control of his body and his mind danced around him, black and heavy and powerful. Ciro tasted Elen's soul one more time, and then it was gone, taken into the Isen Demon to join the others.
A part of the demon was always with him, sometimes dominant, sometimes subdued. There were moments when Ciro felt the full force of the demon, but those moments were rare. The Isen Demon was everywhere. It was huge and powerful and not easily contained. The full force of the demon came and went, taking souls and growing stronger and issuing orders only Ciro would hear.
The demon issued orders now, whispering in Ciro's head. Fynnian was not to know that Ciro could now take souls without permission. The old fool thought he was in control, but he was not. He had almost served his purpose, and it was time to draw away.
It was too soon to take a white soul, like Rayne's, but dark souls, damaged souls, they were now his to take, the demon promised. And take he would. This was just the beginning.
Still caught in the Panwyr euphoria, and missing the soul which had been his for too brief a time, Ciro parted the curtains and peeked outside. Rayne continued to work in the garden, oblivious to the fact that he watched.
When he made a son, she would be his mother. Rayne was untainted. Untouched. She was pure, so what better vessel for his child?
Rayne was to be his. She had been promised to him by Fynnian, and by the Isen Demon. One day her soul and his would be joined, before being fed to the demon, but not until she birthed his son.
Our son.
Our son, of course. Until that day she was his. As a man. As the fiend he had become. She
would
love him. She
would
be his companion.
She must be pure when you make our son.
Yes, of course.
Now was not the time to make Rayne his own, not in soul or in body, but Ciro knew without doubt that he didn't have much longer to wait.
----
Chapter Six
Ariana didn't have to call on her empathic powers to know that something had changed while she and Sian had been down in Level Thirteen. For days, he'd been avoiding her. He sent teachers in his stead. Some taught her to fight. Others instructed her on simple magics.
It was as if Sian wanted her to be prepared for anything. One aging soldier showed her how to find drinkable water, and how to recognize edible plants and poisonous ones—something in which she had been well educated, though she listened carefully and did learn a few new tricks. Her lessons on swordplay were held daily, and again, it was an older sentinel who served as her teacher. He did not know why she required such lessons, and he had been a part of palace life long enough to know better than to ask. A palace witch who was talented with the casting of simple spells held one session, and again, while Ariana was already well versed, she did learn something new.
Just as telling as her empathic powers… perhaps more so… she was very aware that the enchanter hadn't looked her directly in the eye since they'd climbed out of Level Thirteen. More accurately, he had not looked her directly in the eye since she'd come out of nothingness to find his hands around her throat.
At least he allowed her to wear skirts as she went about her business. In fact, he had mentioned that she should not call attention to herself by dressing differently, though there would come a time when a different sort of clothing would be required. Odd, since he had been so insistent in the beginning that she wear men's trousers so she'd have freedom of movement and be able to fight. Even when the swordsman gave her lessons, she wore her skirts, and no instructions to the contrary reached her.
After several days of instruction in which he did not participate, Sian sent to her an older woman who was knowledgeable about herbs. The instruction was a waste of time. Ariana knew more about herbs than anyone in Columbyana, most likely. She certainly knew more than the doddering old woman Sian sent to her.
With the herbalist
A part of the demon was always with him, sometimes dominant, sometimes subdued. There were moments when Ciro felt the full force of the demon, but those moments were rare. The Isen Demon was everywhere. It was huge and powerful and not easily contained. The full force of the demon came and went, taking souls and growing stronger and issuing orders only Ciro would hear.
The demon issued orders now, whispering in Ciro's head. Fynnian was not to know that Ciro could now take souls without permission. The old fool thought he was in control, but he was not. He had almost served his purpose, and it was time to draw away.
It was too soon to take a white soul, like Rayne's, but dark souls, damaged souls, they were now his to take, the demon promised. And take he would. This was just the beginning.
Still caught in the Panwyr euphoria, and missing the soul which had been his for too brief a time, Ciro parted the curtains and peeked outside. Rayne continued to work in the garden, oblivious to the fact that he watched.
When he made a son, she would be his mother. Rayne was untainted. Untouched. She was pure, so what better vessel for his child?
Rayne was to be his. She had been promised to him by Fynnian, and by the Isen Demon. One day her soul and his would be joined, before being fed to the demon, but not until she birthed his son.
Our son.
Our son, of course. Until that day she was his. As a man. As the fiend he had become. She
would
love him. She
would
be his companion.
She must be pure when you make our son.
Yes, of course.
Now was not the time to make Rayne his own, not in soul or in body, but Ciro knew without doubt that he didn't have much longer to wait.
----
Chapter Six
Ariana didn't have to call on her empathic powers to know that something had changed while she and Sian had been down in Level Thirteen. For days, he'd been avoiding her. He sent teachers in his stead. Some taught her to fight. Others instructed her on simple magics.
It was as if Sian wanted her to be prepared for anything. One aging soldier showed her how to find drinkable water, and how to recognize edible plants and poisonous ones—something in which she had been well educated, though she listened carefully and did learn a few new tricks. Her lessons on swordplay were held daily, and again, it was an older sentinel who served as her teacher. He did not know why she required such lessons, and he had been a part of palace life long enough to know better than to ask. A palace witch who was talented with the casting of simple spells held one session, and again, while Ariana was already well versed, she did learn something new.
Just as telling as her empathic powers… perhaps more so… she was very aware that the enchanter hadn't looked her directly in the eye since they'd climbed out of Level Thirteen. More accurately, he had not looked her directly in the eye since she'd come out of nothingness to find his hands around her throat.
At least he allowed her to wear skirts as she went about her business. In fact, he had mentioned that she should not call attention to herself by dressing differently, though there would come a time when a different sort of clothing would be required. Odd, since he had been so insistent in the beginning that she wear men's trousers so she'd have freedom of movement and be able to fight. Even when the swordsman gave her lessons, she wore her skirts, and no instructions to the contrary reached her.
After several days of instruction in which he did not participate, Sian sent to her an older woman who was knowledgeable about herbs. The instruction was a waste of time. Ariana knew more about herbs than anyone in Columbyana, most likely. She certainly knew more than the doddering old woman Sian sent to her.
With the herbalist
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