Daemon pulled free his large blade from the gut of Grumble. The deep crimson blood flowed swift down his blade, dripping onto his fine leather gloves. The King of the Daemonifers looked at it in disgust, his dark brows drawing together. He handed his large sword to Drakthar, who carefully handled the man-sized sword with two massive, meaty hands.
“I want it sharpened. Too many goblins dulling its edge.”
Aria shifted within her cage, maneuvering her slender and long legs over the thick chains that bound and weakened her. She was often caged in Grim Hall, but that day was different. That day, the Circle of Mortessas would be creating new Daemonifers by combining her blood with the Night King’s. The Daemonifers, newborn and unhinged, were always eager for more of her blood, and thus the Night King kept her safely behind bars that were strong and infused with the power to burn their raw skin at the touch.
She let out a small and barely-concealed sigh. Her time in the Grim Hall was always her best way to hear about the outside world, but when the Circle of Mortessas were around, it meant she was in store for something unpleasant. They showed once a month, on a full moon when their powers were at their strongest and could spare the time away from their individual huts spread throughout the land.
Etta was the worst Mortessa of them all; the one who lived in a hut in Aria’s Kingdom of Lysandro… The one who had stolen her away as a child after posing as her maid since she was born.
The one my mother trusted.
Etta in her true form bore no resemblance to the human woman that she knew from her youth, and Aria was thankful for that, ugly as her true form was.
Grim Hall was vast, its ceilings vaulted so high they were lost in cavernous darkness. The windows stood tall and narrow, with red tinted glass that allowed just the faintest light from the outside to in. It was torture for Aria. What she would give to see the sun once more!
She knew that the land surrounding Daemon’s territory was bleak; dark land sucked dry of all of its life from the overwhelming Darkness his power radiated. His castle was a fortress of black stone amidst decay of jagged rocks and twisted, skeletal trees. Still, she would take it over the damp and cold dungeon she was sent to far below the ground every single night.
The Circle numbered six, one for every kingdom that encircled the Verdan Sea. Every witch had a gray pallor, the skin sagging and wrinkled. Their eyes were yellowed, hair sparse and in thin strands, and their teeth were sharpened like knives. They never ceased to be a disgusting sight, yet Aria had long grown used to such things in her seven years of captivity.
Unlike the unsightly creatures he spawned, the Night King was beautiful; tall, his jaw chiseled and hair thick and as dark as the night. Of course, he was created by Amor. She wondered often if he hated his inability to create beauty as Amor did with just a snap of his fingers.
But what is beauty if kept in the dark?
Aria had little care for Amor. At birth she had been the prophetic child, golden eyes and the potential for immense power. She was supposed to defeat the Night King once and for all, yet instead she was wasting away in his Castle in a dark land.
It was his prophecy that saw her ripped from all she loved, her life as a princess to a mighty Kingdom all but like a dream to torture her at night. If she were truly the spirited child of Amor, then why hadn’t he come for her? She had spent many nights crying and praying for her rescue, and had received no response. She couldn’t recall the last time she had bothered to do so since.
Daemon sat down arrogantly on his throne, his legs spread wide and his chin resting on his fist. “Ladies,” he began, and the Circle cackled, “I am eager to see what you have been working on in the weeks since we last met.”
Etta spoke first. Of course she did. She was the favorite. The one who had brought him his biggest prize. “You’ll be pleased with this one, your Majesty.” Her voice was as withered as the rest, but had more power behind it, louder and more commanding. Her yellowed eyes darted towards Aria’s cage, the slightest of grins showing on her thin and dry lips.
Aria stared back, her face undoubtedly the neutral expression she had practiced for so long that it felt all she were capable of. She never wanted to give neither Daemon nor Etta the satisfaction of seeing emotion from her. Even when the Circle put her through torture during their unnecessarily harsh blood withdrawals, she no longer cried. She didn’t even flinch.
Daemon held out his hand, gesturing for her to continue. “You may begin, Mortessa of Lysandro.”
There was no missing the jealousy in the eyes of the others, who craved to be singled out whenever possible by the Night King, but they did not bicker, only taking each other’s hands as they formed a circle around the Summoner’s Bowl.
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Etta revealed the vials in which Aria and the Night King’s blood had been stored. It had been a painful withdrawal, far more so than ever before. The Circle was convinced that the more pain she experienced during the extraction, the more powerful the Daemonifer it would bring to life.
Etta began to speak in the Witch’s Tongue, “Luminis lunae, conficio potionem.”
The others began to chant, words that Aria often heard in her nightmares. She had long since learned to understand their meaning, and she could hear what they were conjuring. Blood. Flesh. Bones. It would be an ungodly sight, indeed.
The blood lifted from the bowl, splitting into two streams that began to twist around each other. The streams split off once more towards the ground, where a strange marking had been drawn with charcoal. The blood began to thicken, the intensity of the streams quickening as they twisted, and twisted into the air.
Within the blurred twists of the blood, a mass began to grow until it was as large as a baby. Limbs sprouted, and the massive blob began to look more like a torso, thickening and gaining width. Then came the legs, each bigger than any man. Its head, well, its head was…
Aria snorted out a laugh as she watched the tiny, almost average-sized head grow from the massive torso and neck. It was a genuine laugh of amusement, the fact that it was clearly a failure by the Mortessa was a bonus.
Klymene, the youngest of the Mortessas, bared her teeth, snapping as if a dog.
I suppose I’m the dog here, but at least I don’t snarl.
“You’ll pay for such… Disrespect,” she hissed.
Etta spared Aria no glance. The Mortessa of Lysandro always had such good command over her temper. Aria had long since given up trying to break her composure as she so easily could the others.
“Silence, Klymene,” she ordered calmly.
The Night King stood in front of the latest creature of his army, his chin high and dark eyes probing. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t need much room up there, now does it?”
A hesitant round of laughter slowly passed around the room.
The newly created Daemonifer blinked rapidly out of its tiny eyes, staring in complete and innocent bewilderment.
It would be adorable if Aria didn’t know what it would soon become.
Another beast to sic on innocents.
Its skin was ashen gray, its head hairless, and nose wide and snout-like. As ugly as the Mortessas themselves. One glance from a human unused to such a ghastly sight would send them running in terror.
“We’re getting closer, there is no doubt. Still, I am not pleased. Return to your huts, Mortessas. I have no further service of you for the time being.” He snapped his fingers as the Circle began to vanish in a red mist one by one.
Only Etta lingered.
The Night King motioned for Drakthar. “Take it to Karlock. See it properly instructed… And clothed.”
Drakthar yanked the monstrosity by its large hand, pulling it down a hall as he grumbled about his assigned duty.
Etta stood expectantly, a guarded expression upon her face.
“Do you think my commands apply differently to you?” The Night King snapped.
“Of course not, my Lord. I linger only to inquire about the special training you are seeking for the Princess.” Her eyes found Aria, who sat up straighter in her cage.
The Night King had promised her missions outside of the Castle. For so many years she had fought in his ‘arena’, learning to use the Dark, killing abominations that had failed in their task or were abrupt failures at creation. She trained relentlessly with Dane, perfecting the art of wielding dual swords, and then with the Night King—learning to use the Dark as she once had the Light as a young girl. It was the most time she was given away from her room.
“I do not see how it concerns you. Your command is to strengthen my army. Aria is under my watch now.”
Ha.
She couldn’t help but feel smug, and while she kept her expression neutral, she made a point to look away in feigned disinterest.
“Yes, of course, My Lord,” Etta backtracked, “I only worry for her safety. In a less controlled environment, you’d be risking much.”
He smiled at her, but it was the one he displayed when he’d rather remove someone’s head from their body instead. “I think I can handle things, wouldn’t you agree?” His words were clipped, and even Etta looked unnerved at the warning hidden within.
“Excuse me, my Lord, I have stepped out of line. Bless the Night.” She bowed quickly, disappearing in a red mist as her sisters before her.
The Night King sighed heavily, his head turning towards her as his eyes narrowed. “You will not enjoy the mission nearly as much as you expect. I promise you that.” He walked closer, his gait confident and measured. “You see, you have not stained your hands properly. I suspect it’s held back the development of your powers. The Dark is always there, but it is strongest when it is devouring the Light.”
His smile was wicked, and a chill went down her spine as all interest in the mission vanished. She would get to leave the castle, but at what cost?