Page 9 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
Smooth obsidian formed the vaulted walls of Zarathos’s castle. They jutted upward, resembling jagged shards driven into the earth, each spire slicing into the sky. It looked as though a volcanohad erupted and instantly hardened. Long, thin windows of crimson-stained glass cut into the rock like bleeding splinters. It lacked the carefully crafted stone and carved marble of many of the human and even some of the other demon castles, but it had a foreboding beauty all its own.
He landed on the ground and walked the short distance up the path to the front gates. He kept his shadow powers secret since abaddons weren’t known for having them, and few demons knew he possessed them, which was how he needed to keep it.
No other choice had existed except to show Aryana his abilities. A calculated risk, but he felt confident she didn’t understand its significance. And if she did, he held her bound by a bargain. In the end, revealing anything would only bring herself harm.
He glanced up at the guards that stood watch at the top of the wall. “By the blood of the fallen, I command this realm’s darkness.” Zarathos recited the pass phrase.
“Raise the gates, it is the demon arch king!” the guard on the wall shouted.
With a groan of iron, the portcullis rose, and Zarathos entered the courtyard, striding toward the massive obsidian doors of his home.
It seemed quite foolish, needing to give the code, but it remained a custom from a bygone age. A time when shapeshifters roamed the land and identity required proving.
But it was no longer needed. Zarathos’s father and the demons arch kings before him had eradicated the shapeshifters and the incubi who spawned them.
He pressed his teeth together. Zarathos’s father proved adept at that—eradicating those he didn’t like, and he’d taught his son to be as ruthless.
The guards opened the massive doors, and they swung wide with a loud bang. He walked into his castle. The molten stone continued within. Yet inside, the surface proved more refined, the rough parts removed. Braziers burned in every corridor, casting their glow alongside the occasional arched stained glass window that filtered in shafts of colored light.
“Ernon, Mils,” he called.
Two small, imp-like creatures materialized out of thin air at his side. Despite their child-sized stature, they were fully grown, their eyes wide and faces flat. Their ears fluttered in the manner of bat wings as they gazed at Zarathos, scurrying ahead to keep up with his long strides.
“You summoned us, your majesty?” Mils, the female, asked.
“I need you to fetch the soul-blood needle and the contraption I made to place it on a spinning wheel.”
“As you command, master,” Ernon, the male responded. They both bowed and they both disappeared in the blink of an eye. His little servants could only use magic to appear and reappear when Zarathos gave them an order.
The hallway opened into a spacious entry hall, where the two contestants from Kingdom Aeria stood. Their baggage at their feet told Zarathos that they had just arrived and probably awaited a castle attendant to guide them to their guest chambers.
The first was a gargoyle, large, muscular with a granite-like texture. His eyes shone, filled with anger, and his expansive wings hugged his back. Should he extend them, they’d likely fill the entry hall. He carried a variety of weapons strapped to his body. Ax, mace, and a mallet-shaped hammer that could squish any of the demons near him. Zarathos knew his name. He knew all the names of all those taking part in upcoming trials. Balafur.
Next to him, if not as big, then just as intimidating, stood Xaphoron. A full blooded abaddon. Though close in age to Zarathos, he was cousin to Zarathos’s father. He moved with an ease that showed his fighting prowess and superior agility, matching his gargoyle counterpart’s lethalness. Two broadswords were strapped to his waist. He piled yet another pack on the back of a sirin in front of him.
Despite a normal, humanish face similar to Zarathos, the sirin had feathers that started at his head and descended down the spine, as well as large wings which currently trembled beneath the packs that pinned them to his back.
“Come, Pohan. Stop being so lazy and carry your weight,” Xaphoron snarled.
The sirin, Pohan, opened his mouth to utter something but Xaphoron, with the speed of lightning, moved forward, grasping him by the throat and lifting him off his feet. “Do not speak. You may not say a word without my permission. Do you understand, kalator?”
Pohan struggled in his grasp, fighting to breathe, but somehow managed a nod. Xaphoron dropped him on the ground, his clawed nail prints showing up on the sirin’s throat.
“Quite the display those two enjoy putting on,” a soft female voice said from behind Zarathos.
He turned to face Vivane. Her round, lavender eyes gazed at him invitingly. That, along with the small horns that curled from her head and the thin tail whipping about her legs, marked her as a succubus. Her ruby dress plunged between her breasts and was slit to her waist.
He glanced at the contestants from kingdom Aeria. Already he was on alert because of his upcoming meeting. Seeing those who wanted him dead didn’t make it any better. “They’re deadly and power-hungry.”
“So are all the champions of the Demon Trials.”
That was true. The opening ceremony was only days away. The Demon Trials had been established centuries ago to bring stability to the rule of the demon arch king. Before that, demon rulers had waged endless wars—coup after coup—each vying for the crown. Now, every hundred years, the kingdoms agreed to compete for the throne through the trials. It had been largely effective in reducing attempts to overthrow the demon arch king. More or less.
As soon as Zarathos came to power after his father’s death, he’d begun searching for ways to neutralize each of the expected entrants of the upcoming trials. Except he hadn’t been able to trap either champion from Kingdom Aeria into a bargain. Observing them, he felt relieved to have a deal with Tigon from Terra Monstrum.
He didn’t need all the giant brutes coming after him at once.
Vivane shivered watching Xaphoron and Balafur. “Although, I’d hate to die by those monsters’ hands. Ah, well. Better to live while you can.” She approached, her gaze sparking suggestively. “How about we go to your bedchamber like we usually do and forget about what is looming for a while?”
