The Thief (A Tale of Heroes & Demons Book 2)

Chapter 11

The Taste of Darkness

Dark liquid streamed into the cauldron, hauled from the deepest recesses below. Once full, the flames were built upon until the roar was near deafening, the heat chasing away any chill borne by those in the room.

"No..." The whispered word escaped Rosie's lips before she could stop it.

The children were forced forward—some dressed in normal clothes, others in sleepwear—until they stood at the base of Demonica's throne. "Welcome, my darlings. I understand you have all just arrived?"

Eyebrows raised in anticipation, her eyes dragged across the assembly. "Come now, do not be afraid to speak up. You are in no danger here."

Still no one spoke.

Her gaze softened, and a smile graced her lips. "Perhaps you do not understand what I ask? Do you require sustenance?" The grin turned feral. "I know that I do. It must have been a harrowing journey to come here."

The children were shuffled closer to the cauldron, the sobs growing in intensity.

The golden flames curled and licked across the pewter, heating the liquid inside until it boiled. Rosie bit back a gag at the nauseous fumes spilling through the air.

Demonica lifted a hand a waved it slowly. One of the creatures closest to the stairs reached its gangly arm forward and wrapped its talons around the arm of the child closest. It began lumbering towards the cauldron, the sound of desperate sobbing trailing in its wake.

One of the girls, only slightly older than Rosie, darted forward to drag the girl away but before she could move more than a few steps she was slammed against the ground and buried beneath layers of matted fur and red eyes.

Pursing her lips slightly, Demonica tilted her head to the side. "Do you always treat your hosts with such disrespect?"

Rosie turned away as the dark liquid spread across the ground from beneath the creatures. As it spread the crowd quieted and the fear became near palpable.

"Now, so long as there are no more complaints..." She waved her hand and the creature continued to drag the girl towards the cauldron.

Time slipped slowly by—every drip of moisture from the stalactites echoed, every ragged breath pounding against the ears—until they reached the cauldron.

The girl, no older than eight years old, was shoved towards it, and all eyes traced her movements. A tear-streaked face turned its gaze towards Rosie.

A jolt of recognition burned through her. Rosie knew her—recognized her from the village—what was its name? Adellwood. The first village where Declan brought all the children he had saved from Demonica.

This girl had belonged to the home where she had stayed briefly before following her brother to stop the demon.

She tried to blanket her face is emptiness; show no emotion that would give away her connection to the girl below. Unfortunately the reverse did not occur.

When the girl's wide-eyed gaze landed on Rosie, somehow it widened even further and her bottom lip began to quiver.

Rosie wanted to scream. No! Don't look at me!

"It appears she knows you, sister of the archer."

When Rosie didn't answer the dark tendrils wrapped its cold embrace around her legs, tightening for every inch it travelled.

The cold burned—bit into her skin and latched onto her bones. The shadows streaked across her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs and moving to wrap around her throat.