Page 33 of Demon Touched

“Just remember to stay vigilant. Including when you encounter the oracle,” he says meaningfully.

I nod. I have no idea what the oracle is, but I recognize this as a tidbit of information he thinks will be useful.

“And if you do have any lingering connections to Infernum,” he says, his voice and gaze hardening. “Then you need to get rid of them as soon as possible.”

My stomach drops. Shit.

So he suspects the truth—or at least believes it’s a possibility. I guess Garion’s too practical not to take that into account when weighing up the situation. It just turns out I’m useful enough to him that he’s willing to take the risk of backing me, even knowing I might be a demon spy.

I have a powerful man using me to get what he wants, putting my life in danger in the process. Now, where have I been in that situation before?

I keep my expression blank. “Yes, sir,” is all I say.

He nods, as if that settles things. Then his hand goes to the scabbard on his belt, and I tense.

“There’s one more thing before I dismiss you,” he says, unbuckling the scabbard and drawing the one-handed blade it holds.

“This sword is called Swiftwing. It has been in the Illidore family for many generations; it belonged to my father before me. It was nearly lost when he died in battle, but I managed to retrieve it, and it has served me well in many battles since.”

He holds it up so I can get a good look. It’s one of the most beautiful weapons I’ve ever seen. The hilt is black, gleaming in the sunlight, while the long, golden cross guards sweep outward in the shape of wings. Even the sheath itself is a work of art, inlaid with delicate marquetry made up of precious stones.

A flare of anger and pain suddenly shoots through me, and I struggle to keep from flinching.

“What is going on with you?” I snap at Syrus, finally addressing him for the first time.

But he doesn’t answer, and I have to shift my focus back to what Garion is saying.

“It channels lightning well. But it can also help channel a wielder’s foresight,” he explains. “You should find your instincts are stronger when you use it, helping you predict your opponent’s next moves. It will help you in the trials.”

I take the sheathed blade from him reverently, wanting to show I understand the importance of the gift.

“Thank you, sir,” I say as I buckle the scabbard to my own belt, completely sincere for perhaps the first time in this conversation.

“Thank me by distinguishing yourself in the trials, Leah,” he says.

He sends me away then, and I head back to the nest, confused to find that Syrus is gone again from my mind. His silence and strange mood swings unsettle me much more than his running commentaries and snide comments. It troubles me enough that I don’t see Filippa walking toward me until she calls my name.

“Leah!” she says. “I’ve been looking for you. The general sent me a letter lecturing me about not giving you our family history. So I guess I…”

She comes to a stop, her eyes falling to my waist.

“I’ve just seen him,” I say, though I think she’s already worked it out, her gaze glued to the scabbard hanging from my belt.

“He gave you Swiftwing?” she says, her voice strangled with disbelief—and hurt. “He didn’t even let my brother have it when he made the Brigade.”

I shift awkwardly. If I’m honest, I didn’t think about Filippa at all when I accepted the sword. I was too busy trying not to piss off Garion, and maybe part of me was also just glad to be given some kind of lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “He said that it would help me in the trials. I think⁠—”

“Sure,” she interrupts me. “Because why wouldn’t he help out some woman he barely knows, instead of his actual granddaughter?”

I’m not offended. She has a point—I barely know the man, let alone feel any family connection to him. But my heart aches as I see how much this elevation of me over Filippa gets to her.

“Filippa—”

“No, it’s fine.” She laughs, the sound bitter and too loud. “Enjoy it. At least now we’ll have an impressive Illidore in the trials, and who knows? Maybe the fuck-up grandchild will be taken out of the picture too. That would be a real win-win for the general.”

She turns around and storms off, ignoring me weakly calling after her.