Page 96 of Daemon Master

“Perhaps during my next visit, we can continue our discussion on the true bond and the finer points of daemon mastery,” Jasper remarked off-handedly, still studying Heartrender. “I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on Callum’s journal. It’s quite an impressive piece of work. And this ‘reverse Surge’ he discusses—simply remarkable!”

Adrian fought down a burst of alarm. Spirits below, how had Jasper deciphered the journal so quickly? Had he formed a true bond of his own? Or had he discovered another way to bypass Crastley’s aetherforging?

“I won’t tell you a spirit-cursed thing!”

Disappointment tugged at Jasper’s lips. “You needn’t hide things from me, Adrian. I’ve been honest with you—the least you can do is return the favor.”

Wasthatwhy the seeker had been so forthcoming? Had he shared Serenity Corp’s secrets in the hopes it would prompt Adrian to do the same with his own?

“What you’re attempting is wrong—evil. No matter what you do to me, I’llneverhelp you.”

Jasper shook his head. “We’ll see.” With that, he slipped out the door, shutting it behind him.

What little defiance Adrian had mustered bled from him, fresh hopelessness blossoming in its wake. What was the point instanding up to Jasper when it wouldn’t save him or his daemons from their fate? Sinking back against the wall, he pressed his hands over his face and wept.

Adrian lay on a rough cot, staring up at the smooth ceiling of his cell. Had it only been a day since Jasper’s visit? More? He wasn’t sure. After the seeker left, watchers had brought him this uncomfortable cot and a basic meal. He’d picked listlessly at the latter before crawling into the former, doing his best to escape into the blissful void of sleep.

Yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw the sword protruding from Elana’s chest as her eyes widened with pain and shock. Smelled the sizzling flesh from Leda’s charred corpse. Heard Freya’s agonized wail as her home and family were violently ripped away from her.

It may have been Jasper who ordered the executions and Leda who betrayed the Enclave’s trust, but it was Adrian’s own folly that had served as the catalyst. First, he’d dragged Seymour into this unwinnable fight, then the Enclave. How many more lives was he willing to sacrifice for Crastley’s hopeless cause in some childish quest to make his long-dead parents proud?

Heartrender did her best to snap him out of his funk. She comforted him, poked and prodded him, tried to reason and then to shame him into rising. None of it mattered.

He’d struggled so long to deny his flaws and pretend he could rise above his weak aether. But that had been a lie. Soon, Heartrender would be just one more innocent he’d failed. She’d end up right back in a Serenity Corp lab, subjected to an endless litany of tests until Jasper and his seekers understood what made her special. Then, they’d shove her into a daemoforgedrelic, reducing her noble spirit to little more than an aetheric technique.

While Heartrender’s increasing desperation reverberated through their bond, Lockrod remained disconcertingly quiet, huddled away from Adrian in a corner of the room. Somehow, that silence hurt the most. Not that he blamed Lockrod for giving up on him. He’d been a terrible daemon master so far—first getting him killed fighting Kali, then pawning him off on Freya while he worked feverishly at the Enclave.

“Better for you if I’d never saved you from that branch,” Adrian said, burying his face in his hands.

Something heavythunkedagainst the back of his skull. Pain exploded in his temples, and he yelped, collapsing forward onto his hands and knees. He turned wide eyes up to find Lockrod standing there, anUnbendable Rodgrasped in both hands. The daemon’s eyes and aether blazed furiously as he released a stream of angry chitters.

Adrian rubbed his head. He supposed he deserved that for all his failures—that and so much more. Emotion flared through his bond with Lockrod as though the daemon agreed. Heartrender had always remained a calm, soothing presence even in the midst of danger, but Lockrod was the exact opposite—all raw, unbridled passion.

The churning cocktail of Lockrod’s emotions beat against Adrian’s melancholy, impossible to ignore. Fury mixed with sorrow, but stronger than either was the crippling magnitude of the daemon’s disappointment. Not in Adrian’s actions and decisions that had led them to this point, but in his unwillingness to keep going. In his giving up.

Just like Seymour when we were kids.

For the first time since the massacre, something other than fear or despair stirred within him—white hot rage. “Shut up!” he screamed, leaping to his feet. “Shut up, shut up,shut up!”

Heartrender stared at him in shock, but Lockrod didn’t back down as he’d expected. If anything, the daemon grew more frenzied, leaping in place. Adrian eyed theUnbendable Rodas it waved haphazardly through the air. His throbbing head served as a reminder of how much it could sting.

“You’re wrong!” he said, wondering as he did why he was even bothering to justify his decision. “There’s no more use in fighting. What’s the point?”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer. Lockrod came at him again, swinging the rod. This time, Adrian had enough sense to duck out of the way, but Lockrod didn’t relent. He struck again and again, forcing Adrian to dodge and remain on the defensive.

Weeks of training with Seymour made the exercise almost second nature. While Lockrod had a weapon and he didn’t, the daemon’s fighting technique was wild and undisciplined.

“Cut it out,” Adrian commanded, stepping around an overhead strike that clanged off the floor. The blow had enough force to crack regular stone, but here, it didn’t even leave a mark.

Lockrod sent a resoundingNothrough their bond and continued his assault. Adrian gritted his teeth, spinning just in time to avoid a thrust that would’ve slammed into his gut.

Although he sensed a thread of worry from Heartrender, she hung back, watching the bout intently. Frustration bubbled up in him, along with an overwhelming sense of worthlessness. Even his own daemons loathed him. Not that he blamed them since he loathed himself.

The realization left him breathless, gasping for air as if he were drowning. Lockrod took advantage of his distraction, sweeping his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a muffledthump.

Lockrod gave him no quarter, raising his staff high overhead and bringing it down at Adrian’s chest—not a killing blow, perhaps, but certainly one that would hurt and might even breaka few bones. Watching the strike as if in slow motion, Adrian felt only a deep sense of apathy. This was what he deserved—a body as broken as his spirit and wounds of the flesh to mirror the wounds of his soul.

Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, something else rose within him—some primal instinct to fight back. To protect. Towin. He let out a wordless scream, raising his hands as if to fend off the blow even though the gesture would accomplish little except breaking his fingers.