Page 17 of Demon Touched

“Not bad for your first try,” he says, closing the gap between us. “You have to remember that our lightning is naturally wild and unpredictable. It will go wherever it wants if you let it, so you have to keep it on a tight leash.”

“Do you always have to focus so hard to tame it?” I ask, a little breathless with the effort. My palms are tingling, pins and needles dancing across the flesh where bright white energy pulsed a few moments ago.

He shakes his head. “It always requires a degree of concentration, but controlling it will come more naturally with practice. And there’s only so much you can do anyway if you’re not imbuing or channeling with a weapon.”

“What’s the difference between those two?” I ask.

He draws his sword, releasing a bolt of lightning that crackles its way from his fingers down his blade.

“Channeling gives you more power but requires you to maintain a connection with your weapon. We save imbuing for projectiles—arrows, throwing stars, shells. But there’s a time limit on those. Your power will only stick around in them so long before dissipating.”

I nod. “I think I’d like try imbuing with arrows. I have some experience with those.”

“Good idea,” Rowan says, sheathing his sword. “Play to your strengths. Although you should probably know that ephilium bows tend to be a lot tougher than Mire versions. It’s the magic our carpenters use when they shape them. You may need to adjust.”

“Oh I know,” I say, unable to suppress a smirk. The bow I scavenged and used on the plains was an ephilium one, but when Rowan gives me a curious look, I dodge bringing that up. “I think you’ve forgotten that the yew wood you guys use for all your bows comes from Strata. It works better with your magic, right? More flexible.” From what I’ve seen, Aradis is pretty lacking in the forest department anyway. No wonder the ephilium value trade with Strata for things like timber.

“Ah, yes,” Rowan says. “I should’ve thought of that. It’s just strange, hearing you talk about the Mire, or calling us ‘you guys.’ You have to remember you’re one of us now. You should be proud of it.”

I offer him an awkward smile. I know he’s trying to be nice, but I’m still pretty far off considering myself a child of Aradis.

“You know, it’s very kind of you volunteering to help me like this, but please don’t let me keep you.” I nod up at the other fledglings. “If you want to do some proper training, I mean.”

He scrubs at the back of his hair, lightly rumpling the chestnut locks. “It never hurts to revisit the basics. We never know what the trials might throw at us.”

There’s an easy, contented confidence to him. Not quite arrogance, but he’s so sure of himself he’s just on the edge of it. Perhaps that’s to be expected when you’ve always been handsome and talented and liked. I haven’t known Rowan two days, but the way his peers treat him makes it clear he’s always been a golden boy.

“And what about if some of those skills aren’t an option?” I say, pointing upward at the sky full of fledglings.

Rowan gives me a sympathetic look. “All the nephilim I’ve heard of developed wings.”

“And how many of them had as much human heritage as I do?” I ask.

“Well, yes, your blood might be a little diluted. But you’re an Illidore. That counts for something, trust me.”

It’s as if my ancestors heard him and want to play a joke, because the whump of frantically beating wings sounds just above us.

“Watch out!” Filippa shouts as she comes barreling toward us, unable to slow her momentum. Rowan moves to grab me, but I get myself out of the way in time, leaving Filippa to skid across the ground, the armor around her shoulder leaving a deep groove in the earth as she grinds to a halt.

I hear her groan as I hurry over to her. “Hello, ground, I really hoped we wouldn’t meet today,” she mutters.

“Are you all right?” I ask, offering her a hand.

“Absolutely thriving,” she says with a sarcastic smile as she ignores my hand and scrambles to her feet. “Sorry about that. That bastard clipped my wing, and I couldn’t right myself.”

I follow her gaze to see Keros swooping down toward us, looking smug.

“Why don’t you stay down in the dirt with your runt cousin, Illidore?” he calls. “Leave the flying to those of us who know what the fuck they’re doing.”

I step forward, about to hurl some colorful curse at him. But Filippa gets there first.

“You didn’t look like you knew what you were doing yesterday when you nearly wrecked that gazebo, Keros Perichor,” Filippa says. “Pity your face and it didn’t get better acquainted. Might have improved your look—though…no, on second thought, that might be expecting too much of the gazebo.”

Keros reddens before making a rude gesture and flying away. I stare at Filippa, impressed.

“I think I might’ve just fallen a little bit in love with you,” I say.

She grins, wiping a smear of dirt from her cheek. “I don’t know how things go in Strata, but here in Aradis, that kind of shit is illegal between cousins.”