Page 13 of Demon Touched

Before we can get inside, a tall female ephilium in gold armor strides past us into the courtyard. She’s striking enough that I stop, watching her march up to the group of fledglings. Her black hair is pulled into four tight braids that coil around the back of her head, exposing her neck, which has a thick, white scar across it. I try not to stare at it, but it runs most of the way around her neck, and I can’t help but wonder how she survived such an injury. The original wound must have nearly beheaded her.

“Zinah Jaline,” she barks, scanning the crowd.

The flier from earlier with the white-blonde hair steps forward; she’s gone pale.

“Yes, Captain Hasteed?”

“You were seen attempting to break into Colonel Cavat’s office yesterday afternoon. Do you deny it?”

Zinah tries to hold her head up straight, but I can see the sheen of cold sweat already forming on her neck.

“No, I don’t.”

A ripple of mutters goes through the crowd of fledglings. Several of them edge away from Zinah, as if they might be branded guilty by association.

“Do you have any defense to offer?” Hasteed demands. “I’ll remind you that lying is a coward’s weapon, Fledgling Jaline.”

Zinah swallows. “I was trying to discover the details of this season’s trials, Captain. I hoped if I knew what to expect, I could be better prepared.”

“So you sought to gain an unfair advantage over your peers?” Hasteed says coolly. “You wanted to win by deception, and not by dint of your own courage and strength?”

I expect Zinah to hang her head in shame, to accept her “weakness” like the woman at the Seraph Seat did. Instead, she tips her chin up higher, defiance sparking in her eyes.

“I wanted to win by dint of being smart,” she says. “Only a fool would blindly accept that we’re not allowed to know anything about the trials.”

I swallow at her bravery, even as Hasteed stands over her, a good few inches taller, the captain’s face smooth and emotionless.

“Those are the rules by which you will prove your honor. You think you’re too good for them?” Hasteed asks.

“No,” Zinah blurts out, some of her resistance giving way to frustration. “I just mean—we could die in these trials. Are we really not supposed to try to arm ourselves as best we can? It’s ridiculous⁠—”

“Enough,” Hasteed says. “Are you ready to accept your punishment or not, Fledgling Jaline?”

Zinah’s jaw hardens. “I refuse to accept punishment for trying to survive.”

As far as I’m concerned, Zinah has every right to feel this way, but I’m surprised by it. If the muttering coming from the other fledglings is anything to go by, most of them are shocked by Zinah’s disregard for their honor code, but I think I see some glimmers of sympathy in their eyes too. When I glance at Filippa, her face is tight with unhappiness rather than disapproval. Perhaps not everyone in Aradis feels as honor bound as the official line would want us to believe.

“Then you bring shame on your ancestors,” Hasteed responds firmly. “For their sake, you will be punished, in hopes you learn from this lesson.” She turns around. “Keros, Sewler,” Hasteed calls on two of the biggest fledglings. “Hold her down. Spread your wings, Fledgling Jaline.”

Zinah’s eyes go wide, and she starts to back away. “What? No! You can’t. I won’t survive the trials. Please!”

Hasteed just blinks. “You will have a disadvantage, but it is no more than what you tried to do to your fellow fledglings. And you may still triumph, if you have the strength to overcome your shortcomings,” she says, her eyes glancing past me as she speaks. She obviously clocked my winglessness when she walked past, even if she gave no reaction. “Now, will you take your punishment bravely, or will you bring your ancestors further dishonor?”

I appreciate that the captain is still giving Zinah a chance to make this right in her eyes, even if I disagree that it’s necessary. Zinah seems to consider it too, eyes bright with tears she’s fighting to hold back as Keros and Sewler close in around her.

“I’ll be brave,” she spits. “But I do it for myself, not the ancestors.”

Hasteed makes a disappointed scoff. “Then you’re the same kind of fool you condemn. The ancestors are here to help us, and you shun that guidance.”

She signals to Keros and Sewler, and they take Zinah’s arms and force her to the ground. When she spreads her wings, they each place a knee on the edge of them, pinning them down. I’ve only just been introduced to ephilium culture, and even I can see how humiliating and degrading it must be to have your wings restrained like that.

Hasteed pulls a small knife from her belt and approaches Zinah, the fledgling’s chest rising and falling rapidly as the captain bends down. Hasteed slides the tip of the knife under one of Zinah’s lower feathers, grabbing the tapered tip of it with her other hand. Then with one, swift motion, she slices upward with the knife and pulls, ripping the feather free from Zinah’s wing.

Zinah cries out—a high, sharp shriek of pain.

Hasteed moves on to another feather, repeating the process. Zinah reflexively bucks against the hands of the men holding her down. Sewler is keeping his head up, staring into the distance as if trying to dissociate from what’s going on in front of him, but Keros is watching it all. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s an excited look in his eyes that makes me feel sick.

All of it makes me feel sick, in fact, watching the silver blood speckle Zinah’s wings as Hasteed takes another feather.