“Wait—“ I say, chest bottoming out as it fully sinks in. “Are you locking me in here?”
He throws up a hand, obviously irked by my consternation. “What else am I supposed to do with you?”
“I…I can’t travel the castle freely?”
“It’s not safe for you here.”
It’s not safe for meinhere. “Well…surely you have guards here?” I argue.
He snorts. “You are a nought. No one will accept you here. Don’t you get that? The Masks are included in that. Or did you learn nothing from your last interaction with them?”
My panic increases as I see my chances of escape dwindling. “You’re going to keep me locked in here? All the time? Always?”
He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. My anger gives me bravery, and I start forward. “Why am I even here then?”
He lowers his hand to deliver a hard, silent stare. “I will arrange for them to send breakfast at nine, lunch at two, and dinner at seven. If you have any preferences, you can make a list, and I’ll leave it with them.” I can only gape at him. “Or you can tell me, and I’ll make the list for you if that’s not within your skill set.”
I bristle as he turns toward the door and wrenches it open. “Wait—“ I bolt after him, making it just as it slams shut in my face. I throw myself at the knob. It remains locked tight. Pounding at the pane of wood, I yell, “Why am I here?” as his footsteps grow faint in the distance. I lean against the door and slide to the floor in dismay.
I’m going to find a way out of here.
I haul myself tomy feet and bound toward the balcony door with resolve. Peering over the side of the stone rail, I carefully maneuver myself over to see what’s below, satisfaction sparking when I spy another balcony about twenty feet down and another below that. Four balconies between me and the ground.
I can climb that. I nod as if to convince myself. I can. It’s not that…far. A hundred feet? I grimace. Me and Syra spent a good deal of our childhood climbing the roofs of our castle. Back before we were shrouded and kept under such a careful thumb. My investigation doesn’t turn up any good footholds for climbing. Only smooth black stone.
I’m going to need a very long rope.
When I retreat back inside, a plate with my breakfast has been slid under the door. I curse myself. If I wasn’t outside, I could’ve tried to get information out of whoever brought it for me.
I pick at the eggs and add the toast to my stash. Once finished, I scour the chambers, foraging for supplies to aid in my escape. In one of the dusty chests stowed against the wall is a plethora of weapons. Knives and swords in all shapes and sizes. He really isn’t worried about me finding these?
I stash two more knives in the couch and one into the soil of a potted plant—just in case he does decide to lock them up. I’m scavenging through the oddities of one of the larger chests when there’s a sharp prick to the tip of my finger.
“Ouch,” I cry, bringing my bloodied finger up to close my lips around it. I lean down to ascertain the source and something shifts among the rubble. Something very much alive and winged shoots up and flies straight toward my face. I startle back and, in my haste to flee, trip over my own feet and fall backward onto the floor. There’s another sharp prick of pain against my shoulder. I swat my hands wildly, make contact and manage to whack the creature out of the air.
The source of pain reveals itself to be a sewing needle embedded an inch into the side of my shoulder. I pull it out between my pointer finger and thumb and search for the thing that has put it there. A tiny man no bigger than the length of my foot pulls himself off of his belly. Small horns protrude from the mop of black hair. Bat-like wings flutter and propel him into the air. He’s wearing a pair of tiny black trousers but has no shirt or shoes.
He levels himself with my face, and I scamper up onto the couch to evade him, illogical as it is, as he has wings. He nears me once more, yet not as close as the first time, blinking large black eyes. A strong smell of fire accosts my nostrils.
Ademon.In the flesh.
Not like the one bound to my soul but a physical entity like I’ve seen depicted in illustrations. “Stay back, demon!”
He bares two rows of tiny, pointed teeth and growls. I squat down to pull the knife out from the cushion and hold it out in a threatening position. “Go away! Get!” I say, waving the knife wildly.
He flattens tiny arms across his chest indignantly and points his nose. “You go away. I live here.”
I jab the knife in his direction a few more times, and he backs up, yet not far enough for my liking. His large eyes go even rounder. “You’re going to stab me?”
“You stabbed me first!”
“That’s because I thought you were him,” he spits distastefully.
I falter, lowering the knife a few inches. “You mean the prince?”
He makes a face of disgust. “Yes, him.”
“You’re his demon, aren’t you? You do his bidding?” I accuse.
