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He backed away and fumed as he sat back down. Lydia sheathed her knife within her dress, and she looked at the painting of the castle and grinned at it.

“Come to think of it, it’s Zavian’s head that will look pretty mounted on the walls of the castle,” Lydia said. “And Azriel’s as well. And for the finishing touch, the head of the one who made all this possible, to begin with, Neera herself.”

And the sky struck its lightning, brightening the room in a white glow, and Lydia could see the pictures of the heads as if they were there already.

....

There was a tale of the past, like many others, of a demon, Rowan, who lived many centuries ago in a very large mansion. Some said the mansion ran the length of Grenao and Taos, others said it was even wider, with a thousand servants within the walls and food that never ran out of supply. Rowan was a happy demon, he had the most beautiful demon as a wife, and she was to bear him a child soon.

But one day Rowan had to make a long journey somewhere, some said he went to renew his powers, but he was never worried about leaving his riches behind because not only was his wife beautiful, she was very powerful, so he trusted everything in her hands. But his wife didn’t want him to leave, not for that long.

“Ilusio,” she would call him, one of her most used endearments. It meant illusion, yet Rowan again was blinded by love, so he never asked her why she called him that. “Your love keeps me afloat. Go and I might be ruined.”

But Rowan left and didn’t come back for several weeks.

.....

When Rowan returned, he didn’t see his house. It was like as if it had never existed, he didn’t see his wife and child or servants, and when he went around asking people, an old witch told him, “Your wife had been dead long ago, and she only came back to create a life for you in which you are extremely happy. But it didn’t exist, it never existed.”

Rowan had gone crazy after, and he was never to be seen again.

He had been a demon so delirious from happiness, and as Zavian sat atop the hill, viewing his castle, he wondered if his story was only a retelling of Rowan’s. He had dared to believe his Lilah and his Neera were back, and his life was complete once again. He had been so satiated with happiness that he didn’t think anything of it.

But what does one do when betrayal replaces loyalty? When the love turn curdled in an instant? When anger and the feeling of being completely lost in the wilderness fills one’s head?

They sit atop hills, with their horse grazing behind them, their illusions broken and the shards piercing their hearts.

So after hours of sitting there, Zavian decided on what to do, and he walked over to his horse.

The stallion grunted, and Zavian patted its nozzle. “I must have kept you waiting for long, sorry. We should get to Azriel’s now.”

And so once he was back atop the horse, the stallion sped with renewed energy from eating all day, and Zavian appreciated it. It was completely dark when he got to Azriel’s, and the guards took longer to open the gates, scrambling to get their postures straightened as they bowed sleepily at the King’s entrance.

Azriel was already in the foyer, his robe hung over his sleeping pants and bare chest.

“What are you doing here, Zavian?” He asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“The horses, how many of them have successfully been fed the potion?” Zavian asked.

“I think a thousand. Couldn’t this have waited until morning?” Azriel asked.

“And the soldiers? How is their training?”

“They are always training, I made sure of it. All through the Kingdoms,” Azriel said. He was wide awake now and got a clear look at his friend. “Zavian, what is wrong? Did something happen?”

“Aloysius might be coming sooner than you think,” Zavian said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it does,” Zavian said.

“I want every soldier up at dawn. I want word to spread through every Kingdom, and every training doubled,” Zavian ordered. Azriel, with every speck of sleep cleared from his eyes, was as confused as he was surprised.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“I have told you, and that is all to that.”

“How did you know? Did someone say something?”

“Azriel,” Zavian’s tone was commanding. “Do as I say.”

So Azriel held his tongue from more questions and watched as Zavian stalked out of his house and back into the night.

….

Neera was seated next to Freya, staring at her body. Her color still hadn’t improved, and her breathing seemed steady, crust around her long shut eyes already gluing her lashes together.

Neera took the bucket of water and held up a soaked washcloth, squeezing the excess out and using it to wipe Freya’s face. There was no reading to her that evening. Her voice and eyes were overused from crying.

Zavian hadn’t been back since she told him about what she did, and some minutes ago she had dressed up to check up on him at Azriel’s but decided it was best to give him some time. She wouldn’t run from the castle either, and would gracefully accept any punishment that came her way, but she had to make sure Zavian was okay.

Neera had never seen him that angry before, and she being the reason for that hurt her more than she can imagine.

“I am sorry,” she apologized to Freya. “I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose.” But no one would believe her, even she found it hard to believe herself.