Page 83 of Demon Touched

We fly in relative silence to the dinner hosted by one of Garion’s friends—a wealthy, politically significant friend, if the size of his house is anything to go by. We’re shown into a reception room, and the host—a tall, jocular man called Ustarne—is soon dragging us around for introductions. From the ball, I recognize a pale, thin woman named Daela who’s part of the Worlal bloodline, and her cousin, Serlas, an ephilium with an impressive mustache.

“Used to be a huge businessman in Aphelion,” Rowan murmurs to me. “Then he sold up everything and moved to Luminis to get into politics.”

And of course, I remember Rowan’s brother, Roryn, who is easy to spot in his gold Brigade armor. I briefly wonder if he ever takes it off; Rowan won’t if he makes it to the Brigade, so probably not.

We’ve been there almost half an hour when Garion emerges from a side chamber with a few more friends. I approach him, my stomach tying itself in knots.

“General, sir, may I have a word with you?” I ask.

“Leah!” he says, sounding about as pleased as Garion, in all his seriousness, probably can. “It’s a shame you couldn’t have been more punctual,” he says, looking down his nose at me. “But I’m glad you’re here at last.”

Ustarne, Daela, and Roryn all float over, and Rowan’s at my elbow.

“I’ve heard good things about your conduct in the trial yesterday,” Garion continues, performing for our audience. “Apparently, General Sawler was most impressed.”

I stare at him. If he knows about what went on in the battle, then surely he’s heard about Filippa. I glance at Rowan, who gives me an uncomfortable look in return, but says nothing. I can feel suspicions growing, and those suspicions are making me pretty fucking angry.

“That’s actually why I need to have a word with you, General. In private, if you don’t mind.” I manage to hold on to my temper enough to sound polite, but I still say it pointedly enough that Garion hears the warning in it.

“Very well,” he says, slowly stepping aside to gesture to the chamber he just came out of. “I won’t be a moment, ladies and gentleman,” he says to his friends.

“All right then, what is it?” he asks as soon as the door is closed.

“You’ve heard about the second trial, sir,” I say, setting down my drink and crossing my arms.

“Yes,” he says, still impatient. “I thought that was clear.”

“Then maybe you’ve heard that Filippa didn’t come back from Strata.”

I wait for a moment of shock, perhaps some denial. And maybe, just maybe, the twist of sadness on his features.

There’s nothing.

“Yes, I heard,” he says, his voice impatient, like he’s annoyed that I’m wasting his time with information he already knows.

I drop my arms, astounded. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? It was inevitable.” He shoves his arms behind his back, clasping one hand in the other, like he’s about to inspect a regiment. “The girl was never going to make it through the trials. At least she had the sense to die on the battlefield where at least we can claim for her the glory of defending her realm in death. Better that than embarrassing us all by failing the trials.”

My blood is boiling, and I’m struggling to see anything but red. What a selfish, heartless bastard. Power moves beneath my skin—not the buzz of my lightning, but the dark, hungry prickle of my shadow magic, whispering to be unleashed.

I credit years of suffering my stepmother’s abuse to the way I manage to maintain my composure.

I clear my throat and push my hands behind my back to hide the way they’re shaking with rage. Then I level a cold, hard stare at my grandfather.

“No one saw Filippa go down, so really she is missing, presumed dead, but it’s not confirmed.” My voice is at least steadier than my hands. “So personally, I hope she’s still out there in Strata, perhaps healing from some injury, and she’ll come back to us.”

Garion looks at me with a mix between frustration and disdain.

“That’s a pretty dream, Leah, but the sooner you accept your cousin’s passing, the better. You need to focus on what lies ahead. You did well in the second trial—it’s known that you helped save the western flank. The Illidore name is in people’s mouths. Be proud of that, and start preparing for what the next trial will bring.”

The Illidore name. Of course that’s all he cares about.

I won’t tell Garion that Filippa’s alive, I decide. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve her as a granddaughter. And if nothing else, I can anticipate the look on his stupid face when she comes back from Strata, alive and well.

“Now, let us stop being rude and return to the party,” he says, pivoting on his heel and making for the door.

“It was Filippa,” I say as his hand lands on the doorknob.