he place reeked of death.

The inside of the house was burning like the heart of a volcano, adding to the stench. I craved the cold air of the autumn nights outside those walls, craved the soft and cool earth on my skin that was better than the chairs we were seated on. Sitting on bones was better than those piece of wood grunting and groaning when I barely budged.

Prickles of dust filled the air, glinting over the candles and coating almost everything. The place was not as small as it seemed from the outside, but there were so many trinkets and statues and old books and magical items filling every corner there was hardly a place to sit. Which led Aedis and I to rest around a glass table in the middle of the place--the most decent piece of furniture--that had as much junk than what was on the floor.

I didn't particularly pay attention to the bones tied like a stack of herbs on one side, or the small boxes filled with dust and ashes. Not even the wooden statue carved like a dog with three sticks stuck in its stomach picked my curiosity as hard as the crystal sphere resting in the middle. And the scroll behind it.

It was the sealed wax that made me queasy, Lysithea's insignia clear on the red substance. I had to use my magic to be able to pull the ink out, removing letter after letter from the white paper and lining it in the air in front of me. It was written in an old language, not as old the Fallen's nor the one the Book of Astazan used, but it remained ancient in it's own way. And dark.

The content wasn't better.

I hadn't quite read enough to grasp the entire gist of the deal inked and signed in that letter when I felt two presence getting out of a room two floors below ground. I broke the spell, making do with the bits and bits I was able to pick, shared one, long look with Aedis that was enough to tell him that message was bad news, and turned my attention to the ball.

If that witch placed foot in Eziara, if she had full access to the magic and potions and deadly spells, I anticipated the worse.

The footsteps echoed closer and I placed my head on the arms crossed on the dirty glass of the surface. One hand adorned with long and sharp claws--the carvings on their iron enough to tell who I was--traced the sphere that was the only clean thing in this house.

Magic throbbed in it, pulsing as though it was the very heart of this place. Everything around us was tied to it, every spell and potion pulling its strength from the powers seeping from it. I ran my fingers around it, brushing it slightly, making the magic pulse harder. Even Leon could see the landscapes locked inside the sphere, the places that fell inside the barrier we crossed while running. There was more in it that I couldn't seem to pull out entirely; something else and different than everything I knew. Something powerful.

The steps fell closer and closer and I counted the heartbeats until I felt them both, mother and daughter, standing on the threshold of the supposed living room. We didn't turn back to great them, didn't make a move to acknowledge their presence. I only rubbed on the crystal sphere harder, earning a warning hiss from the witch we traveled so far to meet.

This time, I only titled my head back, not even bothering to stare at her, finding the battered ground plunging in like a small valley next to her feet more interesting.

"Tell me, witch," I breathed with all the boredom I could muster, "what will happen if I scratch your precious ball?"

"You lose your head."

Straightforward, cold, and brutal. Even her voice was raspy and empty, harsher than her daughter's. I snickered and smirked as Aedis slid an arched eyebrow to both the witches that told them enough we'd love to see her try that.

"I don't suppose my head will give you a new toy."

She didn't reply at first as she went around the room, taking seat on a cushioned chair she forged with magic, right opposite me.

"It won't," she drawled, hands snatching the ball from my hands. I growled, flashing the fangs so many Fallen warriors prided themselves with. "But your blood will be enough to repair any damage."

I didn't reply to that. Not verbally at least. But the claw that scratched her left hand deep enough it drew dark blood told her enough of what I wanted to say. She was wise enough to pull it away and stop right there.

"What's your name?" asked the Shadow, fiddling with a bunch of knuckle bones chained together.

She didn't bark that time, or threaten, just glared which made her face worse than what it already was. Not old, not by age or by shape. Her eyes were black and depthless, just like her daughter, but they smoldered with a sort of evilness that could rattle earths. Once in the past, she might have been attractive--not beautiful, but with appealing features. Now, her skin was as hard and creased as the surface of an old rock.

Her curse, damned her to ever be touched by celestial light, be it sunlight or moonlight or starlight, without being turned more and more to stone. It was slow and painful, Téors had told me as much, her magic scorching her own skin as she transformed from the outside. If she ever made the mistake of getting outside, or letting light seep through her windows long enough, she would turn to a statue forever. And would remain alive for long hours after that, every second aware of how she was trapped inside of her own flesh.

It was what Lysithea's father, former King Aran, had damned her with when she didn't make it to the ships taking all the Souleaters to Eziara--the clan of witches that swore obedience to the Dark Crown. She had wanted to flee, had wanted to take her daughter and join the lands of their origin, but White Troopers got in the way, butchering an army of witches. And locked her here. From then, every Trooper she met and could lay hand on, she killed him slow as revenge.

The witch snickered in a way that was both mocking and terse as she studied us with her deep, cold eyes. Her voice was strained yet there was a tug at her lips, something like a simper as she questioned, "You seek my work for offers yet do not know my name?"

Aedis let out a long breath that was bored and uninterested as he stared down at her, his face cold and neutral even when his eyes glimmered with that darkness and evilness that all Windreapers had by birth.

"We," he responded, hands reaching for the stack of bones, "are no fools. We know your name, we know where you are from, we know what you are capable of. But we know it from what we heard the castle's guards whispering, and we would be damned idiots to believe every bit of information that slides to our ears."

"Yet you still heard of me from them and came."

"There are times," I began as I removed one stick plunged into the dog's statue. The witch eyed me with silence. And displeasure, but kept her mouth shut about it. "Where the only option for a hopeless case is a hopeless risk. And if you aren't what we want, if you turned out to be a fake whisper, well, we aren't hailed the deadliest of all demons for nothing."

She kept silent for a good while as I picked at my claws with the iron stick before she said, "Your parents and ancestors were hailed as warrior of Death. You two are not; you're nothing but a bunch of kids. And possibly imposters."

It was the way she uttered those words with an unwavering steadiness and that she was fiddling with the edges of our lies that had me baring my fangs and jumping so fast I was nothing but a flicker of shadows before I was on top of her, hands enclosed around her neck. Our witch heaved a breath, face paler than a corpse as warm and thick blood slid like rain down her neck down to her chest. I was so close to her, body bent so she could feel every breath blowing against her face, my canines so long and sharp and close to her they almost ripped her jaws into shreds.

Shadows spurted from my skin so thick even candelight couldn't fight them. It was a feral sound that came from me as I tightened my hands even more, claws digging deeper into her flesh, just another push away from tearing her most important nerves and blood vessels.

"Be careful, witch. Be very, very careful. Stone skin or no, you would make for a better feast than anything I had eaten the past twenty years." I removed one hand from her neck and placed it over her trembling heart. I turned to the daughter standing in the end of the room, pressed against one wall and tied to it with magical chains like the ones tying the direwolf. She saw, despite the darkness, where my hand was, and I knew she heard our warning ringing again and again in her ears. Perfect.

I stood, pulling the woman with me, her body petite and slim and weightless as I lifted her off the ground. More shadows pooled around us, trashing as a sea of darkness beneath her feet.

"You are a wise one, I give you that," I breathed, my hands now holding her from her shoulders with magic tying her in place. "But we are Windreapers born from the warriors that fell because of your Dark General into the hands of that woman called the Lady. We were brought into dungeons, tortured and studied for years, and evaded when the castle's protection weakened."

That woman might as well had a death wish, meeting my eyes and hissing, "I won't believe a word coming out of your mouth before I see proof."

I grabbed her by the hair, kicking her chair to my side and seating her on it, shadows tying her in place. Aedis was still in his place, face painted with delight as he stared at us both, at his supposed mate that delighted in torturing their prey.

I roamed around her, hand squeezing hard her shoulder. "Are my runes not proof enough?"

"Anyone with good knowledge of the Fallen blood and history can fake those runes."

Smart. So damn smart.

I smiled at her as I crouched, eyes meeting hers as I licked my fangs. "We both know that isn't true; only a true Windreaper can bear the weight of the magic running in the words we carry the moment we open our eyes to the world." I allowed my horns to grow from my skull, allowed my eyes to glow, the seven shades of red swirling like a whirlwind. "But you want to see magic, don't you?"

I had her face in my hand, claws holding it and pressed in her cheeks hard enough to keep her still. One movement, it would take one small movement and I would rip her face. She only held my eyes, only dared to stare at me with steel in her soul.

"If you had waited just long enough, I would have showed it to you myself." I grinned, tilting my head before I turned around and took my seat back. "The Cohar of the Windreaper does not pay little in her deals. Especially not ones that are the hardest to exist."

Silence. Nothing but sweet silence echoed around us as my title, Cohar, rolled of my tongue in our old accent. It was an ancient word, as old as Dearcious was for he was the first to bear it. It meant a leader, a king or queen, a bringer of death. The head of the Windreaper tribes and the strongest. It did not take a genius from here on: Aedis, who was the only other living Fallen, was my mate. And Cohars ever only mated with the immediate strongest leaders of the following tribes after their own. The Kyels.

There was a paleness to the witch's face, and to her daughter for sure even though I didn't bother to turn so I could see her expression. The one in front of me was enough.

"You," the mother hissed, "cannot be the Cohar. Her head was sent back in an iron box. Lysithea herself burned it."

My grin turned sly and sinister all at once. "Tell me, Ûzan," I whispered with a voice that was so low it barely left my lips. I placed both forearms on the low, glass table and leaned forward with a feline's grace and slowness. The witch turned so rigid I wondered if her curse petrified her as fast as my words, especially at the mention of her name. The proof of our first lie. "Wasn't the face carved and bruised so badly it erased all features when it reached Eziara?"

She knew how her face looked like that day because Lysithea had every one with a drop of demon blood watch it through magical windows, twenty years ago. The same day she ended her father and mother--his whore, if rumors were to be trusted--and took the throne to herself.

Ûzan didn't reply, and even her daughter's breathing ragged as hard as her aura. It was an undefined loop, a broken piece that played for both edges.

I had believed it long ago, but Sorcha was indeed a genius like no other, sending the woman's head battered and bloody and blue enough it could had been any female with a bit of resemblance. Even her scent, if needed now, could be faked in this lie with claiming rumors and tactics and all that would mess with the demons' minds.

"Prove it." The mother's voice was a breathless rasp that cracked at the end.

"Oh, she will," admitted Aedis on my behalf. "You will see it first handed once we make our deal."

Ûzan stared at us, black eyes gleaming with something wicked and feral in them. Her eyes skipped from mines to Aedis's then behind us to her daughter's. Her lips curled as she stared at her, but it was disdain and disgust in them as though she was staring at nothing but failure and dishonor. But it was the way she spoke to her, the way she treated her like a slave as she ordered her to bring us drinks that made me wonder what had happened that made the relation between them so taut and strained it was so close to

snapping.

"We never heard of your daughter before." Aedis rubbed his jaws, eyes keen on the witch.

Ûzan huffed. "Daughter. And a walking shame. I don't need anyone knowing of her, and who does keeps it shut or risk a painful death."

We didn't ask why, knowing well it would be suicide going down that road. Fallen or Cohar and Kyel or not, I doubted it would matter to her if we pushed too hard. Instead, I questioned, "What's the girl's name?"

The witch seemed to ponder on that as though her daughter's name was buried so deep in her memories under layers of dust and dirt. And when she spoke it, every letter was filled with hatred and disgust, and I wondered if she knew what magic coursed in the young one's blood. Unlikely as it seemed because she hid it so well; if I hadn't felt it before when she opened the door, away from her sleeping mother, I doubted I would have picked it as easily inside.

"Saél, used to be called only Sae. I haven't uttered her name on my tongue for almost four years. And neither will you call her by her proper name; you can insult her, curse her, eat her, I don't give a damn, but not speak her name. She doesn't deserve this much acknowledgment ."

I didn't blink or show any sign of displeasure at her words. Perhaps death for Saél would be merciful compared to living with that wench.

"So, what deals brought you to me?"

Aedis stared at her hard and I left him to do the talking, having a long past of deals and trades in his hands, Liam and Jaafar the most obvious ones "We need a few bottles of Arowcinders. Made from us."

"What? "

We could have asked her to kill herself right there and she would have looked less pale and shocked and scared.

"Do you know what this spell is—"

"We know." I leaned forward on the table, the wood of my chair quivering beneath my weight. "And we intend to pay you heftily with something you desire most."

"Why?" Ûzan questioned, fingers interlacing as red curls fell over her eyes. "Arowcinders made from your blood is either to kill yourselves, or kill another and control them through every moment of it."

"We know this," commented Aedis, eyes turning to me. A feral and wicked smirk edged his lips. "We have a few counts to settle."

The witch paled further more. Her hands trembled lightly as she placed her palms on the glass, near her ball. "The Dark General, is he—"

I hissed, fangs baring out. I allowed long, breathless words that were curses spoken in the oldest languages to exist to slip. Ûzan's face only bleached harder as I half bent over the table, my chin just above her crystal sphere.

"You never pronounce his name, never bring his mere existence into our discussions. Never. Do you understand?"

The witch nodded and I remained half standing, half seated, eyes meeting hers with an untamed fury and hatred. It wasn't hard, faking the disgust in my voice, the hardness of my face, the flaring of my magic. The Dark General would receive his death. And it would be far worse than a sea of Arowcinders drowning him and disintigrating his muscles and flesh bit by bit like hellfire licking his very soul.

I snatched the ball from its pillow, holding it in by the tips of my claws and twirled it as I took my seat back. The witch didn't make a movement to express any warning or displeasure to the action. I placed it in my lap, fingers gently circling around it, almost touching its smooth surface as I pulled out bits and bits of it magic, feeling it caress my skin like cold, dry wind.

Saél chose that moment to come in, a chain that had not been there when she left clinging and hissing as she moved, her movements small and broken because of the ankle cuffs. She placed a tray with three dirty mugs holding a steaming beverage that smelled like tea.

Neither Aedis nor I made a move to take any of them.

Ûzan, on the other hand, took one of the cups and drank her share, only giving her daughter a glare as she went to stand in the back of room, opposite us with her head down.

"How long will it take to get our orders done?"

Ûzan arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow and grinned, revealing fully white teeth. "The stronger the requester is, the faster it can be made. Seeing you are Cohar and Kyel, that should take around two days at far."

Not a lie. Téors told me it would take anywhere between a day and a half and three days to be fulfilled rightly. Good. This would leave us with another couple of days to reach the port, and cross the temple on our way.

"But," she added, "there are prices. And Arowcinders is the most expensive thing I can and will ever make." Her grin grew bigger and slyer. "What do you have for me?"

I grinned back, only it was far more wicked and dark.

"Why don't I show you just what a Cohar can give?"