Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #18: The Summons]

Log Date: 2/14/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Servants’ Dining Hall

12:28pm SGT

“I see you managed to crank out twenty logs this morning. You’re getting faster!”

I don’t reply to Aritska right away, since I’m busy downing a gulp of water. It’s midday, meaning it’s lunchtime, with many of the harpies present and scarfing down their meals as well. I usually come in roundabout this time and get enough food in me to keep splitting wood until nightfall.

“I’m getting there.” I say, setting my glass down. “I think if I really push, I can get to forty-five logs a day. I might be able to do fifty next week.”

“It shows.” I look around as someone takes my free hand and lifts it; it’s Rujnu, the big owl harpy. “Go on, flex those muscles, little demon.”

I grin and flex my arm for her. While I don’t have bulging muscles by any stretch of the imagination, my upper arms are now more toned and defined, and it shows. Over the past couple of weeks, some of the softness that has defined my figure has been evaporating as I’ve fallen into the rhythm of splitting wood every day.

“Soon you will be ready to train once more.” Aritska says, sinking her teeth into a chunk of chicken. “Once you have strength and endurance, you will learn precision.”

“Then you can go with us on our tasks!” Taiga cackles from where she’s sitting next to me at the table, the feathers in her hair fluffing out. “Fly with us, rip and tear and shred in the name of our Lord!”

“Mother has other designs for this one.” Looking over, I can see Trinity filtering into the room, each one carrying a plate and glass.

“More than a petty thief, more than a mere soldier, more than a simple spy.” adds the second.

“The Flower of Sjelefengsel, not yet in bloom.” the last says as they sit down.

“Prophecies about our neophyte’s untapped potential will have to wait for later.” Danya says as she appears in the doorway, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “It is good that you are almost finished, Jayta. We need someone to take Lord Syntaritov her lunch.”

I open my mouth, about to protest — I’d rather finish my lunch before having to take Raikaron hers, and having to run this errand will cut into the time I could be using to split wood. But I think twice about it, and instead of complaining, I just nod and stand up, putting my napkin on the table. “Okay. Is her tray ready?”

And for the first time, the statuesque severity of Danya’s face softens a little, and the slightest bit of approval creeps through in her tone. “It is prepared and waiting in the kitchen.”

“Alright.” I say, stepping away from my chair and walking down the length of the table, pointing back at Taiga as I do so. “Hands off my plate. I’m not done yet and I need all the calories I can get for the rest of the afternoon.”

Taiga gives me a shifty look, retracting the hand that had started to reach for the pile of seasoned potato wedges I’d been saving for last.

In the kitchen, it’s easy to find the tray, which is covered with a lid. “Anyone got a breath mint?” I ask as I pick up the tray. “I’ve gotta take this up to Lord Syntaritov.”

“What does this look like, a fuel station?” one of the kitchen staff says. “Next you’ll be asking for vape refills and candy bars. No, we don’t have any breath mints. You want to freshen up, chew on this.”

“What is it?” I ask, staring at the leaf that’s being held out to me.

“It’s spearmint. Sometimes we use it as garnish on the desserts. Make sure to grind it between your teeth, but not to pieces. You don’t want chunks of spearmint stuck between your teeth when you’re smiling at Lord Syntaritov. Now get out of here, you’re blocking the way to the pantry.”

I let out an indignant noise as the leaf gets stuffed in my mouth. Retreating out of the kitchen and taking the tray with me, I make my way out into the halls of the House, carefully grinding the leaf between my teeth as I go. I won’t exactly be showing up in top form when I reach Raikaron’s study; the sleeves of my House uniform are rolled up to my elbows, my hands are grimy from the gloves I use while chopping wood, and I’d worked up a bit of sweat during the first half of the day. But Danya hadn’t told me to go clean up first, so that probably meant that Raikaron wouldn’t mind.

By the time I’ve reached the study on the third floor, my breath feels colder, and I’ve swallowed the spearmint leaf on accident. Balancing the tray on one hand, I knock on the door with the other; after a moment, I’m rewarded with the muffled sound of Raikaron telling me to come in.

Opening the door, I step inside, and push it shut behind me. Raikaron is standing over a table that’s against the wall, opposite the fireplace; it looks like there’s lab equipment on it, along with other equipment I don’t recognize. Beakers, vials, heating plates, a small gas cylinder with a hose attached, bottles, some sort of pneumatic press… at the moment, she’s got a beaker in hand, a stirring rod clinking around within it.

“On the desk, if you would.” she says, motioning one hand to the desk at the far end of the room without turning to look at me.

“Of course.” I say, starting quickly across the study. “How are you today, my Lord?”

“I am the same today as I am any other day.” she answers, returning to stirring the beaker as she reads from what appears to be a book propped up on a reading stand on the table. “How goes the woodsplitting?”

“Got twenty logs done this morning. I’m going to try to hit forty-five by the end of the day.” I say as I reach the desk, trying to figure out where to sit the tray down. I eventually settle it near the edge of the table, right in the middle, trying not to infringe on the piles of paper and envelopes stacked around the desk. “It looks like you’ve had a lot more work recently.”

“A backlog developed while I was indisposed and convalescing.” she answers, setting the beaker down on one of the heating plates. “I have slowly been catching up on it.”

“Anything I can help with?” I ask, leaving the desk and heading over to the table she’s at.

That gets her attention. “Unusually generous of you, little demon.” There’s something approximating muted surprise in her green eyes. “But no, at least not yet. Managing the affairs of the House and its associated enterprises requires some experience and nuance. You will learn it eventually, but your physical training is the priority at the moment. Once that has been concluded, we will commence your education in the affairs of the House.”

“Alright.” I say, eyeing the door. I ought to get back to my own lunch, and then back to woodsplitting after that, but I’m curious at this whole setup that Raikaron’s working with — it resembles the some of the equipment I’ve used in my college labs, although its purpose is obviously different than college assignments.

“Staying for a taste?” Raikaron asks as she turns up the heating plate that the beaker is resting on. “You may be waiting a while.”

“Oh! No. Uhm, I was just curious about what all it is.” I say, motioning to the table and its contents. “I’ve never seen you working with all this before.”

“Little more than a hobby.” she replies, reaching for one of the boxes that has rows of vials. “One of the few actual pleasures I allow myself. In truth, right now I should be working on that aforementioned backlog, but I’ve been chipping away at it all morning and I’ve found my eyes glazing over after staring at so many audit reports. So, I am taking some time to brew some draughts from my native Dreaming.”

“Like the drinks at the Iron Liver?”

“Precisely.”

I run my tongue along my teeth, considering my next question. “I wanted to ask you about that, actually. I got a bottle of… something. As a prize for participating. But I don’t know what it is, or what it does.”

“Ah, yes. A bottle of the draught that knocked you out.” she says, popping the lid on the vial she’s picked up. “If I remember correctly, your consolation prize would’ve been Amageryon’s Touch. An earthy, almost metallic draught, wasn’t it?”

I screw my face up, remembering the taste. “Yeah. I didn’t like that one.”

“In fairness, you didn’t have an opportunity to see its effects.” she says, tipping a couple drops into the beaker on the hot plate. “Amageryon’s Touch is so named for the parable of Amageryon. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yeah, it’s that guy that made a deal with…” I start to answer, then pause as I realize something. “…a deal with… a Syntaritov… oh my god. Are you the one that…?”

Raikaron chuckles a bit at that, capping the vial and putting it back. “No, I am not. That legend is older than me by a good margin. But yes, that was one of my ancestors which made that deal with Amageryon. It was a classic; the entire family got a laugh out of it. We thought it funny enough that we made a drink to commemorate it. I take it you know the story, then?”

“Yeah!” I exclaim. “Amageryon was a poor beggar that wanted to be rich, so he made a deal with a Syntaritov that would allow him to transmute the things he touched into precious metals and stones. But it made life hard for him, because he couldn’t turn it off — every door he touched would transmute into gold or ruby and immediately snap off the hinges, and he couldn’t dress himself because his clothes would turn into metal or gems and weigh dozens of pounds. He always had to eat using utensils because any food he touched with his hands would transmute as well, and he could never hold the people he cared for. He eventually went back to the Syntaritov and begged to have the ability taken away from him, didn’t he?”

Raikaron’s smile holds until the end, where it falters. “Ahhhh… actually, no. The people that recorded the story changed the ending to be more friendly to children. Amageryon was actually assassinated by mercenaries hired by the local merchants because he was wrecking the regional economy.”

“Oh.” is all I can say to that. I hadn’t realized that there was a darker ending to what was already a pretty dark parable.

“Indeed.” Raikaron says as the beaker on the hot plate starts to bubble. “But aside from that, the family still got a pretty good laugh out of it. Given that history, I assume you can deduce what the draught named after him does.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda obvious now.” I say, reaching up and rubbing the back of my neck. “Seems like a… kinda dangerous drink.”

“Well, there are guardrails in place.” Raikaron says quickly. “A shot of the draught will allow you to transmute the first object you touch, but it doesn’t affect living creatures. Guardrails that I’m sure Amageryon would’ve appreciated.”

“Oh, good.” I say, relieved. “Yeah, I guess that’s a neat draught, once you get around the taste. I’ll have to try it sometime.”

“You haven’t cracked open your bottle yet?” Raikaron says, raising an eyebrow as she turns her head to look at me.

“I was a little, uh, hesitant. After the contest.” I say, lacing my fingers together. “The drinks were kinda crazy. I didn’t want to try the bottle I was given until I knew what it would do to me.”

“Fair enough.” she says, sounding amused as she turns her attention back to the mixing table. “There is value in a measure of caution, especially where it regards the provenance of the Dreaming.”

“So you’re brewing another one of those drinks now?” I ask tentatively, watching as she reaches for another vial. There’s a veritable kaleidoscope of colored liquids contained within the racks that hold the vials, many of them labeled. “Can I ask what you’re making?”

“This one? This is a draught called Sunday Afternoon Nap.” she says, picking up a vial with a clear, dark red liquid in it, and then nabs another one that contains what looks like a numinous yellow liquid. “It is what we refer to as a drowse draught, often used as a sleeping aid. In its finished form, it has strong notes of apple and spice, and fills an individual with warmth akin to lying in a sunbeam on a late afternoon…” She holds up the vial with the yellow liquid in it. “…thanks to a little bit of liquid sunlight.”

I raise a hand, then lower it a bit, then point at the vial. “…do you just call it liquid sunlight, or is it…?”

“Is it what?” she asks, lowering it and looking at me.

“That’s not actually liquid sunlight, is it?”

“It most certainly is.”

“But that’s not possible.”

“Well, this vial disagrees with you.”

“Light is energy! It’s a wave particle, it doesn’t have a physical mass!”

“Jayta, do you really want to have this conversation?” Raikaron asks patiently, giving me a knowing look. “You know where it’s going to end.”

“But…” I complain, motioning to the vial. “The states of matter, and wave-particle duality…”

“If it comforts you, there’s no violation of the laws of physics.” Raikaron says, popping the lid and tipping a couple of drops into the boiling beaker, quickly followed by a few drops from the red vial, then removing the beaker from the hot plate so the liquid can start to cool. “Simply a different interpretation of the mechanics involved, which, if we’re being honest, are little more than…” She waves a hand around, as if searching for the word. “…more like… polite suggestions? Yes. What you hold as laws in the Waking are more like suggestions to creatures of the Dreaming. Compliance recommended, but not required.”

I glare at her. “Oh ha ha, universal constants are just suggestions to you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I do not make a regular habit of ignoring said suggestions.” she says, capping both vials and returning them to their boxes. “It takes effort and energy to do so. It is far easier to comply with quantum laws and physics than it is to break or bend them, though bending them does fall somewhere in the middle in terms of effort expended. Scientific laws are rarely broken outright, but bent? All too often.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing you spend most of your time in hell, then.” I say, watching as she picks out one of the empty bottles on the table. “So this is how you get all the drinks for the Iron Liver? You make them yourself?”

“More or less.” she says, searching out a cork from one of the trays. “On the occasions when I need to unwind, this is sometimes how I relax…” She peters off, distracted by something. I realize what it is when I see that something is glowing beneath the cuffs of her sleeves — her manacle marks have come to life. “…oh no.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, taking a step nearer.

“No, no no no—” she says, getting louder with each repetition. Setting the cork down, she yanks down her cuffs, then looks down to the carpeted floor, where a seven-pointed star is starting to glow in a wide circle around her, lined with the ancient language that’s used to write contracts. “You have got to be kidding me! This is the second time in as many months!”

“What’s happening?” I demand nervously, gingerly stepping backward and trying to stay out of the circle.

“Some fool on the mortal plane is summoning me!” Raikaron hisses as the circle stabilizes, and her feet start sinking into the crimson film that’s developed beneath it. “I can’t go now, I’m in the middle of brewing a draught, it’s going to be ruined if I don’t get to the next step before it fully cools!” She tries to yank her feet up, but the film only clings to the one that she pulls up, while the foot she’s balancing on just sinks lowering into it. After that, she reaches out to me. “Jayta, help me!”

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

“Try to pull me out! Last time those morons at CURSE did this, they caught me while I was in my bathroom brushing my teeth.” Raikaron grunts as she tries to pull herself out of the circle with my help. “If I find out they’ve given my summoning circle to other parties—”

“I can’t pull you out! It’s too strong!” I cry out, bracing my feet against the floor as I use both hands to pull on her arm. Raikaron’s sinking quickly, already up to her waist in the circle.

“I am a demon Lord of Sjelefengsel, not some dog that comes running whenever someone chalks a circle on the floor!” Raikaron seethes through gritted teeth, her mouth almost pulled back in a snarl as she clings to my arm. She’s sunk up to her chest in the circle now. “They will have to fight me for every inch—”

“I don’t have enough leverage, you’re too far in!” I gasp as I’m forced to go to my knees. The circle just keeps on pulling her down. “I can’t stop it!”

Raikaron’s eyes widen. “Wait, Jayta, let go—”

It’s too late, though. As Raikaron’s pulled further down, my knuckles touch to the translucent film, which clings to me as well. The pull I feel is instant, a cosmic force that yanks me into the circle with Raikaron, both of us drawn into it. I hold my breath as I fall through, only to immediately find myself erupting through on the other side, emerging from a hardwood floor sprawled on top of Raikaron.

“If you would let me to my feet, Jayta.” Raikaron grunts, muffled from beneath me.

“Sorry, sorry sorry.” I mumble in embarrassment, scrambling to get off her. As I shuffle to my knees, I look around to see that we’re in a bedroom — and standing there on the edge of the circle, book in hand, is an…

Orc teenager.

“What the… where are we?” I demand, starting to get to my feet, then looking at the orc. “Who are you?”

She just stares at me with her mouth hanging open. Beside me, Raikaron gets to her feet, tugging on her crimson vest to pull the wrinkles out of it, then straightening her midnight tie. Reaching up to adjust her glasses, she locks onto the orc. “Out with it. What do you want, child?”

She licks her lips nervously, looks down at the book in her hands, then back up. “I was… trying to summon the Blackthorn Demon…”

“Yes, so I gathered.” Raikaron says tersely, looking around the room, taking in the desk, the clothes hamper, the relatively sparse and undecorated walls. “What do you want?”

“But… uh… where’s the Blackthorn Demon?” she asks, leaning to the side a little as if expecting something to be hiding behind us.

Raikaron just gives her a flat look.

“You’re staring at her.” I interject at this point, since the girl clearly isn’t getting it.

The orc stares at me, then at Raikaron, then down at the book. “But you’re supposed to be a giant… wolf… beast… thing… with antlers and some kind of chest maw—”

“Give me that.” Raikaron says, reaching forward and snatching the book out of the teenager’s hands, flipping it around so she can study it. “This is ridiculous. How do mortals keep on getting their hands on my summoning circle? When I give it out, it’s usually a single-use circle. I have neither the time nor patience for making house calls with this frequency.”

“Why would you summon a demon?” I ask the girl while Raikaron’s scanning over the book. “Are you trying to cut a deal? I promise you, you don’t want to do that.”

Raikaron gives me a dirty side look. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

I backtrack quickly. “Oh no, what I meant is… I mean, your deals are nice…er, than the deals of other Lords, but generally speaking…” Then I realize what I’m saying, and draw up short. “Wait, no. Why am I saying this? You tricked me into my contract! I have every reason to tell her not to cut a deal with you!”

“We’ve been over this before; I didn’t trick you into anything.” Raikaron replies firmly. “You chose the path you went down, and you did it in a manner which was intended to spite me.”

“Well, yes, but you manipulated me—” I begin.

“Your revisionist memory is working overtime to erase the fact that you at first rejected my aid, and then proceeded to go kill the new girl entirely of your own accord, without the benefit of plausible deniability that I offered you so you could get away with it.” Raikaron says, giving me a disapproving stare.

I glare back at her. “Well, you manipulated me into signing the contract after that.”

Raikaron throws up her hands in exasperation. “I manipulated you into nothing. The reason the police caught you was because you refused my help in the first place and decided to do things your way. I came back and offered you a way out of the predicament you had gotten yourself into by your stubbornness.”

I fold my arms. “I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t put the idea in my head in the first place.”

“I put the idea in your head, yes. You chose to act on it.”

“You knew I would act on it if you put it in my head.”

“I did not. I am many things; prescient is not one of them. That particular gift belongs to Trinity, and only in fitful bursts.”

I huff at her. “Well, some of it is still your fault.” I motion to the orc girl, who’s just been staring at us this entire time. “I’m just telling her she should be careful of any deal she makes with you.”

“I do not make a habit of entrapping children in demonic contracts.” Raikaron retorts icily, snapping the book shut. “I may be a demon Lord, but I have standards, thank you very much.” With that, she looks towards the orc teenager. “I am the Lord of Regret, also known as the Blackthorn Demon. What is your name, child, and why have you summoned me?”

The orc girl looks startled to be addressed after our recent interchange, and starts fidgeting with one of the locks of her long black hair. Despite being taller than both of us — she’s about six feet, if I had to guess — she seems pretty nervous. “Manargo. I wanted to… make a deal.”

“Well, you just heard me; I do not make a habit of making deals with children, no matter how…” Raikaron hefts the book in one hand, waving it around. “…precocious they are. Honestly, I am surprised that you had the skill and training to create a functioning summoning circle in the first place. We try to child-proof these things as much as we can. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“And do you understand the gravity of what you are attempting, Manargo?” Raikaron demands. “You have summoned a Lesser Lord of Sjelefengsel, the largest of the twenty-three primary hells. In making a deal with me, you would sell your soul, which will condemn you to hell at the conclusion of your mortal tenure, regardless of how good a person you were.”

“But I’d be able to get something in return, right?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes, but you’re missing the point.” Raikaron says patiently. “No matter what it is you’re seeking, it is not worth selling away your soul for.”

I glare at Raikaron. “Where was this side of you six months ago?”

“I have already told you, I do not prey on children.” Raikaron replies tersely. “You were twenty-five; you were an adult and could make your own decisions with the benefit of experience and maturity. She is seventeen. There is almost a decade-wide difference between the two of you.”

“Oh, so it was okay to prey on me because I was an adult?” I ask sarcastically.

I can almost hear Raikaron’s teeth grinding as her head turns ever so slightly, angled downwards as her voice enters that dangerously soft territory. “No, little flower. I preyed on you because you didn’t run.”

I swallow hard and avert my eyes as shivers run down my back. Though I still haven’t forgiven Raikaron for what she manipulated me into, perhaps now isn’t the best time to be getting into it with her.

“I want you to change me into a Halfie.” Manargo says, interrupting our tense moment.

That draws Raikaron’s attention back off me. “You… want to be a Halfie.” she repeats, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly.

Manargo nods, her fingers nervously fiddling with each other.

There’s a long moment of silence before Raikaron tilts her head back a little with a long “Ohhhh.” She turns in place, looking around the room, as if searching for something — I’m not sure what. “Yes. All the familiar places. I had a feeling I’d been here before.”

“You… what?” I say, watching as she slowly turns in place, taking in the room. Manargo appears equally confused.

“I will make an educated guess.” Raikaron says, swinging her gaze back around to Manargo with a renewed focus. “Male. Canid. He isn’t interested in interspecies relationships.”

Manargo’s face goes through an impressive range of emotions in a few seconds — surprise, anger, embarrassment, despair, determination. The expression is familiar, and for me, it brings back memories of high school, a time when I could remember feeling such overwhelming mixtures of emotion. “Can you do it?” she demands.

“No.” Raikaron answers immediately. “I’ve said it twice now, and I’ll say it again: I do not make deals with children.”

Manargo looks absolutely crushed by that, all the hope going out of her — and watching it happen makes me hurt, viscerally. I recognize her emotions, and they’re of the same strain that I felt when my ex dumped me. That crushing loss of hope, of having no options left to turn to. “Raikaron!” I hiss, turning to my Lord. “What the hell? Couldn’t you have been a bit gentler?”

Raikaron looks a bit startled that I’d speak so aggressively to her. “There is no point in mincing around it, Jayta. I am not going to do her the disservice of creating hope where there is none. I have been here too often before, with Danya, and yourself, and hundreds of others. I will admit that I preyed on their heartbreak, and used their vulnerability as an opportunity to shape them into something more, something better.” She looks back to Manargo. “But I am not going to prey on the heartbreak of a child. Besides, young love passes in time. You will grow out of it.”

I gape at her, then smack her shoulder. “You are just the worst at talking to girls!”

Raikaron takes a step away from me, staring at her shoulder with wide eyes. “Have you lost your everloving mind, laying hands on your Lord?” she demands, aghast.

“It’s the only way to get anything through that thick, arrogant skull of yours!” I snap back at her. “Seriously? ‘Young love passes in time’? In what universe does any lovestruck teenager want to hear that they’ll ‘grow out of it’?”

“I am merely stating the facts of observed patterns and experiences!” Raikaron protests. “Yes, it is distressing to have your first love unrequited, but it happens with incredible frequency for a great many individuals, and the vast majority of them move past it and into other relationships as they mature!”

“That’s true, but just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s what she wants or needs to hear right now!” I snap back at her as I walk across the summoning circle to Manargo, reaching up to take her hands. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a demon Lord; I don’t think she knows what love feels like.”

Manargo’s rubbing at her eyes, trying to hide the gathering tears there. “I’m sorry.” she mumbles. “I’m just wasting your time; I shouldn’t have summoned either of you…”

“You are not wasting our time.” I say firmly. “People do strange things for love when they’re heartbroken or jealous. But you don’t need to change yourself to become something you’re not, just so someone else can feel attracted to you.”

“Well… with caveats.” Raikaron adds at this point. “Changing habits, improving skills, becoming a better person — these are all good changes to make in the pursuit of someone else. Changing your appearance to be what someone else wants, on the other hand, is more superficial and rarely leads to the lasting felicity one desires.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re both human!” Manargo erupts, and the venom in her voice is… disconcerting, enough for me to take a step back. “You don’t— you don’t know, don’t understand what it’s like to be me, what it’s like to be an orc! You know what it’s like to try and date as an orc? You’re taller than everyone else at school except the Halfies; none of the guys want to come near a girl that’s taller than them, and people talk behind your back; nobody wants to come near this!” She motions to me with a gesture that’s half disdain, half desperation. “All that is easy for you guys to say! You’re a petite little princess of a human, and you, you’re, you’re—”

“I’m what?” Raikaron says calmly, coldly, as Manargo motions to her. “Go on, tell me what I am.”

I recognize the tone, and turn around quickly. “Raikaron, wait— she’s just a kid—” It’s one thing for Raikaron to be mad at me; it’s another thing for her to be mad at the teenager.

“No, Jayta.” Raikaron says, crossing the summoning circle with the book clasped behind her back, those shoulders squared. “I want to hear this. I want to hear what she thinks I am. What she thinks I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand me, don’t have to deal with people calling you applejacks because of the color of your skin, or calling you sabertooth because of your tusks!” Manargo growls over the top of my head at Raikaron. “You don’t know anything about what it’s like to be me, what I have to put up with, because you’re human and you’ve never had to deal with that, never had to deal with people writing you off because of what you are, and then you’ve got the nerve to tell me that I’m silly for wanting to change the way I look!”

“Manargo, that’s not what she meant!” I say quickly, trying to defuse the situation as Raikaron closes the distance. Caught between the two of them, I’m starting to get the feeling that I have not picked a great place to be. “Raikaron, she’s just a kid—”

“She is. That doesn’t mean she should say whatever she wants.” Raikaron says, stopping short of me by a few inches. I’m all that’s standing between the two of them now. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to have people mock me, or look at me with disgust? You think I don’t know the pain of being undesirable to other people? Then let’s revisit my arrival here, then. You were expecting the Blackthorn Demon, were you not? An antediluvian beast that puts the fear of hell into mortals and inspires the nightmares of the prophets.” She motions to herself, from her face all the way down her sharply-dressed body, to her shined shoes. “You think I assume this form for idle vanity? No. Do not tell me I do not know how it feels to be unwanted. If anything, you should count yourself lucky that people only talk behind your back, or that people are capable of laughing at you — instead of screaming when they see you, or recoiling in horror when they catch a passing glimpse of what you truly are." She takes a moment to motion to me. "Even this one, most favored among my servants and dear unto me, called me a monster after witnessing the merest hint of what I truly am. You think I do not understand how you feel, Manargo? I understand your pain perfectly well, perhaps moreso than you yourself do.”

I wince at the mention of the conversation Raikaron and I had in the garden a week ago. I hadn’t really imagined it would bother Raikaron all that much, but perhaps, under the typically placid exterior, she had insecurities and emotional needs just like the rest of us.

At any rate, Raikaron’s cold diatribe is enough to put the brakes on Manargo for a bit. It takes a hot minute for her to come up with a reply to that, but when she does, it isn’t to back off. “If you understand, then you know why I want this. You can’t tell me I’m wrong to want it, either. You have the power to change how you look, to make yourself more appealing to others. You’d be a hypocrite for telling me it’s wrong to want the same privilege you enjoy.”

Raikaron presses her lips together, then looks down at me. I shrug. “She’s got a point.” is all I say.

Exhaling a long breath, Raikaron looks back to Manargo. “I, and many other besides myself, have the power to change how we look. But that does not change what we are. Some part of you will always be what you were, no matter how deep you try to bury it or hide it away. You can hide from others what you are, but you will always know what you really are, and you will have to live with that truth regardless of what others see.”

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” Manargo says.

“With all the characteristic rashness of youth, yes.” Raikaron notes drily. “You would sell your soul for this?”

I perk up at that. “Wait, whoa, hold up. I thought you said you didn’t do contracts with kids.”

Raikaron raises an eyebrow at me. “You sided with her not sixty seconds ago when she told me I would be a hypocrite to deny her the same privilege I enjoy.”

“Well, yeah, I mean— she’s right, she made a good point, but that doesn’t mean I want her to actually sell her soul for it!” I stammer.

“So you would admit her reasoning is valid, but deny her appellation anyway.” Raikaron infers. “In effect, taking the same course I intended to take at the outset.”

“Of course I’d deny it, she’s a kid!” I exclaim. “You can’t let kids sell their souls to you!”

“That is exactly the point I stated thrice earlier, and you gave me grief for it.” The muted irritation in Raikaron’s voice isn’t exactly subtle.

“Well yeah, because you didn’t do it gently!” I protest.

“I am a demon Lord, not a nursery mother. ‘Gentle’ is not a luxury I have the benefit of employing when I must clearly demarcate what I will and will not do.”

“Well, you said you wouldn’t do contracts with kids, so why are you letting her sell her soul to you?”

“Because you took her side and supported her argument.”

“Just because I think she’s right doesn’t mean she should be allowed to sell her soul!”

“So you would approve the sentiment, but forbid her from acting upon it, effectually nullifying any weight that your approval would’ve carried.”

“Arrrgh! You are impossible sometimes, you know that?”

“I am not the one that is harboring a frankly dizzying volume of cognitive dissonance.”

“Hey, I’m still here, you know.” Manargo interrupts, trying to reclaim some foothold in the conversation. “And I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“No, you are literally, legally, not old enough to do that.” I retort. “You’re not going to sell your soul over some boy that may not even care for you. Trust me, boys are not worth that kind of trouble.”

“That’s my choice to make, not yours!” Manargo insists.

“It is not your choice to make. At least not yet.” Raikaron concurs, taking the book out from behind her back and ripping a page from it. “My avenger agrees that I should not be taking the souls of children, and I will maintain that stance. However, when you come of age, if you are still of the same mind and this young madness has not worn off, you may summon me again to make the request anew, as an adult.” As a summoning circle emblazons itself on the paper, Raikaron holds it out to Manargo. “Unlike the other one, this one is single-use. Do not summon me before you have come of age, or I will refuse you just as I have refused you today.”

Manargo takes the page, looking at it. “But I can’t wait that long! I see him every day at school, I can’t… I can’t keep doing this every day…”

“You will. Because you must.” Raikaron says, crossing the circle on the floor to stand in the center of it once more. “If you must persist in this path, then I would counsel you to seek not love, but friendship. Love often grows out of that. And moreover, to seek to improve yourself. A well-rounded individual is often a compelling choice when making the case for being someone’s partner.”

“Never apply for being a youth counselor. You’re terrible at it.” I say, glaring at Raikaron before looking back to Manargo, who’s swung through the wild oscillations of youthful emotion back to teary-eyed despair. “It’ll be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’ll be okay.” I say, reaching up to touch her arm. “Take some time. Have a good cry, take a shower and let all the stress out, take the weekend and do something you like. Or hang out with your friends. There’s more to life than just a boy.”

“I am not entirely without feeling.” Raikaron retorts to me, folding the book behind her back as she returns her attention to Manargo. “You have my pity. Youth is a turbulent time, but this too will pass. I know it does not seem like it now, but things will get better.”

“You just need to stop talking.” I mutter as I walk back to Raikaron. “Your heart’s in the right place, but you’re just making things worse.”

“I suppose I ought to take you at your word, as you’re somewhat of an expert in that yourself.” Raikaron mutters. “Be well, Manargo. And in the future, perhaps consider sending a prayer to the heavens for guidance or comfort, instead of cutting a deal with the hells.”

“I did.” Manargo says bitterly. “Heaven didn’t answer.”

Raikaron’s lips draw tight in displeasure, but I can tell it’s not directed at Manargo. “I am sorry. Nowadays heaven is a little overworked. Still, it would be better to seek comfort and guidance from those that specialize in it. As my avenger has noted several times already, I am poor substitute for the support you need.”

“Yeah. But at least you came when I called.” Manargo says, still bitter as she looks down at the page in her hand. “Thanks for… that, I guess. You didn’t help me, but at least you showed up.”

Raikaron sighs. Not an exasperated sigh, but a sad one, a worn-down one. “Yes, I suppose we did.” she says. “Go to bed. Get some sleep, little one. Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start. A whole new page to write on.”

The words are familiar, and I realize I’ve heard them before because I was on the receiving end of them. Back when I was first brought to the House of Regret and was acclimating to Sjelefengsel, Raikaron had brought me a mug of hot cocoa and told me something something similar. In fact, it was those exact words.

Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start.

We start to sink back into the circle, leaving Manargo alone and dejected in her room, and it’s… heartbreaking to leave like this. I want to be able to give her some sort of hope, tell her that she’ll get past this with time and it’ll just be a memory for her older, wiser self. But I remember being her age, remember what unrequited love felt like, and I know that reason and logic have no way to penetrate the mindset at that age. It’s just something she’ll have to work through on her own, and come through on the other side older and wiser. Hopefully.

Then we’re back in Raikaron’s study again, the summoning circle on the floor fading away. Now that we no longer have an audience, I turn on Raikaron and let her have it. “What is wrong with you? Have you never been in love before?”

“I know what it feels like. Being a creature of the Dreaming, I cannot help but sense the emotions of those in close proximity to me, and I have had my fair share of exposure to all sorts of couples and yearning lovers.” she says, turning back to her mixing table and checking the beaker that was abandoned when she was summoned away.

“Yeah okay, but feeling it secondhand isn’t the same as experiencing it yourself.” I say, walking around to her side so I can look at her. “Have you ever been in love with someone? Have you ever had someone you adored, that you cared for and yearned for?”

She glances askance at me, then picks up the beaker, sniffing at it. “You have a penchant for asking questions whose answers you would regret.” she mutters, lowering the beaker after a moment of scenting it. “The draught is ruined; it was left to cool for too long. The drowse element has steeped clear through lethargy and straight into narcolepsy. A sip of this would knock out a vorcruelian for hours, to say nothing of what it would do to a person.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I growl at her.

She sets down the beaker, taking off her glasses as she turns towards me and leans in close, green eyes glaring at me. “You want the answer to that question?” she asks softly, dangerously.

I start to take a step back, then decide to try and hold my ground. “Yeah.” I say, my fingers curling into fists. “What’s wrong, is the demon Lord afraid to admit she has feelings?”

“If I am, it would not be unwarranted. Feelings are dangerous and powerful things. Creatures of the Dreaming know that better than most.” she replies, her voice sibilant as she straightens up and picks up the beaker, then grabs a handful of empty vials. “Unsettling in their own right, to say nothing of the fact that they can be downright terrifying…” She walks past me, leaning to the side a bit as she whispers the next part to me. “…when you are the target of someone else’s feelings.”

A shiver goes up my back, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My reply sticks in my throat, and dies there as I think back to Raikaron’s diatribe to Manargo, about how she understood the teenager’s emotions better than Manargo herself did.

“Are you…” I ask, turning around to stare after Raikaron, who’s standing at her desk and carefully pouring the beaker into the vials she has between each of her fingers.

“I am not going to throw out this mixture. While the draught itself has been ruined, the mixture itself may still have utility.” Raikaron says, businesslike, factual, her back still turned to me. “Though it is not poison, a sedative of this potency has great potential for use in espionage or as a sleep aid. We will keep some here at the House in the sick room, but the remainder will go to the Exchange, where I am sure Brian will be able to find interested parties to pay for it.” Capping the vials, she sets the beaker down, then waves a hand, her manacle mark glowing. A briefcase flies out from one of the bookshelves, landing on the desk; clicking it open, she starts to carefully seat the vials within the felt casing inside. “As I have work that I must catch up on, you will be the one that delivers it to the Exchange, and bring back the receipt of credit that Brian will owe me for product provided.”

I don’t respond right away, bewildered as I am. For a moment there I thought she was coming on to me, and now she’s giving me an errand to run and talking business as if she hadn’t just implied — well, what had she implied? Was I reading into it too much? Was she messing with me?

The sound of the briefcase snapping shut brings me back out of my thoughts to find Raikaron standing in front of me, the briefcase held out for me to take. “Do you have any questions?” she asks.

I stare at the briefcase, then at her. “Well— how am I supposed to get there? And… and what about my woodsplitting? I’ve only done twenty logs today, that’s—”

“We will set aside your woodsplitting today; you will have a full thirty minutes of hot water tonight if you complete this errand timely.” Raikaron says. “As for getting there, one of the House chauffeurs will drive you there and back again, unless you are adventurous enough to drive yourself.”

“Oh… no, I’ll go with the chauffeur.” I say quietly, reaching out to take the briefcase. If it was just driving the long roads through the badlands, I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at it, but having to navigate Hautaholvi’s hellish traffic wasn’t something I felt brave enough to try. “So I just… go down to the garage, and…?”

“Yes. One of the chauffeurs will be waiting.”

I look down at the briefcase. “And I just… give this to Brian and ask for a receipt?”

“You will explain to him that it is a powerful sedative, lethal above a certain dosage, brewed with Dreaming elements. As such, it will leave no chemical trace, and only those steeped in the arcane might be able to synthesize an antidote or determine the cause of the effects it engenders.” Raikaron explains patiently. “Knowing all this should allow him to set a price to it, for which he can produce a receipt of credit after accepting the product. Once you have that, you may return.”

“Alright.” I say, letting the suitcase hang by my side. “Can I finish my lunch before I go?”

“You may, yes.” she says, walking back to her desk to pick up the beaker that contains what’s left of the ruined draught. “Do not tarry too long, though. The Exchange closes at nightfall, which comes earlier in the winter, and you do not want to contend with Hautaholvi’s rush hour traffic.”

“Understood.” I nod, turning and heading for the door of the study. It should be simple as that, just leaving, but I can’t shake the little back and forth we had earlier. It keeps gnawing at me until I decide I can’t leave without saying something, so I stop and turn around. “I can’t be, I can’t… you’re a demon Lord. You prey on people, manipulate them, watch them suffer. I can’t… I would never fall in love with someone like that.”

Raikaron hesitates for a moment, only turning slightly from her desk. “I told you that you would regret the answer, but you asked the question anyway. Do you wish you had not asked it now?”

I open my mouth, then close it in frustration, looking away. “You didn’t have to answer it.”

“If I had not, you would’ve kept pressing me, would you have not?”

“Well… yes, but…”

“I did not want to answer because I know you hate me for what I have done to you, and I knew how you would respond.” Raikaron says quietly, studying the beaker in her hand. “But I answered anyway, because you insisted. You do not have to return my feelings, but at least give me credit for the bravery to admit them in the face of failure. This kind of courage is not easy to come by, and I tend to spend it quickly, if at all.”

I struggle for a response to that, trying to pick through it and unpack it. “Look, you, you’re, you’re a demon Lord. You’re a—”

“A bad person?” Raikaron says softly. “Yes. So you’ve said. Cruel and manipulative, prone to watching the suffering of others, or enabling it.” She cups the beaker in her hands, staring down into it. “I won’t say that you’re wrong, Jayta, but tell the whole truth, not just pieces of it.” She looks at me, lowering the beaker. “Much of that suffering is self-inflicted. I might observe it, and pick through the aftermath, but I do not cause it as often as you think I might. Most times I do not even have to enable it. You have proved all of these truths yourself during your own fall from grace, which you insisted on bringing about on your own, with your own personal touch.”

I wince, looking away. “That’s… not the same… I’m not…”

“You’re not like me?” Raikaron guesses. “You’re not a bad person?”

I swallow hard, realizing how hypocritical I would sound, saying that. “What I meant…”

“Don’t judge me for sinning differently than you do, Jayta.”

My ears start to burn, and I can’t bring myself to meet Raikaron’s gaze, even as I feel it resting on me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” she apologizes. I look up to see she’s gone back to staring at the beaker. “Well… that is not honest. I did intend to make you feel bad, but only because you were…” She peters off, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I should not have reacted that way. It was not right of me. You are dismissed; go finish your lunch, and be safe while you are about your errand today. If you need anything, Danya and I are only a call away.”

“Okay.” I say quietly, clasping the handle of the briefcase in both hands, turning and heading back to the door. “Have… have a good day, my Lord.”

She doesn’t respond, and I open the door, stepping out of the study. Closing it behind me, I pause to close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling all sorts of conflicted.

Don’t judge me for sinning differently than you do.

Those words are stamped in my mind, echoing back and forth in my head, lodging deep in my soul. A painful, humbling reminder that not everyone’s sins looked the same. And while it was true that I wasn’t like Raikaron, I couldn’t hide from that uncomfortable truth.

I might be different from her, but that didn’t make me any better than her.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

7:30pm SGT

“I take it you are done with your dinner, my Lord?” Danya asks from my desk.

I don’t take my eyes off the fire, my fingers laced before me. Slumped in one of the armchairs with my tie loosened around my neck, I have spent the last thirty minutes or so by its comfortable warmth, my thoughts slowly churning over the events of today. Even now, seven hours later, they were still lingering, gnawing at me.

“My Lord?” Danya repeats.

“Mm. Yes, I am done with dinner.” I reply faintly. “The staff can take the dishes.”

“Noted. I will collect them and return them to the kitchen when I depart.” Danya says, followed by the sound of fingers leafing through papers. “It appears that you did not make much progress on the backlog today.”

“I was preoccupied. I will see what progress I can make tomorrow.” I reply distractedly.

“Do you require assistance? If so, I can devote some time to clearing some of these reports and requests.” Danya offers.

“I can handle it, Danya.”

“Very well.” After a moment, the sound of her heels against the carpet stops next to my chair. “You are unusually pensive tonight. Is there anything I can assist with?”

My thumbs twiddle together as I watch the fire throw flickering shadows across the floor. It’s well past nightfall, and the only light in the room is presently the flames that wrap around the firelogs, and the glowing coals that give birth to the crimson tongues. “Jayta did not have any difficulty in her errand today, did she?” I ask after a moment.

“Not as far as I can tell.” Danya says. “She reported no trouble, returned timely, and delivered the receipt of credit, though I believe Brian deliberately undervalued the product since it was not a more experienced demon making the delivery. I will address it with her tomorrow.”

“No need.” I say quietly. “I’ll take it up with Brian myself, next time I visit the Exchange.”

“Understood.” Danya says, inclining her head. After a moment, she goes on. “Did something happen today, my Lord? It is unlike you to simply sit idle like this. Even when you are at repose, I typically find you sifting reports.”

“I think I may have made a mistake, Danya.” I admit. “She was vexing me, and in a moment of… rashness, I responded in a manner which gave away my feelings towards her.”

Danya’s surprise is palpable; I do not have to check her expression, because I can feel it radiating from her. “Is that so.” she remarks carefully. “This is rather unusual. Until now, you had denied, even to me, that you had any emotional investment in her.”

“Yes, well. I would be fool to deny it now that I have inadvertently made her aware of it.” I sigh, rubbing a hand over my mouth. “Her response was… predictable. At least I know now that she has no such interest in me.”

“She said that to your face?” Danya says, raising an eyebrow.

“Not phrased as such, though you could argue the way she phrased it was more damaging by far.” I say, slumping a little more in my chair. “Something to the effect of being unable to fall in love with demon lords because they are, apparently by definition, bad people.”

Danya purses her lips. “Well, broadly speaking, she’s not wrong…”

“Et tu, Brute?”

“Consider your peers and tell me they are not malice incarnate, my Lord.”

“Envy’s not too bad.” I say listlessly. “Grief and Sorrow… they’re decent. That said, I’ll admit that the rest of the Lesser Lords are… fairly sadistic.”

“You do realize Envy is sweet on you, right? She is much crueler when you are not around.”

“You jest.”

“I do not. She is one of the most sadistic of the bunch.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. She used to be one of the Greater Lords, after all.”

“Ah, yes, that’s a good point. Lost her seat during the last election, didn’t she? Was demoted to the Seventh Circle. I’m not sure why I’m asking you; that election took place before you were even born on the mortal plane.”

“Yes. At any rate, this entire tangent sprung from Jayta having the apparent gall to equate being a demon lord with moral bankruptcy, or something along those lines?” Danya asks, bringing the conversation back on track. “As her way of expressing that she is not interested in you.”

“Yes.” I say, my gaze going to the fire again. “My temper got the better of me, and I retorted by bringing up her own sins. I know I should not have done it, but the hypocrisy was infuriating, I—” I cut myself off at that point, shaking my head. “I am concerned that she will be uncomfortable in my presence hereafter.”

Danya snorts. “And she was not uncomfortable in your presence before?”

“Well, yes, but now that she knows, it adds another dimension to the discomfort.” I say, waving a hand. “Beyond what was already present, obviously. And this additional dimension of discomfort is more awkward than the others. It’s just… yeah. That.”

Danya raises an eyebrow. “How terrifyingly verbose of you.”

“I lack the vocabulary to describe all… this.” I retort, waving a hand vaguely towards the fire. “Interpersonal relations. Emotion. Sentiment.”

“Oh no, your vocabulary is more than sufficient.” Danya says archly. “It’s simply that you’ve always been the spectator, and never the participant. You’re far less lofty when you must diagnose your own lovelorn foibles, are you not?”

“Clearly this was all a mistake.” I mutter moodily. “An emotional misadventure which I will take care not to repeat in the future.”

“Do not be so sour, my Lord.” Danya says patiently. “One setback does not a failure make, and with time and familiarity, the heart sometimes grows fonder. It may be on the magnitude of years, but in the due process of time, Jayta may grow to appreciate your other qualities enough to kindle an interest.” Turning, she heads back to my desk to collect my dinner tray. “For the present, night calls. Take your rest, my Lord. Jayta’s feelings will not change in a day or a week or even a month, and you have much paperwork to catch up on.”

“So noted.” I sigh as she makes her way back towards the door of the study. “I will make a point of retiring soon, then. Have a good night, Danya.”

“And you as well, my Lord.” she says, the door shortly closing behind her.

In the ensuing silence, I lace my fingers together again, staring back into the fire. I know that something like this ought not bother me as much as it does; the yearnings of romance were little more than the folly of mortal lives, and paled next to the cosmic grandeur of my other responsibilities. And yet, and yet…

The connection, however messy, was one I still insensibly, illogically, irrationally, craved.