High mages lied: Veranesh, the demon who destroyed the continent is still alive. And it's up to their former student to expose the truth-even if it means another Cataclysm.
When Kamira, a once high mage student turned arcanist, discovers an imprisoned demon in underground ruins, she is forced into a pact that grants her powerful magic, but also ties her to the very demon that once devastated the continent... and Veranesh wants his freedom.
With one friend by her side, Veelk, a mage killer bound on protecting her, Kamira will have to outwit the archmages, other demons, and possibly her own demonic benefactor to survive. Her chances are slim, but with Veelk's ever-present sarcastic repartee, Kamira might just pull through.
Plots and schemes, power and means-sometimes the price for victory is choosing which friend will die, but when you only have one friend, the choice is... easy?
As soon as Kamira kicked sand into the dark hole in the desert, she knew she’d found the right place. The golden grains rolled down and stopped at the edge of a tunnel leading deep into the ground. At least she hoped it was, because after two days of pointlessly crawling into random holes that always turned out to be dead ends, her patience and good mood were both running thin.
Half-crumbled ruins jutting out of the sand like skeletons of creatures long dead did little to improve her state. Every stone, charred or glazed into glass, reminded her that the surrounding desert was the result of a single mistake, a mistake that her predecessors made in their blind pride. Even over four hundred years later, people weren’t willing to forgive a whole kingdom lost, and the blame for the past deeds traveled down the line of teachers and students of a once-respected school.
READ MOREShe shrugged off those thoughts as she circled the hole searching for the source of magic that barred the sands’ entry. Her shadow shifted, mimicking both the movement of her sleek figure and the shape of her messy hair that she liked to adorn with feathers and bones. Back in the city, she’d add even more decorations, enjoying the many flinches her appearance spurred in the common folk. Over the years, the whisper “demonologist” behind her back aroused amusement instead of ire, and she’d long stopped bothering to explain her actual title or that she was nothing like arcanists of the past. Catering to common fears and misconceptions often brought unexpected benefits, and if nothing else, it made people leave her be. Only those who wanted to conduct business bothered her, and Kamira appreciated the peace and quiet of being alone.
Mostly alone, she concluded at the sound of footsteps.
“You found it.” Veelk stopped beside her.
If she was the epitome of what people thought a demonologist should look like, complete with her gaunt, close to malnourished features adding a sinister undercurrent to her grouchy personality, Veelk reflected the commoners’ idea of a tribal warrior. Tall and muscular, with a hairless head and an intricate net of scars marking his copper-hued skin, he often took advantage of anyone who assumed he was an uneducated savage. He surprised them with his wit, leaving many of people speechless, but when the ways of civilized men failed, he never lamented resorting to his keshal. His tribe’s traditional spear had a blade at each end of the haft—one narrow and one wide, both as sharp as his tongue.
“I hope so,” she muttered. “Otherwise, we’re going to crawl in the dirt, risking the desert collapsing on us, only to find another dead end with an equally dead body.”
Veelk grinned, unmoved as usual. “If you ever stop complaining, I’ll know a demon has taken you.” He approached the hole and carelessly threw a rock inside. Instead of bouncing or rolling, it sank into the black.
COLLAPSE