I watch her carefully. The dryness of her lips suggests she hasn’t eaten or drunk anything recently. There’s a shallow cut on her forearm that’s dried, but likely throbs. She notices my scrutiny, eyes narrowing, but she doesn’t protest when I pull a battered flask from a pouch at my side and hand it over.
She tips it to her lips, wincing at the bitterness. “What is this?”
“Water with a bit of demon’s root. It’s…an acquired taste, but it’ll keep you alert and promote healing.” I rarely share my supplies, but something compels me to do so now.
She nods slowly, taking another sip. Her eyes dart to my face, then away. “So what happens next?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
I drag a claw across the stone at my feet, thinking carefully. “We have choices. We could attempt to flee Vhoig entirely, though the city’s perimeter is heavily guarded. Or we could hide in Lowtown and slip away by sea on a cargo vessel.”
Her brow furrows. “Lowtown? They’d find us within hours if we hide in the place I used to live.”
A pang of anger roils in my gut at the mention of Lowtown. The elves’ cruelty festers there like a wound. “Possibly. Unless we pay the right bribes or forge false documents claiming you belong to a traveling merchant’s crew.”
Valentina snorts softly. “And who would believe that story, with a demon at my side?”
I concede her point. My presence, towering at eight feet with horns and a broken wing membrane, is hardly inconspicuous. “Then perhaps we go underground, literally. Vhoig has ancient tunnels from its earliest expansions—some are rumored to connect to older catacombs below the city’s temple district.”
A flicker of fear crosses her gaze. “That’s dangerously close to the Thirteen’s domain,” she breathes. “Isn’t it?”
I shrug. “The Thirteen dwell far deeper, if they even exist at all. But yes, it’s not a place for the faint of heart.”
She lingers on the thought, then shakes her head. “I’ll do whatever keeps us alive.” A weary laugh escapes her. “As if I have a real choice.”
I arch a brow, leaning forward. “You do,” I say quietly. “You can run on your own. See how long you last.” The words carry a note of challenge.
Her jaw sets. “I’m not suicidal. If I go alone, they’ll capture me in a heartbeat.”
Her frank admission stirs a reluctant respect. “Good,” I say, leaning back against the wall. “I’d hate to have wasted my time saving you only to see you die in some back alley.”
She bows her head, tucking hair behind her ear. Silence falls between us. The faint drip of water echoes from somewhere in the structure.
My mind drifts to the memory of that accursed ritual chamber, how the contract’s magic sank its claws into my core, demanding obedience. The fact that I resisted it this time baffles me. Usually, it cripples me with excruciating agony if I go against the King’s explicit orders. Perhaps it’s the swirling aura around Valentina that disrupted the summoning circle, giving me enough of an edge to break free.
I recall that moment when I touched her rope, severing it with a spark of dark flame. The sensation was reminiscent of anti-magic fields but…warmer, more alive. Something about her blood resonates with an older force. That alone could be crucial to unraveling my contract.
She notices my stare, her lips thinning. “What?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’m trying to decide if you’re worth all this trouble.” It’s meant to sound flippant, but the underlying question gnaws at me.
She doesn’t shy away. “I can’t promise I have answers to whatever you sense in me,” she murmurs, voice tight with fatigue. “But I owe you my life, so if you want me to do something—like figure out how to free you from the elves—then I’ll try.”
A flicker of heat coils in my chest at her words. She’s openly offering to help me. I want to sneer—demons don’t need help, we take what we want. But I’ve been pinned under the King’s yoke for centuries. If there’s even a remote chance she’s a key to unlocking that yoke, then I’ll seize it.
I allow a soft exhale, glancing at my molten veins that pulse with an inner glow. “We’ll see,” I say. “For now, rest. We’ll move when the city settles, or when I sense an opening.”
She nods, sliding down until she’s half-reclining against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes drift closed, wariness etched into every muscle. I keep watch, listening to the distant bustle of city guards combing the streets. Occasionally, I hear them calling out orders or rattling weapons. Each shout sends a prickle of tension through my horns.
Time crawls. My sense of day or night blurs. The gloom of this hideout provides scant light, and the only measure of time is the slow drip of condensation from the cracked ceiling. Valentina dozes fitfully, flinching at unseen nightmares. I remain awake, scanning the entrance, letting my demon senses reach beyond these walls. My body can endure days without sleep; my mind, however, churns with half-formed strategies and lingering questions.
Eventually, she stirs. A faint groan escapes her lips as she stretches. Cuts across her arms have reopened, leaving faint smears of blood on her tattered shirt. I shift, rummaging in a small pouch for a rag and a vial of disinfectant I pilfered ages ago.
“Here,” I say, handing them over.
She lifts an eyebrow but accepts, grimacing as she dabs at the wounds. “You’re surprisingly prepared for a demon,” she remarks, though her voice lacks malice.
I shrug one shoulder. “I’ve wandered these lands for centuries. I pick up a trick or two.”
She meets my gaze, brushing hair from her forehead. “Centuries… must be a lonely existence.”