CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Tricksters and Demons

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I see you…

A voice, low and guttural, reached Bram’s ears, though there was no one near him now.

O child touched by darkness…

It came from everywhere around him, though there was nothing there. Only darkness was gathered here, the kind that snuffed out even the barest hint of light.

Brushed by fear.

Bram squinted. He rubbed at his eyes, and still, his gaze couldn’t penetrate the veil of darkness surrounding him.

Bathed in hate.

Fear, the sort that tightened against one’s chest and made it hard to breathe, began to take hold of him.

Consumed with rage.

As if influenced by the disembodied voice, the fear gripping Bram was quickly stifled by growing anger, the kind he often felt for the unfairness visited upon him by his ill fate.

You have shown me proof…

Bram reached out for Dusk’s hilt, but seconds ticked by, and the sword would not come even when called.

Proof that you are worthy…

Driven by his rising anger, Bram balled his hands into fists. He lunged for the speaker hidden in the dark, though his fists collided with nothing but air.

He tried to scream, to dare the thing to show itself, but no words escaped his lips. For it was not his time to speak, but to listen to the ghostly voice that declared, Worthy to wield—

“Interesting,” interrupted a deep, intelligent-sounding voice that Bram knew all too well now. “Very interesting.”

There came a growl. It was loud and menacing and something else…a smidge of doubt. You…

“Yes. Me.”

Though he could not see her, hearing Rowan’s voice helped calm Bram’s mind so that his rage and fear dwindled quickly.

“You seek to lay claim to one sworn to another,” she spoke with her usual mocking tone. “I wonder if I should feel offended.”

Silence. Then, I-I did not know…

Bram could clearly hear the panic in its tone.

This mortal’s rage called to me… I assumed—

“You assumed wrong,” Rowan interrupted.

Bram looked left and then right but could find no sign of her.

I-I am not afraid of you…

“It would be a pity if you were, O’ Mighty Demon of Wrath…” The giggle was obvious in her tone. “I do so love a challenge.”

You…!

Finally, it appeared. High above Bram, two great eyes, lidless, breathed in hellfire, with murder spewing from their gaze. This fiery gaze turned not toward the prince who seemed a spectator in his own dream—for what else could this be—but at the smaller shadow standing behind him, one that seemed to thicken with each second and carried the familiar iron scent of blood.

“Be gone from his mind, Demon,” she commanded. “Go back to the shadows from whence you came!”

Then came the roar of a mighty beast that carried every verse of rage Bram had ever felt. Yet even this roar was stifled by the mocking laughter of the trickster who seemed unimpressed by a greater demon’s wrath.

“Time to wake,” though unseen, her hand clutched his arm, “my prince.”

As his eyes flew open, Bram sat up with a jolt, and a curse spilled from his lips.

“Fuck…”

“Good morning to you as well,” Rowan replied.

She sat at the edge of the bed with her hand still wrapped around his arm.

“Where…?”

It didn’t take him long to recognize the curtains hanging on his four-post bed or the polished wooden paneled walls of his bedroom.

“What was that…?”

“A consequence of what happens when you let your emotions take control of you.”

Her hand slid down his arm so that her fingers brushed against the lightning bolt scar that marked his left hand.

“To earn the interest of one of the Seven,” she flashed him her usual impish smile, “I wonder if I should feel jealous.”

Strange that she would be jealous over this but feel nothing after Bram’s last meeting with the comely Josslyn. Bram was wise enough not to point this out though.

“The Seven…” In his mind, he recalled the ancient lore of demons as written in the ‘Hymn of Sunlight’ and often recounted by the clerics of Phoebus’ temple. When insight pierced through the fog of sleep still clinging to him, his eyes widened with surprise. “That dreadful voice…could it really have belonged to one of the Seven Evils who rule the Seven Hells…?”

“Wrath, the Lord of Madness and Fury,” Rowan answered.

Bram tried to repress the shiver climbing up his spine…and failed to do so.

“H-How is this possible…?” he asked in a panicky voice.

“You touched a fragment of true darkness…” Again, her fingers brushed against the cursed mark on his hand. “And that has consequences, My Prince.”

Bram’s brow creased. “The Loom called it a…Dark Metamorphosis…”

He pulled up his new ability’s status window and shared its information with Rowan.

ABILITY: Dark Metamorphosis LEVEL: 1 TYPE: Active DESCRIPTION: A power that allows one to tap into the darker side of their nature, empowering spells and abilities or awakening new powers related to one’s heightened emotions at the time of activation…

“So, it boosts your abilities when triggered and may provide you with other boons depending on your state of mind,” Rowan deduced.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I felt myself going mad in my fight against The Impure,” Bram admitted, “but my rage also strengthened the mask’s ‘Berserker’ state…”

DESCRIPTION: …The more heightened one’s emotions become, the stronger the benefits of Dark Metamorphosis. However, caution is advised when using this ability; an overwhelming amount of negative emotions could put the user’s life at risk. In rare cases, giving in to one’s darker half could attract the attention of much darker forces, drawing them to the user’s side and influencing their actions without the user’s notice.

Bram frowned as he dismissed the floating window because he noticed that Dark Metamorphosis’ description seemed too ambiguous, something the Loom wasn’t known to do.

“I understand that my anger might have attracted a demon’s interest,” he conceded, “but Wrath is a Great Evil… How could such a being be interested in me…?”

“Have you forgotten that the Torchbearer showed interest in you as well?” Rowan countered. “She wouldn’t have spoken to you otherwise.”

Bram’s frown deepened. “That was different…”

Brigid had thought to manipulate Bram and use him against Rowan. In the goddess’ eyes, he was little more than a tool.

“Only you could think so.” Rowan rolled her eyes at him. “With all you’ve accomplished in the past weeks alone, how could those of the unseen realm not be interested?”

She gazed at him with such sincerity that he couldn’t help but blush.

“I’ve done nothing so grand…” he insisted.

“No?” Rowan raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you stop a mad nymph from terrorizing the Red Forest?”

“I didn’t do it alone…”

“No, you didn’t…though those who helped you were summoned from another world to do your bidding.”

“You did the summoning.”

“At your direction. I wouldn’t have thought of such an unconventional scheme on my own.”

“You…I…”

Bram was at a loss for words. Surely, Rowan was right. For whom else in all Aarde could dream of a plan so otherworldly?

“However, I believe the greatest of your deeds”— Rowan drew closer to Bram so that her shoulder brushed against his—“was to free me from my prison… ‘Tis a feat even the gods would not dare to do.”

“The act of desperate man,” Bram replied, though the fight had left him now. “Rowan…”

He felt her breath tickle his neck, and he longed for the bite that would follow.

“W-Wait…”

It took all his will to pull away.

“W-We can’t…”

Though he desired it greatly, he couldn’t indulge in the drug only she could administer, which only he was allowed to have. Not yet. Not when there were other things to discuss.

“What happened after the fight?” Bram’s gaze drifted to the faint light of early morning rays filtering through the window curtains to the left of his four-post bed. When he turned to face her, he noticed she still wore the gambeson she’d worn during her knighting ceremony. “How long was I unconscious…?”

“A few hours have passed since you defeated Vicomte Klein.”

Rowan’s words revealed three things; not much time had passed since Bram’s duel, he’d been victorious, and the demon’s identity was now known to others.

“With the demon vanquished, its form reverted to its host, the foolish vicomte who breathed his last for all to see,” Rowan said as if reading his mind.

Bram’s hand tightened into a fist though he resisted the urge to pump it into the air. “Did he have any last words?”

“He was too busy dying to speak, but the shame and guilt were evident on his face.”

“And how did the high nobles of Lotharin react to Vicomte Henry’s secret…or his death?”

Rowan would not answer Bram’s question. Instead, she challenged the prince to make an educated guess, which, to Bram, wasn’t so much a guess but a deduction born from a good understanding of Atlan’s nobility.

“They would have balked at the thought of a noble consorting with demons, and would have expressed outrage for Vicomte Henry’s betrayal,” he deduced.

Rowan nodded. “But…?”

“But they will find ways to explain it away as the condemnable actions of a single noble and not the intentions of the entire north,” Bram deduced further. “They’ll feign ignorance of this assassination attempt just like all the previous ones, pretending not to know, though they all do, that the northern nobles desire my ousting as governor…”

“The Rhyneland’s representative was certainly passionate in expressing that the north was not colluding with the vicomte this time,” Rowan added.

“Baroness Ursula le Goede.” Bram recalled the middle-aged woman with wavy chestnut hair and square-rimmed spectacles whom he’d seen during Rowan’s knighting ceremony. “Regardless of her explanations, the identities of Bernadette von Galen and Vicomte Henry’s other companions will make it difficult for Baroness le Goede to deny the North’s hand in this.”

He slid over to the edge of the bed so that his bare feet touched the fur carpet underneath.

“I trust she’s been detained for questioning?”

“Your uncle ensured it. To her credit, the baroness didn’t resist.”

Bram’s brow creased at the mention of Vicomte Conrad.

“And how did my uncle react…?”

“He seemed genuinely surprised at the demon’s presence, though he seemed more surprised that you defeated it without aid.”

The fingers of Bram’s hands grasped at the satin sheets at the corner of his bed.

“I see…”

He wasn’t sure if the emotions that quickened his heartbeat were due to the pride of knowing his father’s family who’d ignored him all his life had finally taken notice of him, or if he felt anger that his uncle’s interest had come only after he’d proven himself no longer an Ill-Fated Prince.

“There are those who’ve stopped calling you that,” Rowan conceded.

Again, it seemed to Bram that she’d read his mind, or, more likely, the emotions galivanting inside him that he seemed unable to control.

“Some among the high nobles have expressed an interest in meeting with you,” she added.

“Really?” Just like that, emotion gave way to reason, and the prince was all business again. “Who?”

“A few…enough to show that the tide is turning for us.” Rowan looked away.

As if agreeing with Rowan, a new notification arrived from the Loom.

ALERT! You’ve earned [50] Fame Points.

Bram stared.

He rubbed his eyes.

Then he stared again.

Yes, the system message wasn’t just his imagination. He didn’t know exactly what this ‘fame’ meant, but it seemed defeating Vicomte Henry had earned him praise from the system that had ignored him throughout his childhood.

Regardless, he had lived such an infamous life that earning fame couldn’t be anything but good. Now, if only he could earn some fame as a bard too. Perhaps enough fame to prompt a concert or two in a packed theater. That would be perfect.

Bram cleared his throat. “You mentioned there were nobles interested in meeting me…?

“Ser Severin and Lady Petra,” Rowan answered.

Bram’s frown was quick to return at hearing the name of the tall, handsome knight who’d flirted with Rowan in front of Bastille’s entire court. His curiosity won out though. “Are they still in the city?”

Rowan nodded.

“Lady Petra mentioned she hoped you would call on them today to discuss new relations between Bastille and Lorraine,” Rowan explained. Then she added, “Perhaps for afternoon tea?”

Only yesterday, Bram thought an alliance between him and House Adler seemed unlikely. However, Eorl Anselm’s heirs’ change in attitude toward their new governor did seem like an incoming breeze of good fortune. As its closest neighbor, Lorraine Shire was the ideal ally to protect Bastille’s flank. Bram couldn’t bring himself to agree to meet them for afternoon tea though because he noticed the smile on Rowan’s lips, and he didn’t want her to meet the handsome Ser Severin again if he could help it.

Rowan giggled aloud.

She linked her arms around his and said, “As I told the fool who invaded your dreams, you are sworn to me…and I to you.”

Bram blushed at the implication, while Rowan dragged him to his feet.

“Now, cease with these jealous thoughts or you might attract Envy herself next,” Rowan reminded him. “And trust me, we don’t need any demons showing up…not now with that in our possession.”

“What’s in our possession…?”

With a bewildered look, Bram let Rowan drag him toward the low table in front of the fireplace where a silver box he’d never seen before was sitting on its polished marble surface.

“Spoils taken from your battle with a demon.”

When Rowan opened the silver box’s lid, a warning appeared floating in the air.

ALERT! The dark energy emanating from the [Shard of the Midnight Stone] may spread miasma to the surroundings.

‘Ba-dump.’

It was much smaller than the fist-sized shard they’d found within Loveless’ corpse, but this obsidian crystal no larger than a pinky finger sitting atop a velvet cushion was radiating the same dark energy as the mad nymph’s black core. It also pulsed like a beating heart whose thumping echoed across the bedroom’s walls.

‘Ba-dump.’

“Bloody hell,” Bram cursed. “Where did this foul thing come from…?”

“We found it embedded in Vicomte Klein’s chest,” Rowan answered. “Ser Anthony helped me retrieve it, and then we placed it inside this case of silver to keep its energy contained.”

Bram’s eyes widened. “This shard was the cause of the vicomte’s transformation…?”

“I believe so,” Rowan nodded. “As I’ve said, touching darkness has consequences.”

Despite the repulsion he felt for the shard inside its case, Bram’s hand couldn’t help but reach out for it. Fortunately, Rowan was quick to pull him away.

“Even you who knows its true nature can’t help but be tempted by the shard’s power… Imagine what other mortals might do with this in their possession.”

“The northern nobles…a new conspiracy.”

“Should they possess more shards, then the northern forces could be far greater than you or I imagined.”

Surprisingly, instead of worry or fear, a new emotion blossomed on Bram’s face. Excitement… perhaps even greed. Funnily enough, his was a face that reflected Rowan’s own.

“We have an even better justification for war.” Bram gave Rowan a meaningful gaze. “We’ve also found a new resource to help you regain your power faster.”

“Assuming we can find something to keep my diet balanced.”

“We will.”

Thoughts of raiding a temple of Phoebus flitted across Bram’s mind.

“Even if we need to get a little rough.”

Smiling widely, Rowan picked up the shard, holding it aloft between her fingers.

“I like it rough.” Hunger flashed on her face. “Thanks for the meal.”