A League of Exiles

by Bella Forrest

  The wall itself faded into the ground at the bottom, revealing Draconis in all its frightening glory. It was an enormous dome carved into the black stone, with a permanent orange glow from the lava lakes surrounding it, stretching for hundreds of miles.

  “We managed to get in and out of Shaytan’s palace, after all,” Jax added.

  “While I find that impressive, to say the least, you’ll soon learn that Draconis is drastically different,” Davo replied, walking up an alley that led deep into the heart of the city.

  It looked different, compared to Infernis.

  Thousands of obsidian boxes covered dozens of square miles, with a network of narrow streets between them. I couldn’t see inside them because of the meranium panels on the inside, but they were laid out in a circular pattern, with several observation towers scattered across the city, probably for guards to keep an eye out. From what I could tell with my True Sight, there were several areas with open spaces, fenced with black stone walls and rolls of barbed meranium wire at the top—similar to prison yards.

  In the middle, there was a massive square block with thousands of small windows. I couldn’t see inside, most likely because it was made of meranium, despite its obsidian façade. Daemons didn’t make a habit of hiding something in meranium unless they wanted it fully secured and protected from outside influences. There were symbols carved into the metal skeleton of the building, as well as the smaller boxes throughout the city, most likely swamp witch magic. I recognized some of the writing from Shaytan’s palace—specifically the meranium box in which they’d kept Blaze and Caia.

  Death claws flew overhead, hissing and screeching as they monitored movement on the ground. Daemon guards patrolled the streets. The closer we got to the main prison building, the more daemons we saw, as well as giant generals with collared pit wolves.

  Four giant columns connected the ground to the domed ceiling, strategically built on the north, south, east, and west edges of the city, just before the lava lakeshores. They weren’t just support pillars, holding the ceiling up there—stairs were carved into them, spiraling all the way up. “Those are access routes into Kerentrith, right?” I asked.

  Davo nodded. “The main access routes, to be precise. The living quarters are on the outskirts of the city, mainly on the north and west sides,” he then explained, keeping his voice low as we walked. I did a quick scan of the area, looking for red lenses on any of the daemons, but the ones wearing some were farther to the east, and around the main building. We were in the clear for the time being. “That big building in the middle is the main penitentiary. We keep the common folk there.”

  “Define ‘common folk’,” Jax murmured, staying close to Hansa, right behind me, followed by Caia and Blaze. Fiona, Caspian, Pheng-Pheng, and I kept to the front, with Davo and Vesta leading the way.

  “It’s for Imen, mostly,” Davo replied. “We keep some of the lower-level daemons there, too. The ones who break the laws. Thieves and killers, mostly. It’s the main feeding ground for soul consumption.”

  “Aside from the fact that the whole soul-eating part still creeps the hell out of me,” I said, “I’m impressed to learn that daemons imprison their thieves and killers. However, for the sake of clarity, killers of what, exactly? Because I doubt it’s Imen, since your people love sucking the literal life out of them.”

  Davo scoffed, bitterly amused. “You are well entitled to ask that question. Daemons who steal from and kill other daemons. That is against our rule of law. We do not kill our own unless we have to. Unless they were sentenced to death. Unless they attack first.”

  “What about the smaller boxes?” I asked. “They’re all made of meranium and inscribed with swamp witch charms.”

  “Those are private prison cells,” Davo replied. “Daemon traitors—pacifists, such as myself—get private spaces. Other creatures, too. Exiled Maras we come across, who do not adhere to the alliance. Rogue Adlets, before they go into training.”

  “Training?” Hansa repeated, her brow furrowed.

  Davo sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Pit wolves aren’t born pit wolves. They’re Adlets, taken from their packs. They’re put in private cells and deprived of food and light of any kind, for a long time. Then they apply a series of swamp witch spells that eventually force them to transform. Their eyes turn red, and they lose their hair and their ability to shift back to bipedal form. Eventually they lose their minds, and then they get the collars and lose their free will, too.”

  My stomach sank, bile threatening to work its way up, as I realized the amount of cruelty inflicted on Adlets in order to turn them into pit wolves. Sleep, light, and food deprivation. Then torture through magic, chipping away at their very essence until all that’s left of them are mindless, broken beasts. Tears made my sight hazy. I wiped them away, cursing under my breath. I put my red lens back on.

  “Daemons need to go through the same ordeal,” I breathed. “Each and every one of them.”

  “It’s horrible, I know,” Davo replied, and I could hear the sadness in his voice. “It’s one of the reasons I started passing messages around for the pacifists, and ended up supporting them.”

  “Oh, wow. Jack!” Caia gasped. “Scarlett’s new friend. He’s an Adlet, then.”

  “Imagine her surprise, once they find an Adlet pack in Lagerith,” I scoffed. “Man, it’s going to break her heart, for sure. The poor thing.”

  “No wonder he was so eager to help her,” Caia said, and I could see the grief glowing out of her in painful shades of soft red.

  “So traitors get special treatment, then?” Jax asked, steering the conversation back to the boxes.

  “Yes. Thing is, the private cells are like luxury meals for the daemon lords and royalty,” Davo explained. “The rest of us feed off the souls of the common folk. Daemon traitors, Adlets, rogue Maras, and other creatures are kept in private cells.”

  “What other creatures?” Jax replied. “Dhaxanians? Manticores?”

  “Probably. I’m not sure,” Davo said, shrugging. “Technically speaking, I’m not allowed this deep into the city. I don’t know who else they’re holding in here. I’m only allowed in the penitentiary, and there are separate, designated corridors to access that. This is as far as I can go, I’m afraid.”

  He stopped, then stepped to the side. I spotted a red lens daemon coming in from the east side. “Hold that thought, Davo,” I whispered. “We need to go around the corner here for a few seconds.”

  Caspian followed my gaze, spotting the red lens daemon, then nodded and followed me behind the nearest obsidian box, along with the rest of our team.

  “What do I do?” Davo hissed, suddenly left on his own, out front.

  “Pretend you’re waiting for someone,” I shot back, then hid behind the box, just as the red lens daemon reached the alley and walked up toward the penitentiary—now less than a mile away from our location.

  He sized Davo up and frowned. “What are you doing here?” he grumbled at Davo, who instantly straightened his back.

  “Nothing. Just waiting for a friend to finish his shift,” Davo replied, his voice trembling slightly. He was clearly intimidated by the red lens daemon. I figured the higher-ranked daemons were feared among the others in the city.

  “Don’t hover around for too long. You’re not supposed to be here,” the daemon retorted, then continued his walk up the road. I inched forward, enough to see him turn a corner farther up the road, and out of sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, I came out of hiding and gave Davo a friendly pat on his massive back.

  “Well done,” I quipped. “Now, tell me more about why this is as far as you go.”

  “Didn’t you hear that guy?” Davo shot back, genuinely worried. He’s no Mose, that’s for sure. “I’m not allowed here. I guard the penitentiary, not the private cells. They’re very strict about this, and I don’t want to end up on the other side of a cell door. Trust me, our prisons are not a good place to be.”

  “So what do we do now,
then?” Vesta replied with a frown.

  Davo pointed at a box sixty feet up the main road. It was only then that I noticed the small number plates mounted on the western corner of each private cell box. That one was number 132. “Go to Cell 132,” he said. “You’ll find Velnias in there. I hear there’s a new prisoner coming in there today, and Velnias likes to greet them personally. He’s in charge of this entire block.”

  “Wait, Velnias is a warden here?” Vesta asked, her eyebrows raised with surprise. I found her reaction somewhat alarming.

  “I thought you knew whom we’re supposed to meet,” I said.

  “I do! I just didn’t know he got promoted,” she replied. “Last time I spoke to him myself, he was still somewhere on the outskirts of Draconis, cleaning the pit wolf kennels for a living.”

  “Oh, no,” Davo sighed, then pursed his lips. “Velnias moved quickly through the ranks. Now he looks after this entire block, and, from what I hear, he’s quite good at his job. Which is why I’m still finding it hard to believe that he’s a pacifist. Rumor has it he’s a sadist.”

  “Most daemons are sadists,” I said.

  “That being said, are you sure we can trust him, Vesta?” Jax replied, crossing his arms.

  Vesta nodded firmly. “Absolutely. I personally vouch for him.”

  “You shouldn’t vouch for anyone in this city. Not even me,” Davo said bitterly, shaking his head. “Anyway, Cell 132. Good luck. I’m out, before anyone else spots me here.”

  “Thank you, Davo,” Vesta murmured, giving him a warm smile. “Your brother would be proud.”

  Davo didn’t wait a second longer, and rushed back to the edge of the city. Just in time, too, as more daemon guards emerged from around the corner. Luckily, none were wearing red lenses. “Stand still,” I whispered.

  We all froze, quietly watching as the daemons patrolled down the street, cackling and trading crude jokes as they passed us. I exhaled sharply once they turned another corner, and got out of sight.

  “Okay, then,” Fiona said, wearing a sarcastically bright smile. “Let’s find out what’s behind door number 132!”

  Davo’s warning to Vesta had left me with a churning stomach. What if he was right? What if Velnias couldn’t be trusted after all? What if he’d been turned back on the daemons’ side, seduced with “luxury” souls and riches?

  There was only one way to find out. We had to check it out ourselves.

  Arming myself with courage and determination, and stealing a glance from Caspian for good measure, I nodded and boldly walked up the road toward Cell 132. “Let’s do this.”

  Fingers crossed, I guess.

  Harper

  We made our way up to the door of Cell 132, still unseen and wearing our red lenses. I briefly checked my backpack, to find the Ekar nestled and perfectly quiet inside. Ramin was truly a phenomenon. I made a mental note to check again later.

  To my relief, there wasn’t much movement in the main alley, but I could hear three voices inside. The meranium box was charmed, and, since I couldn’t see through its walls, I only had my hearing to rely on.

  “I don’t care whose arms you have to twist, just make sure he gets fresh meat every morning,” Velnias barked.

  The door burst wide open, prompting us to take a couple of steps back, then freeze as he gazed around the street. Velnias wore a military-style leather tunic, and he was twice the size of the two guards who followed him outside—both signs of his ranking superiority, along with the genuine fear imprinted on the other daemons’ faces.

  “Yes, sire,” one of the guards replied.

  “He may be a prisoner, but he’s important,” Velnias muttered, his hands behind his back. “We need to make sure he’s well fed. You never know how the succession order changes these days, if Shaytan’s in a horrid mood. I’ve seen him kill some of his sons for less. He’s clearly attached to this one. If, by some miracle—or, in others’ views, disaster—this one ends up being next in line for the crown, I certainly want to make sure I’m on his good side.”

  “Yes, sire,” the second guard said, nodding firmly.

  Velnias came across as abrasive and demanding, and, judging by the look on his face, cruelty was definitely one of his main traits. There was a glimmer I’d seen in creatures like him before—the spark of someone who’d inflicted great damage on others and didn’t mind doing it again. It filled me with doubt as to his usefulness in our mission.

  We stood there, quietly, watching and listening as he instructed the guards on how to keep the new prisoner secured and pleased—both equally important to him, it seemed. “If he requires a soul, speak to Mavis in the penitentiary,” Velnias said. “I hear he’s into eating the souls of murderers. I’m pretty sure Mavis can fix someone up for him.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “And don’t get too close to him,” Velnias added. “Keep at least five feet of distance from him. He’s extremely fast.”

  Noises up the road made him turn his head to find the source. His eyebrows arched upward at the sight of a small military convoy. A red glimmer caught my eye, and I instantly dashed over to our left, behind the meranium box. The rest of my team followed, and we hid from the two red lens daemons leading the convoy.

  There were eleven of them in total—two at the front with red lenses, six carrying a massive, covered cage, and two at the back, their weapons and shields out, closing the ranks. At the very front walked Cayn, the first of King Shaytan’s sons, his chin up and an insufferable smirk stretching his thin lips.

  He was a handsome devil, I had to admit, but with so much evil oozing out of him, along with that irksome sneer, I couldn’t look at him with anything other than disgust. He carried himself with great pride, half of his well-built frame covered in a luxurious black leather cape, gold medals around his thick neck, and a bejeweled scabbard attached to his narrow waist.

  “There he is,” Velnias muttered, visibly irritated. I had a feeling he wasn’t too fond of Cayn—and he wasn’t making an effort to hide that. At all. “Prince Cayn, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

  The convoy stopped in front of the open meranium box, and the daemon guards lowered the covered cage to the ground. Cayn placed his hands on his hips in a confident pose. “I had to deliver him myself.” He smirked. “This is the first time I get to put a brother in jail. I couldn’t deprive myself of such a pleasure.”

  “Ah, true. Your father prefers slitting your brothers’ throats, instead,” Velnias retorted, pursing his lips.

  Cayn chuckled. “He’s got plenty of them. I doubt they’ll be missed.”

  “I imagine their mothers might think differently.”

  “And who gives a damn about what they think?” Cayn spat. “They’re well dressed, well fed, and treated like queens for the rest of their lives. That’s more than any other daemon female could possibly dream of, in this land. They’re baby-making animals, nothing more.”

  My hands balled into fists. I struggled with the urge to go out there and punch his face until there was nothing left but a shapeless, bloody mass of broken bones and torn muscles. Caspian put a hand on my shoulder, then squeezed gently. We’d only just met, and yet he already knew what was bound to push my buttons. How could I not fall for the guy?

  “I’d love to hear you say that to your own mother,” Velnias replied with a grin, then changed the subject before Cayn could snap into an aneurism. “I trust he’s well behaved, Your Grace?”

  Cayn glanced over his shoulder, scoffing at the covered cage. “Like a collared pit wolf,” he said. “I doubt he’ll give you any trouble.”

  “Do you have any leverage on him? You know, in case he decides to pull a fast one on us. I hear he’s quite resourceful,” Velnias asked.

  “Father said not to, but I made sure nonetheless to let this scoundrel know what will happen to his mother if he irks me,” Cayn said, crossing his arms.

  Velnias nodded firmly, then motioned for his two guards to attend to the cage. “Don’t just sta
nd there, you stooges! Uncover the box, and let’s put our… guest into his new home!”

  “Just make sure all the charms are in place,” Cayn replied. “He’s a cunning bastard and knows his way around the swamp witch magic.”

  The two guards took their positions on both sides of the cage, then pulled the cover back, revealing Zane, the Seventh Prince. I held my breath, but Fiona barely managed to stifle a gasp, and quickly covered her mouth. We all stared at the cage, our eyes nearly popping out as we peeked from behind the corner.

  Zane grinned at the sight of Velnias, then casually stood up and put his hands out, while the guards removed the lock and opened the cage. “Velnias! Last time I saw you, you were cleaning up pit wolf crap in these kennels,” Zane said matter-of-factly. “I see your dedication has finally paid off to a better position.”

  “And better benefits, too, Your Grace,” Velnias replied, bowing reverently.

  Cayn rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, spare me the faux pleasantries. Zane is a criminal. He’s no royalty.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but, shackles or not, he is still the son of a king,” Velnias said, his voice smooth and sweet as honey, the complete opposite of his acid sneer. He really didn’t like Cayn and couldn’t resist any opportunity to make Shaytan’s firstborn feel miserable. Velnias may have been a sadist, as per Davo’s words, but he seemed like my kind of sadist.

  “You can kiss his ass all you want, Velnias,” Cayn retorted. “It won’t get you a general’s position!”

  “Now, now, Brother, we both know envy is not a good color on you.” Zane chuckled. “It’s not my fault that, even in a cage, I happen to be more likable than you. You know what they say about the firstborn, right?”

  Cayn stilled, blinking several times. Given the confused look on his face, he didn’t know.

  “I smell a solid burn coming,” I whispered, and heard Fiona chuckle softly, barely audible.

  “Ah, yes,” Velnias grinned.