True Name

"Rash'kyel..."

I stiffened, gasping, as the smell of warm blood and flesh washed over me. Tension gathered in my shoulders and back, sending a powerful shudder travelling down the length of my spine. My tightly furled wings pressed close to my body. Against my will, I sank to one knee before the man who had materialized. I struggled to keep my eyes on his, but it proved a futile effort; my head bowed, unable to resist his authority. "Master..."

"Even after all this time, Rash?" His voice held a hint of derision; no doubt my brief attempt at rebellion and subsequent surrender amused him. I held my breath. It had been a foolish risk, but he didn't sound angry. Of course, that was no guarantee with my master, but perhaps, if I were lucky, he would overlook it.

"Forgive me, Master."

He dismissed my words with a shrug, one hand rising to call a chair across the room. He settled into the padded cushions and arranged his black robes more to his liking, then crossed his legs and regarded me in silence. Apprehension rose within me as the seconds turned into minutes and still he did not speak. I knew that my fear played right into his hand, but as always I was powerless to resist. Confronted by his relaxed pose and calm stare, I felt wretchedly guilty, though I could not imagine what I might have done wrong. The fact that he had given no advanced warning of his visit only compounded my confusion. His unexpected appearance and closeness had my senses reeling; hunger blazed through me, almost overwhelming in its need. An eternity passed before I wrestled myself under control and the red haze that clouded my vision faded, leaving me drained and empty, a perfect receptacle for the dread that settled in my stomach.

Finally, just as I thought I could not bear the strain an instant longer, he stirred -- uncrossed his legs and sighed. I flinched at the sound, at once disappointed and reproving, like a teacher saddened by the failings of a pet pupil. "It seems that there is a child missing from the village."

His words took a moment to make sense, and when they did, I jerked. Fear skittered through my veins as the implications became clear.

"Did you take it?" he asked, his voice hardening.

"No!" I blurted, panicked. "Never, Master, without permission."

"Never?" he asked, mocking disbelief lacing his tone. I could almost see the cool rise of his eyebrow. "Never ever?"

I realized my blunder. "Not since the last time, Master," I amended.

"Mmm... I see," he said in a lazy purr -- a cat toying with a mouse. "You would swear it to me, then, Rash'kyel?"

I breathed in sharply as he invoked my True Name again. My skin heated and felt stretched taut, and I flexed my shoulder blades, a sudden itch developing between them that I could not scratch. My wings rustled at the movement. All in all, though, I was grateful that he had asked it of me. We both knew I could speak nothing less than truth when under the influence of such a powerful geas. "I swear it."

"Hrm," he muttered, sounding almost surprised. "Perhaps you do remember some of your lessons after all." He paused, then relented. "Very well, you may rise."

"Thank you, Master." I levered myself upright, relief flooding over me and making my knees weak. The atmosphere eased, and even the bleak sunlight filtering through the narrow window seemed to lighten somewhat. It outlined my master's head in a pale halo, casting his features into partial shadow. Even so, it was not difficult for me to make out the thoughtful look in his dark eyes, the pensive frown on his brow as he rested his stern, pointed face in one hand while the fingers of his other hand tapped on the armrest of the chair.

Almost fifty years had passed since Lucien D'Aetira first bound me, yet no sign betrayed his age. Beneath the flowing black robes of his rank and station, inscribed with a golden lining of protective runes, his muscles were firm and strong. His hair was as thick and black as ever, neat and slicked back in his usual style. If the lines on his face appeared deeper, they only lent an air of stern command to his features. My nostrils flared, detecting the familiar smells of cinnamon and ginger, ashes and smoke that lingered about him, leftover from his spellcasting. And, over it all, so strong that I could almost taste it, floated the sweet, tantalizing scent of his mageling blood.

He shifted in his seat. I realized I had been examining him with undue attention, and dropped my eyes. He did not appear vexed, however, his thoughts occupied elsewhere. "You monitor the village at times. Do you know what happened to the child?"

I blinked, then shrugged. "No, Master." Did he expect me to keep track of every farmer's brat or shepherd's whelp? "Wolves, perhaps, or a bear, forced from the mountains by the spring famine."

His lips twitched, as though he heard my unspoken question and sensed my annoyance. His glance swept around the room, noting the books and papers strewn everywhere with a wry grimace. He withheld comment, however. Alone in his tower, this one room was mine. He had granted it to me decades ago, to use as I liked as long as it did not disturb his own designs. Compared to his luxurious study, mine appeared sparse and utilitarian, the dark gray walls barren of decorations and the carpet faded with age. Dust and cobwebs hung from every corner save one on the far side of the room, where I had carved a sigil into the floor. He had been startled, all those years ago, when I demonstrated a talent for magic, for pure demons cannot master the spells of human mages. He never tried to deny me its practice, though, and attributed my abilities to my human heritage. Here, I could practice such small magicks as did not require the use of the larger laboratory of my master.

Now, he rose and approached the solid oaken desk in front of the window, reaching out to the tome I had been studying before he came. He squinted at the text; the light was rather too dim for a human to read comfortably by, though more than sufficient for my eyes. He raised an eloquent eyebrow and shot me an amused look. "Planar gates, Rash? Does you demon blood yearn for home then?"

I hissed under my breath, my wings opening and snapping shut again before I could stop myself. It was a sign of irritation, of anger, and I cursed myself for being so easily provoked as Lucien's lips twitched. "My home resides on this plane, as you well know," I retorted, the words perhaps bolder than was entirely wise. The sudden shift in topic made me uneasy; I knew him well enough to recognize it as a cover, a prelude. He wanted something from me, and had chosen this roundabout way to approach it.

Lucien took no notice of my ill temper -- a further sign that something was up. He flipped through a few pages of the book, glanced out the window, and finally turned to face me again, apparently done with his charade and ready to tell me what was on his mind. I was prepared for some strange request, but certainly not for what he said next.

"I do not believe that the child is dead. I want you to find her and bring her to me."

I gaped at him, unable, for a moment, to find sufficient words for my astonishment. He wanted me to find a child? A human child? "Why?" I demanded, a note of sheer incredulity in my voice.

His eyes narrowed; I was close to overstepping the bounds of his patience. "Don't presume to question me, Rash. I have my own reasons for wanting her here. Alive," he added, as an afterthought.

I stared at him, still unsure whether he was serious or not. He returned me look for look, the beginnings of a scowl on his face. I shook myself out of my stupor. "Of course, Master. As you command."

***

The doll was a typical example of the sort of toy human whelps amused themselves with. Curly yellow yarn spilled down its head and its ragged dress fluttered in the breeze. It turned its mismatched button eyes up at the clear, blue sky with a serene gaze, its inane smile fixed upon nothing.

An angry snarl escaped me as I swiped at it, tearing a gash along its body. Cotton spilled out of the opening, fluffy and white and not at all like the blood I wished in its place. My vision hazed red. I sank my claws into it again and again with careless abandon, enraged by its calm smile and lifeless eyes. The air filled with the sound of ripping cloth and floating wisps of stuffing and fabric.

A minute later I halted, mainly because there wasn't a shred left of the doll larger than a small pebble. The need to rend, to feel softness giving way under my claws, had not abated, but I felt somewhat calmer as I gazed, panting, at a button that used to be an eye. I snorted a short laugh. At least something was having a worse day than I.

Rising from my crouch, I unfurled my wings and stretched their leathery length as far as they would go, taking care to avoid the trees around me, and sighed, wishing it were later in the year, so that I could bask in the sunlight dappling through the leaves. Full-blooded demons find sunlight uncomfortable at best; it was one of the few blessings of my mixed heritage that allowed me to enjoy its warmth.

Besides the rustling of the wind through the foliage, the woods around me were wrapped in an eerie silence. Not even the earliest bird or most foolhardy squirrel lingered when the smell of sulfur and brimstone touched the air. I had set off an unholy racket from the village dogs three nights ago, for all that I did my best to mask my scent.

It had been a risk, going to the village, but I needed something with the girl's scent on it before I could begin my search. And now the fruit of my labors lay scattered around me, pieces of it drifting away on the wind.

I shrugged and folded my wings. I had no more need of the doll, as I had found the girl, and the men who had taken her. As far as bandit gangs went, this one had done well for itself, and no wonder. Not only did they prey on helpless travellers, they supplemented their income by dealing with the bands of slavers that sometimes passed through the region. Besides the girl Lucien was interested in, they had two small boys. The children were half-drugged and confined inside a dilapidated wagon, no doubt waiting to be sold off.

I cared little about the filth and neglect the brats endured, nor about their eventual fates; it was not that which had provoked my temper.

I had tracked the bandits to their temporary camp in an abandoned quarry in the woods. From what I had seen, they were well-armed and most even knew what to do with their swords. They posted sentries around the site and it was not surprising that none had tried to dislodge them, as they demonstrated surprising organization for a bunch of outlaws.

This too, had nothing to do with my simmering anger.

When I had first stolen the doll, it had stirred a vague unease in me. The smell of the girl lingered only faintly about the toy, but something about it had tickled in the back of my mind. I had dismissed my concern; I was impatient to complete this ridiculous quest and get back to my studies. But now...

I had spied on the camp from downwind, to avoid alarming the horses, and as I finished, the wind had brought me my first real whiff of the girl. It had frozen me in my tracks, and for a moment, I had forgotten everything in the lure of that enticing scent. Then the implications had crashed down on me, and my temper flared up in a white blaze of heat.

She was a mage. She was a mage, and Lucien had not told me. Her blood carried her birthright as clearly as his did, and just like his, it called to me, to that demon side of me that found mageling blood so irresistably sweet. The hunger that I kept banked, that was often satisfied with non-magical sustenance, roared and pounded in my head. I wanted to sink my teeth and claws into her, to taste her pain and fear and feast upon her flesh.

But Lucien had forbidden it. He wanted the girl alive, and I was bound to his will. Now I had to rescue her and bring her back to him, all while enduring the exquisite torment of having her heritage so close and yet so untouchable.

I snarled a curse under my breath. Damn Lucien. He knew what this would mean to me, and had ordered it nonetheless. Might have ordered it simply because he knew.

Then my eyes narrowed as I looked in the direction of the bandit camp. I could not disobey Lucien, but I could do something about the infuriating frustration I still felt. I bared my fangs in a savage grin. Those bandits had taken the girl, and therefore promoted Lucien to force me to retrieve her. By this time tomorrow, I decided, they would never plague this region again.

***

I had to plan my attack well. I could not risk harming the girl through carelessness. And so, from the cover of the brush, I watched and waited, while the drifting scent of the girl's blood stoked my burning need to rend and destroy. Finally, as night settled over the camp, the lone woman who cared for the whelps herded the three small figures into the wagon and locked the door.

The calm of inevitability filled me. I rose from my position, no longer caring if the horses should hear or smell me, and stretched to loosen cramped muscles. For a single moment of clarity, I felt my demon side recede, as though taking a step back to gather itself. Then the pent-up fury, the rage, the hunger, exploded out of me with a pressure so painful it bordered on relief.

Bloodlust washed across my vision, a luscious red tide redolent with the taste of wanton slaughter. I felt it flow through me, a sizzling tingle in my fingertips and toes, a shivering in my wings, and I welcomed it. I revelled in it. It had been so long since I had given free reign to my natural instinct for rage and destruction, and now I embraced it with all the fire in my demon soul.

A bestial howl filled the air, a sound of senseless malice and unrestrained cruelty. It froze the humans where they stood; the first never even saw me coming. My claws sank with ease into his soft, yielding flesh, as my teeth sought his neck and the life pulsing just below the surface. Blood flooded my mouth. Hot... Rich... Sweet... A wave of pleasure rolled through me. I savaged the body once more, then turned my attention to the others. Their screams of horror, their panic and mindless terror, their frenzied scramble for weapons, their mad dashing forms in the flickering light of the dying campfire...

I could not say, afterwards, how long the massacre lasted, and massacre it was. For all that they outnumbered me, for all that they were hardened bandits skilled in the use of their weapons, in the end they proved no match for teeth and claws and pure chaotic fury. The wounds they inflicted only fueled my desire for more blood, and when it became clear that their efforts were futile, many threw down their swords and fled. Fools, to think they could escape.

In a small clearing in the middle of the woods, with the full, cold moon as witness, I brought down the last of the fleeing figures. He fell on his back with a cry, throwing up his arms to ward himself, and I felt a savage amusement at the futility of the gesture. So instead of ripping into him as I could have, I sliced a single claw across his belly in a deep, precise line. He gasped and said "Oh!" in the most surprised fashion, his hands growing slick and slippery with blood as he tried desperately to keep his guts from spilling on the ground. The hot tang of his innards filled the air, but the worst of my bloodlust had been sated with the slaughter beforehand. Rather than finishing him off, I prowled on the edges of his vision, growling and relishing his muffled sobbing, hoarse and raw with pain and fear.

It took him a long time to die.

Finally, when his whimpers had ceased forever, and the heat from his entrails had attracted the first of what would soon become a swarm of flies, I shook myself. The last of the bloodlust fell away, leaving a pleasant lethargy behind, a delicious ache in my muscles. I spared the body not another glance as I turned and retraced the way back to the demolished campsite.

At some point during the carnage, the embers had been scattered over half the camp, and it was by some miracle that they failed to ignite any of the dried leaves or grasses. Their reddish glow highlighted the shadowy, unmoving forms on the ground. I kicked the coals back together into a rough pile, then took a moment to lick my wounds. Most were superficial, but a few cut deep, and now that my demon blood had cooled, they stung.

The silence of the night lay thick and heavy around me, as though a muffling cloak stiffled even the chirping insects. I had no problem, therefore, hearing the quiet sniffling coming from the wagon. No doubt the whelps inside had heard the screaming and the sounds of slaughter. They would keep. I was more concerned about the state of the horses.

The beasts had been driven almost mad with terror during my attack, and a few had fled when their panicked riders tried to escape with them. I had let them go; I had little interest in horseflesh, after all, and better prey to concentrate on at the time. The ones left at the camp retreated to the ends of their tethers at my approach, rolling their eyes at the smell of blood and sulfur. Impatient and in no mood to deal with the refractory creatures, I cast a quick charm. They calmed, lulled by the magical reassurance, and I chose the best of the lot. I had been puzzled about how to get the girl back to Lucien's tower; I could cover the distance myself in a couple of days, but then, I could fly. Now, with the girl in tow, I would have to settle for the pace of this horse, as the thought of carrying her myself stirred up such a rush of hunger that I knew it to be useless.

I could see no point in delay. The faster I returned, the faster I could deposit the brat in Lucien's care and distance myself from her scent. The lock on the door presented little challenge; I ripped it away with a jerk and tossed it aside. In the gloom within, I could make out three pairs of terrified eyes.

"Out," I growled. They didn't budge. There was no question of going in after them -- the space was cramped even without the addition of my wings -- so instead I snarled and, putting my hands under the door jamb, lifted the front of the wagon a couple of inches before letting it fall back again with a splintering rattle. "Now!"

This time, they moved. Scrambling in their haste, they tumbled over each other and out onto the ground. For a moment, they stood still as their eyes adjusted, then they took in the sight of the slaughter around them as though in a trance. Their horror-filled eyes turned to me, to my horns and my sulfurous yellow eyes and my wings.

The boys' shrill screams of terror lanced the air, and they darted under the wagon with the agility of feral rats. The girl, too stunned to follow, simply stared. She looked about four or five. Even in the moonlight, I could see that her eyes were a startling green, and they held a disturbing numbness. For the first time, it occurred to me that overwhelming fear might damage her mind as easily as physical force would damage her body.

It grated, but I forced myself to take a step back and uncross my arms. I pulled my wings tighter to my body and spread my hands, palms outward, hoping she would notice only the placating gesture and not the claws.

She roused at my movement, and I tensed, ready to catch her should she bolt, but whether it was my ludicrous attempt at being less threatening or the drugs that still dulled her senses, she settled again. A strained moment passed, as I wondered what I should do next, then, to my surprise, she spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Are you a demon?"

Her question startled me and I answered unthinking. "Part demon," I corrected primly. Then I felt like an idiot. What the hell did this brat care whether I possessed a pure pedigree or not?

But she seemed reassured, if only because of my apparent willingness to communicate. She considered me a moment, then said, "My name's Jayleen."

Drugs, I decided. Definitely drugs. The irony of the moment was not lost on me, but I replied nonetheless, "You can call me Rash."

She nodded, her expression still dreamy and unfocused. Her eyes strayed to the horse behind me, and I saw my opportunity. "I'm going to take you away from here," I said, my voice slow and careful. "So I'm going to need you to get on the horse, all right?" She looked blank and I ground my teeth. "All right, Jayleen?"

She reacted to her name, and finally seemed to understand. In any case, she made no protest as I approached. I stamped down on my hunger, easier now after the bloodletting, and scooped her up and onto the horse's back in one smooth motion. Then I had to make a grab for her as she teetered and nearly fell off the other side, cursing myself for not thinking of a saddle. When her hands clenched into the beast's mane and I was reasonably certain that she would not fall, I took the rope tether and led the pair out of camp, trying not to show my irritation at the leisurely pace. The trip back would take the better part of a week.

As we left, I wondered what would happen to the two boys, but I had enough problems to deal with. What did it matter, after all, whether those whelps lived or died?

***

I peered at the faded spines on the shelves, trying to read the titles of the tomes without stirring up a cloud of dust. My master rarely used this library, and the books stored here smelled of time and neglect. Most of these works dealt with magic only in passing, which explained why they had been relegated to this forgotten corner of the tower. There were a few, though, that delved into magical theory; though they held no spells, I'd often found answers to my researches in their yellowing pages.

A soft noise came from two shelves back, and I suppressed a sigh. It was getting harder to overlook the pair of curious green eyes that followed my every movement, harder to pretend I didn't notice the surreptitious tip-toeing that dogged my steps. Above all, harder to ignore the scent of mageling blood that tickled my nostrils. I gritted my teeth and determinedly began perusing the next shelf, rustling my wings in annoyance.

The next few minutes passed in silence, and I had almost forgotten my unwelcome audience when a most peculiar sound reached my ears. A series of muffled sniffles and gasps... followed by a chain of uncontrollable sneezes. I closed my eyes, not sure if the growl bubbling in my throat was amusement or exasperation or both.

In any case, there seemed no longer any point in the charade. The girl gave a small squeak of startlement when I placed myself in front of her, my wings spread slightly for maximum effect. "What," I rumbled, my words spaced apart to convey my irritation, "do you think you're doing?"

She stared up at me, her green eyes wide, and I ruthlessly squashed the hunger that stirred in me. I was forbidden to harm her, and giving free reign to my demon side would only result in the ache of unsatisfied desire. Even so, my blood grew heated and my senses heightened until every nerve felt fine-tuned and on-edge. I fought it, but I could not deny the whisperings of my bloodlust, the uncurling of the fury that lurked always on the periphery of my consciousness. And I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the minute the girl bolted, I would no longer be able to control myself, and it would take the full, awful weight of my geas, my True Name, to stop me from ripping her to shreds.

Then she blinked, and though I smelled her fear, she held her ground. Ducking her head, she picked at a loose string on her dress and mumbled "Sorry" to her toes, before sneaking a quick look at me and returning to her contemplation of the floor.

I stared at her, so startled that my rage stuttered and melted away before I even realized it. Laughable, that this tiny figure could have so easily defused my simmering temper; all of a sudden, I felt oddly ridiculous. To cover my confusion, I asked, "Sorry about what?"

"You looked busy. I didn't wanna interrupt."

"Which doesn't tell me what you were doing here in the first place."

If I didn't know better, I would've sworn the look she gave me was abashed instead of fearful. "I was bored..."

I watched her draw patterns in the dusty floor with her big toe, unable for a moment to link her reply to my question. Then I succeeded, and I gaped at the top of her curly head. She was bored? "And stalking a demon sounded like a fun game?"

"Part demon," she pointed out, for all the world as though I might not know it already.

I glared. She faltered under my gaze, unsure once more. "Don't you have anything else to do?" I finally asked, meaning, didn't she have anyone besides me to bother?

Her curls bounced as she shook her head. "Master Lucien is busy, and he doesn't like for me to get in his way..."

"Mariam?" I tried, though I knew as soon as I asked what the answer would be, even before I saw the girl's impatient look. The gods alone knew where Lucien had acquired the woman who cleaned the tower and cooked his meals, but I was willing to bet that a duller creature did not exist. While I did not see much of her, for I never suffered her presence in my own quarters, I knew she could neither speak nor respond to any but the simplest commands, though I could not say whether she had always been thus or whether Lucien had altered her with his magic. She had simply appeared one day, and never once since shown more initiative than a golem, and it was to her care that Lucien had entrusted the girl when I first brought her back.

In the ensuing silence, for the girl had not bothered to dignify my inquiry with an answer, I examined the figure before me. She looked well-fed enough, but an air of neglect clung to her. It showed in the way her blond curls lay tangled and unkempt, in the dirty smudges on her face, in the way her dress hung limp and bedraggled on her shoulders. Mariam had kept to the word of Lucien's orders, which was to keep the girl alive, but even I could see that "alive" and "well-cared for" were two different concepts.

I still did not know what Lucien wanted with this whelp, and my hope that bringing her back would end our contact had been in vain. At first, when the drugs wore off, she had been terrified of me. But one day, exploring the tower on her own, she had stumbled upon me in this very room. She had fled with a squeak of fright, but then, two days later, she was back. This covert surveillance had continued for almost a month. I had ignored her, hoping she would leave, my blood heating every time I smelled her scent, but this was the first time we had spoken.

Her interest baffled me. "What do you want of me?" I demanded abruptly.

"Nothing," she protested. "I just... wanted company..."

I huffed a half-sigh, half-snort. I no more needed her in my way than Lucien did, but there was nothing I could do to stop her from staying in the same room. I managed an ungracious "Suit yourself" as I turned away, determined not to let her disrupt any more of my day. She seemed satisfied enough, settling on a dusty chair and watching me with her legs swinging. At least she forebore to plague me with questions.

***

"So why do you do everything that Master Lucien tells you to?"

I glanced up from my book, startled. Jayleen, her own book tossed to the side, regarded me with honest curiosity, her face cupped in her hands, her elbows resting on the table.

"Why do you?" I countered, trying to sidestep the question.

Jayleen frowned, the expression producing a familiar crease between her eyebrows. "Because... because he's a powerful mage and he controls this tower."

"And you're scared of him," I said, unable to resist the tease.

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Well, he is a powerful mage and he does control this tower," she said. "I'd be a fool not to be."

I snorted, amused, and returned to my book.

"But that doesn't answer my question," she continued, unwilling to let me off the hook so easily. When I did not answer, she rose from her chair and crossed the study to where I sat. A trace of adolescent awkwardness still showed in her step, left over from her recent growth-spurt. Reaching across the desk, she tugged the book from my hands, ignored my half-hearted snarl, and asked again, "Why do you obey Master Lucien, Rash? I know his magic is more powerful than yours, but you're part demon, so that pretty much balances out. And you're always making fun of me for being scared of him, so it can't be that. So why do you stay?"

"Because," I snapped. Her eyes widened at my tone, and I worked to restrain my temper. My anger stemmed not from bloodlust; over the years, I found it easier to control my hunger, unless she happened upon me unexpectedly. Rather, she had touched on a sensitive subject, but I would gain little by avoiding the issue. After all, Lucien would tell her readily enough if she thought to ask him. "Because he knows my True Name."

"Your True Name?" I saw her put two and two together and realize that the name I had given her and by which she had always addressed me had been less than the full story. For a moment, she looked hurt, but then she rallied. A thoughtful look came into her eyes. "I've read of True Names," she said, with the air of someone reciting a lesson. "It's said that long ago, before magic became so scarce in the world, many people knew their True Name. Such a name was held to be sacred, for it was bestowed by the gods, and only to be shared with one's closest, truest friends. Also, though the True Name held no arcane significance for humans, if a person should learn the True Name of a faerie or a demon or a dragon or any other magical being, it would be possible to hold that creature in thrall through its power." She blinked and her eyes refocused on me. "And Master Lucien knows yours?"

I grunted an affirmative. I had never bothered to research True Names myself -- living under one was enough for me -- and I could not fathom anyone simply telling another being his, no matter how trusted, but Jayleen had gotten the essentials correct at least. It allowed Lucien to control me; what more was there to know?

"But... but how did he find out? I mean, there are ways of divining it, it's true, but it's never a sure bet, and even then--"

"Through my dam," I interrupted, impatient for this conversation to be over.

Jayleen looked surprised at the idea that I had not simply sprung out of the ground fully formed. "Your... but, uh..."

I rolled my eyes at her embarassed stop. "She was a half-demon." I sighed and rubbed a hand over my forehead. An expression of avid curiosity shone from Jayleen's face, and though she would not force me if I resisted, I knew she would never rest until she had heard the story, which meant that she would be shooting me pleading, sidelong glances for days if I did not tell her now. "I have only vague memories of her," I said, evasive. Then I chanced to glance at her face.

There was a strange expression in her eyes, a pensive stillness that took me aback. She dropped her gaze when she noticed my scrutiny, but not before I recognized the look of wistful longing. In a flash, I realized that she probably did not remember her own family; certainly she never spoke of them. She had been too young when the bandits took her, and though the village lay only a day away from the tower, she could not know that, never having been allowed outside on her own.

I had never pitied anyone in my life, but suddenly, I wanted to tell her this story, to give her some glimmer, however unlikely, of what she had been torn away from at such a young age.

"I remember... I remember the instinctive yearning for her teat as my siblings and I shoved and struggled with each other, the rough rasp of her tongue on the rare occasions when she bestowed a moment on her litter of squirming whelps, the impatient swipe of her paw that sent me tumbling head over heels whenever I squabbled too loudly with my brothers and sisters..."

Jayleen's lips twitched into a smile, and I scowled, knowing that she was picturing me as a newborn whelp. "What of your sire?" she asked when I did not continue.

"I doubt she let him live long past their coupling," I said with a shrug. "Unlike her offspring, she was only half-human, and for all that it showed, she might as well have been pure demon. Like all she-demons, the urge to rut had overcome her innate loathing of males and driven her to mate, probably with the first male human she came across. So paternity is a bit hard to establish, and no doubt as soon as her sexual lust abated, a different sort of lust took over." Jayleen's startled look amused me, as though she did not know whether to be appalled or not. I grinned. "Don't feel too sorry for him. That nameless human had his revenge in the end, by saddling her with a litter of mewling demon spawn."

"But she cared for you."

"Purely instinctual, I assure you. Being what she was, my dam was not tainted by any inkling of maternal feelings."

"Uhm... all right... So, what happened to her?"

"She died. Killed by a zealous knight who'd come upon our nest in the woods. She killed him, but not before he'd slaughtered all of her litter, besides me, and given her a mortal wound." I did not add that I still remembered the terrified sounds of my siblings as they lay dying, and the thick stench of their pooling blood around me. For once, the thought of gory carnage stirred no excitement in me.

"I... I'm sorry, Rash."

Her sympathy surprised me. "Whatever for? It happened a long time ago; no use mourning it now."

Jayleen remained silent only a minute. "What did you do afterward?"

A short laugh escaped me. "What could I do? I was a helpless whelp, with no knowledge beyond that he must feed to live. I doubt I would have survived the week, if Lucien hadn't found me."

"Then he rescued you?"

"If you can call it that." My bitterness startled even me, and I hastened to add, "He was a young mage then, and though more powerful than most in his position, he had little to his name save a few simple spells and his burning ambition. When he found me, I was huddled next to my dam's cold body, scared and alternately crying and pawing at her." That much he had told me, years later. And while he did not go into details, I suspected that the only way I had survived so long was by feeding off of whatever lay closest to hand -- that is to say, of cannibalizing the corpses around me. I shook myself to clear that image. "I don't know what spell he cast, to drag my dam's spirit back into the mortal plane..." I trailed off, uncertain how to explain what happened next.

Luckily, Jayleen understood what I meant, for she nodded. "One of the ways of divining a being's True Name -- to force the knowledge from someone recently dead. The more powerful the association between the dead and living subject, the more powerful the spell." She paused, then continued gently, "No one could have been closer to you than your dam, and not only that, but she had died by violence to protect you. Those symbols must have lent overwhelming power to Master Lucien's spell, far more than what would normally be available to a new mage. It was a monstrous thing he did."

I gaped at her, speechless. It was not the extent of her knowledge that surprised me; she had often demonstrated an astonishing capacity for learning in the past few years. It was the way her eyes saw right through me, the way her words eased some long-held knot of tension inside that I had not even known existed. Whatever I had pretended to myself, the thought that my dam had betrayed my True Name to Lucien had been an unhealing wound that I had ignored all my life. Now, for the first time, I felt as though a clean bandage had been applied, and I breathed easier. I snorted a chuckle. "I bit him, you know, when he first approached me." Back then, I had been too young to experience the demonic bloodlust that his mageling blood should have evoked. "He didn't stop cursing me for the better part of a day."

That startled a laugh out of Jayleen, and I grinned too. The comfortable silence between us stretched for the space of a minute before she stood. "It's late; I should go." She hesitated on the threshold, looked back and smiled. "Thank you for telling me all this, Rash."

I stared at the worn wood of my study door for a long time after she had gone. "Thank you for listening...."

***

"Well done, Rash. Very well done indeed," Lucien murmured, cradling the jewel I had brought him. The light reflected off its facetted surfaces, setting its blood-red core afire. Lucien's long, thin fingers stroked it lovingly as he savored the feel of the magic imbued into its crystalline matrix. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and remembered my presence. "You may go, but stand ready. I may have another task for you ere long."

Once out of his sight, I spread my wings as far apart as they would go, and stretched until my muscles popped. A growl of pleasure rumbled deep in my throat. I was sore and bruised and exhausted, but Lucien was not the only one satisfied with my work today. And while the coven I had destroyed had been brutal in their magic, Lucien's shields had kept the worst of the assault from harming me, as his portal had allowed me to enter unchallenged. Those mages had been fools, to deny him what he sought, and now nothing remained of their hall save a pile of rubble and the blood that stained the broken stones. And Lucien had not minded that, afterwards, I had fed until my hunger grew satiated and retreated like a purring cat to sleep off the feast.

My body desired nothing more than to follow suit, but my mind was still too wound up with the battle and the aftermath to allow for rest. I wanted to share the giddiness of my victory, to recount to someone the savage pleasure that had rushed through me.

The library had changed much over the years; now, a cheerful fire blazed on the grill and the dust that had covered everything had long been banished. I chuckled at the sight of Jayleen next to the window, her eyes distant and unfocused as she gazed outward. She turned at the sound, and rose with a glad cry to greet me, the open book in her lap falling unheeded to the floor.

"Rash! I was worried--" She gasped as she took in my condition: the dried blood, the tears and scratches in my wings and on my arms.

"I'm all right," I assured her with a grin, pleased at her genuine concern. I flapped my wings once, creating a waft of wind that stirred her hair, to show the truth of my words, and her alarm faded. The sunlight streaming in through the window behind her picked out the golden highlights of her curls and framed her figure like a picture. Not for the first time, I found myself thinking that she had grown to become a beautiful young woman whom men might gladly die for.

"What happened?" she asked, oblivious to my thoughts.

It was the opening I had been hoping for, and without further prompting, I launched into my story. The excitement came back with the telling, and I paced with excess energy as I described how I had overcome the coven and wrested the jewel from its ancient resting place beneath their hall.

I did not notice Jayleen's silence until after I had finished. She sat still as a statue, and there was something about the way she perched on the edge of her chair, something in the set of her shoulders, that puzzled me -- a strange tension that I had not expected, an unreadable expression in her eyes. I stopped my restless movement, uncertain.

She roused at last, but instead of meeting my eyes, only walked to the window and stood with her back to me. "Do you know what the jewel does, Rash?"

I thought it an odd question; both of us knew better than to meddle with whatever Lucien had planned. "No. Its magic is strong; I could feel that the minute I touched it, but I don't have any idea what its purpose might be." I tried to suppress my irritation. "I only fetched it back, as Lucien commanded."

"And killed all those mages? Did he command that too?"

The silence in the room thickened. She glanced at me over her shoulder, and the sadness in her eyes dried up any words I might have had. Finally, "No," I admitted. "He only told me to retrieve the jewel." My shame turned into resentment. "What else could I do, surrounded by so many mages? I've told you of the demonic bloodlust."

"There is more human in you than demon, Rash."

Her quiet words stung. It was an old argument, one that had gone on for the past year or so. I knew what she would say next almost before she said it.

"Why do you deny your human side so, Rash? Why do you embrace only the demonic part of your bloodline?"

I ground my teeth in frustration. "It's who I am, Jayleen!" I growled. "Stop trying to make me into something I'm not!"

"Your demon blood is only a part of who you are!" she shot back, turning to face me at last. "Stop rejecting the choices that your human heritage gives you!"

"Choice?" I taunted. "What choice? Lucien knows my True Name! I don't have a choice and I never will!"

"Don't give me that!" she snapped. "Everyone has a choice! Only those who lack the courage to face theirs ever claim otherwise." She paused, her chest rising and falling with emotion. There was a chill in her voice I had never heard before. "I never took you for a coward, Rash."

My already-simmering temper flared, a wash of fury that dyed the room in bright crimson. How dare she! By what right did she pass judgement on me! I wanted to hurt her, to watch those green eyes widen in fear and pain, to make her regret those words. A deadly snarl blistered the air. It was a sound that struck fear into hardened warriors, and I felt a vicious satisfaction as the color drained from Jayleen's face.

Then her jaw set in a stubborn line, her fists clenched, and her chin went up. She stood her ground, every line of her body screaming defiance. Her courage infuriated me, and in a way that had nothing to do with bloodlust and everything to do with the sudden, unexpected hurt and pain that her words had inflicted.

I didn't even realize I had raised my hand until I saw her crash to the floor. She lay there unmoving, and for a terrifying moment, my heart stuttered and my breath froze. My rage vanished so quickly that it left me cold and shaken, my blood turned to ice. Then she stirred, with a soft moan, and the world started up once more. One hand rose to touch the blossoming bruise on her cheek. Her eyes locked on mine, and the shock and hurt in their green depths went through me like a lance.

"Rash..."

I didn't give her a chance to finish. I turned and fled that room like it was a portal to the last circle of Hell. Back in my own quarters, I placed every magical lock I could think of on my door, then threw myself onto the bed.

It was impossible to think, equally impossible not to. The whirling maelstrom of thoughts and emotions within would not be ignored. At any other time, I would have used my temper to quiet my inner turmoil; breaking things had always managed to calm me before. Now, the mere idea brought to mind the disappointment in Jayleen's eyes and the sick shame that had twisted my heart when she looked at me.

Finally, exhausted by the day's events and the rapid succession of conflicting emotions, I fell into a fitful doze, thankful that at least none of the nightmares that plagued my dreams bore green eyes nor possessed anything beyond teeth and claws with which to wound me.

***

I glared at the text before me, telling myself that I was reading even though all I could concentrate on was listening for the sound of footsteps outside my door.

When Jayleen had first found my door sealed against her and obtained no response to her knocking, she had been angry. She had pounded, told me that I was being ridiculous, and threatened to learn portal magic solely in order to break my mage locks. She had accused me of sulking, called me a stubborn fool, and stated that I'd have to emerge from my lair sooner or later. It was petty, but I had taken a childish, malicious pleasure in ignoring her.

By the second day, she was worried, though she tried to conceal it. She had asked me if anything was wrong, with a not-so-subtle undertone of whether it was something she had done. It was shame more than anything else that stopped me from answering her then, but I had regretted it almost immediately. Something in her voice had made me uneasy, an odd note that sounded like fear. But that was silly. Nothing in the tower could harm her; Lucien had seen to that.

In any case, I had decided to answer her today, but, in typical Jayleen fashion, she had not come as I expected.

I gave up on any pretense of studiousness and thrust my book away with an impatient snarl. Did that girl take pleasure in tormenting me? Well, it won't be the first time I've swallowed my pride, I thought with a glum snort as I rose to find her myself. Nor, I expect, will it be the last.

I sensed footsteps approaching as I reached the door, and pulled it open, ready with a glad greeting. It died on my lips when I saw Lucien on the other side, looking just as suprised as I felt. I fumbled my words and bowed my head. "M-master."

Lucien dismissed my discomfiture with his usual briskness. "I am almost done with my preparations, Rash, but I have need of a few final spell components." He handed me a piece of parchment and made to leave. "I will need them before this evening."

"Wait!" I blurted before I could stop myself. He turned and shot me a look of quelling impatience. I stuttered, wondering if I had really meant to tell him that I needed to see Jayleen before I could run his errand. To buy time, I glanced over the list he had given me. My eyes widened. Virgin's blood, for innocence; breath of wight, for undeath; bloodwyrm fang, for stolen strength. What spell could Lucien be preparing that would require such things? "These components..."

"Are no concern of yours," Lucien said. "Just see that you get them!"

If I had not known him all my life, I would have missed the note of repressed excitement in his voice. I folded the parchment in half with deliberate care, examining him out of the corner of my eye. One hand, almost concealed in his sleeve, clenched, and his nostrils flared as he breathed. His eyes glittered in the dim torchlight of the hall.

Wariness hummed along my veins, whispered suspicions into my mind. In all the years I had known him, Lucien had always maintained the strictest control over his emotions. Even when his experiments met with spetacular success, he never allowed more than a satisfied half-smile to cross his face. I did not know what his volatile mood might mean, whether it might make him more lenient, so over my own misgivings I asked, "May I see Jayleen before I go?"

My request took him aback. He hesitated, then said, "I have need of her tonight, so there is no time. Do as I command, Rash'kyel."

"Of course, Master. As you wish." My reply was pure reflex, and I watched him until his back had turned the corner, considering his words. They puzzled me even as I left the tower to harvest what he had requested.

Other than a fleeting glance when I brought her here as a child, Lucien had never shown the slightest interest in Jayleen. In fact, he ignored her even more completely than he ignored me, for at least he had uses for me from time to time. I had been convinced at first that he meant to take her as his apprentice; instead, as her magical talents grew, I was the one who had asked to be allowed to teach her to use them. Lucien seemed surprised at the idea, as he had when I began to dabble in magic, but had granted permission without further ado, looking amused. And because Jayleen had never gotten over her childish fear of him, and stayed out of his way for weeks at a stretch, there were times when I believed he had forgotten her existence entirely.

So what manner of business could the two of them have with each other?

Maybe he's finally taking charge of her training. After all, she surpassed me weeks ago, and must be catching up to his own level. The surge of pride inside made me smile.

Then I remembered Lucien's strange excitement and the quaver in Jayleen's voice the day before. A shiver of apprehension ran down my spine. I tried to put it out of my mind, but nonetheless, I could not deny the haste in my steps as I hurried to finish my task.

***

The stairs leading to Lucien's study spiralled upwards in a dizzy curve. Normally, a simple cantrip would have whisked me to the top, but it would also have destroyed any chance I had at stealth. Instead, I cloaked myself in every shadow, muffled my steps, and climbed.

Lucien had spared me not a glance when I returned, had taken the bag I handed him and hastened back to... to what?

The sturdy door of his laboratory was closed, and flickers of light shone out from the crack underneath. He had sealed it with magic, of course, but he had granted me exemption long ago, as I could pose no threat, and had not thought to revoke that passage now. I murmured a quiet spell, and felt a faint tingle as I faded through both door and seal.

Within, the air crackled with magic, snapped with power. My skin goosebumped and I hissed as I pulled my wings as close to my body as I could. Neither torch nor magelight lit the room, yet there was no need, for a white brilliance shone from something in the center of the sigil on the floor. Lucien stood before it, outlined in stark relief, so that all I could see for the moment were the symbols he had chalked unto the stone and the upside-down pentagram inscribed within the circle. Where the light did not reach, shadows danced, turning the edges and corners of the room into places of wild, twisting shapes.

Then Lucien shifted, and I gasped aloud. Jayleen hung suspended, apparently unconscious, in midair, caught in a web of magic whose glittering strands emanated from two posts on either side that curved over her to form an arch. At the apex of that arch, set like some sinister keystone, rested the blood-red jewel I had obtained for Lucien only days before. Even as I watched, Lucien chanted an incantation, and the jewel began to glow with sullen anger, its color bleeding into the strands of the web until the whole structure looked like a gory instrument of torture.

I was so transfixed by the sight before me that for a moment, I forgot about Lucien. His sharp demand made me jump, and I found him glaring at me with cold anger in his eyes.

"Exactly what do you think you're doing here, Rash?"

I quailed before the fury in his voice, and had to swallow before I could muster an answer. "M-master... what..." I glanced at Jayleen again and shuddered. Some things, even a demon did not want to know.

Lucien's lips curled in impatience, but then he seemed to reconsider. I realized that he must still be quite early on in his spell, for otherwise he would never have taken the trouble to answer. And, possibly, he was not altogether displeased at having an audience to show off for; this was, after all, his crowning moment. He gazed with fond possessiveness at the arches that held Jayleen and smiled with pride and triumph. "She will be my greatest experiment," he said, almost purring. "A feat that will live forever in history... even as I live forever!" My blood ran cold at the mad glee in his voice. "For so long, I searched for the ultimate secret, until I almost despaired, but then the answer came to me. So simple; so brilliant. For life and death are inextricably intertwined -- two faces of the same coin. All I needed, then, was a way to transmute the one into the other."

Stunned comprehension burst upon me. My chest tightened. I felt as though pieces of a puzzle I had not even known existed had suddenly fallen into place to reveal a terrifying landscape to my eyes. "Then, all these years... and even before..."

"Yes, Rash." Lucien sounded patient, as though lecturing a slow child. "I have watched her almost from birth. When I thought her lost, I almost panicked; magical aptitude is hard to come by nowadays. But then you found her and brought her here, and that was even better than leaving her in the village, for now I could be sure that no harm could befall her before she served her purpose. All these years, I have waited and watched, as she grew and her magic matured. And now," he croned, "now, she is finally ready. With her death, I will become greater than ever before! And after her... well, there will be another lifetime to search for the next sacrifice!"

"Master, please... don't..." My voice sounded small and pleading. Horror clawed at my heart. Fear sucked at my breath.

Lucien's face betrayed his surprise; I think for a moment he had forgotten about me as he contemplated the glorious future only he could see. His dark eyes raked over me, and whatever he saw apparently amused him a great deal, for he threw back his head and laughed. "Why, Rash! I do believe you've grown fond of your little playmate!" He chuckled at the idea. "Not to worry. When this is over, you can take another child from the village, if you wish; there are plenty of the brats running around, after all." Then, as quickly as it had come, his humor vanished and he waved a hand in dismissal. "Now, leave me, Rash. I still have work to do."

I stood rooted to the spot as he walked toward the arches once more. Lucien had brushed aside my plea with no more thought than one might give the whimper of a stray dog. Had, in fact, told me to replace Jayleen as calmly as though I was a child who could be placated with a new kitten after my old one ran away. Did he think that she was no more than a pet to me? That I thought so little of her companionship that I would be satisfied with any substitution? Of course he does. Bitterness welled up in my throat. After all, it's how -he- has always thought of -me-.

That thought galvanized me, and before I knew what I was doing, I had reached out a hand and grabbed Lucien by the arm. He whirled on me, furious. "I am not a patient man, Rash, and when I give an order, I expect to be obeyed." Contempt laced his voice. "Since you obviously didn't hear me the first time, I'll tell you again. Get out of my sight, Rash'kyel! Go and hide in your hole until I have time to deal with your insolence."

The geas of my True Name crashed down on me, forcing my body into motion even as I fought its power. I had the vague impression of Lucien turning away from me, of his voice rising and falling in the familiar sing-song cadence of incantation as his hands gestured, but what he said or did I could not tell. Because as much as my mind screamed at me to stop, I could not resist the force of his command. With sinking despair, I raised my head for one final look at Jayleen.

The tainted, bloody gleam of the web cast a sickly light onto her features, made her hair a dull, rusty color, so different from when I saw her last, with the sunshine playing off those golden curls. And suddenly with that memory came another -- her words, spoken with the quiet steel that formed the center of her being.

"There is more human in you than demon, Rash."

"...more human..."

For the first time in my life, I turned inward and reached, not for the bloodlust or the rage or the hunger of the demon within, but for the human, for that part of me which I had always repressed, which I had disregarded, and which I now recognized as having responded so warmly to Jayleen's love and care.

For long, agonizing seconds, I found nothing as the unrelenting pressure of my True Name drove me back toward the door. And then, so faint it might have been nothing but my own breath, something stirred and uncoiled. Though it cost me every ounce of control I had, my steps slowed. The air wheezed in my lungs as I struggled through the crippling pain of two conflicting desires waging battle over my body.

When my vision cleared, I found myself crouched mere inches from the door. Even my teeth hurt. But I had overcome Lucien's command, and as I staggered to my feet, the roaring in my ears faded until I could once again make out his voice raised in spellcasting.

I had no idea when his spell would conclude, only that I had to act fast. There was no subtlety to what I did. A moment to gather myself, then I sent a raw blast of magic straight at Lucien.

Had he not been distracted in his task, my attack would never have worked; Lucien was more powerful in magic than I could ever hope to be. Even with the element of surprise, he almost emerged unscathed, for he sensed the hostile power and threw up a shield with a speed I could only envy. Our magicks collided in a blinding flash, and the shockwaves sent me stumbling into the wall. Lucien, closer to the explosion, grunted as he fell to his knees.

After the steady drone of his spell and the rumbling backlash of my foiled attack, the silence in the room sounded deafening. Then Lucien straightened with studious calm and turned to face me, and the unbridled rage I saw in his features told me with sick certainty that at least one of us would not be walking out of this room.

"All these years, Rash," he said, his tone so conversational it raised my hackles. "I saved you when you would have starved. I raised you from a snivelling whelp. I allowed you to practice magic in my tower. All these years, and this is how you choose to repay me?"

I made no answer, but watched his every movement. Now that we faced each other on equal footing, I was at a disadvantage, and we both knew it. On the other hand, he had been casting a spell on a scale of complexity that I could only guess at, one that, though uncompleted, should have drained much of his resources.

My shield flew into place the same instant his hand flicked forward, and only its intervention saved me, because as I bunched my muscles to dodge, Lucien raised his voice in command: "Rash'kyel! Submit!"

My body froze in obedience -- only for the slimmest half-second, but long enough for his attack to reach me. My shield shattered under the assault, sending me flying into the wall. I felt a sickening crunch as I landed wrong, then a blazing pain along my broken left wing, but I was still alive. And now I understood how Lucien meant to fight. He could not use all of his energy to kill me, because then he would have nothing left to finish his spell, and so it would be this cat-and-mouse game of reflex and timing, until I became too exhausted or battered to resist any longer. If I wanted to have any chance at all, I would have to go on the offensive, as ludicrous and suicidal as that sounded.

My magic sizzled in my palms as I forced it to my will. I had never taught myself much battle magic, having always relied on my bloodlust. Now, that instinctual weapon was my most deadly enemy, for it lay bound with my one essential weakness. I would have to improvise.

What followed was a hell that would have cowed even a pure-blooded demon. Lucien and I, bound together for so many years we could almost read each other's minds, stalking and striking at one another as the shadows around us capered like deranged imps. Spells and counterspells bounced off the walls and rattled the windows. Shelves overturned, spilling their jars of specimens across the floor in a wash of liquid and broken glass. Fireballs formed, to be blocked by earth, which dissolved under water, which turned into a storm of icicles, only to be vaporized in a flash of heat.

And bit by bit, ever so slowly, I was losing.

We both knew it, and Lucien's smile held his triumph; he was stronger and more experienced, and it was only a matter of time. And then the solution hit me, as I made a desperate lunge to avoid his next attack and landed with a full view of the arch and Jayleen.

I had mistaken the point of the battle; I had thought that the goal was to survive. Instead, his ultimate aim was to attain immortality, which meant that my ultimate aim was simply to stop him. And I didn't need to survive to do that.

Lucien sneered as I gathered the last of my power, as well he might, for he had dealt with my other attempts with contemptible ease. If this did not work, I would be at his mercy. But unlike the other attacks, this one was not directed at him. Instead, I turned it at the last second, and as I released my power, he divined my intent, and a terrible cry rose to his lips.

The blood-red jewel atop the glittering arches pulsed as my magic hit, reminding me of a beating heart torn from someone's chest. Then, in a second that stretched an eternity, fine, hair-line cracks appeared and raced across its surface. Behind me, Lucien screamed, a raw, harsh sound that should never have issued out of a human throat. I had no time for him, though, because the destruction of any magical artifact could unleash an enormous amount of uncontrolled power. Heedless of the pain, I spread my wings and made a single, gliding dive at Jayleen. I caught her as the jewel overhead shattered, and with no other way to protect her, I wrapped her in my arms, closed my wings over us both, and prayed.

The expected explosion hit. The pain proved excrutiating. My final thought, before everything turned black, was the knowledge that Lucien would not survive either. No human could scream and scream like that and live.

***

"Rash? Rash, c'mon, wake up. Oh, please, please Rash..."

The tiny but persistent voice irritated me. I dug in deeper into the comfortable blackness and ignored it.

A hand touched my face, my shoulders, shook me a little.

A low growl rumbled at this new annoyance. I wanted to reach up and swat it away, like someone shooing away a determined housefly, but at my twitch and the indistinct sound I produced, the pestering movement only redoubled.

"Damnit, Rash!" the voice snapped, "I know you're alive! Wake up!"

It was the exasperation in her voice that did it. I had never heard Jayleen plead, but that ruffled, aggrieved tone could only belong to her. This time, I made an effort to open my eyes.

She yelped in sheer surprise when she glanced at my face and saw me watching her. One hand flew to her chest. "Don't do that! You just cost me ten years of my life!"

A feeble ball of magelight bobbed over her head. By its glow, I could see that she was bruised and battered, no doubt from my falling on top of her. There was a thin trail of blood down one side of her face, and some of it had caked in her hair, most of which hung down in a dirty, limp, defeated fashion. Her eyes looked like she had been crying and her nose was red and puffy. There was no way that the white dress she had been wearing would ever be white again.

I thought she had never looked more lovely, and opened my mouth to tell her so.

"...Ngh..."

"Shh! Don't try to speak." She vanished from my line of vision, only to reappear a moment later with a broken cup half-full of water. "Here."

After an awkward attempt at sipping while lying face down, I grunted and she moved the cup away. I made to sit up, and the pain that had poked at my consciousness turned into hot, slicing knives.

"Hey, take it slow," Jayleen scolded, though she helped prop me up when I listed. "You... you were hurt real bad, Rash. I found some bandages and fixed you up a little, but your wings at least will take months to heal. I... I don't know if you'll be able to fly again." Tears filled her voice. Her concern embarassed me, and I shrugged, then regretted it as I had to bite back a whimper. She continued, "You saved me." It was not a question. "You saved me, even though it almost killed you. Rash..."

Her words skirted the issue I had been avoiding. Bracing myself, I asked, "Lucien?"

"He... I'm sorry, Rash. He had braided too much of himself into the jewel. When it shattered, most of the backlash followed the paths he had set. It... it isn't pretty."

I couldn't help myself. A convulsive shudder shook me. I was suddenly aware of the overpowering smell of blood, of the half-glimpsed dark blotches that covered walls and floor. Jayleen's words explained why we were still alive, why the explosion hadn't killed us both. It had travelled through Lucien's magic to reach him instead. Now I knew why Jayleen used such a small ball of magelight; I didn't want to see what lay beyond its illumination either.

She shifted to my right. Then, to my surprise and pleasure, settled against my side. Her warmth comforted me, and I draped an arm around her shoulders. Despite the horror that surrounded us, I felt calm and at peace. Jayleen huddled closer.

"It won't last, you know," I said, finally. She tilted her head to look up at me, puzzled. I forced myself to continue. "I... the demon inside. I'm too exhausted for it to manifest, but it'll be back. It's..."

"A part of who you are," Jayleen finished for me. She sat up and gave me a serene smile. "I know. But it's not all that you are. And, after all, no one is perfect."

I stared at her, feeling a goofy grin stretch across my face. After a moment, I said, "You smell nice."

She looked startled. "Uh..."

"No, no, not like that," I said, guessing her thoughts. "I mean, under your mageling blood, you smell nice. Like... like good books and flowers and spring air."

An odd look came over her face. Without saying a word, she settled back against me. "I never knew you were a poet, Rash."

And suddenly, it seemed silly that she should call me that.

"Jayleen, my name... that is, my True Name..."

Her eyes widened, and even in the pallid light, I could see the green that reminded me of new leaves and hope and life.

"...is Rash'kyel."





Author's note:
Congrats! You made it to the end! Here's a little reward for your persistence. Remember when Rash told Jayleen about his past? Lookee! It's chibi-Rash! Aww... *melts* Click on the image for more details.

As always, thanks for reading my story and feel free to leave a review!

Word Count: 12,148