Chapter 19 - Inadequate

  It felt as though time itself stalled, the air turning heavy and unmoving as Tova stared at the broad figure standing in the doorway.

  How? I felt nothing. No presence, no sound, no shift in the air.

  Dravan’s smile widened faintly, as if the question had been spoken aloud. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said lightly. “No one hears me unless I allow it.”

  He took a step into the room.

  Tova’s body reacted instantly. He tensed, feet shifting into a grounded stance, one palm opening as his focus sharpened to a blade’s edge.

  Dravan raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Relax. I am not here to fight.”

  “Then leave,” Tova said flatly.

  “Can’t do that either.”

  “You leave me no choice.”

  “Listen, Cav—”

  “Tova.”

  “Fine,” Dravan said with a small exhale. “Tova. I believe I have made it very clear. You are coming with me. Whether you agree or not.”

  Tova’s eyes did not waver. His voice dropped, quiet and absolute.

  “Not if I kill you first.”

  “I suggest you do not try that,” Dravan said as he stepped fully into the room, his gaze drifting across the walls as if taking in the space with idle curiosity rather than caution.

  Tova shifted back half a step, weight settling into his stance, but he did not summon the spear yet. He watched and waited, letting the silence stretch to see what Dravan would do.

  “Quite the place you carved out for yourself,” Dravan said lightly. “Cozy.”

  “They will be looking for you,” Tova muttered.

  “Yes,” Dravan replied, turning to face him, hands resting on his hips. “And for you as well. Looks like neither of us can go back now.”

  “You’re not staying here.”

  “Says who—”

  “Says me!”

  Dravan took a step closer.

  Tova’s reaction was immediate. The spear snapped into existence in his grip, its tip lifting in a smooth arc until it hovered at Dravan’s throat, close enough that a single twitch would open skin.

  Dravan did not so much as blink.

  “This is unfair,” he said.

  “Unfair?” Tova repeated, voice flat.

  “You know perfectly well I cannot kill you,” Dravan continued, irritation creeping into his tone, “and it would be extremely inconvenient to fend you off while keeping you alive, all while ensuring we make as little noise as possible in case a guard happens to be near enough to hear us.”

  Tova held still for a long moment, weighing possibilities with a calm that did not reach his eyes. The spear remained steady, and his gaze never left Dravan’s face. “Then what?”

  Dravan sighed, then lowered himself to the straw, sitting first and then stretching out onto his back with disarming ease. “Then I stay here for the time being,” he said, folding his hands behind his head. “Until I figure out how to snatch you while you sleep.”

  “I said I’m not going back,” Tova snapped, anger tightening his words.

  “You woke your friend,” Dravan muttered, tipping his chin toward the far side of the room.

  Elrin was sitting up now, cross-legged in the straw, blinking sleep from his eyes, with Lancelot curled against his thigh like a small, warm shadow.

  “You’re not going back where?” Elrin asked, looking from Dravan to Tova.

  “None of your business,” Tova said, curt enough to cut.

  Elrin’s stare did not waver. “It is my business,” he said, voice steady despite the roughness of sleep still clinging to it. “Especially if I’m risking my life for you. I need to know what’s going on.”

  Tova did not answer. He turned away instead, walked to the corner, and sat down with his back angled toward them.

  Elrin turned to Dravan. “What about you?”

  Dravan gave a loose shrug. “I took a well-paying job. I must bring that little prince back home.”

  Elrin’s head turned slowly toward Tova, eyes narrowing. “Prince?”

  Dravan nodded once, unbothered. “Prince of the Zennod Family.”

  Elrin vaguely recalled a passage about the Zennod family, a powerful lineage said to have claimed an entire island as their domain, where they built a walled city and ruled within it. The history books at Heligsol had offered only scattered fragments, little more than a footnote, leaving the rest shrouded in mystery.

  “And you’re planning to force him to go with you because it pays well?”

  Dravan considered that for a moment, a quiet hum escaping him. “Not exactly. Had I known he would be this difficult to work with, I might have declined the contract.”

  “Then why—”

  “His identity is…sensitive,” Dravan said, scratching absently at the back of his head. “There are details even I was not given. The pay reflects that. And if I fail to return him within the agreed time frame….” He let the sentence trail off with a faint shrug. “I become a liability.”

  “They’ll kill you,” Elrin said.

  Dravan gave a slow nod. “And my family,” he added, his voice low and edged with something harder. “Just to make sure I don’t decide to disappear or sell this information.”

  Elrin felt a brief stab of pity at the edge of his chest, but he pushed past it. At last, someone was speaking openly, and he was not about to let the moment slip away.

  “What do you know about Jotun?” he asked, the question landing abruptly in the space between them.

  Dravan’s brow lifted. “The fallen city?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Elrin hesitated then nodded.

  “Nothing beyond what everyone knows,” Dravan said, studying him. “Why?”

  “I…I want to understand how the demons took the realm,” Elrin replied, careful to keep his voice steady, careful not to let too much show.

  Dravan snorted softly. “You cannot be serious. There is no way you don’t know.”

  Elrin only kept looking at him.

  “Johanne the Graceful?” Dravan said slowly. “Killed by Asamodeus?”

  Elrin’s breath hitched. “Killed by who?”

  A short incredulous laugh escaped Dravan. “Either you are putting on a show, or you have been buried in a dungeon your whole life. Even there the news would have reached you.”

  “Who is Asamodeus?” Elrin pressed.

  “Seriously?” Dravan replied, incredulity slipping into his voice.

  Elrin didn’t blink, his gaze expectant of an answer.

  Dravan let out a long, exasperated breath, the sound heavy with disbelief. “Our ruler—the cursed demon sitting on the Red Throne now,” Dravan said. “The current Demon King. Though it may not be for long.” Dravan scratched his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Some demon legions don’t accept his claim,” Dravan replied. “A duel for the throne must have the proper witnesses. Asamodeus did not. Many say he lied, that he never truly killed Mardukai, but who knows.”

  Elrin’s eyes widened, the reaction instinctive, almost violent. “Of course it wasn’t he who killed Johanne—there were witnesses,” he said quickly. “The entire city of Jotun saw it!”

  Dravan’s expression hardened, the faint trace of amusement gone. “The city was burned to ashes,” he replied. “Levelled. I have heard whispers of people claiming they survived the slaughter, but stories are cheap, and truth is harder to come by.”

  Survived the slaughter? Could…could Wean be among them!?

  “You are wasting precious time talking,” Tova interrupted, impatience tightening his voice. “We need to train.”

  “Hold on,” Elrin cut in, pushing himself upright, refusing to be dismissed. “There are things I still need to know.”

  “It will not amount to anything unless we make it out of here alive.”

  Elrin’s mouth tightened. “By making it out, you mean killing Gunwald.”

  “Kill Gunwald?” Dravan snapped up from the straw, suddenly alert.

  Elrin kept his gaze on Tova, waiting for an answer.

  Dravan’s eyes slid to Tova, narrowed, held there for several long heartbeats. Then he let out a deep laugh, the sound rolling through the chamber.

  Tova’s eyes hardened. “What is so funny?”

  “You? Kill Gunwald?” Dravan leaned back into the straw, folding his hands behind his head as if the very idea amused him. “I will not allow it.”

  “And why not?” Tova asked.

  “Getting yourself killed means getting myself killed,” Dravan replied. “So, simply, you will not do it.”

  “If you stand in my way,” Tova said, “then I will kill you before I ever reach Gunwald.”

  “You keep threatening my life, yet you never act on it.” Dravan exhaled and closed his eyes. “Do whatever you like,” he went on, almost lazily. “But nobody is killing Gunwald.”

  Tova kept staring at him, and his palm opened slightly—

  Elrin moved between them before the distance could close, planting himself squarely in Tova’s path. “Don’t do it, Tova.”

  “Oh, he won’t,” Dravan muttered.

  Tova’s jaw tightened, and he took another step forward anyway, tension coiling in his shoulders.

  “Fine,” Elrin said quickly, the word cutting through the moment before it could snap. “You said we train—so let’s train.”

  It took Tova several long, strained moments to wrench his murderous gaze away from Dravan. When he finally did, he straightened slowly and turned to face Elrin. “What have you done so far?”

  “I moved the rock,” Elrin said quickly, eager, almost defiant. “Now we can start combat training.”

  “Did you lift it above your head?” Tova asked.

  Elrin blinked. “Wait…you actually meant that?”

  “Then you are not ready.”

  Not ready? I have been putting my body through hell and back, day after day, and I am still not ready?

  “And you plan to use Elrin to help you bring down the lord of the mine?” Dravan asked, rolling onto his side and propping his head on one hand, the posture so relaxed it felt like mockery, as though he were merely watching a stage performance unfold.

  “What of it?” Tova snapped, turning toward him, anger in his eyes.

  “Then I propose a challenge.”

  “What challenge?” Tova demanded.

  “Not for you,” Dravan said, his smile widening. “For Elrin.”

  Elrin blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he looked between them.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Tova said quickly, gripping Elrin’s shoulder and trying to steer him away. “We’re going back to training. He’s wasting our time.”

  “You wanted combat,” Dravan replied lazily. “Consider this a combat test.”

  Elrin’s attention snapped back, curiosity sparking. “What do I get out of it?”

  Dravan’s eyes gleamed. “I throw a rock at you. Think of it as a strike. If you dodge, you prove to your little master there that you’re ready for real combat. If you fail, you both abandon this pointless training and we leave without provoking the lord of the mine.”

  Elrin turned eagerly to Tova. “I can do it. Just watch.”

  “No, you can’t,” Tova said sharply, then rounded on Dravan. “You walk in here, make yourself comfortable, and now you want to dictate how we train? How about you keep quiet?”

  “Tova—I mean it,” Elrin insisted, stepping forward. “I’ve improved. I’m sure I can dodge a simple rock.”

  Tova’s frustration tightened his expression. “Don’t even think about—”

  “Do you accept?” Dravan cut in smoothly.

  “Yes,” Elrin answered without hesitation, the word leaving him bright with determination.

  “Elrin, you agreed to follow my instructions!” said Tova.

  “Relax,” Dravan cut in, pushing himself upright with unhurried ease. “It will take only a moment.”

  He strolled to the wall, eyes scanning the rough stone as if selecting fruit to harvest, then stopped and placed his fingers on a jagged seam. With a casual tug, as though plucking an apple from a branch, he tore a small rock free using only his fingertips.

  “Now,” Dravan said, turning back, “stand as far away as possible.”

  Elrin backed up several steps, the straw crunching beneath his feet as he went.

  “I will throw this with…moderate speed. Think of it as Erhart swinging his mace at you,” Dravan said, weighing the small stone lightly in his fingers. “If you dodge, I think it’s pretty obvious you’re ready for combat,” he continued, trying to suppress a grin.

  “Good,” Elrin said. For a fleeting moment, a memory flickered, how every blow from Erhart had landed before, how he had taken them head-on, helpless. But that was before. Now he felt different. He was stronger, faster. He could feel it humming in his muscles.

  “I can go slow if you’d like,” said Dravan.

  “No,” interjected Elrin.

  Dravan shrugged. “Ready?”

  Elrin nodded.

  Dravan drew his elbow back, his arm moving in a smooth, unhurried line. “Here it comes.”

  Elrin lowered into a slight crouch, weight balanced, eyes locked onto the small rock Dravan held. The man’s hand began moving in an arc, Elrin tracked the rock, as it moved with his hand, then Dravan opened his palm to let it go. It was right there, visible, trackable—

  Then it vanished.

  Elrin had not moved.

  A sharp, searing pain exploded up his right thigh. His gaze remained fixed on Dravan out of sheer disbelief, but the rock was no longer in his hand. Slowly, Elrin’s eyes dropped to his leg.

  Blood was already running down it, and in the center of his thigh had a clean hole, the exact size of the stone.

  Understanding came a second too late.

  He opened his mouth to scream—

  Tova was already there, hand clamping firmly over his jaw, muffling the sound before it could echo beyond the chamber.

  Elrin collapsed, clutching his leg with both hands, breath shuddering, tears spilling freely down his cheeks as the pain consumed everything else. His fading vision found Tova’s face and saw the frustration he tried so hard to hide but could not entirely bury.

  I thought I was making progress, Elrin’s mind whispered weakly. Not even close. Not even to leave this chamber. Not strong enough for anything…pathetic.

  Dravan glanced at the hurt boy, then back at Tova, one brow lifting slightly. “So? The matter’s settled then?”

  “I never agreed to such a thing,” said Tova without looking back.

  “Then you’ve lost your mind,” Dravan said, disbelief stripping the last trace of humor from his voice. “He’s a demon lord. You’re a boy, and—” his gaze dipped to Elrin, “another boy, barely even Bloodkind.”

  The edges of the world dimmed, the chamber tilting away as darkness swallowed Elrin.

  Tova did not waver, his eyes burning bright with determination. “I have a way.”