Page 100 of The Demon Crown

Gluttony hissed out a long breath. “I’d always wondered how he managed that.”

“It made her immortal,” he continued. “It made her stronger. It healed her, every battered part of her body. Like magic. Better than magic. It was a gift that this spirit gave a woman who had fed it beyond any other. I will not lose her, Gluttony. I will not see Varya age or die because I was not willing to risk a few mortals.”

And there it was.

The ugly underbelly that Gluttony had mentioned. The darkness inside him that whispered for him to tear this entire kingdom apart if it meant she would stay alive and well.

He’d take whatever she could give him. He was greedy for it. He wanted her hatred, her love, her passion, her pain, all of it. It was all sweeter than any nectar or honey he’d drank in his life and he didn’t care how fucked up that was.

If he had to endure her hatred for a hundred years, just for a taste of her love, then so be it.

He lifted the jar to the sunlight, watching the golden rays play through the green spirit. “You are going to be her salvation, little one. I will feed you now, and then you will join with my queen.”

It shuddered in the jar, but then seemed to still. Almost as though the spirit was considering what he said, even if it was frightened.

“You will be her savior,” he breathed. “Or I will return you to the desert and you can seek out the end of your life here.”

In the end, it was no question what the spirit would choose.

ChapterThirty-Five

Wiping sweat off her brow, Varya let her sword drop toward the ground. She could keep going—she swore she could—but they’d been going at it since this morning and her shoulders were screaming.

It felt better than wallowing in that damned room, though. At least she was out in the training yards with the sun on her back and sweat drenching her clothing. Morag didn’t care about sweat. Neither did anyone else who had gathered to watch them fight.

She’d thought she was quite good at fighting. Varya spent a lot of her life learning how to be scrappy, how to fight when she needed to, and how to convince others to fear her. She knew how to crawl her way out of the dirt, how to take a punch, and how to punch back. All of that was as deeply ingrained in her as breathing.

She’d been so wrong.

Morag fought like a dream. Her entire body was lithe and quiet, moving and looping through stances as though the muscle memory alone guided her. And she was damn hard to pin down. The other woman moved like an eel in her arms and made it almost impossible to hold her.

Varya had managed for only two full seconds before Morag and thrown her clear across the arena and then slapped her hard across the back with their wooden swords.

But even though she should have been angry, or perhaps embarrassed that she’d been bested so thoroughly, Varya could only stare at the other woman in awe. She could learn a lot from a warrior like this. More than any other person had ever taught her.

Clearing her throat, Varya coughed a few more times to clear the dust out of her lungs before reaching out her hand. “Again, tomorrow? Same time?”

“I have guard duties, you know,” Morag said, but the grin on her face revealed she’d be here. “But, I suppose, we do have to entertain all those who couldn’t fight with us if they tried.”

Varya clasped the other woman’s forearm, telling herself not to look too starry-eyed as she met Morag’s grin with one of her own. “I’ll get you in the dirt tomorrow.”

“Unlikely, thief.”

“I’m learning. Every time you throw me, I hope you know I’m going back to the room and practicing the same move. Soon enough, I’ll know everything you plan to do before you even know it.”

Morag tilted her head back and laughed. The strong muscles of her throat worked, and the slight sheen on her skin glistened in the sunlight. A goddess of war, Varya thought, that was who stood in front of her.

“Ah, human.” Morag shook her head, her laughter still bubbling up every now and then. “Your courage is admirable but foolish, isn’t it? We aren’t the same, you and I. I believe you’ve already been told that.”

Of course she had. Ivo had sat her down and told her everything. That they were spirits. Poured into bodies just like Greed. She’d known all of it already, but hearing it from him helped.

The more she understood about him and his sister, the better. The more accepted she felt because they were kind and welcoming and everything that Greed wasn’t.

She’d thought perhaps the problem had been that he was a spirit. He’d made it very clear that he wasn’t like her, or anyone else, for that matter. He and his brothers were something else entirely. Not demons. Not men. Creatures unlike what she’d ever experienced before.

Her sword hit the dirt with frustration as she spun toward the opposite side of the arena. Stomping away from Morag, she tried her best to get out of her head. Again.

“What is it, little human?” Morag asked, her voice more than a little amused. “Have your demons returned so soon?”

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