“Would you like to plant something yourself here?” he asks.
The question is so unexpected that I blink a few times before answering. “What?”
“There’s a horticulturalist’s shop down in the city. I’ll take you there if you want, and you can buy something for the garden.”
I stare at him. It’s not just the bizarre normality of the offer that throws me. After a week of practically ignoring me, I’m confused by this sudden switch in his attitude.
“Okay,” I say, before I can really stop to think about it. Sudden personality changes be damned, if I’m getting a chance to spend someone else’s gold on exotic fancy plants, why would I pass that up?
“Good,” he nods. “But Triya has to stay here. Sometimes she gets a little bitey with strangers.”
So that’s how I find myself plant shopping with the Lord of Malice.
The store is truly magnificent. There’s a tree growing right through the middle of it, with tables clustered around the thick trunk laden with terrariums and pots sprouting exotic seedlings. I could spend hours in there, breathing in the mossy scent, studying all the different species and cross-referencing them with the books from the library.
The owner, a short demon with thick facial hair and tusk-like teeth, is eager to answer every one of my questions once he recognizes Syrus. But like the Malicites on the streets the last time we came to the city, it seems to take him a moment. My theory is that the way Syrus looks now—mostly human, but for his red eyes and the wings he only sometimes displays—isn’t how henormallylooks. If he’s hiding his true form by drinking lake water, I don’t know why.
“Here it is,” the store owner says triumphantly when he emerges from a back room with a pot housing a delicate little plant with a red stem and fluttering pink leaves.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the pot from him. “When I saw it in my book, I was really hoping you might have one.”
“The dark was smiling on you,” the owner says. “Evelias are rare in this domain; we don’t usually stock them.”
I start to examine the plant as the owner shuffles away. Syrus, who’s been ducking to avoid the jungle of vines and hanging plants dangling from the ceiling, knocks a watering can with his foot. It makes me stifle a laugh. When he gives me a questioning look, I shake my head, refusing to explain that I once idly pictured the Lord of Malice with a watering can and thought it an impossible sight.
If six weeks ago I told myself I’d feel even slightly normal around demons—and aroundthisdemon in particular—I would’ve said that spell the sorcerers cast must’ve driven me insane. Maybe it did, but if so, then that insanity is a kindness at times. It gives my weary heart a chance to rest. My gut isn’t always twisting in fear, and sometimes there’s even a shred of peace in all this.
“So what’s particularly special about this plant? Does it repel parasites?” he asks with a knowing smile.
“No,” I say. “I just liked the name.”
It’s the truth. I wanted it because it reminded me of Evie, but I don’t want to expand on that point. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to explain by a commotion outside, the background noise of the city starting to swell. Through the store’s large front windows, I can see demons on the street turning to look toward the end of the road. Someone’s shouting.
Syrus pulls open the door, catching a demon in a dark uniform hurrying along the street.
“You, warden, what’s going on?”
The demon looks frustrated at being stopped, but his eyes widen with recognition, and he hastily bows. “My Lord, a contingent has had to open an emergency rift from the Mire.”
“Here, in the city center?” Syrus asks quickly.
“Yes, my lord. Near the Daughter’s Temple. They sent a messenger ahead, but they’re coming through now,” the warden starts to edge in the direction of the rising noise. “Most of their riftsmiths were killed in battle—this was the only point left for retreat, but it’s very unstable.”
There’s a distant scream, and the warden gives Syrus a pleading look.
“Go,” Syrus says. “I will come and help.”
The warden nods and starts running. “Thank you, my lord,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’re trying to get everyone through before it collapses!”
Syrus moves further out into the street, stretching out his vast, black wings before glancing in my direction.
“You should stay here,” he says, then soars upward, banking over the rooftops and heading in the direction of the noise.
I weigh up his instructions, then dip back into the shop, tucking my Evie plant down by some larger pots. “I’ll come back for you later,” I promise her before hurrying down the street, following the gathering crowd.
I know I’m getting close when the chaos thickens. Demons soar above me with stretchers, others rush down the street on foot, pushing carts loaded with healing supplies. Some Malicites are going against the tide, trying to get away from the crisis, but most are moving toward it, and I let them carry me forward.
The cluster of people fans out when we hit a square, dispersing between whinnying kelaryn and armored demons. There’s a tall, grand building at one end—the temple the warden mentioned, I assume—except my view of it is partially obscured by a huge rip in the air.
