Still not speaking, he reached over and squeezed her hand. After a bit, she raised her arm, pointing at a particular cloud.
“Look, a swan.”
Dephithus tilted his head to the side and frowned. “Looks more like a snake with a swollen stomach.”
“Gross.” Myara shoved him playfully.
“There,” Dephithus pointed out another cloud, “a horse head.”
“Oh, now I understand.”
Puzzled, Dephithus rolled onto his side and propped up on his elbow so he could look at her. “What?”
“All this time I thought you found a special lady, but now I realize you’re just infatuated with that horse your mother gave you.”
Dephithus rolled his eyes and pinched her side. She let out a squeal of surprise and squirmed away. With impressive agility, she twisted up onto her hands and knees and lunged at him, knocking him onto his back again. She sat on him then, pinning his hands over his head with hers and leaning down so her hair fell around his face, the bright sun streaming through it, making it glow.
“What? Aren’t you going to struggle?”
Dephithus shook his head, gazing deep into her golden eyes. “I was hoping you would take me prisoner.”
Myara smiled, then leaned down and kissed him. Her kiss was as demanding as his had been the first time, claiming his mouth with hers like it belonged to her. He kissed her with equal fervor, too absorbed with the taste of her lips to worry about how awkward his arousal was given her current position. When she pulled away, her beautiful gold toned skin was flushed, her eyes burning with a hunger he shared. She dropped down alongside him like she had run a marathon, then snuggled up close and lay her head on his shoulder.
Dephithus wrapped his arm around her, making his squeeze gentle, fighting down the raging desire that made him want to demand more of her. He again had an image of forcing her down and making her give herself to him. As strong as she was, he was still stronger with his dragonkin advantages. The image in his head was violent, and arousing, which only served to frustrate him more. Would she fight him if he tried for more or did she want him to try? Would he stop if she did fight?
The last question was the one that held him back. He was not sure he knew the answer.
“Dephithus, I don’t like those people you were with today.”
Dephithus shook his head. “Suva was just trying to get to you. She enjoys being unpleasant.”
“Not her. I didn’t take her seriously.” Myara chewed at a fingernail a few seconds before continuing, a habit she did not engage in unless she was very uncomfortable about something. “It was the one who asked you if you would introduce them to me. He looked at me in a way that made me feel… like a victim I guess.”
Every muscle in his body tightened with sudden anger. He had tried not to notice Darkin looking at her at the time. He was too worried about her taking Suva seriously to pay attention to the one who was more apt to be a threat. They had almost killed one another on the tower. A day of training together did not make the other youth any less dangerous, especially given that Darkin had blackmailed him into the training in the first place.
The angle was a bit awkward, but he managed to twist his neck around so he could kiss her forehead and gave her another gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t ever lay a finger on you.”
She shifted closer, pressing the length of her body against him, and closed her eyes.
*
They spent the rest of the afternoon together, chatting and picking on each other playfully, almost as if life had not changed. That evening they dined with his family. A tedious event primarily dominated by Mythan’s discussion of the Legion and an unending barrage of questions for Dephithus about practice and such things. Topics chosen because Mythan, like many others, was still trying to reconcile what had happened in Dalynay.
For Dephithus the meal was redeemed only by Myara’s presence. After dining they retired to their separate rooms within the palace, but sleep evaded him. He lay in bed for perhaps an hour then dug the key to the library archive out of a drawer and crept through the palace halls to the dark library.
Lighting a candle in the hall outside the library, Dephithus went into the big room and made his way to the back and under the stairs. The archive was no more welcoming now than it had been on his first visit, but he was getting used to the feeling of foreboding that met him in that dark space. He lit the candles in the room and sat in his usual spot that he had made more comfortable with a few cushions that had inexplicably disappeared from one of the palace sitting rooms. His mother had very solemnly announced that there was a thief in the palace the very day they disappeared. Mythan sent servants all over the palace searching for the missing cushions to no avail while Dephithus watched the entire drama with a bubbling of mirth that was hard to hide. Finally, Mythan had shrugged it off with a puzzled expression and ordered new cushions made.
Out of habit, Dephithus reached over and picked up the empty book of daemons. It put him ill at ease to see all of those empty pages in the book every time he looked at it, but he kept checking all the same. He did not really expect it to change, but he hoped that eventually he would discover some reason why this carefully bound and titled tome with no content had been hidden away in this room.
Opening the book to a random page he discovered it was now filled with neatly scribed words and almost dropped it in surprise. Dumbfounded he stared at the enigma in his hands. How could this be real? Books did not suddenly write themselves. Already on edge from the discovery, Dephithus nearly jumped out of his skin when something soft brushed against his arm. He looked down to see the black cat curling up on the edge of the cushion as though it had been expected there.
He set the book down, careful not to let it close in case the words were tempted to disappear again, and eyed his unexpected companion. Once it had settled in, the cat returned his regard with its odd gray eyes. There was no doubt about it when he looked into those eyes. They were the same color as those of the jorycat that had attacked them in Nunich.
“Sorry about your big brother, but he didn’t give me much choice.” Dephithus’s voice was unsteady, but he could not imagine that the cat cared.
The cat closed its gray eyes and a soft purring filled the room. Dephithus reached down then hesitated, his hand hovering just above the cat’s head. Should he touch it? Would it even let him? There was only one way to find out. Dephithus touched the black fur with his fingertips. The cat did not move, and the purring got a little louder. He stroked his hand along the cat’s back, delighting in the silken softness of its black coat. Perhaps there was something wrong with it that made its eyes gray, but it seemed harmless enough. He stroked the fur a few more times and waited to see if it would leave. The cat opened it eyes to look at him once more then let them drift closed again.
Setting the heavy book of daemons on his lap, Dephithus turned to the front page, holding the first page he had looked at open in case it was the only part with writing. Finding writing in the front as well, he let the later pages fall closed.
I would like to open this by acknowledging the courage of my four late colleagues who dared to join me in this field of study. I have overseen the burial of each as they met their deaths at the mercy of their subjects. I begin this final writing before the study is complete, as I fear my own grave will soon welcome me in its embrace. I think we all realized that pursuing the origins of the daemons and the power that spawns them, the daenox, was dangerous, yet we were also quite naive of the powers we faced when we began this quest. Over time, we learned that even the lesser-most daemons are capable of storing memories and, as we move up the scale, the greater daemons have the ability to use this information to form most ingenious traps for their prey.
The implications in the words of this nameless author sent a chill through Dephithus. He fell to absently stroking the cat as he read on, appreciating the soothing effect of its presence.
But then, I get ahead of myse
lf. We must begin at the start of this journey even at the risk of never reaching the end. Our purpose for this study was the hope of finding a way to exterminate the daemons roaming our lands. At one point, we speculated that these creatures were created by the cults worshiping the daenox, but it appears they are simply a manifestation of that power that needs no assistance in their formation. For this text, I will summarize each daemon form and then follow with actual journals from the study period given to that form.
Our first subject is the lowest form of daemon. This daemon form is much like a virus. It can be passed through contact with any infected substance, though humans seem to have some peculiar immunity to this form. Indeed, in our studies we were unable to infect a creature of mass any greater than a large dog.
Our theory is that this virus has a limited reproduction and may be able to infect larger creatures, but not thoroughly enough for the effects to be noticed. The primary symptom of this daemon virus form seems to be a drastically increased aggression. However, among the infected test subjects, no animal would attack another that was similarly infected, even in typical predator–prey type setups. For example, an infected cat would not harm an infected mouse or bird. Some of the other symptoms include a darkening of the skin and coat and discoloration of the eyes, often to a dark matte gray.
A violent chill swept through Dephithus, making the hair on his neck and arms stand up. His hand stopped midway down the cat’s back. The cat was watching him when he looked down at it. The purring had stopped, and there was a feeling of expectation crackling in the air around them. Those gray eyes, a dark matte gray, held an unnerving intelligence. He was like an infant floundering in his protective enclosure. Every book he had read so far agreed that the daemons were born of a sinister power called daenox, though some argued that the power itself was not ominous and only those who used it in foul ways gave it such a reputation.
Might this creature next to him be one of these daemon-infected beasts? Was this somehow because of him? He had heard often enough the rumors that his strange appearance was an ill-omen of dark days ahead. Might they have been implying that his strangeness was a sign of the daenox returning?
Dephithus pulled his hand away from the animal and stared at it with a horrified fascination. If the daenox were returning was this how it would do it? Appearing a little at a time, starting with the lesser daemons and moving up to…to what?
He turned back to the book to find out more when one of the earlier lines of text caught his eye. It said that infected creatures, such as this cat if it were such, were extremely aggressive except toward other infected creatures. If this cat was truly infected with the daemon virus form, why did it not attack him?
Dephithus stared at the cat again and the animal rose up on its front legs enough to rub its cheek against his arm. He did not find the gesture at all comforting.
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the weeks that passed the daenox seeped out more and more, bringing with it many lesser daemon forms. Periodically, when Amahna would go to Kithin to indulge Kara with a visit to her family and friends, they would get news of strange attacks in the neighboring towns and villages. Kithin itself suffered no attacks because of the alliance with Theruses, but, elsewhere, it would continue to get worse as the weeks wore on and the daenox-seed in Dephithus grew stronger.
Amahna might have taken pleasure in the progress if it were not for Theruses. His pleasant temper had vanished of late and had been replaced by ceaseless irritation and more restless pacing. Servants darted from rooms in the cave when they knew he was coming and even his more valued minions were becoming wary of his presence. Almost no one dared to speak of it aloud, though Rakas, who seemed to have lost a bit of his good sense over the last few months, would make occasional comments about it. What angered Amahna the most when he brought it up was how he expressed mock sympathy for her position. He appeared to take some sick pleasure out of reminding her of how Theruses favored her and how she would probably suffer from his moods the worst because of it.
Today, Amahna had gone to Kithin, giving in again to Kara’s persistent pleading that they pay a visit on her family. Kara always wanted Amahna to go to the village with her. The young woman was proud of her position within the cave and loved to show off to the other less fortunate villagers how she had been chosen by someone so close to Theruses himself. She was the current envy of the town. Amahna, with Theruses in his mood and Rakas tormenting her when he was not sulking, enjoyed the trips to the village. She was almost reluctant to return to the cave this time, but she could not allow any such hesitation to show in front of Kara, so she returned to the cave with the same confidence in her stride that she left it with.
“It must be wonderful to be his favorite.” Kara said, her tone reverent as they entered the mouth of the cave.
“It is a great honor, but don’t envy me my position. You must always remember that being close to him means I suffer his turns just as you do mine.”
Kara smiled, adoration plain in her young face. She was much too young and naïve for the deceptions of this twisted world she had been brought into. “Your temper is as beautiful as your smile, my lady. I think Theruses is much more frightening when he is upset than you could ever be.”
Amahna stopped, taking hold of the youth’s chin gently and placing a soft kiss on her lips. Kara pressed into the kiss and a shiver passed through her. Anticipation of more perhaps. Stepping back, Amahna smiled. “I could not have found a better attendant if I had searched the world over. Go now.”
Her face beaming like a proud beacon in the dimness of the cave, Kara curtsied and trotted off down the first passage on the right. Amahna watched her leave, waiting with forced patience for the presence she had sensed to show itself. Rakas stepped out of another, darker passage, his hands clasped before him to hide the faint shaking that plagued him constantly now. He looked so weary she almost pitied him. Almost.
“Theruses was looking for you.”
What was left of her better mood melted away like ice dropped in a fire. “He should have known when I left. He can feel that.”
“He should have, yes.” There was a certain unnerving warning in the faint tremor of his voice. “Still, he was looking.”
The usual indifference and hatred he had displayed toward her of late was gone. He sounded fearful at best, like someone who had narrowly escaped death and wanted nothing more than to put it as far behind them as possible. Was the shaking in his hands worse today? His unease weighted down the air around them so much that she almost expected him to bolt for the exit. It would not have surprised her much. However, Rakas displayed remarkable willpower, standing patiently to wait on her.
Did he have orders perhaps? She was not going to let him get to her. “Is there something else?”
“Theruses expects you in your bedchamber immediately.”
“Are you here to escort me?” She could not keep the venom from her tone. Did Theruses dare imply that he could not trust her? She stamped down on that thought quickly, chastising herself for her own impudence. Theruses dared whatever he wished.
“No. Nothing would appeal to me less. I simply intend to see that you go the right direction. We both know the daenox will kill me eventually; I don’t think Theruses would hesitate to speed up that process in his current mood.”
Amahna gave a curt nod. He was right, not that it mattered much to her. Donning a mantle of false confidence, she strode off down the appropriate passage with Rakas shadowing her. Despite his denying the intent to escort her, he remained a few steps behind up until the last branch to her chamber, then he vanished through a narrow opening in the opposite wall.
Her resolve weakened quickly once she had no one to put on airs for so she had to take the last several steps on force of will alone with a heavy lump of dread in her gut dragging her down.
In her bedchamber, or what passed for one in the cave, Theruses stood with his back to the entrance. All his muscles were taut like a predator about t
o spring, and she could not bring herself to speak lest she should startle and enrage him. It seemed that whatever was bothering him had upset him to the point that it was affecting his awareness. Never, in all her years in the caves, had she gotten this close to him without him noticing her presence. She knew that the longer she held her silence the more his wait would irritate him.
“My lord.” She bowed her head as she spoke, sinking to her knees.
Theruses turned, growling as he did so, his tail lashing out behind him like a whip. “You make me wait.”
He turned away from her again and she searched her mind frantically for something that might please him. Would it anger him if she rose without awaiting his leave? What would please him? He expected something from her.
Her insides trembling to mush with the rattling of her nerves, she stood and walked up behind him. She spoke slow to keep her voice steady. “Many of the lesser daemons have gone free, my lord. It cannot be long before you can leave here too.”
“A while yet, for me.”
There was a hint of a growl in his voice and she hesitated, running her words back in her mind to search for something in them that would have upset him more. She could think of nothing she had said wrong. He should be pleased with the progress they were making toward freeing the daenox completely. “Is something not right, my lord?”
Theruses turned to face her and she flinched before his cold black stare. “Why do you ask?”
Was he baiting her? Trying to get her to say something she would regret?
“You seem… agitated.” Afraid, she thought, now that she could see his face. Amahna glanced quickly away, terrified that her thoughts might show through. No one accused their lord of being afraid, not even in their own head.
Theruses grabbed hold of her jaw and turned her face to him. As he stared down into her eyes, his grip began to slowly tighten, creating a painful pressure. Her instincts screamed at her to fight and run, but there was no escaping Theruses. She could only hope to avoid his wrath by submitting. One of his pointed nails began to cut into her cheek, squeezing tears of pain from her eyes.
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