by Kyra Quinn
A pair of women fixed Viktor with curious stares as they sauntered past, their heads bowed close as they exchanged whispers and giggles. Viktor stiffened his spine and tilted his chin, refusing to meet their eyes. He missed the days when gossips and nags were stoned in the courtyard of the Magistrate’s Hall. The gods didn’t deserve their worship or obedience, but at least people were better behaved back in the old days.
Viktor wondered if a city like Carramar had ever adhered to any real semblance of rules or order. One of the first places to permit Feyfolk and passives to mingle as equals, Carramar had positioned itself at the center of every major change—progressive or otherwise—in Astryae for centuries. He found it hard to imagine the noisy city of sin as a place that ever cared much for the gods’ decrees.
Not that he and Remiel’s town had a much better reputation for morality. While he enjoyed the privacy and picturesque views of the ocean the little port town of Mulgrave offered, the history of blood on their soil ran deeper than damn near anywhere else in Astryae. No one bothered with the pretenses of religion or charity in Mulgrave. Half the men would snatch the shirt from the back of any man who appeared too weak to resist.
He’d at least spied a few Temples in Carramar, a subtle sign some still lived by the old ways. And the people spoke with an ease about them Viktor rarely saw outside of taverns and drunken gatherings in Mulgrave. He didn’t understand their lifestyle, but their carefree steps and relaxed postures suggested he was missing out.
As always, his mind flashed to Lili the moment he reached the tent of the spirit healer they’d traveled to Carramar to seek help from. Not for the first time, Viktor shook his head and banished the fantasy of burning her tent to the ground. If not for her refusal to help, they never would have met Aster or needed her dark magic. They wouldn’t have traveled to the Shadowrealm, and Remiel wouldn’t have become bait in the Dark Mother’s trap.
His bitterness towards Aster didn’t last long. His mind drifted back to Lili, a girl unlike any he’d met before in more ways than her lineage. The curves of her body were sharp and angular under her clothes, her body long and lean. He didn’t rub elbows with posh women much, but the few he’d encountered had plump midsections and rears from years of sitting around the house doing whatever it was women did while men earned a day’s wage. Not Lili, though. Her awkward movements often betrayed her lack of combat experience, but her long, toned legs suggested she’d never been the type of girl to take a carriage everywhere.
He didn’t want to admit he missed her any more than he wanted to miss her in the first place. He didn’t need the distraction of her soft skin on his mind. It was worse at night, when Jett drifted off to sleep and left Viktor alone with his thoughts. But even with the afternoon sun sinking behind the sandstone canyons in the distance, Viktor couldn’t ignore the empty feeling inside his chest.
Viktor’s nose wrinkled as he stopped in front of an aged building with black paint covering each window. Fresh footprints in the snow announced a recent departure from the structure, likely male from the size and shape. It wasn’t uncommon for succubi and Shadowfey to establish illicit establishments to prey on the feeble-minded passives. If Viktor had to guess, the whorehouse in front of him was one of dozens of such businesses in Carramar.
His skin crawled as he marched through the snow towards the front door. He’d never imagined himself as the type of man to visit a whorehouse. He didn’t crave intimacy or touch in the way others seemed to. Marriage struck him as a foolish concept, a man slaving a way to spend all his hard-earned wages on a woman he purchased from her father some years ago. No matter how well the woman cooked or screwed or kept house, I couldn't imagine any person worth such a one-sided investment.
Yet he had to admit it surprised him to learn Lili made it to eighteen unwed. Her adoptive father, however he came to inherit her, must have known what the future held for her. From what Viktor had observed over the years, the wealthy were often the first to marry off their daughters in hoping to climb higher on the social ladder or recoup the funds spent on her upbringing. Unless Faomere operated under different laws than Mulgrave, a well-educated and attractive girl like her should have had a husband and at least one heir by her eighteenth year.
Viktor sucked in a breath and knocked on the wooden door painted red leading into the brothel. He straightened his jacket as he waited for the footsteps inside to reach the door, his posture stiff. His soiled and frayed clothing hardly communicated a man with funds to spend on hired company. He’d have to dazzle the Madam with his charms if he wanted any hope of sussing out the succubi in the area.
The door flew open, and Viktor took a step back and blinked. Instead of the Madam, a man with translucent wings and a dark scowl waited on the other side. Blue-black hair fell down his face and into his mossy eyes. He glared daggers at Viktor, his skin the color of smoke. “You made a mistake in coming here.”
Viktor tensed. He didn’t recognize the faerie, but word of his interrogations had spread faster than he’d hoped. He moved for the dagger sheathed inside of his thigh scabbard. “Why? What have I done to offend anyone inside?”
The faerie barked a bitter laugh. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m told you turned up at every tavern in town asking for me the day before the guards found my sister’s body.”
Viktor’s skin went cold. “Novus.”
Novus took the recognition as an admission of guilt. “So it was you.”
“No.” Viktor shook his head as he spoke, his speech strained as though he had to tear each word from his throat and force it into the conversation. “I had no hand in Celia’s death. When I couldn’t find you, I asked her to come speak with me about an important matter here in Carramar. She meant to meet me outside of The Grumpy Goddess. When she didn’t show, I searched every street in Carramar for her. But I was too late. She was dead by the time I found her.”
“And you left her there?” Novus jammed a bony finger into his chest. “Do I look stupid enough to buy the story you’re selling?”
“What’s going on?”
Novus and Viktor spun around to find a plump middle-aged woman with hair the color of the brightest part of the ocean watching them with fire in her icy eyes. Her features were sharp and angled. She wrinkled her hooked nose and waved them off. “Take this nonsense somewhere else before you two pricks scare off my business.”
Novus’s stepped back, but his eyes remained locked on Viktor’s face. “This is far from over. You will pay for what you did to my sister in blood.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Why me and not the person who buried the blade in her back?”
Novus’s face darkened. “You’re one in the same. Maybe you’re telling the truth and it wasn’t your knife didn’t kill her, but she only came to Carramar at your request. Your hands are no cleaner than her murderer’s.”
He shoved past Viktor without waiting for a response. Viktor rubbed his shoulder as the faerie took flight and disappeared to the east. Only when Novus disappeared did he remember the woman on the steps next to him.
“My apologies—”
The woman waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about him. His money spends as well as anyone else’s, but Novus is no one’s favorite guest. Are you here for a girl, then?”
Viktor flashed his best charming smile. “I’m told there’s a woman here who can satisfy any man’s deepest desires.”
The Madam chuckled. “More than one, love. My girls are some of the best in the world. Come inside, let’s find one who strikes your fancy.” She gave him a quick once-over and added, “Someone in your price range.”
Viktor bristled at the not-so-subtle jab. “It’s a fool’s errand to wear his wealth on his person.”
She snorted a noise of disbelief and ushered him towards the door, muttering something under her breath about men of his generation lacked the poise and grace of their fathers and grandfathers. He supposed it wasn’t untrue—from what little he’d heard from Jett, Norrix Kinzhal had li
ved his life with honor and courage.
Viktor, on the other hand, had lived his hidden away in Mulgrave.
He turned to follow the woman into the weathered building. Sulfur and sin tickled his nostrils. His body went rigid as he froze on the steps, his heart racing. He’d recognize the scent anywhere, the sulfur too strong for a Shadowfey.
“Demons,” he growled under his breath. His hand flew to his chest for his dagger, but the Madam reached out and covered his hand with her own.
“Don’t,” she scolded. She glared at him as a mother scolding her unruly child might, her eyebrows drawn together and nostrils flared. “They are here to protect us.”
Viktor choked. “Come again?”
“Many of us have paid a pretty coin for their services. We need their protection, and they need our cooperation. This deal benefits all parties.”
In Viktor’s experience, few monsters manufactured more mayhem than demons. The higher their station in the Shadowrealm, the more dangerous they came to Astryae.
The three demons on the street behind Viktor carried themselves in a way that suggested they were no ordinary lesser demons. They rode through on broad, muscular mares with glowing red eyes, one onyx and the others ivory. Long, wild manes fluttered in the wind with each step. Their nostrils flared, their sunken eyes deranged and haunting. Each of the riders wore a thick velvet cloak pulled over their heads the color of their steed, their faces and figures obscured except for their long, bony fingers.
“Hunters?”
The Madam offered a tight-lipped smile. “Only the best, sent by Zanox himself. Most served once as angels, now part of The Forsaken. Rumor has it they’re the deadliest warriors in the Shadowrealm.”
Viktor said nothing as he watched the hunters approach. He had no idea how to respond to the apparently welcome invasion, no clue where to begin to convince the people of Carramar they had made a terrible mistake. Whatever it was they feared, opening their arms to the fallen angels Daeva and Zanox had converted into soldiers could only end in disaster.
“Why would you want them here?” he asked, not breaking his stare away from the hunters. “Most passives and Feyfolk alike fear demons. With good reason.”
“We still do.”
“Then why enlist their services?”
“We fear what we’ve seen more.” The woman gazing towards the street, her eyes far away. Her mouth twisted into a frown as moisture shimmered in her eyes. “The demons fear what is happening. It’s why Zanox sent them to us.”
A wave of guilt crashed over Viktor as he dug his feet into the ground. He had spent the better part of the last few weeks in the forest beyond Carramar, close enough to reach Lili and Aster if an emergency should arise, but far enough away to complete his work in peace. Yet despite his proximity to the city, he’d paid little mind to current affairs outside of his own obsession. Almost every waking thought he’d had centered on Remiel and his quest to free him from Shadow City. Had he paid more attention to the world around him, the demons might not have invaded under his nose.
He reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “What’s happened?”
A single tear rolled down the valleys of the woman’s aged skin. “We don’t know. Travelers have said it’s happening all over Astryae. Passives and Feyfolk alike go missing. They’re found days or weeks later with their flesh scorched and their eye sockets empty and burned.”
Viktor shivered, though he couldn’t tell if it came from the cold or the description of the victims. He had encountered many bodies in his time, but none like the one described by the Madam. What sort of Fey removed the eyeballs of their prey? It didn’t resemble any style of feed he’d encountered before.
He tapped his fingers against his arm. “What makes everyone so certain the demons didn’t have a hand in those deaths?”
The woman’s face darkened. “Thirteen are dead in Carramar alone. Four of the victims were Shadowfey. Whatever is doing this came not from the Shadowrealm. Its murderous tendencies are limitless.”
Viktor turned away, afraid his face might betray him. He tried to recall which demon or Shadowfey he had captured where, and how many of them had come from Carramar. He had expected no one to notice or care about missing monsters. What if they had tricked Carramar into a deal with the demons when the only thing slaughtering demons was Viktor?
The trio of demons faded from view. Viktor exhaled. “I should go.”
“Wait!” The Madam grabbed his arm. “Don’t you want to come inside and have a peek at our girls?”
Viktor jerked away and shook his head. “Another time. Good day, Madam.”
He scurried down the steps and away from the desolate brick building, his cheeks warm. So much for his plans to find a succubus to torture for information. If he killed any more of the demons or Shadowfey, it would only strengthen their evidence and hold over Carramar.
His thoughts drifted back to what the woman had said. Other towns had reported similar murders. Had they enlisted demons to help? How much of a hold did Zanox and his soldiers have over Astryae?
Viktor raced back to camp and prayed he’d make it before Jett took off. Surrender weighed down his steps. As much as he hated to admit it, Jett was right. The fate of the world fell on their shoulders. The demons infiltrated Carramar right under their noses. It twisted the knife in his chest to picture Remiel beaten and tortured by Daeva, but time was running out. He and Jett had to act before Astryae found itself plunged into permanent darkness.
* * *
Celia’s name lingered on the tip of Viktor’s tongue the entire hike back through the Whispering Woods. Novus’s accusations stung more than a punch to the jaw or any physical injury. Her face had haunted the back of his mind since the night he discovered her body, her glassy eyes staring up at him unseeing. She had only left the safety of her dust den in Mulgrave to help him. He never spoke with her before the demons cut her life short.
At least, he had assumed the demons were to blame. Now, he wondered if Novus didn’t have the right idea. If not for his call for help, Celia would never have stepped into harm’s way. He might not have wielded the knife shoved into her back, but he’d invited her into danger without a second thought about her well-being.
The sun disappeared below the tops of the graveyard full of dead trees. Smoke perfumed the crisp air. The wind whispered to him, the words indecipherable. He clenched his jaw and rehearsed his speech in his head. Jett wouldn’t respond well to the change in plans, but the Forsaken in Carramar limited their options. The last thing they needed was someone figuring out who had killed the demons and Shadowfey around town.
“At dawn,” Viktor said when he found Jett in the woods a short walk from camp. “We leave at dawn.”
Jett arched a thick brow and rubbed his chin. “I had planned to leave shortly.”
“Travel will be safest at dawn, when the sun breaks the darkness and we have a full day of light to guide our steps. It won’t protect us, but we should run into less trouble.”
Jett cocked his head. “What’s this about, then? Why the sudden change of heart?”
Viktor hesitated as he debated whether to tell Jett what he’d discovered in town. His confrontation with Novus still stung like a fresh wound. Viktor had spent his entire life hating demons for how they had ruined his life and taken his parents from him. Yet Jett’s disdain for them surpassed anything Viktor had ever experienced.
But he couldn’t expect Jett to trust his change of heart with no explanation. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Had you heard about the murders in Carramar?”
Jett’s eyebrows rose. “The ones we committed?”
Viktor filled him in on what he’d learned at the whorehouse, though he left out the parts about Novus and improvised the location he’d stumbled upon the information. He finished, and Jett shifted his weight from foot to foot as if ready to leap into action.
“And yet you wish to wait until morning to leave? Why waste another second?”
&nb
sp; “Shadowfey and lesser demons are one thing,” Viktor said with a shake of his head. “The Forsaken are a different story. And they have the support of Carramar behind them. We may still encounter them during the daylight hours, but at least the sun will weaken their powers.”
Jett didn’t appear convinced, but he gave a slow nod. Though older by several decades, Jett rarely disagreed with Viktor when he dug his feet in on a decision and insisted. Viktor had yet to decide how he felt about the unspoken role of leadership he’d inherited in Remiel’s absence.
They stood in silence for a long while, both staring off towards Carramar lost in their own webs of thought. A small seed of guilt bloomed in Viktor’s stomach until sweat dripped from his face regardless of the frigid air around them. Jett’s plan to speak with the King was the honorable one. Yet no matter how the noble choice danced in front of him, Remiel’s face remained burned in the back of his mind. Would they run out of time to save him? Did the righteous path matter if it meant forsaking his oath?
“Despite the grim change of circumstances, I’m glad you accompanied me,” Jett said after a while. He didn’t glance at Viktor as he spoke, his gaze still far away. The sky overhead remained a gloomy grey, but Jett’s tattoos shimmered as if exposed to the sun. “I’ve yet to meet the King myself, but rumor has it he’s not an easy man to sway to action. Your presence may come in handy.”
Viktor shoved his hands in his pockets. “Always happy to help avert the end of days.”
Jett must have caught the edge in his voice, because he clapped a hand over Viktor’s shoulder. “We will save your friend. I know it isn’t easy given the circumstances, but you must keep hope.”
Hope? Viktor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hope was for children and the naïve, those who hadn’t experienced the worst of what fate might throw towards them. Viktor had washed his hands of frivolous concepts like hope and faith years ago. Men worthy of admiration didn’t sit around wishing for things to go their way; they forced their will into existence.