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My mother’s image was firmly back in my mind. The way she smiled. Her scent. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, unable to speak. Reaching out, I squeezed Demos’s arm.
He went still. I yanked my hand back. We didn’t touch—unless I was at risk of dying or he was training me. Any other time, it was as if there was a barrier between us.
I wasn’t sure which one of us had raised that barrier.
“Thank you,” I croaked.
His eyes darkened. “There’s nothing worse for me than knowing you’re hurt. When you’re sick or injured or sad, I want to fix it. It’s a kind of helplessness I’ve never felt before.”
And he loathed it. I could see that truth, written across his face. Demos loathed that feeling, because he’d been helpless for two years in that cell beneath Regner’s castle. He’d been helpless while his friends, his family were slaughtered with the dawn, and he was left there—alone. And he’d been helpless when Prisca was risking her life to get all of them out.
I’d watched him in that dungeon, day by day, as he’d fought not to break. As he somehow continued to be a source of support for Pris and bullied me into staying awake when all I’d wanted was to retreat into the void.
Demos was a natural protector. At some point, he’d decided I was one of those people he had to protect. Likely, it was when he met Prisca and saw her determination to keep me alive. Once he learned she was his sister—and I was her best friend—that was enough for him. I’d chafed at his controlling, overprotective ways each day in that cell, but he’d kept me together when I’d wanted to break.
“Demos,” I said gently, and his eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t often I spoke to him in a lowered tone, my voice serious. He leaned in, and I took a deep breath. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You…you kept me alive in that cell—in all the ways that count. And then you did it again over the past few days. But you don’t need to do it anymore. You’re no longer responsible for me.”
His eyes were different from Prisca’s. Only someone who’d studied his eyes enough would notice, and I wrestled with that even as I watched him. While Prisca’s eyes were closer to gold, Demos’s held green undertones. Now, they turned cold.
He opened his mouth, leaning even closer, and I knew whatever he was going to say would cut like the sharp edge of a blade. He’d always been good at that—knowing exactly where to strike to get the result he wanted.
His expression turned blank as he pulled himself back from that edge.
“Message received,” he said.
I opened my mouth, frustration roaring through me. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was trying to let him know I wasn’t just another person he had to look out for. I was trying to set him free from the expectation that he had to keep me safe.
That I was another task he had to complete.
But he was already stalking away.
* * *
The days passed in grim silence, all of us alone with our thoughts. Asinia was still pale, and the healer had ordered her to take plenty of breaks. Still, she’d mostly refused to stop—except when we’d come across Regner’s men. Then, she would stay in the shade with the horses and our supplies, and together, Demos and I would find the highest-ranking of Regner’s guards and corner them when they least expected it.
Demos’s power was particularly helpful. Where I would have used brute force, his strategy gave us the best possible route each time, ensuring we only killed those we wanted to kill.
And we always, always let them hear just why they’d been chosen—within earshot of those who would spread the message: The last regiment had betrayed them. They’d told us to come here.
At first, it was simple. The generals never expected to be targeted. It was an easy matter to kill the few guards with them at any time and take them into the forest for a discussion.
Eventually, the generals refused to even take a piss without several guards surrounding them—all armed with fae iron. We worked around it, but it took longer, and the monster inside me roared at the wasted time.
When we couldn’t find any more regiments, we turned to the guards in charge of keeping the peace in villages across Eprotha. They ensured compliance during Gifting and Taking ceremonies, and the only time they held a crossbow or sword was when they were terrorizing villagers. They knew nothing of the hybrid heir.
“We need iron guards,” Demos spat after a particularly gruesome few hours with a guard who’d taken a respectable amount of time to break. “These men know nothing.”
I’d sent a message to Telean, updating her on the situation. She had her own contacts and was mining every one of them for information. As soon as we found Prisca, Telean would travel to us, but for now, we needed someone in Gromalia who could keep an eye on their king. And she was still working to find leverage to turn the Gromalian king.
Eventually, we came to a village so tiny, it had no name. It boasted a single inn, and Demos arranged for rooms while Asinia pulled on a cloak and strolled down to the market. There, she heard rumors of a group of black-armored guards traveling south.
“Could be a trap,” Demos said while we slumped in his room, picking at a light meal. “By now, Regner knows we’re hunting for Prisca.”
I just nodded. It felt as if I was losing the ability to communicate. My body shuddered with fresh rage each time I thought of Prisca in Regner’s dungeon, until all I could do was call to her in my mind.
Stay alive, wildcat. Please. Just fucking stay alive for me.
Someone knocked, and I stalked to the door, throwing it open.
