Page 54 of Demon Touched

If the connection can even be broken.

Something Syrus said right before I fell made me unsure about that, though I can’t remember exactly what. The panic of plummeting to my death makes it kind of fuzzy. But he could clear things right up if he’d just show up already. For him to just ignore me after what happened feels uncharacteristically cruel.

And maybe he has a good reason, but if he never explains himself, then we’re still stuck in the same exhausting loop of distrust and dishonesty. Which is so fucking painful because it puts this distance between us when I need him most—and when I’m sure he feels he needs me too.

It’s worse when I get back to my room and don’t have someone to distract me anymore. When I close my eyes, I’m still falling, still watching the ground hurtle up toward me, anticipating being ripped from this world. It makes my hands shake and my chest tighten.

If Syrus was here, he’d still my tremoring fingers and run his soothing presence through my body until I felt like I could breathe again. Maybe it’s selfish of me, weak and hypocritical to want that after spending so much time pushing him away. But I’ve tried to let him go, haven’t I? It’s him who won’t allow it.

I’m only human—well, only nephilim—and there’s only so long I can resist him. Or resist the pull of my own heart.

He doesn’t come find me during the night. I don’t sleep well, my head still aching from Keros’s attack, and in the end, I rise early and head to the training fields.

Then, with the pale sun only just peeking over the academy roofs, I go flying.

It’s exhilarating, to rise up and see the world from a new perspective. The movement of my wings comes as naturally as before, throwing up a breeze around my face as I ride an air current upward. I’m not as fast or graceful as the other fledglings—not yet—but at least I’m up here, coasting in the turquoise blue at last.

It works to clear my head a little, chasing away some of the horror of falling yesterday. In fact, I get so swept up in my new ability that before I know it, it’s nearly noon, and I have to eat and start getting ready for the ball.

I head back to my room after I’ve grabbed some food from the dining hall. Filippa’s lent me some makeup, and Garion organized for someone to send me a dress that won’t shame the Illidore family. I take my time getting ready, twisting small braids into my hair. But the positive effects of flying practice are fading fast. I’m halfheartedly applying rouge when there’s a knock at my door.

I open it to see Rowan standing there in a very sharp outfit, part armor, part tailored uniform, all gold and white. For today, fledglings aren’t required to wear bronze, apparently. He leans against the doorframe, smiling.

“So, I hear you had an eventful day yesterday,” he says, staring over my head at my wings.

“Very boring actually,” I say. “A total snooze.”

He laughs, a little too hard for such a mediocre joke.

“They look great.” He gestures to my feathers. “Unusual but…er…interesting.”

“Thanks,” I say slowly. Interesting is not exactly the highest of praise.

“I came to make sure you’re still coming to the ball,” he says. “Filippa seemed to think you might make some excuse and pull out last minute.”

“I have no idea where she’d get that theory,” I deadpan, crossing my arms. Rowan’s smile widens.

“Come on, it won’t be terrible. You might even end up enjoying yourself,” he says.

I’m hit with a sense of familiarity, my mind drifting to Aster begging me to come out with her and have some fun in Infernum.

“Will there be dancing?” I ask, starting to nibble my lip before I remember the lipstick on it.

He laughs and then stops himself when he realizes I’m serious. “Oh, no. It’s not—well, it’s an important event.”

Right, and dancing isn’t important. I know a small, purple demon who’d have something to say about that. Probably not any laughing or flirting, either, she’d say. Darkness forbid they actually have fun of any kind. They should just own up and call it a drudgery instead.

“So just a lot of standing around and talking to notable people?” I ask.

“Yes, exactly. No dancing to worry about, I promise,” Rowan says, misreading me. Little does he know, I like dancing. It’s one of the few times I can really cut loose—to feel free, even if I’m definitely not.

“So,” he says, his eyes scanning the training clothes I’m still wearing. “You’re coming, right?”

I sigh and drop my arms. “Yes, all right. I just have to put my dress on. Wait here.”

A few minutes later, I’m opening the door again, now fastened into a bodice of golden metal, which looks a bit like a breastplate, except it’s cut far too low to protect vital arteries and organs, emphasizing the expanse of skin between my cleavage and collar bones. Swathes of white fabric fall in light layers around my hips, with more draping loosely over my shoulders, leaving my back bare for my wings to sit comfortably over the bodice.

As I meet Rowan’s approving gaze, I’m just now realizing it looks very similar to his outfit. Is that coincidence? Maybe his family and mine order from the same tailor in Aphelion? However it happened, we look very matchy as we join up with a larger group of fledglings, including Filippa, her dress a stream of pale-blue fabric falling from a silver cuff around her neck. It does nothing for her complexion, the colors washing her out. Or making her fade into the background, a grim thought suggests as I wonder who picked it for her.