Page 27 of Demon Touched

“I really hope he doesn’t get selected,” Rowan sighs, watching Keros rise higher in the air. “He’ll be a nightmare to train with when we’re cadets. But his bloodline is very strong, what with his uncle being one of the Celadis seraphim. I fear it might be unavoidable.”

I notice the way he talks about being chosen for the Brigade like it’s a given. But with his talent, I suppose that’s a reasonable expectation. He’s not being boastful, just matter-of-fact.

Rowan rolls his shoulders and looks back up to the sky. “Well, I just wanted to check on folks before I headed back to the academy.” He opens his wings. “I’ll see you there. Unless…do you want a lift?”

I consider my aching body and the long walk back to my room. Being carried might be an indignity I’m willing to accept right now. But then the presence in my mind makes a sound like an animal raising its hackles. Until I’ve fixed my little demon problem, it’s safer to keep my distance from people.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I can walk.”

Rowan nods. From the way he smiles, I get the impression that he respects me refusing to lean on anyone else for support. If only he knew.

Once Rowan’s gone, I let myself fall to the back of the group, away from prying eyes. What I can’t escape, however, is him. Syrus allows me a few moments of silence before he decides it’s safe enough to start interrogating me again.

“And what, pray tell, is soldier boy’s name?”

“If it wasn’t for Rowan, I wouldn’t have survived five minutes in that arena,” I say defensively. “He’s one of the few people in this place⁠—”

I stop myself from explaining how Rowan helped me master the basics of directing my lightning when the instructors have all but ignored me. I don’t want Syrus to know how much hostility I’ve encountered in Aradis. I don’t want to give him more fuel for—what?—the argument we’re going to have about why I left?

No. We’re not going to argue about it. Because there’s no discussion to be had. Not when Syrus could still try to march me back to Infernum at any moment. Discussion is too much of an invitation. Instead, I should be building my walls back up right now, protecting myself against him.

“So what is this about not becoming a weapon for the ephilium?” Syrus prompts. “You get through these trials and what? They’ll name a feast day in your honor? You’ll suddenly transform into someone who doesn’t blanch at the idea of killing someone anymore?”

My blood heats with outrage. He knows why I’ve hesitated to kill in the past, and for him to throw that back in my face is low.

“If I get through the trials, they won’t throw me in prison and torture me to find out how I might be connected to the demons,” I offer the truth coldly. “So thank you for your help, but you can go now.”

I don’t expect it to come to anything. I’m sure I’ll have to wrestle with him and fight tooth and nail to force him back out of my mind. But without so much as a push, I feel him start to leave.

“We’ll talk again soon, Leah.” He says my name like a caress and is gone before I can tell him that absolutely won’t be happening.

It’s infuriating, and I start slamming my walls back up one by one, taking satisfaction in locking my mind up tight behind a mental fortress.

Except…something’s different. Those walls don’t feel as thick or sturdy as they did before. It’s as if there’s a crack running through the foundations, permanently weakening my defenses. It occurs to me that during those periods where Syrus was sitting quietly in my mind, he might have been making the most of my distraction.

Shit. What have I unleashed?

Whatever Syrus did when I let him back in, he’s ensured that shutting him out will be much harder than before.

Chapter 9

Syrus

The black desert of Vyle lies in front of me, cresting and falling in dramatic undulations beneath the purple sky. The sand here is soft and fine and glitters so much under the light of the ourani that it looks like an ocean stretching out beyond the windows of Liege Damein’s palace.

“Kind of you to host, Liege Damein,” says Lady Jing from her seat, twisting one of her long braids in her clawed fingers. “Especially after last time.”

She’s talking, of course, of the day I informed the other two lords of Infernum that I’d murdered the fourth of our number, Kaliban. It had been a…contentious meeting. There was ample proof of Kaliban’s crimes, but it sat behind Rancor’s borders—somewhere I wasn’t exactly welcome after beheading the Rancorites’ lord. It took a carefully organized diplomatic party and a few close calls with total civil war before we could all agree I’d acted appropriately.

“The innkeeper who welcomes the highwayman sleeps soundly in his bed, my dear Lady Jing,” Damein says from behind their customary veil.

Damein sits in a tall, straight-back chair that matches most of their palace—all sleek lines and understated elegance. I’m not sure how they do it, but sound works differently here, almost muffled, as if the entire place is under a blanket of dust, or a shroud woven by time. My castle was built by Ajax’s grandmother, but Viz told me that Liege Damein’s ancestors have all been unusually long-lived, and no one outside Vyle is sure how long the palace has been here.

It’s a calm environment. Unshakable. A good location for this meeting.

“So who exactly is the highwayman in this analogy, Liege Damein?” I ask, still studying the dunes outside the window.

“Perhaps that’s yet to be seen, Lord Syrus,” they reply.