“Ah yes,” the demon chided, “our little… misunderstanding regarding your brother. You must realize, by the terms of our agreement what I sought was perfectly within my right. You’ve sworn to me by your blood, and the boy is of your blood.” It grinned at him, or at least made an expression that involved a lot of teeth.
Constans’ fists clenched, a flash of hatred helping him briefly to see through the fog of magic clouding his judgment. “Don’t you talk about Desi, you son of a whore,” he spat. “If you so much as think about my brother again-“
“You will kill me?” It chuckled. “You will fail, if you can even manage to try. Do not forget that you still belong to me, little blood mage.” Mockery and condescension in the creature’s voice would be plain as day to their eavesdropper, but to Constans every word still sounded maddeningly reasonable. “However, there is no reason for you to be so defensive. As soon as you consent to be my host, I will have no further need of your brother. I know your mind, Constans. You wish to keep him safe? You desire that he know freedom from this prison- this place in which mages stifle and die, never having lived at all? So be it! And why stop there? Become powerful, and grant him the same power! We will teach him as you have been taught, and together become a force to be reckoned with.”
“I…” Constans’ voice cracked. Yes, oh yes. He wanted these things beyond reckoning, and always had. Imagine Desiderio, laughing, standing bloodied over the corpse of the last Templar to stand between them and freedom. Imagine both of them traveling the world (Antiva, he has always wanted to see Antiva), enjoying wine and women and adventure, living in abandon, making their own way as should be every man’s right. It was so hard to resist, like walking forward into a driving blizzard, but Constans rebelled against these thoughts.
“If- if I were to accept,” he managed finally, “My brother would have no part in this. Ever. You will not harm him, are- are not to speak to him. Do not… involve yourself with him in any way.” He swallowed, closing his eyes and praying to the Maker (whom he has never chosen to believe in before today; it’s true what they say, fear can turn a man to religion) that the demon cannot genuinely read his thoughts. He would die before ever allowing this demon to walk the world, he is determined now, but… if he must die, he would do it on his own terms. The blood of two, he thought, eyes flickering to the grimoire at his feet. One… small sacrifice to save hundreds.
The demon laughed. “If these are your demands, they are strange to me, but so be it. I will honor them. Surely you realize that by so saying, you would deny yourself his company? The boy could be useful to us, and you are so very attached to him.”
“They are my terms. I hold you to them.”
“Destroy this binding magic, then!” cried the demon hungrily. “Let us be joined!”
“No.” His simple declaration drew a growl of impatience from the creature he faced, but Constans felt like himself again, his muddled thoughts coming back into order. He stood taller, forcing his hands not to tremble, his heart not to race. “I am leaving, to- to say goodbye. When I return, we will discuss our arrangement. Only when I am satisfied will I release you.”
Remaining silent for a long, uncomfortable moment as it examined him mistrustfully, the demon eventually began to nod in sly approval. “Look how well you are doing already,” it grinned. “Giving commands like a man, not like a simpering mage. Go, but do not test my patience.” Its smile grew, if possible, even more ominous. “If your magic fails before you return, I will not make deals.”