Chapter Twenty-One

The Demon Vanishes; A Man Appears

Standing beside him, Alodie studied his face. The moonlight carved his features into sharp relief. A trickle of blood ran down his skin into his beard. His eyes shone with the force of all he was feeling and trying desperately to hold back—emotions she could sense, but couldn’t name. What was he? He was picking away her expectations and beliefs, one by one.

First, the fact that he hadn’t wanted treasure. She’d believed all demons wanted treasure and had expected him to do nothing but take, take, take. Enrich himself. Glorify himself. All at the expense of others.

He’d proven her wrong.

Then it was the strong and silent protection aboard ship. She’d believed without doubt that all demons were heartless and brutal, except those like Cuthberht, who’d had the Grace of the Lord touch their maggoty hearts.

Again, this man before her had proved her wrong.

Then it was the anguish of losing his friend in the storm. Demons couldn’t understand love or joy or sorrow.

This man knew the crushing anguish of grief. He’d felt it to its darkest depths. She’d never have believed him capable of raw human feeling had she not witnessed it with her own eyes.

Then, stranded upon the beach, he’d shown her he thought about her and considered her comforts. Demons were supposed to care only about themselves. He didn’t. He’d demonstrated his care for her.

Now this. Compassion. The kindness he’d displayed to the young one by allowing him a victory. The demon leader hadn’t simply handed it over. He’d fought, prolonging the experience, making his apprentice work and not making it easy for him.

All her beliefs were crumbling as he shredded her misconceptions one at a time.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to continue thinking of him as nothing more than a demon. By the same measure, her stubborn determination to cling to her anger diminished daily.

Ears still ringing with the clash of swords, Alodie’s heart brimmed with confusion. She wanted to tuck her arm into his. It would have been a simple, intimate gesture to show him she was here. Not as a physical entity, but as…

What?

Alodie bit her lip. He’d stolen her. How much compassion and understanding could she possibly have for him? Objectively, he deserved none.

She was being torn in two—holding on to her anger or looking forward to the possibilities of what her new life could be. Did it mean she had to forgive?

It wasn’t a question she had to answer now.

Whether or not she could forgive him.

Finally, she ventured to break the silence. “Your friend is wrong. What you did was kind and generous.”

He looked at her, expression pained.

Alodie’s mouth turned down. “What is it? What troubles you so?”

What she wanted to hear was that he repented.

“When I was a boy my father…died.” His voice was raw and he hung his head. “There are certain things a boy needs, even on the brink of manhood, from the older men around him. Maybe on the brink of manhood is when he needs them most.”

“Like acceptance?”

He tensed. “Why would you say acceptance?”

“Because you seem apart somehow. Above the people around you, because you lead them, but also…” She’d become familiar with the strange language, but even in her first tongue, the words were difficult to find. “It’s the sense I get.”

“My cousin was swallowed by the sea. There were so many things we had yet to do.”

“It goes deeper than your recent grief, doesn’t it?”

He inhaled. “Tell me about your life…your life before.”

Alodie stared into the distance. Her life before. About as far from a princess as a person could be. She’d come to the castle an orphan child, hungry enough to eat discarded scraps even the dogs had refused, and eager for something—anything—to alleviate the pain of her mother’s death. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t understood that. In retrospect, it was obvious.

Alodie had been taller and stronger than other children, even some of the boys, despite near-constant hunger. She’d been called “big as a work horse,” a time or two. Unfair, because she wasn’t so tall or so big as that. They’d been trying to tear her down by making her feel she wasn’t an appropriately feminine size. For a while, it’d worked.

Once she’d put her strength and tenacity to good use, the teasing had ceased to matter. She’d been all too willing to work hard, putting her physical strength to anyone’s use, and fighting away more than one of the unsightly men who would torment the orphan pack.

Or worse.

Her willingness to work—work fast and work well—had earned her a place inside and had eventually caught the notice of the princess herself. Alodie would never be higher than a servant. So long as she’d remained close to the princess, that hadn’t mattered. It was the best she could hope for in life, and incomprehensibly better than she could have hoped as a child after her mother had died, with no family and no means. No one had wanted her. No one had claimed her. She hadn’t had one single item of value—dubious or otherwise—to wrap in her grubby child’s fist.

Now she was here. His captive. Unable to breathe a hint of what she truly was, but wanting to all the same. Wanting to tell him everything—to share intimacies and bring them closer.

That’s not where they were, though, was it? The intimacy between them was not complete. She was his captive. Confidences existed between them. And maybe that meant something, but it did not extend so far as sharing her true self with him.

“It’s…not a story for tonight.”

There was a silence. “I had no right to ask you. I’ve already brought you enough pain.”

It was practically an admission of guilt. God help her, but if he asked for her forgiveness here and now, she just might give it to him.

They were quiet a moment. In the distance, around the fires, a lone storyteller had started telling tales and paused dramatically to deliver a line. Whatever he said didn’t reach Alodie’s hearing, but the result was a whole pack of demons roaring with laughter. The sound was jarring, breaking into the moment. It seemed inappropriate. But the world existed beyond them, didn’t it?

Turning her attention back to their leader beside her, she moved by instinct, reaching up to wipe the blood from his face. The red streaked and smeared. “Whatever it is you’re really battling, know that you don’t have to fight alone.”