RE: Monarch

The interior of the privacy dome turned an eerie red hue, amplifying the wispy shadows that circulated the outside. Ozra leaned forward, his previously unremarkable visage much less human-looking now that it was bathed in crimson. The motion forced his neck against the point of my blade, drawing no blood, making only the slightest impression.

I nearly ended it right there. Fighting Ozra directly wasn't an option. Even if he didn't have considerable leverage over me, the sheer difference in ability and experience was substantial. But that didn't mean I was powerless. Despite his age, resources, and an entire demonic legion's share of accumulated power, there was still one thing I had that he didn't. The ability to stop this entire interaction from happening in the first place. It would set me back, potentially weeks. But with my sister's soul on the line, it was a small price to pay.

Vibrations from the inscription at my throat resonated into my sternum, as they flooded with mana.

"This is unseemly, arch-fiend," Vogrin said, voice heavy with disdain.

"I will not be judged by the likes of you," Ozra didn't move. Didn't so much as look at him.

"Not only is he a contracted soul, he is one that invited you into his home. You risk turning him into yet another cautionary tale," Maya added, moving in a creeping flank to Ozra's left.

I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself, prepared to plunge into the dark. Then a possibility formed in the back of my mind, one cobbled together with information from Vogrin's theory and prior dealings with the arch-fiend. I shoved down the rage to a distant simmer and forced myself to think strategically. "Interesting. Of the many descriptives that could apply to you, Ozra, desperate has never been one of them. Yet here we are."

"What?" Ozra balked, his malevolent cheer dying instantly.

"You style yourself after the greater evils, in both aesthetic and demeanor. Abyssal powers that lay in wait for supplicants to approach them, hearing their pleas and entreaties from a seat of perfect, unflinching authority. Not a bandit razing travelers on the open road." Something tugged on the sleeve of my sword arm, small fingers plying at the fabric.

Vogrin had it backward. There's no cataclysm. Or if there is, it's not what he's worried about.

I continued. "I've seen a lot of plans fall to pieces. More than my share. In my experience, it goes one of two ways. Panic is the most common path. But if you're experienced in watching the gods shit skyward all over your machinations? The better option is to get mean. Quicken the pace, double-down, salvage whatever you can before the ploy is blown. Naturally that requires a drastic alteration in behavior. Interesting again, when you mentioned your list of favored souls, that the only souls you included are people currently present. Whitefall is overrun with talented warriors, and though they are smaller in number than the others, gifted mages. An unidentified void mage potentially capable of turning large-scale battles in their favor should be of significant interest, yet, they bear no mention."

Ozra reacted. The tiniest twitch of his lips, pulling sideways. A grimace? A smile? I couldn't be sure. "Always finding increasingly elegant ways to grasp at straws. Perpetually on the fringes of a mystery you can never fully grasp. The sheer cuckoldry of your perception must be quite frustrating."

"Alright then. Here's what I've perceived," I snapped, feeling the tirade coming and doing nothing to stop it. "The unfortunate reality that you seemingly can't warn us is probably true. I’ve spent a lot of time with Vogrin, enough to become familiar with his mannerisms and—perhaps foolishly—consider him a friend. Wisdom of that aside, he seemed utterly taken off guard by your actions here, so this wasn't pre-planned. You returned Maya's mirror under the guise of favoritism and charity, and while the former holds truth, the latter is anything but. This isn't about bartering for hints, or indirectly providing aid. You said yourself there was nothing you could offer Maya to secure her soul. Not yet. But you returned the one item that would keep her alive in almost any circumstance. Even if everyone else around her is obliterated, if she's fast enough—which I believe she is—she will persevere. However long it takes, she will piece herself back together and come staggering back out of that hole, shaken, in mourning. Vulnerable. Where you'll be waiting to resume negotiations."

"Is this true?" Maya asked, visibly nauseous at the picture I was painting. Off to the side, Vogrin was watching me mutely, so intently that I half expected to hear his voice in my head. But the voice never came.

Ozra scoffed, looking utterly unimpressed. "You think I'd trade your soul for his?"

"Not at all," I smiled thinly. "Regardless of the individual worth of a soul, keeping what you have as leverage while adding more is always preferable to a straightforward trade. Collecting a set of bonded souls has to be, at the very least, a novelty. Two souls that you're already interested in that just happen to be bonded? All the sweeter. She's already put her soul on the line for me once. You'll offer to station her beside me, let us fight together in the hells. And brilliant as she is, grief is a tricky thing." I paused, not bothering to hide the sneer.

"But that's the long game. Annette's the immediate mark. A newly awakened mage capable of directly wielding a highly sought after magic previously achievable only through artifacts. A prestigious and respectable addition to your collection, but unfortunately, lacking in defense. Because the magic is so new, there's nothing you can give her to insure her survival, so you need to lock it down now. My sister doesn't know you, and the only demon she's spent time with is Vogrin. So there's at least a part of the soft sell to Maya that was performative, propping you up as reasonable, almost magnanimous. Making it all the more effective when you begin to bargain with my sister and the knives come out." I paused, letting the words hang. "Is that... perceptive enough for you?"

Ozra paused, chewing the words, "I am almost annoyed enough to kill you."

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"Go ahead. See what happens."

Annette tugged again.

"What?" I snapped, unable to stop myself.

My sister blinked, fists cloying her touring skirt. "Um... I... I..." After a moment, she gathered herself and her expression hardened. "I would like to speak to the demon, brother."

I felt a flash of guilt. Her formal speech, and the way she'd rallied first, was all more reminiscent of how she spoke to Gil than to me. With effort, I lowered my sword and softened my tone. "It's dangerous, Annie. Dangerous in ways I can't protect you from."

Annette bowed her head. "Acknowledging that, as well as all the warnings spoken to the arch-fiend at least partially intended for me, I insist. You cannot fight every battle for me. This is a battle of abstract strategy and words, the sort I am perfectly equipped to win."

"It is not so simple as cunning or cleverness," Maya interjected, shaking her head slowly. "They cannot be bested in that regard. Talk to a demon for long enough and their victory is inevitable. The only course is to be fastidious, swift, and leave no opening."

"Furthermore, Ozra is not Vogrin," I warned her, glancing at my summon. "No disrespect intended. Ozra outranks Vogrin by magnitudes in both age and status. If you use your discussions with Vogrin as a reliable point of reference, he will find a way to exploit it."

Annette's brow furrowed, as she looked Ozra up and down. "Noted. Still, the line in the sand remains the same. As long as I do not voluntarily remand my soul, he cannot take it by force, yes?"

"Coercion, threats, and manipulation are all common weapons in a demon's arsenal. Realistically, he will leverage them all with varying degrees of subtlety. But he cannot take it by force," Maya nodded grimly.

"Then it's a battle of attrition in which information is the goal, and willpower is the resource," Annette crossed her arms and rested her chin on a fist. She peered at Ozra. "Before we begin, I'd like to send two runners back to the castle to retrieve some of my notes and texts."

Ozra, who'd watched the entire exchange mutely, suddenly stirred to life. "Oh, are you speaking to me? I figured you'd all just carry on talking about me, while I'm standing right here."

"Yes. I am addressing you," Annette clarified.

"It was sarcasm—" Ozra cut off with an exasperated sigh. "Nevermind. It makes no difference, bring the entire library if you wish."

Annette took her time. I'd seen her do this before, use her tendency towards thoughtfulness and carefully thinking through her words to create a lapse in the conversation. Ozra, naturally, didn't bite, but the fact that he didn't still gave her useful information. "Next, I would like to elect an intercessor to serve as an auxiliary, with full powers of one-sided censorship and redaction."

Ozra's eyebrows shot up. "How nostalgic. Yaerthficht—Intercessor in your tongue—is an old term, my dear. Outdated. They're almost universally referred to as solicitors these days." He'd barely finished speaking before Annette shook her head.

"Barring an error from my translator, which is doubtful, the primary difference between an intercessor and solicitor is far more significant," Annette countered, extending fingers for each point, as she always did when reciting from memory. "A solicitor can advise, negotiate on the behalf of another, and forge or revise unsigned contracts. But they lack the authority to strike comments from the infernal register, including, but not limited to, accidental consent."

Elphion. She's been preparing for this. Or something like it, at least. I'd heard secondhand from Vogrin that Annette's lessons weren't limited exclusively to magic, and she'd had a lot of questions about demons. I'd even heard that she'd brought in an infernal scholar for supplementals. But I had no idea she'd taken it this far.

Ozra grimaced. "Allow me to clarify. There are no intercessors. Not anymore. Their very existence is a black mark on our history, a remnant of a time we extended the infernals a degree of protection to encourage further cultural exchange. A flexibility they ruthlessly exploited for years until it was dismantled through bloodshed."

Maya scoffed, making a dismissive gesture. "A more accurate interpretation would be that they tightened the parameters by which demons could attain a soul in order to lure in more infernals, and grew angry when less of us opted to intentionally sign away eternity."

"Everyone loves to put a preferential spin on ancient history."

"On that we agree," Maya shot back.

"Yet, you'll make an exception," Annette continued, her scrutiny sharp as a blade. "If my brother's right, and attaining my soul is your current priority, you'll allow me an intercessor. If he's wrong, then the negotiations stop here. I am well spoken but not perfectly precise, and completely inexperienced in these matters. It would be foolish to engage with you on even ground."

"You realize by electing a second, you grant me the right to summon my own?" Ozra asked, growing testy.

"Any further demon brought to bear would be dwarfed by the threat you already pose. It makes no difference to me."

"That's... true enough," Ozra said, seeming to belatedly take the observation as a compliment. "You'll be taking the infernal as your councillor, yes?"

"Intercessor," Maya and Annette corrected in unison. "And yes," Annette added, glancing at Maya. "If she agrees."

"My mother would be a better choice, but I'll do everything I can to fill that role," Maya said, approaching Annette and standing beside her, arms crossed behind her back.

Unable to stand aside any longer, I took Annette by the shoulders and escorted her to the edge of the privacy dome. "Are you sure you want to do this? You've created an advantage, yes, but a grievance as well. Ozra won't go easy after that. For example, I wouldn't be surprised if his second is something heinous or grotesque, a creature too terrifying to even look at."

Annette considered the possibility. "If it's too much, I'll put an end to it. But I doubt there's anything he can do to scare me."

"That sounds more like something Sera would say."

"It's not bravado," Annette smiled thinly, and just for a moment, the mask of stoicism fell away. "It’s the opposite. For as long as I can remember, I've been terrified. Some days it's so bad I'm scared to even leave my rooms."

My chest panged in empathy, as I remembered how she'd barricaded herself away in my previous life. "Why?"

She shook her head. "I... don't know. There's nothing in the texts to explain it, no arcane malady or sickness of the mind that perfectly fits, though some cut closer than others. It's not that I don't believe he's capable of scaring me. Obviously, he could. I just can't imagine anything he could conjure being worse than the shadows that already torment me. Please, please don't deny me this. If there's a chance I can learn anything from this exchange, it's worth the risk."

"But never your soul."

"Line in the sand," Annette agreed. Her expression was resolute. Cold. This was important to her. More important than I could fathom.

Silently, I turned her around, put a hand between her shoulder blades, and pushed. "Gut him."