The events unfold in the year 10,725 after the Great Racial Schism
Lada — the capital of the Kingdom of Nimeriya
Emilia
I press myself closer to the wall of the hidden room, straining to pick up any trace of emotion from our “guests.” But all I can sense is my brother’s irritation and the guarded wariness of my uncle Damir. It’s as if no one else is in the room. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes that three others stand beside them, I wouldn’t trust my senses. On an empathic level, they simply don’t exist to me. Maybe if my gift were as strong as Mom’s…
My vantage point isn’t helping either. I have to stand on my tiptoes just to peek through the narrow slit in the wall. I didn’t think to grab something to stand on—I was in too much of a hurry—and, honestly, I’ve never had much experience with spying. It doesn’t help that the “guests” are so far from my hiding spot. My brother is hosting them in the grand negotiation hall, and I can’t make out the demons’ features in detail or hear what they’re saying.
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that demons are here, in our castle. That they offered their help of their own accord. That they’re willing to stand with us in the war against the werewolves.
Nervous, I clench my fingers too tightly, and my nails scrape unpleasantly against the cold stone wall. At that moment, I feel a surge of boiling rage from my brother. What happened? Uncle Damir’s emotions barely shift, but I can still sense a flicker of concern. What are they talking about? What’s the price of their help?
I’m not supposed to be present at this meeting. We don’t fully know how demons view women—after all, no one has ever seen a female demon. Their race is incredibly secretive. We’ve never had economic or political ties with their nation. They’ve never shown aggression toward other peoples or meddled in the affairs of humans or mages. At least, not until now. So, the information we have about them is pretty sparse. What matters most to us is that five centuries ago, they defeated the werewolves in their own war.
I guess only those vicious monsters would dare to wage war against demons. And thank goodness the demons proved too much for them. According to our chronicles, the war between demons and werewolves raged from 10,224 to 10,225 after the Great Schism. Even though the werewolves outnumbered them, the demons crushed their army in the decisive Battle of Remen Pass, drastically thinning their numbers. It’s a shame they didn’t wipe them out completely.
After that, the werewolves crossed over to our side of the mountains, settling in the uninhabited foothill territories. Back then, the mages didn’t pay much attention to it. The demon-werewolf war didn’t affect us, and the lands the werewolves claimed were barely livable. Why bother finishing off a defeated, dwindling race that had settled on the fringes of no-man’s-land? If only we’d known then… Over time, the werewolf population multiplied several times over—they’re incredibly fertile—and it was enough for them to regroup and launch an attack on mage lands.
Our kingdom got the worst of it. We share a border with these bloodthirsty killers. And though the other mage kingdoms—Palmira and Tairan—stood shoulder to shoulder with our warriors, our combined efforts weren’t enough to push the werewolves back. Magic doesn’t work directly on them. We can only harm them indirectly. And in terms of raw physical strength, neither ordinary humans nor even mages can stand up to these wolf-like creatures. In their human form, they look just like us, but in their beast form, they’re nearly twice the height of a man.
If our ancient chronicles are to be believed, demons also have a second form. But the accounts vary so much that it’s hard to separate fact from poetic exaggeration. Some records claim demons grow several times larger. Others say they sprout venomous spikes on their tails. I think I even saw an old manuscript with illustrations of demons in their “true form.” As I recall, they were depicted with horns and wings. But to me, that sounds like pure nonsense, more like a fairy tale than reality.
Lost in thoughts of the distant past, I completely lose track of what’s happening in the hall. Meanwhile, my uncle is giving orders to a guard standing nearby, but once again, I can’t hear a thing.
I lower myself back onto my heels, catching my breath. Unfortunately, my gift doesn’t work at this distance, and I can’t get any closer. There’s nothing I can do—my plan has failed.
My gloomy thoughts are suddenly interrupted by my assistant, Tamila. She’s someone close to me, so I sense her emotions even before she steps into my hiding spot.
Tamila is breathing heavily, clearly having rushed here. She grabs my hand and quickly pulls me out into the corridor.
“What—” I start to ask, but she cuts me off immediately.
“Hurry, Princess. The Chancellor has summoned you to the negotiation hall.”
I don’t ask any more questions. Moving swiftly through the long castle corridors, I sink into my thoughts. What’s happened? Why did Uncle decide to call for me? This is a complete deviation from our original plan.
I feel a faint touch of Tamila’s everyday magic, and my wrinkled, dust-covered dress instantly looks brand new. Still, it’s not the kind of outfit one should wear to meet honored guests of another race. But there’s definitely no time to change. I think she’s fixed my hair too. A wave of warmth for my loyal assistant washes over me. As long as I have sincere, faithful people like her by my side, not all is lost.
As we approach the doors of the negotiation hall, I take full control of my emotions, preparing myself for anything that might happen and for whatever my gift might reveal. Maybe that’s why Uncle called for me? Did he realize I wouldn’t be able to “see” anything from such a distance?
Tamila’s warm hand touches mine, offering encouragement. She can’t go any further.
I stop and wait for the guards to open the doors.
Inhale. Exhale.
When I step into the hall, the men and demons stand. There are a few yards between us, and I cross the distance slowly, head held high as befits a princess.
I take in every detail of the ambassadors’ appearance. Like werewolves in their human form, they look very much like us. I see no tails, claws, or anything unusual—just skin that’s darker than anyone’s in Nimeriya. They’re taller than humans too. My uncle is a tall man, but the demon standing at the forefront towers over him by nearly a full head. The other two demons are slightly shorter but still taller than the average person.
Their clothing is similar to ours but uniformly dark, without any bright colors: black pants, black boots, and a tunic, topped with something like our traditional overcoat, though shorter and seemingly made of leather.
I stop a couple of yards away and offer a respectful curtsy. I lift my eyes first, only to meet the piercing gaze of the lead demon. Uncontrollably, I flinch and nearly stumble. His eyes, which just a second ago looked perfectly human, now smolder like a dark abyss with a burning red pupil at the center. He’s twice the size he was in his human form—not just taller, but broader too. His skin is much darker than before. Behind him, massive black wings are folded. On his head are enormous horns, curved backward. I don’t get a chance to see if he has a tail, only noting that the other two demons’ horns look different. Do they have wings too?
I blink quickly, and once again, I see an almost-human figure before me.
I’m not sure if I’ve gone pale or given myself away in some other way, but I’m grateful to my uncle, who catches me by the elbow just in time to keep me from falling. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my brother’s alarmed look—he’s picked up on what I saw. But he quickly reins in his emotions too.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur quietly, steadying myself with Uncle Damir’s support.
“No worries,” the demon’s lips twitch into a barely noticeable smile. “I suppose it’s much easier to get a good look up close than to spy from afar.”
I stare at him, stunned. How is this possible? How did he know I was spying? Do they have a sense of smell as sharp as the werewolves?
I lower my gaze to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, barely audible, my cheeks flushing. “I was just curious.”
I hesitantly lift my eyes, offering a shy, slightly coy smile. I know he sees a young mage with bright blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair. I’m glad my simple, light beige house dress perfectly completes the image of a naive, somewhat foolish, and overly curious girl.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize again, “but how did you know?” I bite my lower lip slightly, showing my nervousness.
He lets out a low chuckle.
“You were breathing too loudly.”
Too loudly… What? Breathing? How could he hear that? From the table where they were sitting to my hidden nook, it’s over thirty feet.
Oh, by the High Ones, what are they?
“I apologize for my niece,” Uncle steps in as always, right on time. “I’m sure she meant no harm. Isn’t that right, dear?”
I give a quick nod and stay silent.
“Allow me, then, to formally introduce you to satisfy my charming niece’s curiosity. This esteemed gentleman is the First Ambassador of the nation of Deimos, Azamat Amir Karad, and his assistants, Tirol Art Lor and Rikon Art Dan. And this is my niece, Princess Emilia of Nimeriya.”
The demons bow their heads in turn, letting me know who is who. I curtsy lightly once more.
“Rumors of the extraordinary beauty of the Princess of Nimeriya have reached even beyond the Kapran Mountains. It’s a pleasure to finally see her in person,” the First Ambassador continues.
He steps forward, and I realize I must offer my hand for a kiss. I brace myself with every ounce of willpower not to flinch or imagine those terrifying black horns and wings. Azamat bends down to my hand but doesn’t touch it with his lips—I only feel a faint breath on my skin.
What strikes me most is their impeccable manners. The common tongue we’re speaking flows freely and sounds quite pleasant. I’ve never heard such clear pronunciation from any of my tutors or ambassadors of other races. Maybe only the elves come close. But after the war began, they severed all diplomatic ties with us—such “problematic” allies became inconvenient for them.
The conversation continues in the same vein—exchanges of compliments, expressions of sympathy for our situation from the demons, polite smiles, and other diplomatic pleasantries.
I don’t take part in the rest of the discussion and avoid eye contact. I only offer an occasional carefree smile, though deep down, there’s not a shred of carelessness in me. Because… by the High Ones, are they truly our salvation, or are they our doom?