Page 7 of Demon Touched

I keep that to myself, though. No need to go around ruffling any feathers.

“That was my thinking,” General Garion says, much less amused. “She lived in my house for four months, during which time we had a relationship. It must’ve produced a child, though I never heard from Leah again after my wife’s baby was born and Leah returned to Strata.”

“She hid the nephilim from you,” Seraph Wyvier says, sounding disapproving.

But not of Garion. I blink, wondering if the ephilium do anything normally. This man just admitted to a room full of people that he cheated on his sick wife while she was pregnant, and he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed or ashamed. Meanwhile, the seraphim seem to think my grandmother was the real villain of this tale—the human with the audacity to hide her own child from the wingers who definitely would have stolen my mother away back to Aradis if they’d known about her.

“And where are Leah and my daughter now?” Garion asks me.

“Dead,” I say. “My grandmother before I was born, my mother nearly twenty years ago.”

As I’m coming to expect, there’s little reaction from the general. I find myself hoping my mother grew up thinking her father really was the quiet clerk my grandmother ended up marrying and not the distant, imposing figure standing in front of me.

“Well, this changes things,” Seraph Wyvier says. “The Illidore line is an illustrious one. With your blood, General, this woman is likely to be a great warrior. An asset to our realm.”

Hope buds inside me, stronger than my fear for the first time since I set foot in this building. Syrus said the pale-bloods were like this. Ephilium worship the Everlight—the shining force lit by the souls of their ancestors—which means that bringing glory to their bloodline is what matters most to them. These people know so little about me, but as long as I’m linked to some big, important general, apparently that doesn’t matter.

“We would be taking a risk with her, Wyvier,” Seraph Orelle says. “Captain Pellery’s sight is good, and I’m inclined to trust her suspicions. There’s no reason this woman couldn’t be nephilim and an Infernum spy.”

Damn it. Okay, so maybe it still matters to them a little.

“And yet we cannot sense any overt demonic magic on her,” Wyvier replies.

My hope sprouts another few inches. My mental defenses must be working to keep Syrus separated from me, and it seems no one’s picking up on my bond with him otherwise.

“If I may, your honors,” comes a melodic voice from the gathered muster—I turn to see a blonde ephilium woman with a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Why not simply imprison the nephilim and question her as we would any suspected demon agent? Release her if she reveals nothing, and execute her if she’s found guilty.”

Panic stirs in me again. If I’m locked up in Aradis, no one is coming to get me. No one even knows I’m here except for a small group of demons I’ve just burned my bridges with. I didn’t want to risk the time it would take to see Evie in Strata and tell her where I was going. If this goes badly, she’ll never even know what happened to me.

“That’s not necessary,” Garion snaps. “I would think the Illidore bloodline deserve a little more respect than being treated like some creature from the pits of Infernum.”

For the first time, I can hear real emotion in his voice. My grandfather is genuinely annoyed by this suggestion. It’s not much, but it’s nice to have someone edging toward my corner, if not actually standing in it.

“It’s not a matter of respect, General,” the woman replies, unimpressed. “But whether we should leave discussions of Aradis’s security to those generals who haven’t yet retired.”

Garion’s hand goes to the sword at his belt, resting on the pommel as his green eyes flash dangerously. Suddenly, I can see the fearsome warrior he must have been in his younger days. Pellery discreetly reaches a hand out to pull me away from my grandfather, clearly anticipating trouble.

“I’ve seen more battles than you’ve had hot dinners, child,” Garion snaps as the woman’s hand twitches toward her bow. “And if you think I’ll let a daughter of Rogin speak to me that way⁠—”

“That is enough, both of you,” Seraph Wyvier interrupts, her voice booming through the room with unnatural force as her wings flare open threateningly.

Garion and the woman drop their hands to their sides.

“Our sight is unclear where this nephilim is concerned,” Seraph Orelle says, his eyes falling on me once more. “The future is yet to reveal itself. She could be a great ally…or an enemy.”

“There must be something I can do to prove myself,” I say, wondering if I’m going to regret it as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “I mean, something that shows I’m loyal to the ephilium.” Rather than something that involves withstanding a bolt of lightning running through my body, I think grimly.

“Test her,” my grandfather says, jumping on my suggestion. “Torture is no guarantee of getting the truth, and we have ways of measuring a person’s worth that run much deeper. Test her,” he repeats, “and you’ll see that even a nephilim with Illidore blood can bring glory to this realm.”

“You’re talking about the fledgling trials,” Seraph Wyvier says, tilting her head with interest.

“Yes,” Garion replies. “They are about to begin anyway, and she is around the right age in human terms. Let her prove her worth like any other ephilium youth. And if she is a demon spy, then the trials will eventually purge her of any lingering ties to Infernum anyway.”

Seraph Orelle meets Wyvier’s gaze and slowly nods. “It’s a wise suggestion—one that both honors the Illidore line and keeps Aradis safe. Very well.”

He turns to me. “You have a choice, Leah Illidore. Imprisonment or the trials. Whether you have something to hide or not, both risk your life, but only one could bring you glory.”

And only one keeps me from being locked up.