I’m about to attempt to speak to Dagny again when the door bursts open, calling my attention to the huffing soldier in the doorway. My lip curls as I take in his gray skin and clouded white eyes—a hideous trait only descendants of the Naif species seem to possess. Though smaller than Abbadon’s species—the Gyldens—the Naifs make up for it with their speed and unquenchable bloodlust, making them near undefeatable. The only species to rival their capability in battle is the Sable, distinguishable by its onyx-colored, feathered wings, but that lineage has been wiped out for decades. Erik was the last of his kind, and he fell along with Abaddon during the sundering twenty-one years ago.

I cut a glance toward Dagny as the last thought crosses my mind. At least, he was the last one…

“Malice! Did you hear anything I just said?”

I hold back a growl as the soldier’s voice makes its way to my ears, rudely interrupting my train of thought. I clench my fist as I turn to face him, giving him the attention he so desperately craves. “I can’t say I did. You’re more than welcome to repeat yourself.”

The soldier frowns but doesn’t comment on my mocking tone. “I said Slaine needs to see you. He says it’s urgent, and to come right away.”

Irritation roils beneath my skin as I debate whether it would be worth the punishment to slit this useless demon’s throat. Hearing him choking on his own blood would be pleasant, but…

I sigh, turning on my heel and stalking to the door without another word. It would be nice, but no amount of temporary pleasure is worth the lifetime I’ll possess if everything works out the way I plan.

The soldier follows me out of the cell, locking the door securely behind him before hastening after me down the hall. I take the stairs at the end of the passageway, my rage growing at the demons' irritating huffing just over my shoulder. By the time we make it to Slaine’s throne room, I’m barely able to contain the urge to whip around and bash his face in.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. Stick to the⁠—

“Malice. I was worried I would have to wait all day.”

My lip curls as I step into the massive throne room, the sensation of plush carpet beneath the pads of my feet causing my skin to crawl. “Your lap dog was very persistent.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Slaine looks down on me from his throne, disgust swirling in his misted white eyes as he taps a clawed finger on the shimmering blue armrest. I recognize the material immediately—carved from the stonelike ice deep beneath the crust of The Far Place, pulsing with the magic the roots of the welwig have imbued into it.