The outpost Isabella led us to

  was little more than a collection of ice huts where travellers could

  rest and warm themselves. We spent the night there, huddled together for

  warmth despite the enchanted braziers that glowed with blue flame. I’d

  never imagined I could feel so cold in Hell, but Glacius seemed

  determined to prove me wrong.

  We set out at first

  light—though “light” in Glacius was a relative term. The sky here was a

  deep, midnight blue, illuminated by crystalline formations that hung

  suspended in the air, casting prismatic reflections across the snow.

  By midday, we finally crested a

  ridge and saw Frostheim spread out before us. The town was smaller than

  I’d expected—a compact settlement nestled between towering spires of

  ice. Buildings carved entirely from frozen water gleamed in the strange

  half-light, their surfaces polished to a mirror shine.

  “So that’s Frostheim,” I said,

  taking in the sight. “Where to now?” I turned to Isabella, who was

  studying the town with narrowed eyes.

  Aria bounced on her toes beside

  me, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “Yeah, where’s

  this smithy we’re looking for? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  Isabella held up a hand. “Patience. We can’t just barge in without knowing exactly where we’re going.”

  She pulled out a small device

  from her coat—something that looked like a compass but with multiple

  dials and spinning needles. After adjusting a few settings, she watched

  as one of the needles stabilised, pointing toward the eastern side of

  the settlement.

  “Eisenhart should be this way,” she said, tucking the device away. “Follow me, and try not to draw too much attention.”

  We made our way down the slope

  and into Frostheim proper. The streets were narrow pathways carved

  between buildings of solid ice, and our footsteps echoed strangely as we

  walked. Despite the cold, several demons moved about their

  business—most of them frost demons with crystalline skin and elaborate

  horn structures that looked like frozen crowns.

  As we passed, conversations stopped. Heads turned. Eyes followed our progress through the town.

  “I think we’re blending in perfectly,” I teased Aria, nudging her with my elbow.

  She tossed her head, sending

  her short black hair bouncing. “Please. They’d be more suspicious if we

  tried to hide all this beauty and sexiness,” she replied, gesturing to

  herself with a flourish. “Better to own it than skulk around like we

  don’t belong.”

  Isabella’s lips curved into a

  smirk. “Surprisingly, Aria may be right for once. Look at their

  expressions—they don’t seem alarmed. I think they believe we’re succubi

  of this circle.”

  I glanced around and realise

  she was correct. The looks we were receiving weren’t hostile or

  suspicious—they were appreciative, curious, even hungry. Male and female

  demons alike watched us with undisguised desire as we passed.

  And the strangest thing? I liked it.

  The realisation hit me

  suddenly. I was enjoying the attention, the way their eyes lingered on

  my curves, the way conversations faltered when I walked by. There was

  power in it, a heady sort of influence that came from knowing I affected

  others simply by existing.

  How far I’d come from Liam’s

  life, where I’d have been uncomfortable with even a fraction of this

  attention. Now I found myself subtly accentuating the sway of my hips,

  letting my tail flick playfully behind me as we walked.

  “Two more blocks,” Isabella murmured, pulling me from my thoughts. “The smithy should be just ahead.”

  I nodded, refocusing on our

  mission. We were here for answers about the dagger, not to revel in the

  admiration of Frostheim’s residents.

  * * *

  Eisenhart’s smithy was far more

  impressive than I’d anticipated. While most buildings in Frostheim were

  simple structures of polished ice, this one stood apart—a sprawling

  complex with multiple towers and elaborate crystalline patterns adorning

  its fa?ade. Spires of impossibly thin ice twisted upward from the roof,

  catching the light and refracting it in dazzling patterns.

  “Wow,” I breathed, taking in the sight. “This is… not what I expected from a smithy.”

  Aria nodded appreciatively.

  “Fancy. I like it.” She started confidently toward the entrance, but

  Isabella’s hand shot out, catching her by the arm.

  “Let me handle this,” Isabella said firmly. “We need information, not complications.”

  Aria rolled her eyes but stepped back with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You’re better at talking to snobs anyway.”

  Isabella scoffed, adjusting her midnight blue coat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at

  their exchange as we approached the entrance—a massive doorway framed by

  intricate ice sculptures of weapons and armour.

  Inside, the temperature was

  surprisingly comfortable. Magical blue flames burned in braziers

  throughout the space, providing both light and warmth without melting

  the ice architecture. The main hall was dominated by displays of

  exquisite weapons—swords, daggers, and spears that gleamed with

  enchantments and perfect craftsmanship.

  We’d barely taken three steps

  when a frost demon approached us. He was tall and lean, with elaborate

  crystalline horns that curved elegantly from his temples. His skin

  glittered with a fine layer of frost that shifted as he moved, catching

  the light like thousands of tiny diamonds.

  “Welcome to Master Eisenhart’s

  establishment,” he said, his voice smooth as polished ice. His gaze

  travelled slowly over each of us, lingering appreciatively. “What brings

  three such… enchanting visitors to our humble smithy?”

  Isabella stepped forward, her

  posture perfect and regal. “We have a commission for your master. A

  matter requiring his particular expertise.”

  The demon’s expression shifted

  slightly, becoming more reserved. “I’m afraid Master Eisenhart is quite

  occupied at present. His time is… extremely valuable.” He paused, his

  tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes travelled over us once

  more. “Though perhaps I could make an exception, if you were to make it

  worthwhile.”

  Aria giggled quietly beside me,

  but Isabella didn’t miss a beat. She leaned forward and whispered

  something in the demon’s ear, her voice too low for even me to catch.

  The effect was immediate. The

  frost demon’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, the glittering

  frost on his skin dulling momentarily.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I… I see. I’ll pass on your

  message immediately. Please wait here.” He turned and hurried away

  through a side door, his earlier confidence completely evaporated.

  “What did you say to him?” I asked once he was out of earshot.

  Isabella’s lips curved into a

  satisfied smile. “I did some research before we came. That was Krelvin,

  Eisenhart’s fourth apprentice this decade. I simply informed him that

  I’d be happy to tell Eisenhart about his plans to steal his master’s

  methods and set up a competing smithy in the Northern Quarter.”

  “Was that true?” I asked, impressed.

  “True enough,” Isabella replied

  with a shrug. “Apprentices always steal from their masters eventually.

  It’s the nature of frost demons.”

  “Nice work,” Aria said, nodding appreciatively. “Very effective.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m surprised you’re not complaining about the missed opportunity to have some ‘fun’ with him.”

  Aria placed a hand over her

  heart with a theatrical gasp. “I’m wounded that you think I only ever

  think about sex, darling.” She fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

  “I’ll have you know I’m a demon of many talents and interests.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her performance.

  Her expression shifted to

  something more genuine as she continued, “Seriously though, I can

  appreciate seduction and intimidation in equal measure. Both have their

  uses.” She winked. “And their pleasures.”

  Before I could respond, the side door opened again, and Krelvin reappeared, his demeanour now entirely professional.

  “Master Eisenhart will see you now,” he announced, gesturing for us to follow. “This way, please.”

  * * *

  I followed Krelvin through a

  series of winding corridors, the walls shifting from transparent ice to a

  more opaque crystalline structure as we ventured deeper into the

  building. Isabella walked with perfect poise beside me, while Aria

  trailed slightly behind, her fingers occasionally reaching out to touch

  the intricate patterns etched into the walls.

  Finally, Krelvin stopped before

  an ornate door made of what appeared to be blue-tinted ice reinforced

  with metal. He knocked twice, waited for a muffled response from within,

  then pushed it open.

  Instead of the workshop I’d

  expected—filled with forges and tools and half-finished weapons—we

  entered what looked like an office. The space was surprisingly warm and

  comfortable, with plush chairs arranged before a large desk carved from a

  single block of ice. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes and

  scrolls, and various small weapons were displayed in glass cases.

  Behind the desk sat a frost

  demon who could only be Eisenhart. I blinked in surprise. Despite his

  reputation, he was remarkably short—barely reaching my shoulder if he

  were standing. His crystalline horns formed an elaborate crown-like

  structure that added several inches to his height, and his skin

  glittered with dense frost that seemed to pulse with inner light.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Eisenhart

  greeted us with unexpected warmth, gesturing to the chairs. “Please,

  sit. It’s not often I receive such lovely visitors.”

  Aria leaned close to my ear as

  we approached the desk. “I didn’t expect him to be this short,” she

  whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter. “With the size

  of his smithy, he must be compensating for something.”

  I pressed my lips together,

  fighting back a laugh. The comment was so perfectly Aria—inappropriate

  and yet somehow exactly what I’d been thinking.

  Isabella took the centre seat

  with practiced grace, and Aria and I settled into the chairs on either

  side of her. The furniture was surprisingly comfortable despite being

  made of ice.

  “Krelvin, leave us,” Eisenhart commanded, his tone shifting from welcoming to dismissive in an instant.

  The apprentice hesitated, his

  expression clearly communicating “don’t say anything” before he bowed

  stiffly and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Once we were alone, Eisenhart

  leaned forward, resting his small hands on the desk. “Now then, what

  brings three lovely ladies to visit my humble establishment? Looking for

  weapons? Armour? Or perhaps something more… specialised?”

  Isabella didn’t waste time with

  pleasantries. She reached into her spatial ring and withdrew a rolled

  piece of parchment. With deliberate movements, she unrolled it to reveal

  a detailed drawing of the dagger that had been thrown at her—the twin

  to the one that had petrified Valentina. She placed it on the desk and

  pushed it toward Eisenhart.

  “Do you recognise this?” she asked, her voice cool and direct.

  Eisenhart barely glanced at the

  drawing before nodding. “Yes, it appears to be one of my crafts.

  Excellent eye for detail in this rendering.” His gaze shifted to

  Isabella, suddenly more calculating. “But what about it?”

  “I want to know how many you made,” Isabella replied, “and who ordered them.”

  A smile spread across

  Eisenhart’s face, revealing teeth that gleamed like polished ice. “I’m

  afraid I respect my clients’ privacy. It’s a matter of professional

  ethics, you understand.”

  “What do you want for the information?” Isabella asked bluntly.

  Eisenhart made a show of

  considering, tapping one finger against his chin. “Hmm, what would an

  ice smith want from three succubi?” The question hung in the air,

  clearly rhetorical.

  “Cut to the chase,” Isabella said, her patience visibly thinning.

  “Very well.” Eisenhart leaned back in his chair. “I could share this information for some other information in exchange.”

  He reached into a drawer and

  pulled out a small crystal that glowed with a faint blue light. “There’s

  a competing smithy on the western side of Frostheim. I want you to

  seduce the owner and get him to forge something for you—while you’re

  watching. Record his methods on this crystal.” He pushed it across the

  desk toward us. “Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know about

  those daggers.”

  I watched as Isabella’s

  demeanour shifted subtly. Her posture straightened, her chin lifted, and

  her eyes took on that particular gleam I’d come to recognise—the look

  of a noble about to pull rank.

  “Perhaps I should introduce

  myself properly,” Isabella said, her voice taking on a formal cadence.

  “I am Isabella Lilitu, daughter of Pyrrha Lilitu, Head of House Lilitu.”

  The temperature in the room

  seemed to drop a few more degrees. I expected Eisenhart to show some

  deference—House Lilitu was, after all, one of the most powerful houses

  in Hell. Instead, the frost demon merely raised a crystalline eyebrow.

  “Ah, House Lilitu,” he said,

  sounding distinctly unimpressed. “In normal circumstances, that might

  carry weight. But with what’s happening right now…” He spread his small

  hands. “Your house doesn’t have much influence here in the Second

  Circle. So either you do what I want, or you can leave.”

  I felt a flicker of surprise.

  Whatever was happening between the circles seemed more serious than we’d

  realised if a craftsman felt comfortable dismissing one of Hell’s noble

  houses so casually.

  Isabella’s lips curved into a

  slow, dangerous smile. “Perhaps we don’t have much influence in the

  Second Circle at present, but we have enough to cause you considerable

  inconvenience.”

  Eisenhart leaned forward, his

  eyes narrowing. “You can try, if you want to further damage the already

  strained relationship between our circles.”

  His voice took on an edge of

  mockery. “First a Chenoo representative gets killed, and then House

  Lilitu causes a disturbance in Glacius? By all means, try your luck.”

  A wave of anger surged through

  me—hot and violent, a pure demonic rage that caught me off guard with

  its intensity. How dare this diminutive craftsman speak to us this way?

  How dare he threaten Isabella? For a moment, I imagined reaching across

  the desk, wrapping my hands around his throat, watching the frost on his

  skin melt beneath my touch as I squeezed…

  I buried the impulse deep, shocked by its savagery. This wasn’t normal anger—this was something older, more primal.

  Beside me, Aria tensed visibly.

  Her tail lashed once, twice, before going still, and I could see her

  jaw clenching as she fought to keep her mouth shut. Her purple eyes had

  darkened to nearly black, a sure sign of her fury.

  Isabella remained outwardly

  calm, though I noticed her fingers had curled slightly against the

  armrest of her chair. After a moment of tense silence, she inclined her

  head.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice cool and controlled. “We’ll see what we can do.”

  Eisenhart’s smile returned,

  smug and self-satisfied. “Excellent. It’s nice doing business with you.”

  He pushed the crystal closer to us. “This is keyed to activate when you

  say ‘memoir’ and will capture everything around it. Make sure you get a

  good view of his hands and tools.”

  Isabella took the crystal and

  slipped it into her spatial ring without comment. We rose from our

  chairs in unison, the movement practiced and graceful despite the

  tension thrumming through all three of us.

  As we turned to leave,

  Eisenhart called after us, “Oh, and ladies? Do try to be subtle. Sathek

  is not as… accommodating as I am when it comes to industrial espionage.”

  We didn’t acknowledge his

  parting words, simply walking out with our heads held high. The door

  closed behind us with a soft click that somehow felt like a slap.

  Krelvin was waiting in the

  corridor, his expression carefully neutral. He led us back through the

  winding passages toward the exit, maintaining a respectful distance.

  None of us spoke until we were

  outside the smithy, standing once more in the frigid air of Frostheim.

  The crystalline spires of the city glittered around us, beautiful and

  cold.