by K. L. Thorne
HESTAESIA
Book One
Lost in Love
Prologue
War. The frozen plane of Hestaesia was consumed by it. They say there was once a time when faerie and demon were one, but anyone with any recollection of that fact had long since turned to dust. The plane was split in two.
Scholars would say it started with 'The Great War': the very first conflict that made it onto parchment.
Tensions had grown to breaking point between the two factions and the faeries’ greed had overwhelmed them. Demon villages had been pillaged, raped and burnt to the ground. Children were orphaned. Bodies hung from trees throughout the kingdom.
Demons were a proud race and they respected the hierarchy of royalty unquestioningly. It had been their downfall. Though they fought valiantly, their physical might had not been enough to best the wily majicks of the faerie people.
The head of the demon king had been sliced clean from his shoulders and the entire populace felt the pain as if it had been their own. When the king fell, his people swiftly followed.
The faerie king, enthralled by his victory, knew nothing of the demon maiden clambering desperately from a dusty cupboard, the dirt on her face streaked with tears.
The demon king had hidden her, sensing his imminent demise.
Though she had pleaded with him not to leave, he had dismissed her with sorrow in his expression, instead choosing to place a long kiss against her mouth before wedging the cabinet shut.
Through the wooden door, the proud king had begged her to remain hidden until she was certain she was safe. He had told her he loved her and then he had gone – heroically facing his fate.
With their king dead, the demons stopped fighting. Their flame had been extinguished and the first of many wars was lost.
All their worldly possessions were stolen from them or burnt to cinder. They shrank back, locked out in the cold by the mighty walls surrounding the proud faerie capital – Awrelwood.
There, the faerie king sat in his bejewelled throne room, sharing his newfound riches with his people. As fine fabric, delicious delicacies and exotic paintings flooded the city, the plight of the demon people was quickly forgotten. Those who had disagreed with the king's methods had been easily silenced, won over with elaborate bribes.
Whilst the faeries revelled, the demons wallowed. Disease ran rampant through the crowded slums of their new home, Banesteppe.
Like wounded dogs, they hid in the shadows lamenting their fate, unaware of the small spark of hope that was blooming within the womb of the pregnant demon maiden.
∞∞∞
Three decades passed...
“You summoned me, Brother?” Cirro Goldwyrm approached the throne with his head bowed. He swept the heavy, elaborately decorated velvet coat he wore behind him and knelt before the king.
King Lazuli, leader of the faeries, had his back turned, gazing out at the dying sunset. He compulsively ran his hand over his fair, neatly trimmed facial hair, deep in thought.
“The demons grow restless. I fear their rebellion is only growing in momentum.”
“You have guards posted at every corner. There are nightly raids on drinking establishments and innocent dwellings... You've made quite a reputation for yourself amongst the demon populace, Lazuli. What outcome were you hoping for?” Cirro shook his head, his brow creased with concern.
They had not seen one another for many months. Cirro was curious to see if the rumours of his brother's madness held any truth. He got to his feet, quietly appraising his brother.
Lazuli span on his heel. “For submission! They threaten all we have, all we know. Do you wish for an uprising?”
“Of course not.” Cirro glared, holding his brother's molten gaze. “I wish for a safe and happy life for my daughter. For everyone's daughters. I believe the demon king–”
“He is not a king!” Lazuli roared, spittle flying from his mouth like venom. His large golden wings fluttered ominously.
“Apologies, Brother. I did not mean–” Cirro dipped his head.
“I know. The nights... They are long and filled with worry in my household at present. My nerves are frayed.” The king sighed, running his palm over his face.
“I understand.” Cirro paused. “But you called me here for my counsel. Please, I believe the demons only want equality.”
“Equality.” Lazuli snorted. “And where, pray tell, would we find the funds for that? We’re barely keeping the economy afloat as it is.”
“War is expensive, Lazuli. More expensive than a potential compromise.”
“Ah, but war is easy. War is simple.”
“The demons will fight, you know this as well as I do. Tennul Dawnoaken is of royal blood; it has been confirmed by our scouts and inside operations. If we go to war with them, they will fight for him.”
“Demons...” The king's voice dripped with contempt. “Like cockroaches they continue to spawn. We were assured the last of the royal bloodline had been terminated. Our father–”
“Our father clearly missed something,” Cirro interrupted. “Tennul is not mated as far as we can tell, so at least we have that on our side. He may be the very last living link.”
“Then we need to act fast, before the beast gets to rutting on anything.” Lazuli sneered with disgust.
“Tennul does not want war. The demons only want basic rights: medicine, a regular supply of fresh produce and water, the right to practise majicka–”
“Never! Those foul creatures would taint the very core values of majicka. I doubt their dense brains could even master the skill at all,” the king shouted.
“Forgive me, but–”
“How exactly have you become privy to all of this insider information about the demon prerogative, Brother?” Lazuli narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“Genevieve and I have held counsel of our own with the demon kind. We've been to the slums. We've spoken with the people... The innocent people.”
“Cirro.” The king paused, pinning his brother with a fiery gaze. “Where does your loyalty lie?”
“With you. Always with you, Lazuli – you know this. Please do not mistake my actions as a lack of loyalty to you. I can promise you, it's the exact opposite.” He bowed his head, casting his eyes away.
“Explain,” the king barked.
“I simply believe we can address the issue, this uprising, without bloodshed. War is an expense we cannot afford. As you rightly said, the funds are dwindling.”
Lazuli turned his back, but waved a hand in the air, silently allowing his brother to continue.
“The demon king has actively made his presence known.”
“A careless move,” the king grated.
“No – a bold one, Lazuli.” Cirro shook his head. “Don't you see? The demons have given away their biggest secret. Their king has made himself known to us and they do not fear the outcome. I genuinely believe Tennul wants a peaceful compromise, but believe me... He is clearly confident that he will win if it comes to war.”
“A valid point. Maybe it's time to take a leaf from the Goldwyrm family history book,” the king muttered thoughtfully. “Cut the head from the snake, as it were.”
“And if two more replace it?” Cirro argued. “Have you learnt nothing from ages past?”
“I've learnt from our father's mistakes. Every last drop of royal demon blood will be spilt. I will burn the whole damn city to the ground to ensure it!” Lazuli shouted and bright flames of majick sparked to life in his palms.
“No Brother, that's not what I–” Cirro stammered.
“Your counsel is no longer required, Cirro. As always, you have helped me see a clear path of action.” Lazuli turned and smiled with an unnerving glint in his
eye.
“Lazuli!”
“Guards? My dear brother is no longer required here. Please ensure he has a safe journey home.”
Two guards strode forward to Cirro's side. The faerie sighed heavily, not fighting against his brother's will. He knew the man well enough to know it was a pointless endeavour.
As Lazuli turned his back once more to gaze out at a fiery sky, Cirro allowed his brother's guards to escort him away.
“Oh, and one last thing, Cirro.”
“Yes, Brother?”
“You and your dear wife would do well to stay out of demon business. It casts doubt over your loyalties. I don't like doubting my own brother,” he said, a menacing tone creeping into his voice.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Cirro bowed his head defeatedly.
The heavy golden throne room door creaked as it was heaved open. The king's brother was unceremoniously thrown out into a cold, dark corridor.
CHAPTER ONE
“You sure are pretty, y'know that?” Oriel slurred, leaning in to brush a rather buxom demon barmaid's hair from her face.
Typically, she was putty in his hands, as all women were. She blushed a delicate shade of pink and smiled seductively at him.
“She's pretty, isn't she, Lephas?” Oriel shouted over. Lephas took a swig from his flagon and rolled his eyes.
“Sure she is, Oriel. Sure.” He played along, knowing from experience that he was being dragged into this conversation whether he wanted to be or not.
Lephas scanned the crowded brothel, keeping his eyes on the patrons. The demon prince was busy whispering unknown filthy sentiments into the barmaid's ear and was far too intoxicated to care about any risks to his safety.
Lephas, as his special ops commander, was considerably less distracted.
He had known Prince Oriel since they were teenagers. The prince hadn’t had any qualms about bursting into Lephas’s mother's inn that fateful eve, announcing he was the son of the late Tennul Dawnoaken, King of Demons, and required a bed for the night.
Lephas's mother, being the old-fashioned type, had cut him a deal. Lephas had barely believed his eyes as he'd watched the prince of their kingdom do the dishes before he was allowed free board.
Oriel had stayed with them for several years after that, working in the inn to earn his keep.
The boys had been fast friends, Lephas having always been the uptight, disciplined type and Oriel being his polar opposite. Whilst Oriel got them into a fair few scrapes, Lephas didn't doubt he'd have also missed out on a lot of fun if Oriel hadn't been around.
Oriel had been there for him through thick and thin. When Lephas's mother had died, an infected wound claiming her too soon, his friend had been there beside him. Though he hadn't shown it, Lephas knew the death of his mother had affected Oriel almost as much as it had himself.
He glanced across at his friend, grimacing at the sight he was met with. Oriel had his tongue down the nameless barmaid's throat and his hand up her skirt.
A standard night for the prince. Lephas shook his head and turned away.
A ripple of unrest in the crowd caught his eye and Lephas sat up, his hand on his sword hilt hidden beneath his cloak.
“Oi! That's m’woman!” A large, sweaty demon barrelled towards them. Lephas glanced across at Oriel – the prince was still completely unaware of his imminent ambush.
His barmaid was less single than she had first let on, it seemed. Lephas rolled his eyes and got to his feet, nudging his friend as he did so.
“What?” Oriel asked, finally coming up for air.
“Incoming.” Lephas strode forward to intercept the large, angry demon. “Sir, tread carefully...”
The crowd parted and fell silent; the band stopped playing. A room full of demons curiously watched on.
“I dun care! Wha’ does he fink he's doin' wif m’bird?!” the demon yelled.
Lephas casually wiped a speck of spittle from his cheek. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder. Oriel was at his side.
“Fuck me! She's not with you, is she?!” Oriel grinned. A vein popped in the demon's forehead.
“Oriel...” Lephas warned, putting an arm between his friend and his ugly assailant.
“Aye, she is, ya cheeky prick!” the demon roared. “I should knock y'teef out!” He stepped closer and Lephas prepared to release his sword from its sheath.
Oriel was beside him one second and then somehow in front of him, stepping toe to toe with the demon the next. Lephas gaped and attempted to get between the two men. Oriel held out a hand.
“I got this, Lephas.” He jerked his chin forwards. “This ugly fucker clearly needs reminding who he's talking to.” Oriel's wings, though folded back, fluttered ominously.
“Oh, no,” Lephas groaned.
“I have to say, if she is with you, it explains an awful lot. No wonder she was enjoying my attentions so much, the poor flower,” Oriel goaded, licking his fingers.
The demon roared with rage and lunged for the prince. In a flash Oriel had side-stepped his advance, sending the large demon plummeting into the table behind him. Glass shattered and women squealed, leaping for cover.
The prince's dark velvet wings popped open, helping to steady him.
“Faerie! He got faerie wings!” a nameless oaf shouted, and all hell broke loose.
Suddenly the crowd was wrestling desperately, trying to escape. Lephas was knocked backwards into a wall by the panicking patrons.
The large, lumbering demon was back up on his feet – dark blood streaming from his nose.
“You gon’ regret that, faerie faggot!”
“Boy, that's original,” Oriel quipped. Lephas saw the tell-tale twitch in his prince's cheek.
Now Oriel was angry.
Lephas knew the faerie wings were a sensitive topic with his friend. Anyone who knew anything about King Tennul knew his eldest son, Oriel, was part faerie. Something Oriel hated about himself and rarely spoke about.
Though he was hornless, Oriel looked mostly demon, but he deliberately kept his faerie-like wings folded in as much as he could. He said it was to attract less attention, but Lephas had a hunch that the prince was ashamed of them. It was only when Lephas had begun to spend a lot of time around Oriel that he had noticed the little details... The subtle faerie traits that betrayed his true lineage.
“C’mon ’en, Faerie Princess, show me wh–” the bloodied demon goaded.
Before he could finish his sentence, Oriel had launched a full-force punch at his face. The demon dropped like a stone. He was out cold.
Lephas fought his way to his friend and grabbed his shoulder. Oriel was shaking his hand, rubbing his knuckles.
“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Lephas yelled over the commotion.
“Yeah...” Oriel paused, glancing around. “Have you seen my drink?”
“Oriel!” Lephas exclaimed, exasperated.
“Yeah, yeah, okay – let’s go.” The prince shrugged and allowed Lephas to escort him out onto the dark streets.
The snow was falling heavily but the cobbled streets were too damp for it to stick. Instead it just turned all the murky puddles thick and slushy.
“Did you have to?” Lephas asked with a heavy sigh.
“I dunno, it wasn't really worth it.” Oriel shrugged, still rubbing his fist. “I thought a big fella like that would put up more of a fight, to be honest.”
“Come on...The inn isn't far from here. Thankfully I know you well and picked one that wasn't going to be too much hassle to drag your drunk ass back to in the wee hours.” Lephas steered his drunk friend down a side street. Oriel stumbled carelessly, but the commander continued to drive him forwards.
“Your brother isn't going to be happy to hear about this. You know that, right?” Lephas sighed.
Oriel let out a short laugh. “Oh, what a shame.”
“I don't suppose he'll be that surprised though,” Lephas continued.
“Hey, c'mon, don't be like that... Are you my friend or his?” T
he price scowled. He looped an arm around Lephas's shoulders and leant on him.
The pair trudged on towards the inn they were staying in, and Lephas fought to keep his friend upright.
“You must know Zelrus won't be happy to hear you've started another bar fight?”
“Zelrus–” Oriel hiccupped. “Zelrus is never happy about anything I do, Lephas! But I'm better at fighting than him, so he keeps me around.”
“And you're his brother.”
“Yeah, that too... But mostly because he's shit at fighting! I whooped his ass when we were kids, I'd whoop his ass now!”
“That's the king you're talking about.”
“Maybe to you... To me, he's just my punk-ass little brother.” Oriel sighed.
The two walked in silence for a few long moments.
“I was kinda hoping that barmaid was coming back with me tonight – before that prick ruined it,” Oriel mused. “I could have done with some action.”
Lephas laughed. “Don't act like you're hard done by! You get laid a lot. I'm sure one night off won't hurt.”
“Hey, don't be hatin'. I always try to snag you one too. It's not my problem you never take me up on my offer.”
“Excuse me if I don't want your cast-offs!”
“Pft, they're not my cast-offs. It'd be weird to double-dip the same girl.” Oriel grimaced.
“Oh man, please tell me you didn't just say that.” Lephas laughed, shaking the prince off his shoulders as they approached the inn.
“I'm just saying, a lot of the chicks I bag have friends,” Oriel slurred.
“You are so not fit to be prince of our race,” Lephas muttered under his breath, but grinned and gestured to the building as they approached. “We're here.”
The prince turned and looked up at the heavy wooden sign erected above the door. He squinted and closed one eye.
“The... Yew Tree? So we are!” Oriel pulled the door open and brushed the snow off his shoulders. “Coming?”
“You go on ahead. I'm going to stay here and just make sure we weren't followed by any of ugly's angry friends back there. As much of an asshole as you are, I'd rather you weren't garrotted in your sleep.” Lephas grinned, rubbing his palms together and blowing warm air onto them.