All Chapters of The Devil's Broken Doll: Chapter 371 - Chapter 376

(Apollo) Malachar remained half a pace behind as they entered the throne room. The chamber had been cleared except for a handful of generals, two surviving archivists and the ancient projection apparatus waiting at the centre of the floor. Apollo had seen it only once before, buried beneath dust in the Citadel's deepest vaults, a relic from an age when rulers spoke across kingdoms without travelling between them. Now its crystal rings rotated slowly above a circular base of black metal, each carved symbol igniting and fading as the device tried repeatedly to complete a connection. The throne waited behind it. Apollo did not look at the obsidian seat. He had no use for symbols of power while Adelaide was in pain. A low, pulsing tone rolled through the chamber as another attempt reached across the distance. The outer crystal ring flared crimson, then gold, then failed with a burst of static that left the air smelling of burned stone. "How long?" Apollo asked. "Six hours," one of th

(Apollo) "No..." Apollo spoke before he realised he'd spoken. Arkael looked almost amused. "No?" Apollo shook his head once. Slowly. "...No." The smile upon Arkael's face deepened. "You called him Shadow." His hand remained resting comfortably upon Cael's shoulder. "You trusted him with your kingdom." Another heartbeat. "You trusted him with your Queen." Apollo's breathing had begun to quicken. "You trusted him with your life." The room seemed to tilt beneath Apollo's feet. Arkael's voice remained gentle. "My youngest son." Silence. "Caelum Ashborne." Another heartbeat. "The Prince of the Emberborn." Apollo stared at Cael. Waiting. Waiting for him to deny it. Waiting for him to laugh. Waiting for him to finally speak. Cael never moved. Never protested. Never looked away. Arkael's eyes settled once more upon Apollo. "I sent him into your palace almost nine centuries ago." Every general in the Citadel throne room went rigid. Malachar's face drained of colour. Apol

(Apollo) Chains made not from any Hellish material he knew wound around her body like the roots of some monstrous tree, black links biting into bruised flesh at her wrists, her waist and across her throat before disappearing into the surrounding walls. Every slight movement she made caused the enchanted metal to tighten fractionally, forcing another involuntary tremor through her exhausted body. Apollo felt each one. His own wrists burned. His shoulders ached with the memory of being forced backwards. His ribs throbbed beneath invisible pressure. The last two days... The bloodletting. The madness he had felt within him. The pain that had refused to leave him. None of it had been the poison. It had been Adelaide. Every scream. Every injury. Every impossible wave of agony that had dragged him half-mad across the past two days had never belonged to his own body at all. She had been enduring it alone... while all he had done was survive the echo. "Adelaide..." The name escaped him bef