“Tenebrous,” I say, using the Stratan name for the god of the dead.
“That’s the human interpretation of it, yes. But for demons, it’s more of a force than a god. We were born from it and return to it when we die. Whereas the ephilium have the Everlight—the force they believe is made up of the spirits of their ancestors.”
I nod. In Strata, the Everlight is a goddess who gives life to the earth.
“So the story?” I prompt.
“I’m getting to it,” he chides lightly. “The Abiding Dark supposedly had a daughter. Hekate. The Everlight had a son. Aphelion. The legend says they fell in love, even though the Abiding Dark and the Everlight were completely opposing forces. Eventually, Aphelion asked Hekate to leave the darkness behind, but she refused. She loved the Abiding Dark toomuch to abandon it. The son of the light grew jealous and angry, and he killed her. Since then, all the descendants of the two forces have been sworn enemies.” He shrugs. “That’s the demon version, anyway.”
“That’s it?” I ask, bewildered. “But it’s just a fable.”
“That’s easy for someone like you to say.” His tone isn’t argumentative, but my brow furrows anyway.
“What do you mean?”
His red-brown eyes trail over me, and I suddenly feel exposed. “Someone who’s spent her life focused on harsh realities. I’m not surprised you don’t have much patience for vague existential symbols. But there’s probably some truth in it somewhere,” he says.
He looks like he’s going to say more, but we’ve arrived at the store, and I’m glad. I don’t like it when he drops unexpected observations about me like that. They’re always too astute.
As we’re leaving the shop, a pair of wardens pass carrying a bloodied soldier on a stretcher. One of the minor casualties from the rift, I assume, now the more urgent cases have been tended to. Of course, there must be some who never made it back at all.
My stomach twists when I picture them lying on the plains, as scavengers—my friends and acquaintances—descend upon them. Is Hodges there? Will he make a nice profit from Infernum’s mistakes today? It’s much harder to feel unmoved by the deaths on the battlefield when you see it from the other side. When you see the ones who survived.
“Are Infernum’s soldiers conscripted into the army?” I ask, wondering if there’s any escape from that horrible fate.
“No. They sign up,” Syrus says. “The majority of them come from Rancor—that’s Kaliban’s influence, but no one’s actually ordered to join.”
“Why do they do it then?” I ask.
“It pays. Not as good as snare work, but well enough. And they want to keep their realm safe. They love Infernum. They love the people who live in it. Does wanting to protect it seem so strange?”
It doesn’t. Not anymore. I know now that this realm isn’t the pit of torture and misery I once imagined. But I wonder where Syrus fits into that mindset. I’ve seen him working to protect his domain—watching over the lakes, negotiating with the other lords, coming with me to Strata.
But why does he do it, when I often get the sense that he doesn’t love Malice, or Infernum, at all?
Chapter 22
Syrus
Leah pants against my ear, her legs wrapped around my hips so she’s flush against me. I can feel every curve of her body, can smell the sweet scent of her hair as it brushes against my cheek.
Then I grab the arm she’s trying to strangle me with and throw her forward, flipping her off my back so she hits the ground with a thud. I drop down, intending to pin her with my legs, but she shoves a knee up to put space between us, buying herself time to lift her knife and press the tip against my shoulder.
“Got you,” she says gleefully, her green eyes sparkling. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, a flush nearly hiding those distracting freckles of hers. I desperately want to reach down and stroke a thumb across them. Instead, I use my impressive self-control and take hold of her wrist instead.
“No, you missed.” I pull the training knife closer to my neck, holding her gaze as I lean in, forcing the blunted metal against my skin so her knuckles graze the base of my throat.
She huffs in frustration, then shifts, lowering her knee and moving to sit up. My treacherous body hums in response, wanting more—more contact, more of her moving against me—so I quickly release her, stepping back so she can climb to her feet.
It still surprises me just how muchfunit is to train her.I’d forgotten that I’m good at this—teaching. Spotting someone’s mistakes and finding ways to correct them. Sharing in their triumph when they master something new. Back in my human days, my generals were always telling me not to waste time sparring with new recruits, but it was one of my favorite ways to blow off steam when the rest of my royal duties were weighing me down.
It’s even better with her, and that’s what makes it so perilous.
There’s a lot of things I haven’t felt for a long time that are reawakening in me now—distracting, tempting things that keep me up at night. I’ve known since the day of the lords’ meeting that I need to be more careful. And not just because of the way she completely undid me with her performance in front of her mirror.
It was her reaction to the Rancorite’s blood that really set my alarm bells ringing. I’ve been an idiot to ignore it, how she’s getting too strong too quickly, able to do things she shouldn’t. And she’s healinginhumanlyfast—something the healer who usually treats demons hadn’t noticed until I asked about it.
There’s a distinct possibility that Leah is more dangerous than I could’ve ever imagined when I let myself be bound to her.
