The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

But the north had more debt to pay.

The Ice Crown Bell rang again.

The tone echoed off the tower and out over the blizzard-shrouded valley. Down below, the shelter fires flickered. Men and women paused beside their food sleds to reach for the old tokens they had always carried without question. Doors opened in faraway camps, as if someone had called their debts out into the cold. Through the ice walls of the inner chamber, Austin Veyron could watch the effects ripple across the valley. Neighbors pulled away from one another, clutching papers to their chests and looking up toward the tower.

Kaelith held the relay token and listened.

”The north ridge says people are bringing old Crown tokens to the center of the village,” she said. ”They believe they have to give back food and labor.”

Ceryn spread the old oath records they had recovered across the ice-heart. ”The bell is treating old debts that were already paid off as if they were still unpaid.”

”Some of these records are from before Ysara took power,” Tessa said, going through the oldest ones.

”You kept these?” Austin Veyron asked, looking up toward the tower stairs.

”Someone had to,” said a voice above them.

Ysara stood on the crown tower stairs, wearing her fractured ice crown. She wasn’t carrying the pale splinter anymore. Nyra had it locked in a blue-black resonance field beside the ice-heart, and her face looked tired from the effort.

”Winter kills people who forget,” Ysara said. ”Shelters need to feed people when storms roll through. Passes need to be cleared. Someone needs to remember.”

”Remembering doesn’t mean you own them,” Kaelith said.

”Then tell that to all the graves below the north pass.” Ysara glared at her.

No one responded. The ice-heart dripped from its fractured edges. Austin Veyron could tell that Ysara truly believed she was right, which was exactly what made her dangerous. She was lying to herself, and she had been doing it for so long that the lie had become the truth she ruled by.

The bell rang again.

Constructs made of old ledger pages rose up from the floor of the tower. They wore old court robes of paper and ice that crunched as they crossed the floor, and each one clutched receipts in its hands. The air around them smelled of old ink and damp parchment. Their faces were blank sheets of ledger paper, with faded lines of numbers shifting where their eyes should have been.

PAST AID REQUIRES PRESENT SERVICE.

One of the constructs lunged for Tessa.

Rin’s arrow hit it square in the receipt. The words spread across the ice toward the map case like bugs. Orena swept them away with her spear. Veyra slashed the receipt from the next construct’s hands without cutting the hollow body inside its paper robe.

Austin Veyron felt the bell speak to his hunger.

He could see all the times he had devoured clauses to help others. All the paths he had diverted, and all the people who had looked up at him with gratitude after a fight. The bell tried to twist those memories into a debt owed to him.

THE SAVED OWE THE SAVIOR.

DEVOUR pulled away from it, then wanted it even more. It was a corrupted version of what he wanted, but it felt good. He could devour it and force everyone he had helped to realize how much he had done for them. His hunger liked the idea of being needed. Austin Veyron didn’t like admitting it, but he did too. He thought of the people in the Freehold, of Marcus and Nahlia, and of everyone he had helped after a fight. He had never asked any of them for anything. The bell was trying to make him start.

Veyra saw it on his face.

”Name it.”

”I want the debt from the people I helped.”

”What does that make you?”

”The master.”

”Leave it,” Sable said, lifting the broken piece of crown in her hand.

Austin Veyron looked at one of the receipt constructs. The true debt he could feel inside it was the idea that once you helped someone through a disaster, they became yours.

”Target,” Austin Veyron said. ”The clause that turns past aid into present ownership. Not the aid. Not the people.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable said.

Austin Veyron laid the white root chain across the receipt scroll.

DEVOUR opened. The clause tasted like remembering warmth and having your throat close around it.

PAST AID REQUIRES PRESENT SERVICE.

He consumed requires.

The receipt construct stood still.

Its robes came undone into sheets of paper that drifted down onto the chamber floor. Some of the pages were real aid records from winters past. Others carried debt terms in red ice that hadn’t been there originally. Austin Veyron watched the red words disappear, melting into thin streaks of water that ran across the ice and vanished into the cracks.

Ceryn picked one up and read it. ”North Ridge Shelter was given forty sacks of grain during the White Storm.”

Kaelith broadcast it across the relay line.

The valley below heard it. Some people dropped their debt tokens. Others began reading through what the Crown had given them and striking the extra words from their records. It would take a long time, but before long the whole valley was reading aloud to one another. One voice became ten, and ten became a hundred, until it sounded as though the north were reading its own history back to itself by firelight.

The Ice Crown Bell rumbled.

Ysara stared at the record, then looked down at the fires below the tower. She looked older than she had a minute ago, as if all ten winters had caught up with her at once.

”They will keep taking from the passes,” she said.

”They’ll remember,” Kaelith said. ”They just won’t feel like they have to give themselves to you.”

The bell let out a wave of cold across the chamber.

The next set of oath constructs poured down the stairs from above. There were many more of them now, and each one carried a new phrase on its receipt.

ROADS SERVE THE OLD DEBT.

SHELTER BELONGS TO THE WINTER ACCOUNT.

AID MAKES A CLAIM.

Veyra leapt into them, slashing their receipts and forcing them back from the ice-heart. Rin shot the red words off the walls. Orena guarded the stairs with her spear and didn’t let a single one of them past her. Every time a construct reached the landing, she swept it back down in a spray of paper and frost. Nyra held the splinter away from the cold of the bell as best she could, sweat freezing on her brow even in the bitter air, her arms trembling with the strain.

Tessa made her way to the old bell mechanism behind the throne. ”There are six resonance chains attached to the bell. If we break them all, we might break the tower itself.”

”Can we point it somewhere?” Ceryn asked.

”We can try to send the records out to the north while we devour the ownership clause.”

Austin Veyron could see the phrase etched into the center of the bell.

THE CROWN OWNS EVERY WINTER IT SURVIVED.

It was the largest clause yet. It tried to convince him that the north should live under the rule of the Crown, simply because the Crown had survived more winters than anyone else.

His hunger wanted it. He had survived so much too. He had bled for the routes and carried hungers no one else could carry. It felt right that he should be able to make that same claim, and the bell whispered that he had earned it.

No, he thought. If I did that, I’d be just like Ysara.

”Target?” Veyra asked.

Austin Veyron stared at the phrase on the bell.

”The Crown-owns-every-winter clause,” he said. ”Not the bell. Not the northern records.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable said.

Austin Veyron climbed the ice steps to get closer to the bell.

Ysara stood in his way. Her cracked crown threw broken light across the steps, and her ice spear was already raised.

”You don’t understand. We need someone to rule over this place.”

Austin Veyron looked down at Kaelith reading the old debt records to the shelter people. He looked at Ceryn and Tessa directing the sound of the bell, at Veyra and Rin keeping the constructs at bay, and at Nyra refusing to become the key.

”No, we don’t,” Austin Veyron said. ”That’s just what people who want to rule tell themselves.”

Ysara lunged at him with her ice spear.

Austin Veyron dodged, but the spear grazed his shoulder. The cold seeped into him and began freezing his arm. Frost spread outward from the wound in thin white lines, numbing his fingers one by one. He almost lost his grip on the root chain, but he kept climbing toward the bell. He didn’t devour the queen. He wrapped the chain around the bell’s stand and pulled himself up toward the phrase.

DEVOUR opened. The clause tasted like a headstone with a crown carved into it.

It pushed back at him with every death the winter had ever taken, every time people had died because the Crown hadn’t done what was right.

THE CROWN OWNS EVERY WINTER IT SURVIVED.

He consumed owns.

The bell cracked open.

It released six small chimes that shot out of the tower in different directions. They all landed in the snow around the valley, except for one that flew north toward the tower window.

Ysara caught it in her hand.

She looked at the broken bell, then down at the valley and the fires burning below.

”You can’t change winter,” she said.

”No,” Austin Veyron replied. ”But we can stop you from controlling it.”

Ysara took a step backward and disappeared into one of the ice passages higher up in the tower, sealing it behind her as she went. The ice closed over the opening as smoothly as water freezing, until there was no sign that a passage had ever been there.

The tower groaned as cracks traveled down its sides. A fine dust of ice drifted down from the roof and settled on the ice-heart below.

Ceryn and Tessa sent the rest of the bell’s sound through the hot-spring pipes. Records began reaching the north through the relays that had opened up. People started dropping their debt tokens, and some even threw them into the fires. The tokens hissed and cracked as they burned away to nothing. The routes would still be difficult, but they wouldn’t be owned by the Crown anymore.

Tessa followed the northbound chime on her map as it disappeared from the tower.

”It’s headed to Glasswake,” she said.

”That’s where Vordessa’s traders buy famine contracts,” Kaelith said grimly. ”If the queen brings that chime there, winter could become something that’s sold.”

The tower creaked, and more ice began to fall from the top. Veyra pulled Austin Veyron back from the edge of the stairs, and the group huddled around the ice-heart. Mara and the other freed witnesses huddled by the steam pipes, wrapped in the blankets the team had given them.

Austin Veyron placed a hand on his wounded shoulder and stared north through the broken tower window. Beyond the thinning storm, the mountains fell away toward a gray line on the horizon that might have been the sea.

They had broken the Ice Crown open.

But the next hunger was waiting for them on the coast.