Page 44 of Demon Touched

“The seraphim are the only ones allowed to consult with it regularly,” he says. “But there are whispers that it’s been used for the trials in the past.”

I nod. “That’s what I’ve heard too.” As we finish up our stretches, I offer Rowan a hint of my own as a show of faith, seeing as he’s been so open with me. “In fact, I’ve heard a rumor it’ll be involved in this season’s trials too.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Wow, thanks.” He thinks for a moment. “I mean, I don’t think it’s so terrible if we know that. It’s not like it’s something we can really prepare for either way,” he rationalizes.

“Agreed,” I say, a little glumly. I was hoping I could prepare for it, but apparently not. At least there’s a little comfort in knowing no one around here will be any more prepared than me.

“Do you feel better?” Rowan asks brightly. “Want to keep sparring?”

“Ancestors, you really don’t let up, do you?” I laugh. “Aren’t you tired?”

He shrugs. “Yes, but that’s what great warriors do—push through the tiredness out to the other side.”

“All right, we’ll go once more,” I say. The stretches have only reminded me that if my wings don’t come in soon, I’ll need every other skillset I can master to survive the trials.

“So all your family live in Aphelion?” I ask as we start to circle around each other, waiting for the other to strike.

“Yeah, apart from those in the Brigade, which is quite a few of us actually. Roryn’s stationed in Luminis right now.” Rowan drives forward, but I manage to dodge him, catching his blade as I go. “What about you? Do you miss Strata?”

I realize it’s one of the first times anyone in Aradis has asked me about where I come from. And maybe that’s for the best. If I don’t think about it, I can’t wonder about the answer to that question.

Rowan takes advantage of my distraction to catch me off guard, and I barely manage to block his next strike in time.

“It’s complicated,” I say as we go back to circling.

Homesickness won’t help me fit in here in Aradis. I need to be focused on making a new home for myself somewhere I can actually afford to stay. Sure, I’m desperate to see Evie again, and Hodges, and walk along the Sideris as the setting sun hits the water and sets the city walls ablaze with golden light. But all that can come later, after I’ve survived the trials, after I’ve proven myself and earned a home in the only realm that has a place for a half-breed like me.

“How are things in Aphelion, anyway?” I ask, trying to go on the offensive for a change, darting forward. To my satisfaction, Rowan takes a quick step back. “My grandfather told me about the problems there.”

The offensive doesn’t last long. Rowan frowns and lunges, forcing me to block a particularly aggressive strike.

“Sorry,” I say, a little breathless. “Should I not have asked?”

“No,” he sighs, pulling up his sword for a moment, giving me a moment’s reprieve. “It’s just that everyone either wants to interrogate me about it all the time or would rather pretend it’s not happening at all.”

“Yeah,” I say, lowering my own sword. “My grandfather said something about people burying their heads in the sand.”

“It’s awful, not knowing what’s causing it,” he says, and I’m struck by the anguish in his voice. “Some say it’s the demons—that they’ve somehow smuggled the blight into Aradis. But even if they have, that doesn’t explain how they made it. It’s powerful stuff—and the way it spreads from plants to people? I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say. His words have me thinking about when Syrus and I spied on the Stratan trade rift to Aradis all those weeks ago. I’d thought the ephilium were being weirdly cagey back then—checking and double-checking all the cargo going through the rift. But it makes sense now. If they were worried that the blight was being transported in, of course they were being cautious.

“I just hope General Illidore manages to get Luminis to open a proper investigation,” Rowan says. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. I mean, after Seraphs Ikcros and Saladine, he’s basically the most respected person in Aphelion.”

The reverence in his tone when he speaks of Garion makes something finally snap into place. So that’s why Rowan’s been so friendly. Of course he’s a nice guy, but I always knew his interest in me couldn’t purely be about him feeling sorry for—or even attracted to—a wingless nephilim. My family name is clearly part of the draw, even if it’s hard to judge exactly how much. After all, I’ve never seen Rowan express any romantic interest in Filippa.

But then she doesn’t have the general’s approval like you do. It’s a mercenary thought, but maybe not totally wrong. Rowan knows Garion gave me Swiftwing, and that must mark me out as Garion’s favored fledgling.

“Come on then,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and casual. “Show me what you’ve really got.”

As I suspected, my challenge works to cheer him up. Rowan seems to unlock a new plane of determination—or maybe he’s just decided to stop holding back. Even with Swiftwing, I struggle to keep up, and soon he’s catching my elbows and knees with the flat of his blade, light touches as he toys with me. I instinctively retreat, trying to get out of reach, and then we’re moving across the field, dancing around each other.

Rowan might be having fun, but he’s awakened my competitive edge too, and I can feel my frustration growing as he dodges every counterstrike I send his way. If he’d just stay still for a second…

An unexpected image comes into my mind of Syrus sticking my feet in place with the force of his magic. It sends a prickling feeling over my skin and then⁠—

Rowan’s whole body jerks, and then he’s tripping backward, falling to the ground.

“Whoa, are you all right?” I ask, feeling almost as shocked as Rowan looks. I offer my hand, but in typical ephilium style, he ignores it in favor of getting to his feet on his own.