Page 131 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
His entire body tensed at her words. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”
“She’s dead?”
Braxia probably had already heard the rumors. “She left.”
“Hmmm, I feared that.”
“And she won’t be returning.”
Her lips pressed in disapproval. “Unless you win the trials.”
Alarm sparked through him, and he shoved aside the fragile hope that sparked inside of him. “No, she won’t.”
She sighed. “So clever, so calculating, and yet, you can’t see what has been building right under your nose for months.” Braxia’s voice turned condescending and she laid her palm on his arm. “I’m afraid the trial council has decided you are unfit to remain our king.”
She reached out with her free hand, and Zarathos felt something jab into the side of his neck. He jerked away, but he was too slow. Braxia held a small needle the size of a toothpick, covered in his blood.
He snarled.
Braxia retreated from the room. “May the best demon win, Zarathos.”
Rage seared his veins, and he lunged toward her, but she exited through the door, a lock twisting before he could reach her. He called for the shadows, but the room spun. He staggered, his thoughts scattering, his connection to the shadows dispersing with them.
The poison was taking effect.
“Welcome to the final round of the Demon Trials. Tonight we will see who is worthy to be our next king. Champions, be aware that flying in this round will have dire consequences.”
The cage door burst open, leaving a clear path into the arena.
The last trial had begun.
I can’t stay here.His breaths came fast, and he stared out into the forest that would no doubt mark his end. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he leaned against the wall with a low moan.Staying in this small room means death.
He pushed himself up and lurched into the arena. At least he might find a space beyond the tree line to hide. He headed for it, but it only appeared more distant—like it had moved. He staggered and dropped to his hands and knees, another moan escaping from him.
“Zarathos.”
He glanced up and a young demon boy stood just before the trees.
It was his friend. His only friend. “Casiel,” Zarathos murmured.
“You’ve betrayed me.” The boy looked at him with such recrimination that Zarathos shrank back.
“I’m sorry. I had no choice. I—my father—”
Hate shone in the boy’s eyes. He opened his mouth and shouted. “You’re a monster!”
Casiel turned and raced into the trees.
Zarathos extended a hand. “No, Casiel. It’s not safe.”
He forced himself to his feet, staggering forward, catching his weight against each tree. Casiel’s image flickered through his mind, steady, loyal, and undeserving of the pain Zarathos had brought him. Hehadto protect his friend now. It was the only way to begin atoning for the unforgivable.
What kind of creature harms the few who still believe in him?
A monster. A beast.
That was what he was.
