Page 25 of Demon Touched

“Just…don’t get me caught,” I say, dropping Bianca’s sword—it feels wrong to keep hold of it now—and moving toward the entrance to the arena with the others.

Once I’m alone, I’ll be able to push him out of my head again, but I’m sure he won’t go without a fight, so for now I just need him to lay low. Especially as someone lands clumsily beside me.

“Huh, look at that,” Filippa says, straightening up from her awkward landing. “We’re both alive.” She says it almost like a question, as if she doesn’t really believe it.

I hug her, which seems to surprise Filippa, but hiding my face against her shoulder for a beat gives me a chance to school my features into a vaguely normal expression. Normal for the situation, anyway. I settle for a combination of exhausted and dazed.

“Yep. Just about.” I sigh as I release her, as if I don’t have it in me to make conversation. It’s safer if no one pays too much attention to me right now. Unfortunately, Filippa notices the blood on my shoulder and my limp as we shuffle toward the gate.

“Is it bad?” she asks, looking me over more closely. I drop my gaze, still worried about her somehow spotting Syrus behind my eyes. At least he’s heeding my request and staying quiet, for now.

“Nothing major,” I say, shifting my shoulder with a wince. “I just landed pretty hard on my bow when I fell off the dermison.”

Her eyebrows shoot up so high I think they might disappear into her hairline. “You were on that thing?” She shakes her head. “I must’ve missed that. I spent pretty much the whole hour trying to stay in the air and away from any trouble.”

“Believe me, if I had wings, I’d have done the same,” I say, but Filippa gives me a skeptical look.

“No,” she replies, quieter than before. “I don’t think you would’ve. Climbing on that dermison is exactly the kind of crazy shit they love,” she jerks her chin up toward the spectator box.

There’s a brittleness in her tone, and I watch her face as she stares up at where our grandfather must be standing.

“I think you were smart, Filippa,” I say, trying to offer her some reassurance. “There’s lots who aren’t walking out of here today because they rushed in to prove themselves instead of thinking things through.”

Did Bianca rush in? Was that what got her killed? All I know is how it ended, not how it started. But I’ll probably never get the chance to find out. Like everything else about her that I never had a chance to learn, all possibilities are over now.

Hasteed and Baxir flank the gate we’re filing out of, the former checking what must be names off a sheet as we pass. I throw a glance over my shoulder, only to stop walking when I see that some of the fledglings lying in the dirt are still moving.

“What’s the holdup?” Baxir grunts.

“What about them?” I ask, gesturing to a fledgling with long brown hair who’s currently struggling to stand about five yards away. She has a hand clapped over her side where silver blood is trickling through her fingers.

“Those who make it back to the academy will be given the supplies they need to tend their wounds,” Hasteed says simply.

Filippa grabs my sleeve, trying to tug me along, but I only move a few steps, confused.

“You mean anyone who isn’t strong enough to walk out of here you just leave to die?”

Baxir is obviously about to say something cutting when Hasteed cuts him off, her calm, cool voice rising above his.

“Yes,” she says. “In battle, the Brigade can’t waste time trying to keep people alive who can’t keep themselves alive. You either bring yourself home or you don’t come home at all.”

And of course, I know this. I’ve seen it in action. The battlefields usually hold fewer dead ephilium soldiers than demon ones. The average Brigade warrior is more powerful and better trained than an Infernum one. But I also can’t remember ever seeing an ephilium carrying an injured comrade off the plains.

My eyes fall to the thick line of knotted skin across Hasteed’s neck. The ephilium don’t seem the type to flaunt their scars—they’re too into perfection for that, I think. But that scar is different. To be wounded like that and manage to keep going…I can’t even imagine it. Hasteed must be incredibly resilient and strong.

But how many strong and resilient soldiers were left to bleed out when they could have been saved? The fledglings we’re leaving to die in the arena could’ve been great fighters with iron wills. Sometimes fate just sends the arrow spinning your way and not someone else’s.

The ephilium obviously don’t see it that way though.

A presence shifts inside my mind, murmuring slyly into my ear. “This is the world you’ve chosen, Leah. These are the people you were so desperate to give everything up for.”

I ignore him, hurrying out of the arena before Hasteed or Baxir can notice something’s off.

When we’re outside, Filippa stiffens, and I follow her gaze to see that Garion is standing outside the Eyrie, talking with a group of other important-looking ephilium.

“He’ll be pissed if I don’t report to him,” she mutters, even though she looks like she’d rather go another round in the arena than talk to the general right now.

“Should I come too?” I ask, though my tone doesn’t really hide how I feel about that idea.