Chained to the Devil’s Daughter (Mating the Elements #1)

29

Ash’ren

C arts full of shoes arrived, courtesy of Searra’s previous suitor. I helped pass them out, feigning ignorance at the way so many peered at me with barely concealed terror.

The number of people living with phantom burns was larger than I could’ve conceived. More inconceivable was the assistance offered by a few nobles, including the daughter of Fervis, Demon Lord of Ring Five, where bones of the Forgotten were ground to dust for use as raw material. Overseeing the mills, the sleazebucket could cut that shit with whatever the fuck he wished. Having zero interest in the tangled webs of noble houses, I gave the woman a wide berth.

Hopefully, the shoes would slow the reappearance of the phantom burns in people who’d already healed once. Something about these cases irritated me. Fucking sus. The oldest demon I found was a wealth of help.

“Rot’s a problem. Always. Humans? Fucked. Fucks ‘em all tha way up.” He’d then made a slicing motion at his throat.

Along with shoes, Filaris had provided the weapons I’d requested. After the carts of footwear were all distributed, I met up with three of my top-performing newbie warriors. Jadan, a fire-wielding human from Ring Five with the build of a demon and the heart of a gryffion. Kien, who, despite his mother’s vehement resistance, had ascended to a leadership role among his peers. And Razgard, an imposing demon at a staggering eight-foot-two, whose human husband was also among our ranks. They’d all been instructed to bring along a handful of troops.

We met on the eastern curve of Ring Seven, our fledgling military’s hub ever since clearing the Firefolk. Far enough from the inner rings and close enough to the pleasures of Ring Six, where northernmost taverns that used to sell disgusting toilet swill were now upgrading their wares.

“What’s the word, Sir Boss?” Razgard asked. I cast an unamused glare all the way up at the cheeky demon, one of few to never use my infamous nickname, instead opting for boss until Searra’s courtship granted me a higher station.

“Are the hiltens here?” Kien rubbed his palms together.

I nodded and produced four of the weapons from my pack. “Now the true training begins.”

The group inspected the new instrument with keen interest, tilting it this way and that, holding it in one hand, then the other, then both. The weapon in question didn’t look like much of anything. As its name implied, it was a hilt. That’s all. A hilt made of petrified magma, with a leather grip. Mass-produced and uninteresting.

I allowed three minutes to pass before lighting my hilten, black flames licking into the steel-sharp edges of a sword. Many in my ranks grew leery whenever my flames made an appearance, but I was coming to respect my new magic. It sang in my veins stronger than ever, and it felt . . . balanced. The more I used it, the more my body recognized it as part of its natural ecosystem. Between the therapy of my Firefly’s love and my dark new power, I found less and less need for the ever-present numbers that scrambled my brains in the tower.

“Hiltens are commonly thought to be a demon’s weapon, but humans can wield them too. Yes,” I responded to Kien’s unspoken question with a smirk, “even those without an affinity for fire magic.”

Alone in the streets of Kindra, Fyre’s capital city, I’d learned plenty about hiltens. Before the people of the council sought my aid as a boy, I’d stolen my way through life. Survival was always in my blood, I guess. It wasn’t uncommon to see hiltens in the hands of guards. From fire-touched species like phoenixes, sun god descendants, and flame nymphs, to magicless humans alike, I’d been on the wrong end of their ire many times.

I tipped my hilten over Kien’s outstretched weapon. The steel-straight black flames liquefied, dripping onto the human’s hilten. They raged forth from a black blade of his own.

“Whoa!” Jaden exclaimed. Their eyes bulged and their grin met Kien’s, touching mine briefly before refocusing on the task.

Kien listened intently while I explained to the others how to connect one’s magic to the weapon. Razgard and Jadan distributed their flames to the magicless humans. The whole bunch bounced on their toes, thrilled to finally have a weapon that could cause real damage. Despite that it had nothing to do with me, a selfish pride rose within me.

Once everyone had flame-spitting swords at the ready, I split them into teams of four, giving each a mix of human wielders, non-weilders, and demons.

“Today’s skill is swording.” One of Razgard’s demons' shoulders sagged in disappointment. “Swords are the simplest to create and control, and with so many humans in our ranks, the best for sparring. Spirits up. You’ll be making whips and stealing fire before I’m done with you.”

“Stealing fire?” Kien asked, always eager.

“The fire in your hilten can be stolen by another hilten. Unfortunately, theft is a skill only fire wielders can use.” I passed the pack full of hiltens to Kien, offering a small smile. If Kien was disappointed in that answer, he didn’t show it, but Jadan’s excitement was growing by the second. “Jadan, with me.”

Jadan’s grin grew wider. They quickly jogged three strides and raised their weapon, copying my stance, orange fire licking the edges of their conjured sword with a wild lack of control. Hiding my wince, I nodded once before lunging.

Though their footwork was quick, Jadan’s magic struggled to maintain form. I tried not to be soft on them, using the same pattern of strikes we’d practiced as a unit. Jadan’s focus was scattered, distracted by the strain on their magic. After six stances, they brandished a pocketknife against my obsidian blade.

“Well done.” I grinned at the human’s proud expression and gestured for them to step back. “Kien.”

Kien stepped forward, and I swallowed hard against the urge to look away. My respect for Kien grew daily, but my shadow-ridden heart couldn’t stop seeing Sam’s eyes as their emerald light faded.

“What’s wrong, Ash Render?” Kien’s tone was the type that picked fights. “Sparring with me suddenly against your precious moral code?”

Kien twirled his hilten, my own void-black fire splitting the air. I couldn’t help the grin that cracked my face, matching in intensity to the human before me. Without another word, Kien lunged, starting the familiar dance.

Of my more skilled fighters, I’d sparred with Kien the least. It was those damned green peepers. They’d been the first to see through my bullshit, to show me kindness in isolation. The first to dim to my self-interest. Not to mention the way the kid fought exactly like Sam. He had heart. And a wicked right hook.

Kien’s black sword took a beating by the end of the match. The black flames snuffed out the moment they left the human’s hands, flying to the sand as nothing more than an empty hilt. Kien ignored it. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. I took it, meeting those emerald pools with nothing but respect.

“As you can see, there are significant pros and cons for humans. Hiltens lit by strong magic wielders will remain steel-strong for as long as it’s in your hand, but once it’s extinguished,” I passed Kien his fallen hilten. “You’re shit out of luck.”

“Can it be lit by being held to another hilten?” asked Kien.

“That’s theft.” I didn’t complicate the matter further, though my mind wandered to my private experiments lately. My strange black flames seemed to play by their own rules, defying everything I thought I knew about magic. I had a feeling it would fill a hilten from across a battlefield if I bid it, but that was an advanced tactic I hoped never to need. “We’ll discuss stealing magic and how it affects non-wielders later on.”

The group trained while the sun peeked through the sky visible between rings and sank into the afternoon. By the time I called for lunch, I was confident my leaders would be able to disperse what they’d learned among the others.