Page 12 of Demon Touched

“The academy’s not going to let someone like her take the trials alongside us, is it?” she asks no one in particular.

“Why not?” Bianca puts her hands on her hips, and I feel a surge of gratitude toward her. “Nephilim have taken part in the trials before.”

“Only when they’re at least half ephilium,” says another fledgling, tilting their head at me. “How much ephilium blood have you got, exactly?”

I don’t care about measuring up to these people’s standards; I don’t care how much ephilium blood I have, as long as it’s enough for them to train me. But I need to be accepted by these people—or at least tolerated. It sounds like the trials will be hard enough without adding a bunch of enemies to the mix.

“I’m a quarter ephilium,” I say. “It might not seem like much, but my line is strong—it’s enough to ensure I can conjure magic.” I hold out my hand, pleased it stays steady as I ignite a bit of lightning in my hands, letting it crackle between my fingers.

Keros, however, just laughs.

“That little spark won’t be enough to save you.” He leans closer, trying to use his height and bulk to intimidate me. I just stare back up at him, letting him see that I know he’s only picking on me to try and save some face, drawing focus away from his loss.

“I can see into your future, runt,” he says, his voice low with threat. “You’ll never make it through to the end of the trials.”

“That’s enough, Keros,” says a voice sharply, and I look up to see it’s Rowan who’s spoken. He’s frowning like he’s disappointed. It’s a stark contrast to Keros’s angry energy.

“Yeah, Keros, unfortunately having a seraph for an uncle doesn’t stop your predictions from being a load of shit,” says a girl with light brown skin and hazel eyes. “You’ve got about as much foresight as a goldfish.”

“Better than someone who’s got the fighting skills of one, Illidore.” Keros grins nastily. “Tell me, did they start planning your funeral before you left for the academy? Your family knows you won’t survive the first trial, right?”

At the sound of her name, I whip my head around to examine the girl. She must get her complexion from the other side of the family, but when I look for it, I see something of Garion in her determined set of mouth. She looks a little younger than me, but then most of the fledglings do. They’ve just come of age after all, even if it took them more than a century to do it.

“Filippa Illidore?” I ask, and her eyes widen.

“Yes?” she says, more question than answer.

I step forward, holding out my hand. “I’m Leah. Your cousin on your grandfather Garion’s side. He told me to find you and get your help.”

She accepts my hand, but there’s still a glint of suspicion in her eyes. “The general told you to get help…from me?”

“Yes,” I say, conscious of our audience. “My grandmother, also Leah, worked for him many years ago. She was human, a midwife.”

She glances away from me, as if trying to recall something. “Yes, I think I remember her. It was right before Uncle Delitin was born—there’s a big age gap between my mom and him. We were around the general’s house a lot then because my mom was worried about Grandmother Thalis’s pregnancy.” Her eyes flick back to me as she puts the pieces together. She doesn’t look shocked. More resigned to the truth.

I, however, am shocked. Logically, I can do the math, but it’s one thing to know ephilium have big gaps between having kids and another to think that Filippa was just a child when her uncle was born—that she was forming memories before my mother even took her first breath.

I sense someone approach me on my right and turn sharply to see Rowan standing there. Up close, I can’t help but notice he’s quite handsome, his chestnut hair attractively windswept from the contest, his square jaw softened by the genuine smile he’s giving me.

“You must have some interesting potential to be joining us in the trials, Leah Illidore,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m excited to see what you bring to the fledgling class.”

“You mean, aside from opportunities to pick on a ‘wingless runt’?” I say, quoting Keros’s words with a glare in his direction. The bully’s been quiet since I announced myself as an Illidore.

Rowan laughs, easily and without hesitation. It’s more than my joke warrants, but I appreciate the show of support.

“I bet you’ll surprise any naysayers,” he says before releasing my hand.

After Rowan’s seal of approval, many of the other fledglings deign to introduce themselves. I’m trying to keep names and family lines straight when Filippa comes to my rescue.

“Why don’t we try to find you a room,” she says, coming up behind me.

I nod, eager to get away before I insult someone horrifically by getting families mixed up. Filippa crosses the grass, leading me back toward the covered walkway.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

An expression flits across her face that I can’t name, and she shrugs. “The general said I should help you, so…”

I try not to feel stung. I’m desperate for some backup in this place, but that doesn’t mean she feels the same way. To her, I’m just a responsibility her grandfather dumped on her with no warning.