Page 64 of Demon Touched

“Thanks,” I say breathlessly when we’re nearly an hour in and taking a brief break. Even though we’re on solid ground, we both keep moving, cycling through various stretches so that if Baxir looks over, he can’t accuse us of slacking. “I feel like I’m finally picking up a bunch. I’ve been watching you all this whole time, but it definitely makes more sense now that I’m not stuck down here anymore.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have mastered them in no time, probably.” She’s not being sarcastic, but her tone is uncharacteristically flat, and she looks away from me when she speaks.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, knowing that there definitely is.

Filippa continues to stare out across the training fields. I notice her fingers tightening against her palm.

“Why did you do it?” she says suddenly, as if she doesn’t mean for the words to tumble out. “You knew I didn’t want to speak the general last night, and you still dragged me along with you.”

I figured her mood was probably from something to do with her—our—family, but I’m surprised at this specific question.

“I guess I didn’t want you to miss out,” I say. “I wanted you to be included.”

She laughs bitterly. “Miss out? On that humiliation ritual?”

“It wasn’t humili⁠—”

“It was,” she snaps. “Especially with my mother there. I hate the way she looks at me when he’s around.” She folds her arms across her chest, almost hugging herself. “I can deal with being a disappointment when it’s just me having to put up with it, but Mom finds it so hard. I don’t want her to go through that.”

I bite my lip. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I was making things worse for Filippa. “I was just trying to help⁠—”

“I didn’t ask you to, Leah!” Filippa throws her hands down by her sides, her voice raw with frustration.

Shit. It hits especially hard because it’s not the first time someone has said that to me. Many months ago, I stood in my father’s house while Evie basically hurled those same words at me. Am I just some self-important asshole who thinks she knows better than everyone? That’s not who I want to be.

I take a step back. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll stop meddling.”

Filippa sighs, yanking her wings open. “I hate this. I hate spending every fucking day doing shit I’m terrible at. I hate being a bitch to you. I—” She hesitates, then grinds out the words. “I hate him.”

I consider telling her what Pellery said about the general—about not trusting him or his motivations—but I doubt hearing other people hate on Garion will make her feel much better. And anyway, she’s already taking off, flying away back to the others despite it risking her getting in trouble with Baxir.

This time, I don’t follow.

Chapter 19

Syrus

“You know, this stuff isn’t half bad,” Asterim says, helping herself to another spoonful of stew at the table in our guest quarters.

Viz wrinkles his nose, poking halfheartedly at a roll. “It’s horrible. Everything here tastes so bland and…sunny.”

The ephilium might be keeping us in the Seraph Seat building—something about friends being close and enemies closer, no doubt—but at least they haven’t insisted we eat every meal with them. Frankly, I think the ephilium are as pleased with this arrangement as I am. They might be willing to discuss peace, but that doesn’t mean anyone here wants to break bread with a demon lord. And for us, we get long stretches of time to make plans privately.

“Don’t be dramatic, Viz,” Aster rolls her eyes. “You can’t taste sunshine.”

Viz sniffs. “Maybe you can’t because you’ve killed all your tastebuds with alcohol over the last three centuries, but I definitely can.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. It’s bright red from the ephilium wine she’s been drinking.

“Ugh. I rest my case,” Viz says.

“You’re both right,” I say from my position over by the window. “The food is a bit bland, but it’s perfectly palatable.”

“Our diplomacy cover story has gone to your head,” Viz tuts.

“You should be so lucky,” I toss back, checking the clock over the ostentatious fireplace. It’s later than I expected, and I straighten up.

“Are you both ready?” I ask, more abruptly than I’d intended. “I told her to fly in at one o’clock precisely.”