Page 16 of Demon Touched

“Kaliban’s dead?” Rowan pipes up. “As in, the Lord of Rancor?”

Three of the cadets turn around. I expect them to ask Rowan who the fuck he thinks he’s talking to. Instead, the tallest one among them grins and slaps Rowan on the back. “Hey, Gradis, I heard you were showing off yesterday. Putting the other fledglings to shame.”

Rowan smiles, humble. “It was a close thing,” he says, politely if not honestly. He was the winner by—well, not quite a mile, but a good twenty feet. I feel the cadets’ eyes drift over to me, taking in my lack of wings with various expressions of surprise and confusion.

“Oh, this is Leah Illidore,” Rowan says. “She’s nephilim. But is it true?” he asks, clearly more eager to learn the juicy gossip than to discuss me. “One of the demon lords is dead?”

“Yes. It’s all the Brigade is talking about this morning,” says the tall cadet. “My brother Falchius says he was murdered.”

I go rigid, my muscles locking up. Maybe I’d rather have them talk about my lineage after all.

“What?” Rowan gasps. “By who?”

The air in the large dining hall suddenly feels too close.

Me. I helped murder him. I blasted him full of lightning so someone else could finish the job.

“Oh, it gets better. They’re saying it was the Lord of Malice.”

Syrus. My mind supplies the name before the cadet can say it, even as a pressure dances on the border of that mind. Fainter than before, but still there. He’s still there, as his enemies talk about him just feet away. What would happen if I messed up and let him into my mind now? Would they be able to tell? Would I immediately be held down like Zinah yesterday? I don’t have any feathers to shear away, so would they carve me up instead?

“Ancestors,” mutters Rowan. “Do they know why he did it?”

The cadet shrugs. “Why does a demon do anything? Especially one as powerful and dangerous as the Lord of Malice. They say he took Kaliban’s head as a trophy.”

The cadet next to him shakes her own head. “Fucking maniac. I can see why they keep him off the battlefields. They’re probably terrified he’ll go rogue and start killing off his own kind.”

“Nah,” the tall cadet answers. “Falchius says if he wanted to be fighting, no one would be able to stop him. The Lord of Malice does what he pleases.”

If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d laugh at the irony. It’s precisely because he can’t do what he pleases—can’t go wherever he wants—that Syrus is never seen in Strata.

“Better for us, though,” the female cadet says with a smirk. “I’d rather he stay in Infernum causing chaos than meet us out on the plains.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rowan says, drawing himself up. “I’d like to test myself against a demon lord.” This earns him a good-natured laugh from the cadets. They seem charmed by his bravado, even if I have to suppress an eye roll at his naivete. I suspect if Rowan actually met Syrus, he’d feel differently.

The third cadet, a slightly smaller woman who’s been quiet up until now, clears her throat. “How’s your family doing in Aphelion, Gradis? Are things as difficult as they’re saying?”

Rowan pulls a face. “It’s not good, no. The wheat farmers have been hit the hardest. But it’s nothing we can’t handle. We Aphelites are made of strong stuff.”

“Hear hear,” says the tall cadet, giving Rowan another clap on the back and casting one last curious look at me before turning back to the banquet table.

With the conversation finished, I’m not so worried about looking distracted anymore, so I risk checking back in with my mental walls. Frantically examining them to make sure there aren’t any weak points, I breathe a quiet sigh when I find the presence pressing on them seems to have retreated.

He’s gone. For now.

Chapter 6

Leah

“Open up your hands more; it’ll help you get some height when you cast,” Rowan’s voice calls across the training field as I try to control the thread of lightning snaking out from my palm.

I grit my teeth, concentrating. I’ve never attempted projecting my lightning beyond myself before—Kaliban was holding onto me when I fried him with my power—and it takes some focus.

It doesn’t help that I keep getting distracted by the fights taking place above us. Most of the other fledglings are up in the air, arcing and diving as they spar. The sound of beating wings and crackling lightning keeps drawing my eyes upward, encouraging me to size up my peers.

At first glance, the sight is pretty intimidating, but luckily I’ve seen plenty of ephilium battling on the plains. I can see the differences between the fledglings and the way the soldiers in the Brigade fight. There’s still a lack of experience among them. Just watching them brings back some of Syrus’s lessons to me. He was a good teacher, and I can almost hear his voice now, can imagine what he’d say about the fledglings—the gaps in their defense, the hesitations in their strikes.

Those thoughts are punctuated by Rowan offering kind encouragement I’m not entirely sure is earned.