Page 52 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
She cast a glance at Zarathos. “Vampiresare ostentatious?” she asked incredulously.
A dark smile curled his lips. “I never said demons weren’t also ostentatious.”
They lingered in the shadows; the wind blew against them, dragging their scent out into the forest away from the demon fortress.
“As soon as we step out from our hiding spot, we are on stage.” Zarathos frowned at that fact. His gaze shifted to hers, the ring in his eyes glowing intensely. “There will be no going back. What is your decision?”
She could ask him to take it easy on her, but her bargain was to help him win the Demon Trials. And somehow she suspected that the opening ceremony would be the simplest part. They needed to put their best foot forward. She didn’t trust Zarathos, not ever, not fully. But she knew he was serious about the bargain, and he appeared invested sufficiently in her to make sure she didn’t die.
She wouldn’t like what was to come. But he had warned her, and for now, that was enough.
“I choose anything goes.” If it was for the sake of increasing her odds of survival, she could deal with whatever was to come.
He stiffened, and she saw the surprise creep into his expression. “You don’t want anything goes.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. You offered to let me choose. If that helps us most, then that is what I choose.”
He expelled a long breath, almost like a sigh. “Very well. Are you ready?”
“Probably not, but let’s get this over with.”
“As you wish.” He grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder. She gasped as his wings spread and her stomach plummeted as he launched into the air. As they rose on the wind, his voice murmured as a whisper on the breeze. “Prepare yourself, Aryana, for what comes next.”
When they landed, they were outside the castle. She didn’t speak while the guard let him through the gate.
As soon as they were inside the castle grounds, Zarathos dropped her from his shoulder, his hand weaving into her hair. He slammed his foot behind her legs, and she gasped as pain shot through her scalp as her knees hit the stone with a grating force.
A guard, a bat faced demon from Kingdom Inferna, stared in shock. “Your Majesty, you’re here.”
“You think I’d miss such a joyous occasion?” Zarathos sneered at him. He jerked on her hair. “This is my kalator. Take her to the dungeons and make sure Vivane gets her ready for the ceremony.”
The guard approached, surprise evident in his expression. “She is a vampire, sire.”
A cruel smile crossed his face. “Not just any vampire. She is the heir to King Fallor’s throne.”
The guard’s eyes widened as Zarathos held her, but didn’t yank on her hair again. He frowned at her, his jaw clenching. The look he gave her was one of cold loathing, and she had to fight the shiver that wanted to rush through her.
“Now do as I say and take her to Vivane,” he snapped.
“At your command, my king.” The guard drew his weapon and signaled to another demon standing nearby, and they circled Aryana. She studied the demons, fairly certain she could defeat both of them.
But Zarathos’s warning about revealing her fighting skills remained fresh in her mind. So she raised her hands and stood, letting them escort her away from Zarathos and into the palace.
The castle hallways were carved right out of the stone, inlaid with gold filigree in the arches. Heavy curtains concealed window alcoves, each with a bench tucked inside. Now and then, a curtain was pulled shut. Aryana wondered why until the low moans and drifting scents made the reason unmistakably clear.
The guards dragged her down a winding flight of stairs that wove in a spiral ever downward. Lanterns hung along the walls, flickered in and out of her vision like silent, silvery ghost-lights. They lead her down another hallway. Here there were no windows, and the walls were much less polished, no gold adornments to be found. Her feet scuffed on the dirty brown stone. They led her through a heavy door and down another flight of stairs, where she came upon a row of dungeon cells. Most of them were filled, extending in a strange, curved formation that reminded her of a half-circle.
Aryana expected to be thrust into one, but instead was taken into a side room. The guards released their death grip on her arm and left, slamming the door behind them. She peered around at the bare dirt walls and the odd stain darkening the stone floor, wondering if they’d deposited her in some kind of torture chamber. After a while, the entrance creaked open, and a female stepped inside, draped in a full-length ivory gown that clung to every curve.
She regarded Aryana with her eyes narrowed with disdain. “You appear as if you could use some help.” She threw a long silvery dress at Aryana, who caught it. “Put this on.”
Aryana studied the female. She had short horns that curved upward and a thin tail whipped out from an opening in the back of her dress. Her scent held a sweetness to it she had smelled before in her uncle’s kingdom. “Are you Vivane?”
“Does it matter? I don’t have time answering silly questions from demons who aren’t going to last five minutes in the arena.”
Aryana bristled. “I am a vampire. And I assure you, I will last more than five minutes.”
“We’ll see.”
