We reach a curved red door at the end of a dark hall, the only splash of color in an otherwise black palette. I wave my hand, and it clicks twice before opening. Immediately, we’re hit with the scent of sulfur and decay. I’ve smelled it thousands of times, but it never gets pleasant. The prison carries the tang of iron too, from centuries of spilled blood coating the floor.
“This way,” I direct and start down the spiral staircase. There are no sconces lighting our way, which is intentional. The prison was designed to confuse theprisoners and play with their senses. It’s impossible to navigate unless you know every single inch of this prison like I do.
It takes ten minutes to reach the bottom, far beneath the castle. The prison is a cavernous, sprawling expanse carved deep below the earth, its jagged, uneven walls glistening with a slick sheen of moisture. Torches flicker with an unnatural flame as I pass, casting eerie, shifting shadows. Chains dangle from the ceiling, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light. The temperature shifts from uncomfortably hot to painfully freezing, never allowing a body to get used to the extremes. Howls and screams from the imprisoned echo off the walls, creating a sinister melody of the damned.
I absolutely love it.
The prison is made up of multiple levels, all dealing different intensities of torture. Other kingdoms send their criminals here when they no longer want to deal with them or when they no longer have the capacity to punish them properly. We take in their prisoners eagerly, feeding on their hatred and fear. It’s a game for us. A spectacle.
But I digress into my own thoughts. We’ve come down for one purpose and one purpose only. The Nephilim. Five guards stand in front of a cage with bars crafted from bones and steel. It’s too dark to see inside the cell, but when I clap my hands, fire growls to life around the cell. Violent blue flames dance in the air, licking at the bars of captivity.
At first, the cell looks empty except for a pile of charred remains in the center. I don’t remember aburning taking place, but it’s not uncommon for my demons to take torture too far. Death happens. It’s a mercy, really. They are no longer suffering at our hands, but if these charred remains are the Nephilim I told to keep alive, these men will all die for defying my orders.
Luckily for them, the thing on the floor moves, elongating on the stone floor. What may have once been wings stretch out behind the creature. Black feathers sparsely decorate the appendages, giving hints at what once was. The creature is probably very tall, but the cage only stands at a height of six feet. Even sitting, the creature crouches, blood-red eyes boring into me.
A low hiss leaves the creature’s dry lips, followed by a growl that could only be described as frustrated. Possibly pained, or a mixture of the two.
“It has been a long time,” Ender says from behind me. His voice is wistful, far away as if thinking of a different time. Oh, to be able to slip into his mind. Even for a second…
“How did you capture it?” I take my eyes off Ender long enough to speak to the demon guard with red skin and emerald-green eyes. Brunoth, I believe.
Brunoth takes a step forward. “The creature was alone, straying away from the others. We did as you instructed, attacked as a group until the Nephilim fell. We drugged it to keep it unconscious until we got it here. It’s still drugged, but only enough to keep it docile.”
“So, the mighty do fall,” I comment. “Has it said anything to you?”
Brunoth nods. “Screamed a lot. But we haven’t been able to talk to it.”
“And you will not be able to.” Both our heads turn to the voice. Ender doesn’t meet our stares, continuing to look upon the captured beast. “Only Gadreel can communicate with you. This is just a soldier. They don’t communicate in the same way.”
“Ah, wonderful. We trapped the Nephilim for nothing.” I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t say that.” Again, his cryptic voice booms around us, drowning out the cries of the others. “I saidyoucouldn’t communicate with them.”
The Guardian speaks in riddles, but there’s always truth hiding in his words. I mull them over, tasting them on my tongue. Slowly, I say, “I cannot communicate with them.” Ender nods. “But someone else can.”
This time, Ender doesn’t speak.
Damn him.
“Ender—”
“I must go,” The Guardian says, stepping away from the fire. Perhaps it’s the lighting, but Ender looks paler than usual. His ashy gray skin is nearly white, and he lacks all decorum as he stumbles back. “Remember your contract with Miss Sinclair. I expect you to uphold it.”
I’m a demon. We deal in contracts and bargains. I’m fully aware of what I agreed to.
I don’t get the chance to say so because Ender has opened a portal. Magic and something darker hum from the other side. I yearn for the power to open portals to the human world like all kings of Mescos once before. Gadreel and the Nephilim took that away from us.
I watch Ender disappear, the other side engulfing his body until he’s nothing but a memory,emptiness where he once stood. Despite his abrupt departure, I got more than I hoped for during this short visit. His words replay in my mind over and over again.
I said you couldn’t communicate with them.
Perhaps I can’t, but I have a theory of who might.
Chapter 6
Isabelle
Meeting my future demon husband went…fine, I guess. That is definitely not a sentence I ever thought I would say, but here we are. Yet, as I walked away from the demon and Ender, I couldn’t help but feel…let down? That’s not quite the right word. Maybe underwhelmed.
