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He’s seen the desperation in their eyes right before the end, but it doesn’t make them any less dangerous.
But he once thought of Nur as a violent monster. Now Nur darns spare shirts by the fire, and it turns outhe, Arsene, was the dangerous one. So maybe he should listen to the human girl, much as it goes against everything he believes.
Nur looksup from the shirt he’s mending with a startled frown when Arsene sits next to him. Where everyone else seems drained by the Deadlands, Nur is brighter, more vital now thathe’s feeding daily. His long hair is pulled away from his face again, vergis-like, revealing his scars. His grey eyes are clear and sharp. His hands work confidently at their task.
It should be a relief. Instead it triggers an ugly, familiar fear—the fear that Arsene isn’t needed. That Nur will flourish and shed him like an unwanted burden.
But why wouldn’t he? Arsene is burdensome. No vergis would want a primus who’s bound by his own ego, incapable of doing right by him. He has no right to wish he wasneededby someone he’ll eventually leave behind.
“What is it?” Nur asks, startling Arsene out of his thoughts.
He blinks, realizing he’s been staring. “Just a thought. The humans want to cross the road. I thought you could tell me how likely we are to encounter demons. You said there are no companies, but why?”
Nur puts his darning down and stretches his fingers. He sighs. “There are no companies because the King has been usurped.”
“Usurped?” Arsene repeats dumbly. “What does that mean?”
“His generals staged a coup. They routed anyone loyal to him and overtook the Court. They’ve pulled the army back from the Seraphim Wall—I doubt they have much interest in throwing bodies at it. If we encounter demons on the road, they won’t be marching to the battlefield.”
“When did this happen?” he asks, struggling to wrap his mind around it.
“When I was exiled,” Nur says shortly, picking up his needle.
The same time Arsene left New Yden. Which means when he returns…the war will be over. War is all he’s known—and all he’s good at.
“You don’t believe the generals will try to mount their own attacks on the Wall?”
Nur lets out a dark laugh. “No, angel. Cracking open the Seraphim Wall was the King’s crusade, and much as he tried to mold them after himself, the demons have their own minds and desires. The generals couldn’t care less about what lies within Fairhaven, or beyond the gate to your realm.”
“Then what’s their plan?”
He shrugs. “They’re desperate. Power-hungry. Some are even clever. But what they intend to do with Mount Hythe once they have it? I can’t imagine it. They won’t be able to stand each other long enough to agree on something, that’s for sure.”
Arsene groans. “Twelve different kingdoms, then. Each general with his own agenda. All of them dangerous and unpredictable.”
“Oh, more than twelve,” Nur assures him. “Once the majors and captains realize the hierarchy of Hell is scaleable with tooth and claw, it’ll be carnage. The King maintained order with fists drenched in the ichor of his lessers. And me.” His lip quirks. “Anyone can use brute force, but there’s only one of me.”
Arsene rubs his brow. “The Council will want to know about this. If what you’re saying is true, new threats will rise soon. Demons could flee the Pit and set up fiefdoms across the realm.”
“What does it matter to them?” Nur says pointedly.
“Well…”
But no retort springs to his tongue. Nur is right—if his mission succeeds, New Yden will cut itself off from Earth with impunity, leaving Fairhaven unprotected. With the King dethroned, maybe the rest of the demons will leave Fairhaven—and other human cities—alone. Or maybe they’ll bring chaos to the human realm.
“Maybe it should matter,” he says finally, but Nur is silent. “We have to know what we’ll face on the road, either way.”
Nur sighs. Strands of hair escape their tie and slip down his cheek. “Consider that the humans are more knowledgeable thanyou or I in these matters. You fought them, and I lived next to them. But neither of us are human. Are demons even a danger to them?”
“Myra’s girl Josi claims they’re no danger at all.”
“Then maybe you should listen.”
“I’m not very good at that,” Arsene admits quietly.
Nur sinks his needle into the thick fabric of the garment he holds, deftly avoiding nicking the material with his claws. Arsene recognizes the faded powder-blue brocade. It’s his military coat, the one he left around Nur’s shoulders.
Nur catches the direction of his gaze and his mouth tightens defensively. “It was torn. I wanted to fix it.”
