Two and Twenty Dark Tales Read Online Free PDF

expected? Her mother’s tales of the host flying over the city, clad in bright silver and on eagles’ wings? How the winds howled at their passing and the terrible radiance of their eyes, too intense, too noble, for mortals to look upon?
    He wore no shimmering armor nor carried a flaming sword. No, she saw something wretched and miserable. Perhaps that was why he hated her. He was no less petty than she.
    “Sit,” he said.
    The maid brushed her hand through her hair and, despite the fear radiating from every pore, smiled as she put herself on the stool opposite. Her clothes were clean and good quality, cast off from the princesses of the Counting House to be sure, but she or someone skillful with a needle had re-stitched them to fit her. To a mortal, was she pretty? Blackbird could not tell, nor did he care. They all looked the same to him, fragile and ill-formed, a mockery of what had been intended.
    “I am from the Counting House,” she said.
    Blackbird nodded once. “What is it that you want?”
    “What else? But to be worth more than this.” She pulled at the thin sleeve of her dress. “A better life.”
    “Then you should get up and leave here. If there is one thing I can guarantee, it is that your life will be all the worse for coming to the Six-Pence. For meeting me.”
    “I have dealt with demons before. The King summons you and you come flocking and bowing and scraping.”
    “If you mistake me for one of those pitiful beasts, then you are a fool.”
    “Perhaps you are right. None of the King’s servants would be seen dead here.”
    Blackbird bristled. How dare she? His talons twitched, carving a groove into the wood. He was of half a mind to get up and leave when he saw the wry smile on the girl’s lips. Whatever else she may be, she was brave. He clicked his tongue. “What is it you want? Beauty?”
    “Am I not already beautiful?” There was a mocking tone in her question.
    “You mortals all look the same.” Blackbird peered at her. Her skin still retained a freshness, uncommon to the city, and perhaps there was color and life and desire in her flush, taut flesh and those glistening eyes. Beauty. Why did they all want it so desperately? How many souls had he swallowed just to make the mortal that much taller, that much slimmer, or fatter, or straighter, or rounder? Just to catch the eye of the King or one of the other demon lords. The rules changed so often he had concluded everything and nothing was beautiful.
    “Beauty does not interest me,” she replied. “I had it once and found it of little benefit.”
    “If not beauty, then what? Wealth? Riches beyond your wildest dreams?”
    “Freedom.” The answer was bold and aggressive. “I want you to take me beyond the wall.”
    “Impossible. Your soul is not worth so much.”
    The girl stiffened and her face paled. Then her gaze hardened and her thin lips drew a grim line. “I am not offering my soul.”
    Blackbird laughed. “What else do you have? I care not for money and your form—attractive as it may be to some beardless virgin of a boy—raises neither my hunger nor my passions.” He stood up to leave. “I see I have wasted my time.”
    “I can get you the King’s dish.”
    Blackbird stopped dead. His heart hummed with excitement and the feathers along his wings rustled wildly. It took him a few moments to gather himself but eventually, slowly, he sat back down.
    The King’s dish. A dainty thing, but powerful beyond all his other treasures. Blackbird shivered at the thought of it. He had glimpsed it once. Rusty and round, the dish was as old as the kingdom, older perhaps, and with it, the King ruled. To get his hands on it…
    No. She was lying. He swept across the table, leaning close enough to see his reflection in her petrified eyes, and hissed, “Do not play games with me. The dish is guarded by one of the lords of flame, a djinn.”
    “That is why I stole this.” She drew out a small object from a hidden pocket and opened