“How is Aster doing?” I ask. We had her taken to a healer immediately after we left Rancor, but I haven’t had a chance to check in with her since.
“Okay,” Leah says, pulling a face. “The healer said she’d only need to wear her sling for a few weeks, but she’s still complaining about not being able to go dancing.”
“Knowing Aster, she’ll find a way, sling or no sling,” I smile.
“What were you talking about?” she asks, and I see she won’t be deterred.
“I don’t want the lords knowing you had any part in Kaliban’s death,” I say gently. “It only risks making them interested in you, and we saw how that went with the Lord of Rancor.”
She frowns. “I’m a liability to you,” she says.
“Not at all,” I reply, bending to brush my lips softly against hers. I can hear Viz clearing his throat lightly behind me. I think he’s allergic to public displays of affection. Up to now, that hasn’t been an issue while working for me. But now…well…
He can get used to it.
“I am,” she says. “Having a human living with you invited enough attention, but I can’t imagine everyone will be okay with you being bound to a nephi?—”
She stops herself, glancing at Viz.
“Oh, I know about your heritage,” Viz says, waving a quill without looking up. “How else would you have blasted the Lord of Rancor into the eternal darkness?”
I throw Viz an exasperated glare. Tact has never been his strong suit, but that was bad, even for him. “Why don’t we go somewhere we won’t be disturbing Vizmodeus?” I say, guiding her out of the room.
“You’re right that your heritage can’t become common knowledge in Infernum,” I say, keeping my voice low as we walk down the corridors to my private parlor. “But as long as you don’t use your powers, no one will be able to tell. I’ll say that I alone fought Kaliban, so the other lords will have no reason to ask questions about you.”
I’ve been planning how to handle this for a while now. Hathwell confirmed it, but I’ve suspected for weeks and just didn’t want to give voice to it—to name the thing I was so afraid might be true. But Leah’s blood doesn’t change anything. And even if it did, I’m not willing to give her up. There’s always a way around things.
A large, dark shape pads out of the shadows toward us.
“Triya,” Leah tuts. “You should be resting.”
She crouches to hold her arms out to the huge beast, who walks into them with a chorus of low, rumbling purrs. Leah kisses each of the heads between their eyes, being extra gentle with the third, which has half its face wrapped in a bandage.
“I feel so guilty she got hurt trying to protect me,” she sighs, stroking her hands through Triya’s thick fur.
“I know she was glad to do it,” I say. There was once a time when I was amazed at how quickly Triya took to Leah. Now I know the animal just has impeccable instincts. “And hellcats heal quickly. Although unfortunately, I think they draw the line at being able to grow back eyes.”
Triya clearly decides she’s done with this conversation and ducks out of Leah’s arms to continue padding along the corridor, likely heading out to hunt.
“At least she has five other eyes,” Leah says, standing to watch the animal go. “That’s got to help balance things out a bit.”
She settles into one of the soft, sagging armchairs with a sigh when we reach the parlor. We’ve all been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and still, I don’t want to rest until I’ve spent a little more time with her, making sure she’s okay.
“I didn’t get a chance to say how proud of you I was with Hathwell—and with everything you did after that,” I say, watching her from the fireplace. “Even if I would’ve preferred you hadn’t been quite so resourceful at getting back to Infernum on your own,” I smile.
“But then you might never have found out Kaliban had the lake water,” she protests.
“That’s true. Part of my meeting tomorrow will involve working out how we negotiate sending the Malicite keepers into Rancor to get it back.”
“That’s good,” she says. “By the way, you owe a soul snare some special treatment when the Morphos is up and running again.”
“Noted,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve been thinking about my mother,” she says, and I sit down in the armchair opposite, wanting to show her I’m ready to listen. “I don’t know which of her parents she got the ephilium blood from. My grandmother was a midwife, so maybe my mother was never biologically theirs to begin with. Does that happen?” she asks. “Do ephilium give up nephilim children for adoption? They’re so rare—we’reso rare, I suppose I should say—I don’t know much about it.”
I consider my words carefully before responding. “My understanding of it is that it functions much the same as incubi. That’s when?—”
“A child is born with mixed human and demon blood,” she finishes. “I know. There’s lots of horror stories about them in Strata.”
