Shadows stretched over the withered vineyard, and a slice of pale moonlight peeked from behind a cloud before hiding its face again. I moved like a thief; ironic, as though I had something to hide when I was king.
Holding the gilded harp against my chest, I plucked a few strings and waited.
Movement from behind a tree alerted me of something’s presence. A tall figure strode out, a glimmer of red hair catching in the dusky light.
“Oren.” I bared my fangs.
“Zekiel,” he echoed back, his own wickedly sharp teeth flashing in the low light. “Why the midnight meeting?”
“I come with a warning. You just returned, but it’s not safe. You should take your wife and leave.”
Oren frowned. “You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you? I can help.” He lifted his pipe.
“Put that damned thing away,” I hissed. “Who knows what undead beings you’ll call forth to shatter my land.”
Oren chuckled. “I control the song of the pipe.”
I grimaced, because that hadn’t always been the truth. Oren—whom I hadn’t expected to see ever again—had suddenly reappeared in my realm: broken, married, and not quite his usual snarly self. As much as I appreciated being reunited with an old friend, I was also a king, and it was my duty to protect my kingdom, above all. “Listen, I’ve fallen out of favor with the sorceress, and she’s cursed me.”
“What did you do?” Oren asked, as though it was my fault.
I didn’t blame the form of his question. Falling out of favor with the sorceress was often because one had displeased her or committed a crime, but that was not the case with me. “She’s always disliked the magnitude of my power, but now, she’s found a way to steal it with a demon.”
Oren cursed. “What are you going to do?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve trapped the demon, but it’s already begun to feed. I can’t kill it without killing myself.”
Oren groaned. “That’s worse than I imagined.”
Retracting my claws, I held up a finger. “There’s an old legend about four relics, known as the tears of the gods. Their rare and potent magic could assist me in gaining freedom. I’m going to find them all, sever the bond, and trap the sorceress in her own domain. She’s done enough damage.”
“Some of it well deserved,” Oren said, a dangerous note in his tone.
I paused; it was rare for anyone to take the sorceress’ side unless they were under her spell. Still, Oren had a point. “True. In the beginning, she was instructed to keep the realms safe from corruption, and the punishments she dealt out were severe but deserved. However, as of late, she’s enjoyed causing chaos for the sake of chaos. I believe she’s finally sick on the magnitude of her power and has succumbed to corruption.”
“I’m sure she would say the same about you,” Oren said soberly. “I only say this because we are friends. I’ve been drunk on power, so blindsided by revenge that I became corrupt.”
I shrugged, unbothered by the bite of those words. It was true. I was immortal, powerful, and ruthless, as a king should be. “From the tale you’ve told me, you were justified in your actions.”
“In some, but not all of them,” Oren admitted.
I raised my eyebrows. “It’s not like you to admit you’re wrong, but you got what you wanted in the end, didn’t you?”
“I did, with the help of a mortal.”
“That’s what I’m after. This time, the sorceress has gone too far.”
Oren crossed his arms. “Then you must stop her. Tell me about these ancient relics. Isn’t there a cost to finding them?”
Discomfort shivered through me, a warning against seeking the relics, but I ignored it. My need was great, and this was the only way. “Aye, I’ve studied the legends and found the assumed location of each one. There is a condition, though.”
“There’s always an unsavory condition,” Oren snorted.
I sighed. Nothing was easy, especially when it concerned magic. “True, otherwise the relics wouldn’t be where they are today. The blood of a willing mortal is necessary to secure each one.”
Oren chuckled. “In my experience, most mortals are very unwilling.”
I plucked a string of my harp, listening to the vibrations echo into the silence. “A mortal of royal blood.”
Oren scoffed. “Why royal blood? Is blood used to retrieve the relics?”
“A female of royal blood,” I clarified. “She will be able to walk on sacred ground and retrieve the relics. Her purity will bless them and allow me to use them.”
Oren was silent for a while. “I don’t like this, Zekiel. From what you’ve told me, you are seeking an ancient bloodline. Rumor has it, the ancients were all killed out long ago. It will be difficult to find such a mortal. Is there no other way?”
I tampered down my anger, already well aware of what Oren warned me against. I wasn’t truly angry with him, only frustrated with the limitations on my freedom, how difficult my quest would be. Still, my words came out sharper than I intended. “Find me the Sorcerer of Music. That is the only other way.”
Oren frowned. “You believe the power of song will be enough?”
“Not just any song: the right song. It will break the bond between the demon and myself and allow me to slay it. But no, I don’t want to stop there. The sorceress must be punished, her throne taken down, and she, herself, locked away forever, bonded to a tower like the knights she’s so fond of punishing.”
Oren lifted his pipe again. “Then let me help you. Let me play.”
I shook my head. “You’ve been through enough. Go, take your wife and travel to other realms. Return when it’s safe.”
Oren huffed. “So that’s what you’re going to do? Send everyone away and deal with this alone?”
“I am king. It’s what I do.”
“If you will not help me, I will give you one gift: the music to the old songs I know. Perhaps one of them will break the demon bond.”
I bowed my head. “I will allow that one gift.”
Oren stepped back, tone low. “If you fail, and that monster comes anywhere near me and my wife, I will unleash vengeance like the world has never seen.”
In the past, I’d judged Oren’s actions as dramatic, particularly when I was calm, patient, and ready to strike when the opportune moment presented itself. My current situation left me impatient. I longed to use sweeping acts of magical power, for revenge was potent in my blood. “I’ll vanquish this demon, and then I’ll make the sorceress wish she’d never been born,” I promised, squeezing my hand into a fist.
“Best of luck on your hunt,” Oren said. “Although knowing you, your plan is already in motion.”
I barred my fangs in a wolfish grin. “It is. Within a year, I’ll be free.”
Oren bowed his head and stepped back. “Be careful, Zekiel. Don’t let the haze of revenge make you lose sight of what’s important. I did once, and it nearly cost me everything.”
