy it.” Nales’ eyes held hers steady, their blue turned more gray in the light. He stood still, his body quiet but tense. Waiting.

And… Cat?

Another red flag. Something was up.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Her voice thrummed slow, steady. A promise.

The demon lord laughed again, a low, rippling sound that seemed to cleave the air. Then, he lifted his arm. Energy rippled, loud and powerful, touching at her senses. A chorus of whispers rose, and every hair on her body lifted at once.

Ghosts, calling from beyond the Death Veils.

Movement shifted on the slope behind her. Demons, rising again, undead life filling their brains and muscles with a cold, corrupted power.

She took several staggered steps back, her mind reeling, wincing, nerves on fire from the pain.

Nales was right. This was not a fight she was going to win. She wouldn’t even get through one fey—not with a broken arm. Her flimsy spells were no match for the demon. And she had no idea if their magic was still intact.

Left with no other options, she turned and ran into the forest.