Corabelle hadn’t had a moment of peace since the mason "escaped". She knew by the presence hiding at the back of her mind that they had suspicions about the circumstances of his escape. Corabelle was an aberration, one she knew the Fae weren’t entirely sure what to do with. Zaramir had saved her once, but there was no reason she should still be alive after so long without his protection.

  While Corabelle was physically unharmed this time, that was not to say that punishment was not enacted. The mason’s original mistress received the brunt of the brutality for the loss of this slave.

  Or, more officially, for shirking her responsibility onto another in favor of recreation.

  Corabelle was made to be present, to assist in carrying it out, as the other Demon received her punishment.

  Lashed to the castle tower by thin ropes that dug into her wrists, heavy stones at her ankles, the other Demon was to remain suspended. She was to keep watch, watch baking in the hot sun and chilled in the cool nights for any other strays or escapees for as long as the masters deemed necessary.

  Thinly concealed guilt pooled in Corabelle’s heart as she accompanied the possessed girl to her watch. She hadn’t expected the punishment to go to someone else.

  While this other demon was cruel, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t really to blame for this. Most didn’t have the same luxury, or perhaps curse, that Corabelle endured.

  Corabelle was made to tie her ropes as the girl sat upon the castle wall. The Fae watched from her eyes, doing nothing to quell her guilt, but also not insisting punishment was the right course. This was her own punishment for what had occurred.

  While her body wasn’t under her own control, the girl’s eyes were full of dread and desperation. There was a good chance she would be forgotten up here.

  Corabelle didn’t know what would happen if a Demon should starve, but she knew it couldn’t be pleasant. Death surely wouldn’t be that easy.

  As the ropes were well secured, the girl's limbs betrayed her, pushing the stone from the ledge, their weight dragging her body from the wall.

  The Faes’ control broke at that moment. They let her try to grip the edge of the old stone, let her try to save herself. But the weight, the force of the stones’ descent, wouldn’t allow as her fingertips left bloody streaks in her wake.

  The wind did little to conceal the sound of popping joints as wrists and ankles were pulled free of their placement below or the muffled whimpers of pain from the wounds that couldn’t heal correctly while strained.

  It was almost a mercy that the Fae didn’t force Corabelle to stay and listen to the girl below. A mercy granted only because they had a new mission for her.

  “Mistress?” A young woman appeared at the top of the stone stairs leading to the place of the other Demon’s punishment.

  Her voice was timid. She was young, not even a real woman yet, probably barely 14 years of age.

  Corabelle acknowledged her but didn’t speak.

  “I was told you were to be my new Caretaker,” Her voice was barely above the volume of the wind.

  No, she wasn’t a girl. She was a Faedemon. So fresh her Spark was quieter than the air around them, no Binds yet graced her skin.

  She wasn’t even in her Reds yet. Instead she wore a thin stained grey cloth, wrapped around her to form a crude dress.

  Her feet were bare and goosepimples ran up her thin arms and legs from the wind blowing through her damp brown hair.

  Her name is Amietta. The voice of her masters tore through Corabelle’s brain. Their words dripped with anticipation. She is yours to command and train.

  Their presence hung heavy as they spoke. Perhaps they expected some sort of rebellion or denial of this order.

  She didn’t know why they bothered playing these games to torment her with her when they could easily destroy her. Surely they had better things to do than make her life its own Hell.

  Perhaps her existence was amusing to them, or perhaps so infuriating they couldn’t let it slip away.

  “Amietta,” Corabelle finally addressed her. A horrific sense of deep thrill washed over her, slipping across the ground, wrapping around the trebling girl. A sense that made her skin crawl.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  This girl belonged to her now.

  Amietta tensed, her own body recognizing the shift in her domination.

  She will be hungry. The Fae’s voice returned. After acquiring her acceptable garments, you may allow her to consume one from imprisonment. Then their presence shifted away entirely, a heavy burden lifted from her grey matter.

  ‘One from imprisonment’; A human they found to have little function outside of providing sustenance for their Least.

  This wasn’t a mission. This was an experiment.

  The Fae wanted their suspicions confirmed so they were handing her a human on a silver platter to see what she would do.

  Amietta was as much Corabelle’s captor as she was hers. This girl wasn’t here to be trained. She was here as a spy, even if she didn’t know it.

  They didn’t need proof or reason to end her, so what was even the point of this?

  “We’ll get you real clothing,” Corabelle told her new charge. “Then we’ll get you something to eat.”

  -----

  The humans deemed useless were kept in jail down by the docks.

  This kingdom had once been so peaceful. This building had rarely served as more of a bed house for the occasional drunken sailor to sober up or to detain the occasional petty thief until their trial. Though usually trials resulted in little more than mandated archive work.

  Now though, the five once spacious cells that had so often sat unused were packed.

  Any human who hadn’t put up much of a resistance was kept here. Packed practically shoulder to shoulder, there was hardly space to rest or relieve one’s self.

  No thought was given to which humans were housed in which cell. Young and old, sick and well were crammed wherever there was space.

  Though there had once been barred windows allowing pleasant airflow through this space, they had once since been carefully bricked up, leaving the interior of this building to become a festering mess of heat and waste.

  The smell was pungent enough that Corabelle noticed Amietta’s nose curl in disgust before the building even came into view.

  Standing guard outside were two Faedemons in red.

  Though their clothing concealed the stain well, it was clear this miserable post was the second part of their correction.

  “Ma’am,” The one with the older face of the two addressed her respectfully, ignoring

  Amietta entirely while his comrade slid an old key into the lock of the jailhouse’s front door.

  The first red demon led them inside the putrid hall, while the other closed the door in their wake.

  As the light from the street waned with the closing of the door, the people packed inside were already pressed as far back as they could from the bars.

  The elderly shielded the children behind their backs in hopes the attention of the monsters before them would be drawn to them instead.

  “It has been requested that you not take one who hasn’t yet researched maturity,” the Demon told them.

  The wary eyes of the prisoners shifted, widening in revelation from Corabelle to their warden.

  They care about what happens to the children? Corabelle wondered.

  “Is there a reason?” She asked calmly, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I was not informed of a change.”

  The other Faedmon’s eyes turned down, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I was not given a reason, only told not to allow anyone to take those who haven’t reached their potential.”

  Reached their potential. So those were the exact words they used.

  Corabelle’s eyes drifted to the young woman beside her, barely old enough to be tested for a Spark. So, they were keeping the children alive until they could reach Spark maturity, until they could potentially display their aptitude, until they could be turned into a Faedemon of exceptional use.

  “Understood,” Corabelle finally replied. “In that case, show us which one my ward may have. She is fresh, this will be her first hunt, so select the one that will be easiest to manage.”

  Pick the oldest or sickest. One who doesn’t have long for this world anyhow.

  “Of course,” The man’s eyes finally went to Amietta, though Corabelle couldn’t tell if the look in his eye was welcoming or pity.

  As he moved toward the center most cage with his own key in hand, the majority of the denizens pushed themselves further back.

  Though only women moved forward deliberately, standing just in front of the door. Her brown hair was streaked with thin grey hair, shimmering in the faint candlelight illuminating the room. Her face was beautiful even through the grime and exhaustion.

  She wasn’t particularly old, nor feeble looking, but there was a firm resignation in her tear filled eyes, “I won’t be any trouble. You can have me.”

  The other Faedemon glanced back at Corabelle, clearly unsure what to do with a volunteer that didn’t immediately meet her requested criteria.

  Corabelle wondered for a moment why this woman would give up her life so easily, when she noticed that her eyes weren’t on the warden, nor the higher ranked Demon before her. They were on the fresh whelp at Corabelle’s side.

  That’s when Corabelle noticed. This woman, though her skin far more haggard from her years here, had a near identically beautiful pale chocolate skin. Their hair was the same brown so rich it was nearly black. And though Amietta’s features were more exaggerated toward perfect symmetry, her sparkling almond eyes were clearly once from the same mould as the as the determined woman before her.

  Though Amietta returned the woman’s gaze with nothing but confusion, Corabelle recognized what she thankfully didn’t; Her mother was offering to care for her one final time.