Page 116 of Demon Touched

It’s nice to see that even after three hundred years away from this realm, my name still opens doors. Although in her usual poetic way, Leah suggests it has more to do with the fact that I can look like “a terrifying bastard” when I want to.

Either way, they don’t keep us waiting around after I demand a meeting with Thadeus Strickland. Pax’s Assembly building looms large ahead of us as we’re escorted past its outer gates. It’s a grand construction of sand-colored stone and stained-glass windows, but none of the pretty trappings hide that it’s secured like a fortress. High walls set with gleaming spikes—which ring the Assembly roof too—are surrounded by an impressive rotation of wardens as guards. Dozens more are posted at the entry gate along with a set of archers. It shows how little the Stratans really trust us supernaturals, and how much they want to protect the collateral that keeps the Concords strong.

Needless to say, the humans are twitchy, and I give Leah an amused glance when at one point I casually adjust my wings, and a warden flinches. Leah raises an eyebrow at me.

“Be careful,” she murmurs. “If you sneeze, you might get an arrow through the neck.”

With her wings hidden, she could pass for a demon disguised as a human—which is the story we’ll be spinning for the Assembly. She’s come to claim sanctuary along with me, posing as my lieutenant. Hopefully, that’ll keep her out of the reach of the ephilium who might be looking for her.

As for my actual lieutenants, Viz and Aster have returned to Infernum to continue acting as my liaisons. With their help, I can govern Malice from afar for however long I remain in Strata.

I’m more relieved and overjoyed than I let on that she’s opted to stay by my side. We don’t discuss it, but now that the possession bond between us has been banished, I hate to think about us being separated. I don’t trust the world not to tear us apart if we don’t hold on tightly to each other.

A pointy-faced official that reminds me a little of Viz meets us in a hallway of checkered marble floors and low-strung chandeliers.

“The Assembly is already in session, Your Lordship,” he says, offering me a low bow. “Though there is a provision for foreign dignitaries to request additions to the agenda—upon the approval of the chief assemblyman.”

“Well then,” I say, making my eyes flash a slightly brighter shade of crimson. “Let us hope that the assemblyman is wise enough to realize that when a Lord of Infernum wishes to speak, he will most definitely be heard.”

As I intended, the official quails under my stare and nods rapidly.

“I will press upon Assemblyman Strickland the importance of the addendum.”

“You pull that whole ‘scary lord’ act off very well,” Leah murmurs to me as the official scurries off, low enough so our escort of wardens doesn’t overhear.

“Who says it’s an act?” I smirk back. “Perhaps me pretending to tolerate your constant insubordination is the masquerade.”

“Oh, you tolerate me, do you?” she says, her tone teasing.

Tolerate. Adore. Need with every fiber of my being.

I bite my tongue and try to come up with a more acceptable response, but I’m saved by the return of the official.

“The Assembly is ready to welcome you now, Your Lordship. Will your…er…companion be joining you?”

“She will,” I say, sweeping past him toward the doors to the Assembly chamber.

Under different circumstances, it would be fascinating, seeing what the leadership of this realm has become. Once a palace stood in this city, with several like it across the land, each housing monarchs ruling over their little kingdoms. Now a crowd of men and women, most of them without titles, sit in a room of wood paneling and tufted leather benches, deciding the fate of the realm.

While it might not be a palace, the room is grand. Above the long rows of seating on each side, a gallery runs the perimeter of the chamber, accommodated by a high, vaulted ceiling. At one end, two round windows display the symbols of the collateral: a white circle for the ephilium Heart of Dawn and a black triangle for Hekate’s Mantle. At the front, an elevated, enclosed wooden platform juts out from a small set of steps. A man stands on it, watching us carefully.

“Welcome, Lord Syrus,” he says, ignoring the rustle of whispers that spring up from the gathered assembly. I stretch and flex my wings for good measure, allowing them to see the full scale of my demonic form.

“Mr. Strickland,” I say, keeping my face blank as I address the chief assemblyman. I’d guess he’s in his early forties, with unremarkable brown hair and an ordinary build. But he holds himself well, looking at home in his position elevated above the throng. And he meets my gaze squarely, which is a point in his favor.

“If you may permit me an observation, this is an unprecedented visit to our realm for you,” he says. “To what do we owe this honor?”

He leaves off the “lordship,” I notice. Probably a wise choice for a man elected by his peers. He wouldn’t want to be seen being too subservient to foreign powers. And if I’m going to get what I want from him, I need to make this work for him too.

“I’ve come here to request the Assembly’s assistance,” I say. “For the last few weeks, I have been attempting to negotiate a rollback of hostilities between Infernum and Aradis. This attempt was, regretfully, unsuccessful.”

A heckler from a backbench shouts out that this is unsurprising. A chorus of agreement breaks out and only hushes when I turn a cold stare around the chamber. Strickland doesn’t respond, keeping his gaze on me.

“Even more regretfully, this endeavor has put me at odds with the other lords of Infernum,” I continue. “They seek to apprehend me. What I desire from the Assembly is neutral ground from which to negotiate peace with my fellow lords. If Pax grants me sanctuary within its protected walls, I believe the lords would not risk the alliance between our two realms by attacking me before an accord can be struck.”

“Don’t you already use our realm as a playground?” comes a voice from the gallery. I glance up at the speaker—a man with a thick ginger mustache. “Now you want us to act as your guard dogs too?”

There are jeers of agreement from above and below. Strickland’s eyebrows drop lower but stop short of a frown. He’s unhappy, though I’m not sure whether that’s aimed at me or the man who just spoke out.