Chapter 266: Strangling Is Off the Table (Unfortunately), and the Children Who Were Definitely Not Crying
Chapter 266: Strangling Is Off the Table (Unfortunately), and the Children Who Were Definitely Not Crying
Elyn’s POV
My eye twitched.
It was decided then.
I was going to kill this demon king in front of me. I was going to strangle him with my bare hands so I could no longer remember his handsome face and whatever confusing thing it did to my thought process. I would kick him. I would—
I paused.
Why did I still think his face was handsome?
There was something wrong with me.
I took a deep breath. Then another. I smoothed my expression into something pleasant and looked at him.
"Zor," I said.
"Firefly," he replied.
"Since we are seeing each other right now," I said pleasantly, "which, according to you, is enough—" I smiled at him. It was a very nice smile. Very warm. Completely fake. "—release the children."
Zorathys frowned.
It was a small frown.
"I feel," he said slowly, "like I’ve done something wrong."
"You haven’t done anything wrong," I told him.
He looked at me.
"You were perfect," I said.
The smile stayed exactly where it was.
"There was absolutely no need for you to come and see me first before you went to the children. Not at all." I nodded. "You did well. Very good. Extremely so."
He stared at me.
"Firefly—"
"Release the children."
His eyes narrowed faintly.
He stepped forward slightly, like he was about to say something or do something or negotiate, and I held up a hand.
"Take me to them," I said.
Then I paused and shook my head. "You know what, no need for that. I’ll just go to the dungeon myself."
"You don’t need to—"
"Those children are scared," I said. "They are probably crying."
"They are demons," he said.
"They are children."
"They are all older than you," he said, which was technically true and also entirely beside the point.
"I don’t care," I said. "Right now, in this moment, they are children. And they are scared. And they are in a cell because you locked them there for disturbing your peace." I looked at him. "So either you release them, or I go myself."
Zorathys looked at me.
I looked back at him and then he sighed.
And then, in the blink of an eye, we were in the dungeon.
There had been no warning or even transition. One moment I was standing in his room and the next I was standing in the corridor outside the cell, the low steady light of the deep palace pressing in around us.
It was quiet.
Completely quiet, in the way that spaces this far underground tended to be—the sound didn’t travel down here, or if it did, it arrived changed into something flatter and closer.
"You see," Zorathys said, his voice carrying that lazy certainty, "the children you are so worried about, the ones you believe to be scared and crying—"
There was a sniffle.
Then another.
Then, from somewhere inside the cell, a sob.
I turned to look at him.
He had a disgusted expression on his face.
He turned slowly toward the cell, and I followed his gaze.
Through the bars, the children were visible—and yes, they were crying. Thalira had her face in her hands. Retheris had his jaw set and his eyes wet, doing the same thing he had done in the palace entrance—trying very hard not to and not entirely succeeding. Velira had her bunny pressed to her face and her shoulders were shaking. Aziren had his knees pulled up to his chest and his ears flat against his head, tears running freely down his cheeks, the small flames in his hair so low they were barely visible.
Azerion was sitting with his back to the bars, crying too.
Zorathys looked at them with disgust.
The children looked back at him through the bars, and then the crying stopped.
Immediately, like a switch had been turned off.
I turned to Zorathys.
"Stop threatening the children," I said.
"I’m not doing anything," he said.
"You looked at them."
"I always look at things," he said. "My eyes are open. It’s unavoidable."
"They’re faking," he added, gesturing at the cell. "The tears."
I did not give him the benefit of a response to that.
I crossed the distance to the cell and crouched in front of the bars.
Aziren was closest.
He was still hugging his knees, his head turned slightly away, and when I got down to his level he looked at me—amber eyes wet, ears still flat, the flames in his hair guttering at the edges, and something in his expression did the thing it always did when he saw me.
It softened.
"Aziren," I said softly.
He uncurled.
Slowly at first, then all at once—he crawled forward across the cell floor and reached through the bars, and I caught his hands in mine. He was warm, the way he always was, and his grip was tight.
He sobbed.
"I know," I said quietly. "I know you’re scared. I’m going to get you out soon."
From behind me, Zorathys made a sound of distaste.
I ignored it.
"Soon," I said again, to Aziren.
Then I stood and turned to Zorathys, who was looking at the cell like he was about to blow it up—or perhaps it wasn’t the cell itself but the people inside it.
"Open the cell," I told him.
"They destroyed your office," he said.
"Open the cell."
"Gravitational anomaly, Firefly," he said. "In the palace."
"Zorathys."
"The window took four seconds to reassemble," he said. "Four seconds of my time that I will never recover."
"Open the cell," I said, "and release the children."
He looked at me.
I looked back at him.
The children, through the bars, were looking at both of us.
Zorathys’s ruby gaze held mine for a long moment.
Then he looked at the cell again.
Then back at me.
"They are faking the tears," he said.
"Zorathys." I called out.