Page 82 of Demon Touched

Fuck. Not Efram. A sweet, sunny guy who got a little too enthusiastic when talking about his war heroes. I can’t stop the tear that trickles down my cheek, though I try to wipe it away discreetly. I catch Rowan watching me again. His own face is drawn tight with sadness, but I wonder if he’s asking himself why I’d shed a tear for Efram but not my own cousin. I hope he writes it off as grief being a strange, erratic emotion.

I admit I start to detach after a while, letting the endless names wash over me like some kind of mournful chant. Until one name in particular punctuates the fog of sadness:

“Keros Perichor.”

Silence.

I whip my head up, searching the crowd, not quite believing it. Did something good actually come out of this trial?

“That’s strange,” Rowan murmurs. “I could’ve sworn he made it back through the rift.”

“He did,” whispers Neris as I watch Baxir lean in to Hasteed and speak quietly to her. “But he had an accident last night.”

Hasteed looks puzzled, then nods at Baxir and makes a note on her scroll. She moves on to the next name without saying a word about the Everlight.

“So he didn’t die?” Rowan asks at the same time as I say, “What kind of accident?”

Neris gives her head a little shake. “I’ll tell you after.”

It comes out when we’re sitting on the grass by the training field. “So apparently he was sleepwalking, and he went out his window,” Neris explains.

“What?” Rowan looks incredulous. “But surely even if he didn’t wake up, his instincts would’ve kicked in. I mean, his wings⁠—”

“Nope,” Neris says. “I heard he was in too deep a sleep. He didn’t open his wings, and they were both broken on impact. Completely shattered, along with his legs. He’s lucky to be alive.”

But perhaps not so lucky to live in a realm where healers are few and far between.

I don’t feel bad for Keros—not after he tried to murder me—but I do feel a strange twinge of something.

What was his name? Syrus asked me last night, and I answered without thinking, practically signing his execution order. I have to admit, there’s a certain poetic justice to it. The punishment certainly fits the crime, and I have to appreciate how much everyone will think Keros is an idiot for doing it to himself. No one will have the slightest reason to suspect Syrus, since there’s no known reason for him—or his best friend who can make people fall into the deepest of sleeps—to have a grudge against Keros.

I shouldn’t like it, knowing that Syrus did this for me. But I do. And if that isn’t a testament to how twisted up we’ve become together, I don’t know what is. Still, I don’t reject the feeling, not yet. I just let it sit with me, storing it away in the same place I’m keeping my feelings about that kiss.

When I get back to my room, I find an envelope under my door. It’s a message from Garion, inviting me to a dinner in the city tonight with a group of important people I apparently have to meet. Of course, it’s not so much an invitation as an order. I wonder if there was an invitation intended for Filippa too.

Then I wonder if he and her mom even know she’s missing yet.

The academy probably notifies them, but I don’t know when. And whether they do it before this dinner or not, someone needs to explain to Filippa’s family that she’s actually okay.

It’s only when I’m getting ready to leave that evening that I get a knock on my door. I open it to see Rowan looking polished in his fledgling uniform. I suppress a groan.

“You got invited too?” I guess.

“Yes.” He ducks his head. “My brother’s going to be there. And I thought you might want the company after…”

Right. After my cousin “died” yesterday.

“Is that what we’re meant to be wearing?” I ask, gesturing to his uniform. I was going to just shove on the neatest pair of black pants and shirt I own, but that might earn me Garion’s ire if there’s a dress code we’re supposed to follow.

Rowan blinks, not expecting this question.

“Er, yes. Apart from the ball, this is the customary attire for fledglings at events.”

“Okay, let me change then.”

It at least gives me a moment to collect my thoughts. I don’t know if I can tell Rowan about Filippa without getting myself in serious trouble, and I definitely shouldn’t tell him before her family knows, but it’s so awkward, having to pretend to him like I’m devastated.

As I pull on my shoes, I decide the best strategy is just to stay quiet and withdrawn. He’ll understand that, and it at least means I won’t feel like I’m lying to him.