By the time Corabelle found the records she was searching for, the first reds of dawn were beginning to creep through the broken windows, glowing hot against the smoke clouds.

  The conditions of the documents left much to be desired, but they were legible to a degree.

  She hoped it would be enough. Of course, the Fae weren’t the ones that had to tediously extract meaning from these muddled words. They never bothered to learn the language of this region, or any language of this plane for that matter.

  The enthralling mission of deciphering this chicken scratch would be left to one who previously lived, or died, here.

  Corabelle would be more than glad to do this herself and she would certainly try when she returned. If she could stay in the palace, not to have to step foot on these bloodsoaked roads again, she would be content.

  Of course, she knew that was about as likely as waking up in the morning to the smell of her mother’s apple tarts.

  The streets nearer the palace were far more pleasant.

  Young Faedemons in red patrolled, maintaining the streets and trying futilely to remove stains from the white stone of the manors leading up to the castle.

  A few eyed her wearily, not turning their heads but watching her intently from the corners of their eyes.

  Corabelle couldn’t blame them for their trepidations. She had considerable rank on them. Her power was stronger, better honed. The dark Runebinds visible through her white sleeves displayed this far better than the color of her uniform. Most demons in white didn’t have as many as she did, this made her rank suspicious to the young ones.

  The demons of the pre-war often loved to torment the fresh changelings. They were easy to hurt; unpolished, weak. Someone as strong as Corabelle could easily leave them near death, likely before they even noticed she had moved.

  She wouldn’t though. Not that they knew that, nor would they believe it if she told them.

  So she kept her eyes forward, damp papers pressed against her chest, making sure her focus didn’t linger on any particular new demon for long.

  The crumbling steps of the castle were under repair as she approached. Human slaves did this work. Masons of the pre-war. They were skilled for certain. But their work had no heart. While the completed stairs were a picture of uniform perfection, they were drab. They hadn’t the careful designs of the previous ones. The intricate carvings of shells, waves, and sea creatures in the sandclay were covered or chipped away for their sterile replacements.

  Other Faedemons in white stood watch over the humans, making sure they worked efficiently and with care.

  Corabelle stepped carefully around the patches of wet sandclay, making sure not to smudge their immaculate work.

  As she reached the top most section of completed work, her foot hit a tool she hadn’t seen, her ankle rolling somewhat painfully. Her foot slipped taking out a large chunk of wet sandclay, putting a rather gouge out of the edge of the stair.

  Her first instinct was to apologize, but the mason was faster

  The man, hardly old enough to be a master, began groveling at her feet sobbing apologies she couldn't make out as he futilely tried to remove the light beige stains from her white shoes and the hem of her dress with his dirty calloused hands. Though it only proved to dirty it further.

  His handler was upon him in a mere moment, hauling him to his feet by his hair.

  Most demons didn’t care enough about their charges to physically harm them, often opting for spells or curses over brute force; this one must have been particularly bitter about being stuck with the job of supervising repair work.

  “It was an accident! It was an accident!” The mason wailed. “Please, tell them I meant you no harm. You know I didn’t mean to!”

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  “I thought his work could improve,” Corbelle lied coldly to her peer. She had no rank on these demons. The best she could do is try for a lesser punishment. “I provided a simple way for him to start over. A kindness don’t you think?”

  With a simple spell, Corabelle pulled the water from the air around her, rinsing away the grime from her clothing, as well as a fair deal of his work.

  The man stared, slack-jawed at her with disbelief, but didn’t say a word to contradict her. He knew what had really happened. Corbelle could see the calculations behind his eyes. Why was this demon trying to protect him?

  The other Faedemon looked down at her shoes, and the melting staircase. The offending tool was concealed under the hem of Corabelle’s dress, providing no evidence of this man’s wrongdoing.

  The air hung quiet as Corabelle could see the other Faedemon debating what should be done.

  Finally she spoke, “You should thank the Mistress for her assistance." She shoved him back down, his neck jerking in a way that looked far more painful than Corabelle’s twisted ankle.

  “Thank you, Mistress.” His gratitude was genuine as he bowed deeply at her feet.

  The back of his scalp bled lightly, her peer wiping torn hair from her hands with disgust.

  Guilt stung Corabelle’s chest as she gripped the papers tighter in her arms.

  Something snapped within her.

  This mason’s blood wasn’t just his. It was every human slave. Every Faedemon young and old. Every slain royal, guard, and peasant. This was the blood of the young woman in the archive.

  The Fae would certainly torture her for these thoughts, maybe even kill her, but they were too lazy to bother trying to control her at every moment. And in this moment, her brain was blessedly free from their influence.

  To the Fae she wasn’t anything particularly special anymore. She wasn’t the only Demonmade and now that they had direct control over her they didn’t have much reason to be concerned with her existence. She wasn’t the strongest or most knowledgeable. She was nothing. At least to the Fae.

  But she was the only one of her kind with any sort of loyalty to this world. She was the only one with memories of what she lost, what this place used to be.

  The others had no love for their masters, but they also had no stake in the world’s survival and wouldn’t risk the Fae’s wrath. She wasn’t the only one capable of helping, but she was the only one who had any reason to try, even if it meant only one less person was suffering.

  She nodded at the man, before turning her attention to his handler, “Does this one know how to read?”

  The Faedemon looked down at her charge. She clearly had never bothered to learn much about him other than his work with stone, “Answer the mistress.”

  A muted crack sounded as Demon’s heel crushed the tip of the man’s smallest finger.

  “I do, madam.” His voice strained as held his bow, not that he could move from it if he tried.

  “Have you need for this one specifically, or might I commandeer it to assist with another project I’ve been given?” She asked the handler, not addressing the man.

  “The stairs need to be completed,” She replied reluctantly, staring at the others below her. The heat of the morning sun and humidity of the sea was already making standing on these stairs unpleasant. Corabelle was correct, she didn’t want to be here either. This was grunt work, not worthy of a mid-tier demon

  “His work is sloppy,” Corabelle said, putting on a false sneer at his ruined stair. “I’m not even sure why he was assigned to this position. He's undeserving of it. Perhaps this may prove to be faster without him.”

  Contemplation scrawled across the Handler’s face. Corabelle knew she was trying to decide if it was a worthy justification for abandoning her ordered task.

  “What project?” She finally questioned.

  “The masters have requested information. I found what they were looking for but it’s difficult to read. Time hasn’t been kind to the parchment. I could use extra eyes to help me decipher it and humans are far easier to manage than the whelps.”

  “Oh,” A wry smile crossed Faedemon's face. She had her worthy excuse. “Well that is certainly far more important than simple construction work. I’m sure the others can pick up the slack. By all means, take it.” She removed her foot from his man’s hand, the finger already a deep swollen purple, bleeding from small chunks of stone that penetrated it with the demon’s step.

  The man raised his head cautiously, to look at Corabelle. His eyes were reddened with pain, but also confusion.

  Corabelle slid the tool under his body, handing him her papers to cover that she’d done so. His other hand quickly commandeered it, sliding it into the front of his belt.

  His bewilderment continued to grow as he stood carefully, holding the papers like they were worth more than the palace ground on which he stood.

  The mason glanced back at his old keeper, waiting for her to reveal an elaborate trick as Corabelle began to ascend the stairs, but the other Faedemon was already heading toward the manors, likely to have some fun in her limited free time until she was given a new objective.

  As soon as he realized no such trick was coming, the mason turned and quickly stumbled up the stairs behind Corabelle.