Page 74 of Demon Touched

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Wouldn’t the Brigade have scouts to spot that?”

Filippa shakes her head. “They won’t realize it’s a lord. The contingent with him appears to be small, and they’re careful to make it look like the prongs are collapsing from external attacks. But I watched long enough to be sure. He’s doing something that’s getting under us and ripping the bottom out of our offensive. I think there’s animals involved. Birds, maybe? General Sawler might know.”

I think of Syrus’s ability to communicate with all kinds of beasts. Can Lord Midane do something similar? It’s possible. And I trust Filippa’s instincts.

“I’ll go warn General Sawler,” I say. “You just make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Something in her eyes tightens, and her gaze falls on Swiftwing, still clutched tightly in my hand, the tip colored a glossy green from demon blood.

“Sure,” she says, as if biting down on saying something else.

As she rises back up above the battle, I turn toward the heart of the western flank. In there, past rows of supernaturals trying to pull each other apart, I can see the flash of the general’s plumed helmet.

I take a deep breath. Do I want the ephilium to win this battle? Not particularly. But I do want my friends to survive, and I need to do well in these trials.

I plunge into the fray, trying to move as fast as possible toward the general, dodging projectiles and shadows as I go.

Something slams into me, and I twist over in the air, righting myself just in time to see a female demon charging toward me. It’s the axe-wielding soldier I disarmed several minutes ago. I guess she’s holding a grudge, and my unique wings make me easy to find again to get some retribution. It looks like she couldn’t retrieve her weapon, but she has a shadow shield with her now. I can’t get Swiftwing in position in time before she’s smashing into me again, shield-first, wrapping a strong hand around my shoulder as she pins my arms to my front with the sheet of metal.

She sinks her claws into the exposed line of my neck just below the edge of my helmet, making me scream. She’s damn close to ripping my throat out, and my sword and both my hands are trapped between my breastplate and her shield. Even if I wanted to conjure lightning, I’d only end up hurting myself.

But lightning isn’t the only thing I can conjure.

I reach inside myself for something else, bringing the prickling sensation of demon magic rushing to the surface. A plume of shadow squeezes past her shield, which is designed only to stop ephilium magic. I concentrate, and the shadow darts toward the demon’s face, her expression slackening with shock as darkness invades her open mouth. She chokes, blindsided, and loosens her hold on me as she clutches a hand to her neck.

I’m not good enough with shadows to cause serious damage. She coughs hard, and I can already see the magic starting to dissipate, but it gives me the wiggle room I need. I yank Swiftwing out from behind the shield, stabbing into the leathery black membrane by the demon’s shoulder. She screeches, and I can’t help but wince as I drag the sword through her wing, nearly ripping it in two. Then with one, hard shove, I throw her off me, and she plummets to the ground.

Breathless and bloody, I watch her fall before quickly checking around me to make sure no one saw my trick with the shadow. But everyone is too busy with their own fights to spare even a glance for me.

I thought these trials were supposed to be about people distinguishing themselves, but how can anyone do that in this sprawl of death and chaos?

I brush the thought aside, pushing forward until I’m at the general’s elbow—with a blade placed at my throat.

“Shit,” she says, withdrawing the sword as she takes a closer look at me. “I thought you were demon scum for a minute there, fledgling.” Her eyes move over my feathers. “Those wings…” she mutters.

“One of the fledglings has spotted something, General,” I exhale heavily, aware of just how close I came to losing my head. “We think there’s an impending sneak attack on the western prong from a demon lord.”

She looks out to where the Brigade is advancing deeper into the Infernum line.

“Talk fast,” she says.

After I’ve explained about Lord Midane, Sawler is quick to dispatch soldiers to spread the word and sends me back to my post with the fledglings. I watch anxiously from afar as the battle changes shape, shifting and reforming like a creature in metamorphosis. Rather than concentrating their efforts on the existing prong past Infernum’s line, Sawler sends a second offensive low. Too low for me to see what’s happening until the first prong splits and expands, golden forces streaming past the Infernum front line. There’s an explosion from one side—small, black shapes and a thick fog of shadow. I squint, trying to make out what Midane’s been using to undermine our attacks, but I’m too far away. Whatever it is, Sawler’s tactics have driven it into the light—no more sneak attacks for Infernum today.

It turns the tide faster than I expected, but then the battle was raging since before we got here. With their strategy torn apart, Infernum decides to cut its losses. Three large rifts go up across the battlefield, revealing glimpses of a purple sky beyond. My heart clenches a little at the sight of it, but I’m startled out of that emotion when the demon army starts to retreat through the rifts, and a shout of triumph goes up through the Brigade.

The ephilium army chases the demon troops down as they retreat. Several of the fledglings join in, buoyed up by victory after the grind of battle. I stay where I am at the rear of the western flank. I don’t feel like I’ve won anything today, and I certainly don’t want to cut open any more demons.

Instead of watching the carnage I helped create, I look out toward Pax. I’ve avoided looking at it until now to keep from being distracted. But now I take in the way the bright Stratan sunlight hits the city walls. Seeing it from this angle, I can’t help but think how small it looks. My whole world was contained in those walls for a time. How complicated I’d thought things were then. Now—blood-soaked and demon touched and full of winger magic—how relatively simple that life now seems to me.

“Illidore!” Mila, the fledgling I saved from the blood projectile, weaves toward me. “I saw your cousin. She was injured. Some demon scout that caught her on the edges of the battle.”

“What?” Panic tightens my chest. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. She got away, but she was bleeding badly. They’re opening the rift back to the academy soon. You might want to make sure she gets herself through it,” Mila says meaningfully.

Because if Filippa doesn’t get through the rift, she’ll be left here. My nausea returns.

“Thanks,” I throw out before taking off, searching for a glimpse of brown hair and hazel eyes. The minutes tick by, and I know I’m running out of time.