Ozroth didn’t answer for so long that Astaroth opened his eyes to see if he was still there. Ozroth was staring at him, confusion stamped over his face.
“Well?” Astaroth pressed. “Don’t hold back.”
Ozroth swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “You did.”
The words cut into Astaroth’s chest, sharp as a sword. He’d known the answer, of course. He’d just needed to hear it spoken from his victim’s lips. “I’m sorry.” The words scraped his throat raw.
Ozroth sucked in a harsh breath. “Don’t lie.”
“I mean it,” Astaroth said. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember doing those things, but I’m sure I did, and it was wrong.” The words scraped less this time. He repeated them, marveling at their shape. “I was wrong.”
A flood of memories surged into his mind all at once. Astaroth dropped to his knees, gripping his head.
A little boy with golden eyes and tiny nubs of horns was curled up on a pillow before a fireplace, weeping.
“He’s crying,” Astaroth said flatly.
“His father died.” The speaker, a demoness with black hair and mahogany horns, looked exhausted. “And he’s young. He doesn’t understand.”
Astaroth felt the web of potential around the boy, as surely as he knew the feel of his own magic or the golden glimmer of a mortal soul. This Ozroth could be a powerful bargainer with the right training. The demon plane needed bargainers more than ever; fewer were born with the talent each century, and occasionally some died in the course of duty. Ozroth’s father, Trinitatis the Trickster, had been one of them.
Except Trinitatis hadn’t died in the line of duty. He’d died on vacation to Earth, of all things, since he’d apparently failed to research what was happening in France before portaling straight into a revolution. An inconceivable, unforgivable error, since any decent bargainer studied the affairs of humans. Astaroth himself lived more than half-time on Earth in order to stay abreast of developments and learn how best to manipulate mortals.
That’s not why, a tiny voice in his head said, but Astaroth shoved it down. Power, ambition, and intent; that was all that mattered.
Astaroth struggled every day to hold himself to the standards of a true demon. If he had been trained properly on the plane, rather than in secret on Earth, maybe he wouldn’t have developed an affinity for humans. Maybe his hidden weakness would never have had the chance to burrow into his brain, digging roots so deep he was still trying to get them out centuries later.
Ozroth could be a hero to the species. He could be the perfect demon Astaroth wasn’t.
Resolved, Astaroth nodded. “I’ll train him myself. Starting today.”
Someone was shaking his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”
Astaroth blinked, and the world returned. A cool November day, a charming small-town street, and a half-pixie, half-human family now watching him with alarm. Beside him was the grown—and then some—version of the child Astaroth had taken from his mother and ruthlessly shaped to become the perfect weapon.
To Astaroth’s surprise, his eyes were damp. “I remembered,” he said. “That first day, when I took you in. I remembered.”
Ozroth stiffened. Pain flashed across his expression. “And my mother?” he asked, voice rough. “You remember her, too?”
Ozroth’s mother had handed him over, her grief assuaged by the knowledge that with Astaroth’s mentorship, her son’s future would be bright. Bargainers were always taken young, after all, and she would have been preparing herself for that separation ever since she’d decided to have a child with a bargainer. It was an honor to make such a sacrifice for the species. And if Ozroth had been a bit too young for training, and if it had been a difficult time in the boy’s development to do so, Astaroth hadn’t cared.
Astaroth had never allowed himself to feel grief. If he never felt it, he didn’t have to understand it or empathize with those who did. “I remember,” he said through a tight throat. “Elwenna was her name.”
“Elwenna,” Ozroth breathed. “I’d forgotten.” His eyes widened with obvious panic. “Wait, you said it was her name. Is she dead?”
Astaroth’s brain had filled up with other memories after that first flashback. He remembered training Ozroth, from logic puzzles to emotional denial to physical tests of endurance. He remembered bringing the boy along on his missions, pleased when Ozroth asked the right questions or suggested subtle shifts in wording to make a bargain more advantageous. He remembered Ozroth’s first soul bargain, and how proud he’d been to see years of labor bear fruit.