If you read this first chapter, you’ll be hooked. Guaranteed.

Chapter One

“In the beginning, the darkness, Axraksii, fought the light, Ozeon.

Axraksii won.”

– A quote from ‘Varinth’s Beginnings, a History Book’

            As I chained Fietta’s ankle to the bedpost, I knew this would be another brutal evening.

            She had been picked to entertain one of the Ring Warlocks, the most powerful and influential magic wielders in all the world. I had been picked to make sure it all went smoothly.

            Some would say it was an honor to share a bed with one of these “gods,” but anyone who thought that was just inanely innocent and naïve. The Ring Warlocks were the worst to entertain. Their power knew no equal, and the laws of the magicless held no sway over them. Whatever the Ring Warlock wanted to do tonight, we would have to allow. No discussion.

            Fietta ran an unsteady hand over the satin sheets covering the gigantic bed. This was the best room in the Scarlet Lantern, reserved for only the highest-paying clients. I wondered if the Ring Warlock had actually paid to have our best courtesan for the night. A promise not to burn this place to the ground would be enough to buy her services.

            “Everything will be fine,” Fietta whispered to herself.

            It was her mantra to chase away fear. I had heard her mutter it many times before.

            I placed a comforting hand on her bare foot. “Everything will be fine.” Our eyes met, and for a moment, she seemed steady and confident.

            Then Fietta watched me as I walked around the room, making sure everything was in its place.

            The light from the hanging lanterns, dim and sultry, created a romantic glow that concealed any evidence of wear and tear—or anything else, for that matter. I avoided glancing at the paintings of lewd figures on the walls, or all the toys on the far nightstand. Instead, I made sure Fietta had everything she needed to make the evening easier for her.

            I pulled open the top drawer on the nearest nightstand. “I brought some canisters up from the kitchen. This one has water, and this one has clove oil.”

            The water was there just in case she got thirsty—or needed to clean up any messes. Clove oil was slick, and easily worked as lubricant. They were both in little silver canisters, not much of either, but hopefully enough for a single evening.

            “Thank you, Rimon-lin,” Fietta said, her voice barely audible.

            The honorific lin, when added to the end of a name, was something special.

            It was meant for loved ones, trusted friends, and the closest of family. Fietta and I weren’t related by blood, but I would have said she was my kin. I had been born in the Scarlet Lantern, brought into this world by a courtesan who had refused to give up her child. If I had been born a woman, I, too, would’ve been made a courtesan.

            Instead, since I was male, and owned by the Scarlet Lantern, I was made to do all the hard labor. And I was also the one who made sure no patron abused the courtesans outside of what they paid for.

            The women here had raised me, and since I cared for them, we were all very close.

            Thumps echoed in the hallway. It was almost time for Fietta to perform.

            “I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” I said.

            “Please don’t go far.” There was a hint of fear in her voice. “Wait just outside the door?”

            I nodded. “Of course.”

            Fietta rubbed her bare, slender legs. It was warm in the Scarlet Lantern, and a musky aroma wafted on the air like smoke. Clothed in a tunic and pants, I wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awful.

            Fietta wore only a thin nightgown. No one had offered her any other clothes for the evening. The Ring Warlock likely wanted something easily torn away.

            She was beautiful, though. Slender, soft, with hair as luscious as ink, and a face that was without blemish—there was a reason Fietta was the Scarlet Lantern’s top courtesan.

            After one last glance around the room, I headed for the door. I slid it open, stepped out, and then effortlessly slid the door shut, barely making a sound. The owner, Lanin Liimen, hurried down to the hallway toward me, his face red, his spherical body sweating. He wore the large outer robe that all businessmen wore, but that was in addition to his shirt, vest, and long pants. The summer heat didn’t sit well with him.

            “The Ring Warlock is here,” Lanin growled through clenched teeth. “Is the room ready, Rimon-ves?”

            The honorific ves wasn’t really an honor at all.

            It was used when addressing someone much lower in station. Someone you owned. Someone you considered the same as property.

            I replied to Lanin with only a nod.

            “Excellent,” he said. “I want you to lock the door once the warlock enters, and then go keep watch over the other girls.”

            “You want me to lock the door with the warlock inside?” I asked.

            “It’s just a precaution. Fietta isn’t stupid enough to run, but if she suffers a lapse in judgment, I don’t want it to cost all our heads.”

            Lanin kept his black hair short, which meant even the slightest amount of sweat in his locks and he appeared soaked. The man rubbed the back of his hand across his vast forehead, clearing the acre of skin of all his perspiration.

            “You think she’ll try to run?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “I already chained her to the bed, just as you instructed.”

            “That was at the warlock’s request! But I know better. The girls can find a way out, if they so choose.”

            “I don’t think locking the door is necessary.”

            “When a Ring Warlock visited the Velvet Haven, the owner lost two girls because one tried to curtail the warlock’s fun.” Lanin waved to the door. “I won’t let that happen to us. Just lock the door and leave. Let the warlock do whatever he wants, and in the morning, we’ll call an undertaker if need be.”

            Lanin said nothing else before continuing his way down the hallway. I waited, rooted in place, my thoughts on Fietta. After a prolonged moment, I stepped closer to the door and listened.

            “Everything will be fine,” she said from within, her voice mostly muffled by the wood, but still loud enough that I heard every anxiety-laced word. “Everything will be fine.”

            Stomping filled the hallway. I leapt away from the door and waited.

            A man stumbled around the corner and came into my view. He was all alone as he approached me, chuckling to himself as though thoroughly amused. The Scarlet Lantern seemed colder now.

            The man straightened himself halfway to the door, but his unfocused eyes betrayed his thorough inebriation.

            He wore a black ring on his right hand, the band snug on his thumb. That was the source of all his power—a magical artifact that could only be removed upon his death.

            The Ring Warlock had other clothing clumsily draped over his body. His robe, sash belt, and silky shirt were all stained with liquor, but most of my focus remained on his ring.

            “Good evening,” I said as I bowed my head.

            The man backhanded me across the face with his ring hand. My teeth hurt from the force of his blow, and I stumbled back-first into the wall.

            “That isn’t how you address me, servant.”

            I knelt to one knee and bowed my head. This was the formal way to address anyone who was powerful enough to wield magic. But I hadn’t been in the mood to honor the Ring Warlock, which was why my jaw now throbbed in agony. A mistake, but probably one I wouldn’t change, even if I could redo the last sixty seconds of my life.

            With all the grace of a three-legged horse, the man fumbled with the door, trying to slide it open but failing several times. Once he finally managed, the Ring Warlock lumbered inside. I stood and slid the door shut behind him, my hand shaky.

            Normally, sliding doors like ours couldn’t be locked, but this was an establishment that sold private encounters, so each door had metal stoppers and secret latches. I could lock the door from the outside.

            But I decided not to.

            Instead, I just stood there, unmoving, and waited.

            At first, there were all the standard noises one would expect to hear from inside a room at the Scarlet Lantern. The creak of the bedframe, the soft voice of a woman, the strike of flesh—all things I had heard before. I was tempted to do as Lanin bade me, but I couldn’t bring myself to break a promise I had made to Fietta.

            I’d wait here.

            Whenever the warlock was done, I would be the one to comfort her.

            But I only waited a few minutes before the noises in the room stopped. No more rhythmic squeaks of the bed, no more heavy breathing or words.

            Just silence.

            Then the Ring Warlock started wheezing.

            For a short while, I didn’t think much of it, because everyone needs to catch their breath now and again. But the man coughed for a straight minute, his hoarse croaking growing louder and louder.

            “Help,” Fietta called from within. “Someone, help!”

            Thankful I hadn’t left her unattended, I slid open the door and rushed inside. The sight before me caught me off guard.

            The Ring Warlock was on his knees, half on top of Fietta. His face was purple, his eyes bulging. The man clawed at his throat, his fingernails digging into his flesh. He wore no clothing, and neither did Fietta—their garments were strewn all over the floor.

            “Rimon-lin,” Fietta said, her face covered in the man’s spittle, the side of her face bloodied and red from being struck. “Do something.”

            “Warlock?” I asked, because I hadn’t gotten his name. “Do you need help?” A silly question, but I didn’t know what else to say.

            Didn’t he have powerful magic? Couldn’t he stop himself from choking?

            Or was he too drunk to use any of his amazing abilities?

            The Ring Warlock dismounted Fietta and fumbled across the satin sheets, heading toward the edge of the bed like he wanted to escape the room. His coordination was abysmal. An infant could’ve gotten off the bed with more haste.

            Fietta sat up and awkwardly tugged one of the sheets up to her shoulders.

            “W-Wa… Water…” the man choked out.

            He wanted a drink?

            Fietta turned to me, horrified.

            I walked over to the nightstand and threw open the drawer. In that split second, as I gazed upon the silver canisters, I had a dark thought.

            Instead of grabbing the water, I picked up the other canister.

            The Ring Warlock rushed across the bed and snatched the canister from my hand. He twisted the top off and threw back the contents. Oil rushed into his mouth, and that clearly startled him. His bulging eyes attempted to escape his face as he wheezed harder than ever.

            The man spit oil all over the sheets, and then in one last burst of energy, he threw himself onto the floor. He hit with a loud thud, his flesh so purple, he was practically a giant plum.

            Then he stopped moving.

            Drool trickled out of his mouth and pooled around his head.

            I watched, unblinking, as his eyes dulled, and his face slackened.

            “Everything will be f-fine,” Fietta whispered. Then she gulped down a breath. “Everything will be fine.”

            After several prolonged minutes, the ring on the man’s right thumb slid off—all on its own. The ring rolled across the wood floor in a slow circle before falling over with a clink.

            The Ring Warlock was dead.

            A tear slid down Fietta’s bloodied cheek. “E-Everything will be fine.”

            “It will be,” I said.      

            But we both knew that wasn’t true.

            The moment they found a dead Ring Warlock in this room, the other warlocks would come for us. This was it. The end of the line. Even though it hadn’t been our fault that the man was drunk.

            What had he even choked on? His own spit?

            Then again, I had given him the oil. I had helped him along to the grave. All the more reason they would kill us.

            I ran my hands through my short hair.

            “What’re we going to do?” Fietta whispered, drawing me out of my thoughts.

            After I took a deep breath, I walked over the bedpost. I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked Fietta’s chain. My heart hammered the entire time.

            “You should go be with the others,” I whispered. “I’ll… I’ll tell them it was me. That I had gotten upset. And stormed into the room.”

            At least then, only one person would need to pay with their life. And ultimately, it had been my fault. If I had listened to Lanin, this wouldn’t have happened.

            Fietta rubbed her ankle as she glanced at the dead body, and then to me. “Rimon-lin… They’ll execute y-you for this.”

            “It’ll be okay. Just leave. Quickly.”

            It was my job to protect the girls of the Scarlet Lantern. They were my family.

             More silent tears ran down her face. Fietta wiped away some of the blood and then swaddled herself in the silk sheet. Without any other words, she hurried out of the room, leaving me alone with the corpse.

            This was…

            Not how I wanted things to end.

            I paced the foot of the bed, my chest so tight it felt as though I couldn’t breathe. If I ran, they would find me. The Ring Warlocks had magics—incredible magics!—I wouldn’t be able to escape.

            They always found the people who had wronged them.

            What was I going to do?

            My eyes drifted over to the black ring on the floor. It was so… shiny. And beautiful. On the inside, where no one could ever see, tiny red gemstones caught the light just right. They glowed.

            I stared at the ring.

            Could I just… take it?

            I glanced around. It was just me and the bloated body. No one else.

            And even though the man had fallen to the floor, creating a mild racket, no one would come to investigate. Girls got thrown to the floor quite often. Thumps and bashes were commonplace—nothing out of the ordinary.

            I walked around the bed, knelt, and reached for the mysterious piece of jewelry. But I stopped, inches from the ring, my hand unsteady.

            Magical power radiated from the ring like heat from a fire. I felt the potential of the ring, as though its unimaginable capacity were cooking my fingers.

            The rings couldn’t be removed until the wearer died. If I took this ring, I would become a target. The other Ring Warlocks would have to kill me to take it back.

            Then I nervously chuckled. “Dead if I do, dead if I don’t.”

            So without any more overthinking, I snatched the ring from the floor. It was hot. Powerful. I shoved it onto my right thumb, hoping it wouldn’t hurt to wear.

            A surge of magic shot through my hand, then my wrist, up my arm, and straight to my head. I grunted, and managed to stifle an agonized yelp. My head spun as I stood, stumbled backward, and then collapsed onto the oil-covered bed.

            With gritted teeth, I closed my eyes.

            My thoughts…

            I…

            “Who do you wish to bind yourself to?” someone whispered into my ear.

            “What?”

            I opened my eyes and wildly glanced around. It was still just me and the corpse. No one else was here.

            “Who said that?” I asked the empty room.

            “Who do you wish to bind yourself to?” the strange voice repeated, its words clearer, its tone sinister.

            I took in shallow breaths. “What do you mean?” I glanced behind me. Nothing.

            But when the voice spoke, it was like someone’s mouth was inches from my ear. “Warlocks gain their power by binding themselves to ancient titans who dwell in the darkness—they are known as felheen. That’s what a warlock is. An extension of a powerful beast that slumbers beneath us.”

            “I… I didn’t know that,” I said, breathless. I checked under the bed. But still—there was nothing.

            It felt as though sharp teeth scraped across the shell of my right ear as the voice asked, “You have Garrain Wist’s ring? You managed to take it from him? How interesting. I can’t wait to see which being you tie yourself to.”

            I shook my head. “I don’t know how to do any of that.” I yanked on the ring, trying to remove it.

            But it was fused to my skin, the little red gemstones pulsing with power.

            “Who are you?” I demanded.

            “I am the Warden, here to help you bind your soul to an ancient felheen.”

            I took a deep breath.

            Then exhaled.

            “What if I don’t want to?” I asked. “What if I say no? What if I don’t want to bind myself to anything?”

            “Then the ring will consume you from the inside out,” the voice said with a laugh.

            This tiny brothel room seemed smaller than ever. I shuddered and rubbed my arms, the weight of the ring heavy.

            “And if I do bind myself to one of these ancient beings, I’ll gain magic?”

            “Of course. So much magic you won’t know what to do with it all. The felheen are the mightiest of all beings, and while they sleep, they are happy to provide you with a fraction of their power. It is the only way for them to see the world. Your eyes become their windows. That is the trade you make.”

            That didn’t sound horrible, but my inexperience with this process worried me. The Ring Warlocks bound themselves to ancient creatures to gain their power? I hadn’t known that. How would I go about doing this?

            “Okay,” I said with an exhale. “I’ll do it. I’ll bind myself to a felheen.”

            “Pick one,” the Warden said, a smile in his tone. “Pick the felheen you want to bind yourself to.”

            I shook my head, my brow furrowed. “I… I don’t know. Any of them?”

            “You must pick one. You can name the felheen you want to bind yourself to, or you can call out for one, summoning the beast’s consciousness from the void.”

            I paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. How much time did I have? If Lanin found Fietta, or if Fietta told the others, someone would come looking for me.

            “How do I summon one?” I whispered as I glanced over at the dead man.

            “To call into the void, simply pick six words to identify the felheen you would find the most suitable.”

            “Six… words?”

            “Think of it like a wish list. You will say six words to describe the ideal felheen and only one who matches the combination of characteristics will answer your call.”

            A wish list?

            “Can you tell me the name of the felheen Garrain Wist was bonded to?” I asked.

            “No.” Another sinister chuckle. “But I can tell you the six words he used.”

            “Fine. Tell me.”

            “Garrain-ves called into the void and said: cunning, fiendish, poisonous, poisonous, deadly, clandestine.”

            I held my breath for a moment. “Two words were the same?”

            “Correct.”

            Those were terrible words for a sinister monster.

            “Garrain-ves called forth a felheen of assassination who granted him powers of strength, stealth, future visions, venom—and the magical ability to know a person’s weakness. He saw whenever enemies were lurking in the shadows, and he was immune to all poisons.”

            “But not to choking,” I morbidly quipped.

            The Warden laughed, and his mirth almost had me doing the same.

            “But why did he say poisonous twice?” I asked.

            “If you speak a word more than once, you will emphasize its importance. If you say loyal three times, the felheen who answers your call will grant you magic to control the loyalties of all men—but if you only said it once, perhaps just magic to influence one man. Think of it as a multiplier. The more times you say it, the stronger the magics you will receive in that area.”

            “The magic I gain is related to the felheen I call,” I said, more to myself than the Warden. “And I can only do this once?”

            “You only ever bind yourself to one felheen, human. Pick wisely.”

            My heart beat so loud it echoed in my ears.

            I stared down at the ring on my thumb. I was a Ring Warlock now. I had seen the powers they wielded. One of them controlled the weather, the tide, and the sands of any island. Had his six words been maritime, sailing, wind, water, weather, land?

            No. Garrain had used words like clandestine and cunning. His magic allowed him to see his enemiesand even visions of the future. I only had six words. There was obviously an art to picking the correct combination, like writing a beautiful poem.

            I closed my eyes, my thoughts on the Scarlet Lantern.

            What kind of magic did I want?

            I wanted to escape this place.

            And…

            I never wanted to be trapped again. I wanted to fight against people like the owner of the Scarlet Lantern. I wanted control of my life, and to help the courtesans. What kind of magic would give me everything I desired? What kind of abilities would make sure I was always free? Always capable? Always in control of my own destiny?

            I needed strong magic—power so devastating in strength I could deal with any threat to my person, including other Ring Warlocks. They would come for me and my new ring, no doubt in my mind. How could I make sure I had the ability to deal with them? Especially with fewer words than an average sentence?

            Which six words should I use?

            I needed to be clever. No mundane words would do.

            “Be confident,” the Warden whispered to me.

            I hated every moment of indecision. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to be at anyone’s mercy. I rubbed my jaw where Garrain had backhanded me.

            Was “deadly” a good word to use? Or simply “freedom?”

            No. I wanted something better. This was my golden opportunity—I would never get another chance like this.

            After a deep breath, I opened my eyes. “I’m ready.”

            “Are you? Good. Say your six words aloud, and then allow the magic to flow into you. The felheen are ready.”

            Right before I spoke my summons, the temperature in the room dropped five degrees. It was as if the ancient felheen who dwelled in the darkness already knew what I was about to say—and it excited them.

            With confidence, I said, “Powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful.”

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