Page 26 of Demon Touched

“No,” she says. “I’d be ignoring direct orders if I left without reporting in, but you can still claim ignorance. Go. Save yourself before he notices you.”

I thank her gratefully as I push forward to disappear among the crowd of fledglings. There’s enough exhaustion and injured wings that I’m not the only person opting to walk back.

I keep my head down and my thoughts quiet. I can still feel Syrus there, lurking, but maybe he’ll be content to stay like that unless I provoke him.

Except of course that would be too much to hope for. I inhale sharply at the sensation of him running a mental touch against my mind.

“So, you’re going to be an ephilium soldier now, are you?” he purrs disdainfully, the casual tone doing little to mask the deeper anger. “Is that the plan? To become a loyal member of the Brigade, taking orders like a good little pale-blood? I didn’t know you had such a thing for discipline.”

“I don’t,” I grind out. “And I’m not. This isn’t about getting into the Brigade, it’s about acceptance and⁠—”

“Pretty intense first trial, huh?”

I look up quickly to see Rowan falling into step beside me. He looks barely rumpled from the last hour of chaos. There’s only a dusting of color in his cheeks and the windswept fall of his hair to suggest he’s exerted himself at all—that and the faint splatter of purple lammer bird blood across one side of his bronze breastplate.

I give Syrus a mental shove, not enough to kick him out of my head—I don’t have the focus for that right now—but enough to push him to the back of my mind.

“I’m glad you think so,” I say to Rowan, trying to act natural. “If you told me this was considered easy by trial standards, then I was about to be very worried.”

“And who is this polished moron?” Syrus murmurs. Obviously, I didn’t shove him hard enough.

“No need to worry,” Rowan replies, blissfully unaware of the demon lord insulting him just a few feet away. “They always keep details about previous trials vague, but from what I’ve picked up from my family over the years, this was definitely a tough one. That’s good though.”

“It is?” I say, just as Syrus scoffs.

“Yep, it means they think we’re a strong cohort this season. They want to really push us to see what we can do.”

“Typical bird-brain logic.”

I work hard to ignore Syrus, holding Rowan’s gaze. “And what about people like Bianca? You think they deserved to be pushed hard enough that they died?”

His face falls so fast it’s like a mask has dropped away. I realize Rowan was leaning into bravado to avoid thinking about that.

“I hate that Bianca didn’t make it,” he says, swallowing hard. I believe him.

“But people always die in the trials,” he continues, frowning at the ground. “I’m not trying to make light of it, but it’s the price we pay to keep Aradis safe. If we don’t make sure we have the best warriors for the Brigade, then the entire realm will be at risk. You’re new here; you haven’t seen the kind of threats we’re up against.”

He says it like he’s thinking about something specific, and I recall a vague memory of one of the cadets talking to Rowan about things being bad in Aphelion. What did they mean, exactly?

“But anyway,” Rowan says, pulling his face into a weak smile. “I was worried you were going to be one of the losses today.” He says it honestly, as if it’s obvious, but not something he’s trying to make me feel bad about. “But you were doing great before the shorewolf caught your scent. That trick with the dermison was really impressive. I thought you were going to bring it down singlehanded for a moment there.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t he?” Syrus says smoothly. “Do you think he always uses post-battle debriefs to pick up women?”

“Syrus. He’s NOT trying to pick me up.”

“Oh, you saw that did you?” I say out loud, feeling my face flush as I juggle the twin embarrassment of Rowan’s compliment and Syrus’s snarky commentary.

Before Rowan can answer, Keros shoves past us, shoulder checking me on the way.

“I saw it,” he says over his shoulder. “It was embarrassing. The trial was meant to test strength. Not who’s best at landing ass-first in the dirt or hiding under a rock until the battle’s over.”

“Go pluck yourself, Keros,” I say. “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t dive-bombed me before I could take the dermison out. What was that about? Afraid a wingless nephilim was going to do better than you?”

Keros gives me a hateful look. “You just wait, runt. I’m going to enjoy seeing your dirty red blood splashed across the floor one of these days.”

“Only lesser warriors indulge in empty threats, Keros,” Rowan say sternly.

“Who said anything about empty?” Keros throws back before taking flight, blasting us both with a gust of air from his wings.