Chapter Twelve
As creaking wooden carts careened past, the gravity of my situation set in. I stood once more on the streets of Lantyca, surrounded by crude stone constructions lit with lanterns and crimson-skinned devils who bore sharp horns and sharper grins.
Fire-maned horses pulled their wagons. Packs of demonic hounds trailed parties leaving the city. I shuddered at the sight of them. Ruby sigils shone on their skin, reminders that they’d once been human. They had been forever changed, cursed to be tools for Sitri’s use.
If I wasn’t careful, I would wind up among them.
I turned, watching as Sitri directed his underlings up ahead. He demanded that I stay by his side, so I didn’t pull any more stunts, or so he told me.
When we first met, he’d welcomed me as a guest. I wasn’t a guest anymore.
Now, I was his prisoner.
The conversation wrapped up, and Sitri returned to escort me. He carried an uncharacteristic grimness, so unlike the playful, predatoryPrince I’d known. Even his appearance had changed overnight. He hadn’t bothered to replace his ruined armor. Sitri dressed in a plain white shirt and brown leggings, with a long black coat over top. His inky hair had grown unkempt, as if he no longer cared to groom it. He seemed disheveled. Neglected. I couldn’t have looked much better.
It took me hours to scrub the blood from my skin, and without a mirror, I didn’t know if I’d gotten it all. Hours spent crying on the floor and a long, sleepless night hadn’t helped my appearance.
And then there were my wounds. Bruises bloomed along my right side. My shoulder stiffened where demon claws had pierced it. Despite my efforts to bandage the punctures with rags, bits of blood still stained my shirt. I might have looked worse than the Prince did.
“How much further?” I asked, glancing at the departing demons. I trailed them with my eyes as they returned to the busy streets. Once they’d disappeared amongst their kin, I released the breath I’d been holding.
“Not far,” Sitri said, waving for me to follow. “It’s just a few minutes’ walk now. Keep up, darling.”
I sighed and fell into step behind him. When I had agreed to build him weapons, I hadn’t expected to tag along for his errands, too. It was better than being locked up in his mansion all day, but only barely.
Sitri led me through the city streets and towards a grand workshop. Many of the buildings were made of wood, but this one was all stone, save for its door. Sitri unlocked it with a key from his ring and waved for me to enter.
I raised my eyebrows as I stepped inside, surprised to find it lit. Glowing lanterns dangled from the rafters. Wooden work tables lined the walls, and rows of gleaming silver tools hung above them on the walls. I glanced from one to the next, unsure where to start.
“You think you can work with weapons?” Sitri flashed me a smirk. “Let’s put you to the test. Show me what you can do with this.”
He swept past me and pulled his revolver from its holster. Hepopped the barrel out, set it on the table, and slid it over to me.
I drew a shaky breath as I caught it in my hands. The weapon was a thing of beauty. Its grip had been carved from some sort of horn, and the black finish on its metal shimmered in the firelight.
It would have been even more beautiful if not for the grime and crimson crust that coated it.
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“Why don’t you start by cleaning it?” Sitri said. “Oh, and once you’re done, I’d like to know how to make another one. Surely Vapula’s runaway scholar should be capable of that, no?”
My eyes locked on Sitri, drinking in his smug grin and mischievous gaze. This was the Prince I’d come to know, complete with his shameless audacity, and his jab struck true. I turned away with a scowl. I had to focus, to suppress the anger bubbling up inside me, and Sitri’s huff of amusement warned me I’d already failed.
Shaking my head, I stuffed that anger down and reached within myself to the place Vapula had altered. I called. His gift answered.
Sitri watched as I selected a few tools from the wall—a screwdriver, a cloth, and a glass bottle full of clear oil. Then, I set to work. As I handled the weapon, tinges of its filth rubbed off on me. The sticky, gritty muck on my hands made my stomach churn.
“How long has it been since you cleaned this thing?”
Sitri shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, half a century if I had to guess. Longer, perhaps.”
The Prince’s scowl now mirrored my own. He propped his head up on his elbow to watch me work, visibly unhappy with how I handled his weapon.
“Frankly, I can’t believe it fires anymore,” I remarked. “This is going to need some serious repairs if you want to rely on it in combat.”
I peeled back components, taking in the full extent of the damage, running my thumb over the pits and dents worn into the pistol byneglect. Sitri winced when I selected a metal brush to scrub them out. I turned my head. Our eyes met, then he looked away.
“Firing aside, can you replicate it?” he asked.
