Page 146 of Demon Touched

Syrus leans back on the couch, an amused smile on his lips. “That’s a little coldblooded of him, don’t you think?”

I shrug one shoulder, trying to be brave, and keep meeting Syrus’s gaze. “He said that it could be more than an extension, that he could get us permanent residency—if we wanted.” I take a deep breath, pushing forward. “I’ve been thinking. We have Hathwell’s fortune now, and Strickland knows our situation and is willing to help us. You’ve been longing to come back here for three hundred years, and now you can.”

“What about Malice?” he asks, his voice low and quiet as it wraps around each word.

“You could make a trade. What if—” I hesitate for a moment, unable to suppress a flicker of doubt. But then I see it all—the life we could have in Pax together—and I know it will be worth it. I forge on. “What if you offered to abdicate your position? I’m sure the lords would give you a pardon if you promised to step down as Lord of Malice.”

Syrus is very still, his crimson eyes studying my face as I’m studying his. He doesn’t say anything, and I keep going, weirdly afraid to let the silence stretch for too long.

“I know you feel a duty to your domain, but you’ve ruled Malice for more than three centuries now. Haven’t you fulfilled your obligation?” I slide onto the couch next to him and rest a hand on his knee. “Don’t you think it’s time to put your own wants first, Syrus?”

To put us first?

I don’t say it out loud, wishing—not for the first time—that we were linked again and I could speak the words into my mind. It was so much easier to say things there, with him nestled inside my thoughts, than send them out into the world.

“I can’t do that, Leah.”

It comes out so abrupt, so firm, that I immediately lift my hand away. It’s like he’s knocked me back, and I look away, trying to hide the pain I know must be showing on my face. I expected him to have some objections, but I thought he’d at least consider this. This immediate, complete denial is telling.

It says I’m not Syrus’s home like he’s mine.

“I see,” I say. I can hear the tightness in my voice. It sounds like I’m about to choke.

Syrus sighs. “Leah, my love, it’s true there have been periods when I resented my place in Infernum. But that’s not a good enough reason to walk away.”

“What about freedom?” I ask. “Isn’t that a good enough reason? After everything you’ve been through, why don’t you get to be free?”

He’s sitting with his back straighter now, like he’s steeling himself against any possible argument I could present. My anger spikes at the sight of it. He’s already decided that nothing I say will change his mind.

“Leah, I have a responsibili⁠—”

“You were forced into your choice by Ajax. It doesn’t mean you have to be a slave to duty for the rest of your existence, Syrus!”

He flinches, and when he speaks again, his voice is rough with emotion.

“That’s easy to say for someone who can’t seem to decide where her loyalties lie.”

“What the fuck?” His words jab right through the center of me. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he twists to look at me more directly. “Because from where I’m standing, you were ready to sign up to spend the rest of your life in Aradis, and then, just as easily, you walked away from it. But if your grandfather hadn’t ruined everything with his coup, you’d still be there, and I’d be back in Infernum, despite my best efforts.”

I gape at him. “That’s low, Syrus. You’re really mad at me because I didn’t run out and choose you the moment you turned up in Aradis? How could I, given everything you kept me in the dark about?” I don’t even know how we’re back here, after everything.

“You could’ve just trusted me,” he groans. “Would it have been too much to ask, after everything I did for you? All the ways I tried to show you that I would never have kept things from you to hurt you?”

“And you could’ve just trusted me,” I say. I pull back, putting distance between us on the couch as I try to push down the sting of guilt at his question. I’ve often been awed by what Syrus has risked for me, and for him to suggest I’m ungrateful cuts deep.

But what’s worse is he seems to think that us being together now is just a side effect of our circumstances and not something we worked toward—that we earned—together, with forgiveness and a willingness to take a chance and yes, eventually, to open up. I hate that I don’t have a way to prove him wrong, because the only evidence I have is the love burned into the very essence of me. And try as I might, I can’t rip myself open and show that to him.

“I thought I made it clear why I couldn’t tell you the truth when you were in Aradis,” he grinds out. “I thought you understood. Was that a lie?” he demands.

“No,” I say, scowling. “I don’t blame you for not telling me about the prophecy then. But I’m also not torturing you with hypotheticals about what could’ve been if you’d been more open with me in Infernum. Because none of us can make perfect choices all the time, especially with so much at stake. But you make it sound like I’m some flighty, fickle idiot who just can’t make up her fucking mind. Is that what you really think of me?”

I wish he could see what I do by now—that Aradis would’ve never been the right fit for me. I might’ve been in denial about it back then, but there’s no way I could’ve stayed there, even if I would’ve had to face very different challenges elsewhere.

“If you believe that,” I say, my voice settling into something cold and hard, “maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, studying his hands or the floor. I’m not sure which. I only know that he doesn’t meet my gaze as he speaks.