Page 35 of Demon Touched

I have to say that to myself over and over again, like a chant, like a prayer. It’s the only way I’ll be able to breathe through this moment and enter the next with a clear head.

“So show me what I should be doing,” I say, lifting my sword.

If I feel a hint of disappointment from him, I don’t acknowledge it, and he readily launches into a tutorial. Even though the weapon is new to me, the lesson itself feels very familiar. I fall back into the easy pattern of matching my movements to his instructions. Except now when I misunderstand or get something wrong, his presence is there in my body, pulling my leg into place or adjusting my arms.

If I don’t think too hard, it’s like he’s right there behind me, just out of my eyeline—my body against his as he guides me through the steps. It’s sweet relief and torture all at once, having him so close, and I put everything I have into focusing on what he’s telling me.

“You need to pull your hips back, or your weight will be off center,” he says, his voice stroking the inside of my mind as his touch feathers against my side. It’s too much, my blood beginning to heat, and at last I break, dropping the tip of my sword and moving back as if I can step away from him. Except of course I can’t. There’s no getting distance from him like this, not unless he cooperates.

“I think that’s enough for now,” I say, exhaling. “I’d like you to go.”

Of course, it’s never that easy with him. “I thought we agreed you need my help. You can’t keep fighting me, Leah, not when your life might depend on us working together.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” I snap back, pacing back and forth across the same patch of grass. I’m so sick of him not listening to what I want. “You know, if you hadn’t tried to suppress my power, I could’ve been developing it this whole time. I’d be stronger and better prepared for all this shit. And then I wouldn’t even need your help.”

“If things hadn’t played out as they did, you wouldn’t be in Aradis at all,” he responds smoothly.

Ah. So he does understand why I left. It stings more, I think, than assuming he’s completely clueless.

“Played out, huh?” I say, not missing his choice of wording. “You still can’t own up to it, can you?”

“And what would that be, vulture?” he says, letting the last word bite a little.

“That this is your fault. This whole fucking mess. Me being here. Us—” I make a noise, cutting myself off. It’s too raw, spelling it out for him when I so desperately want him to just get it on his own—why what he did made it impossible for me to stay. Why it hurt so much. Why it still hurts.

“That’s very neat, Leah,” he says coolly. “But I had to work with circumstances beyond my control. So when it comes to fault⁠—”

“Hey! Want a partner?”

I whip around to see Rowan jogging up, my anger cooling quickly into the nerves I always feel when I’m caught roaming around with Syrus in my head.

“Oh no,” Syrus groans at the sight of him. “It’s soldier boy.”

I ignore him, biting my lip as I wonder how to answer Rowan. “Um…”

The real answer is no, I don’t want a partner right now. Right now, I want to push Syrus on these so-called “circumstances” he mentioned, to find out exactly how he justifies trying to control me and lying about it.

But Rowan is grinning at me in that easy, friendly way that makes rejecting him feel on par with kicking a puppy.

Okay, maybe not kicking a puppy, so much as a sleek, fully grown, pedigreed hunting hound. But I’d still feel like a bully.

“Come on,” Rowan says. “I bet you could use the company. I heard you had a fight with Filippa, and to be honest, you looked like you were having an argument with yourself just now.”

“You had an argument with your cousin?” Syrus asks.

That’s exactly why I should say yes to Rowan—a nice, uncomplicated guy who thinks to check in on me just because he heard I might be having a hard time. He’s a world away from the demon lord I’m tangled up with in so many ways. A demon who might’ve known about Filippa and me if he’d thought to ask how I’m doing, rather than use every conversation as an attempt to gain ground with me, to wrestle back a few inches of power and control. That’s the kind of attitude that got us into this mess.

“I’d love a partner,” I say, giving Rowan a bright smile, which he returns, encouraged.

Syrus doesn’t say anything. It seems he’s starting to realize that talking when I’m with other people puts me at risk. But he does make his disapproval known in the way his presence moves inside my mind, scraping its claws and flicking its tail in warning.

I lift Swiftwing, showing it to Rowan. “My grandfather gave me this sword. It’s supposed to help me channel my foresight.”

Rowan’s eyes widen, a flash of envy passing through them. “Wow. You have a divining blade? They’re so rare these days. Though I suppose it makes sense the Illidores would have one. Your bloodline is so old.”

I already felt guilty about being given the sword, and his reaction doesn’t help. I haven’t earned this powerful, important thing. I don’t even really understand its worth. But I resolve then, in that moment, to live up to the expectation that comes with it. Garion gifted it to me for a reason. He thinks it will help Aphelion and the people suffering there. I owe it to them to make good use of it.

“Do you know how it works?” I ask Rowan. “I can’t feel anything when I’m using it.”