Page 85 of Demon Touched

“Syrus,” I say with warning.

He huffs out a sigh. “Very well. I’ll behave.”

I don’t pay much attention to dinner after that. I speak when spoken to, keeping my responses polite but brief, feeling Garion watching me from the end of the table with a cold, calculating gaze. When it becomes clear I’m not going to be very entertaining, the other guests stop addressing me much, and I’m allowed to sit back and observe.

What I see is a complicated web of hierarchies. People defer to each other or assert authority along pre-established lines I clearly don’t understand. But I can safely assume a lot of it has to do with bloodlines, military prowess, and family status. There’s lots of people with Aphelion links here, but some big names from Luminis too. Garion seems to share an uneasy leadership of the Aphelion group with Ustarne. Mostly equals, but occasionally jostling each other to be seen as the dominant one.

I also notice that Rowan clearly adores his brother Roryn, looking up to him in a way I’ve never seen him do with the cadets or even the instructors at the academy. When Roryn brags to Garion about Rowan being the top of all his classes at school, Rowan practically levitates with pride.

Syrus shifts restlessly as I listen in.

“Not a word,” I murmur to him.

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything…” he replies. “Other than mentioning that soldier boy might put a dent in his armor if his chest puffs up anymore.”

I hide my smirk with a strategic sip of my drink.

As the meal winds down, I notice Garion and Ustarne discussing something intensely at the end of the table. Eventually, Garion nods and Ustarne stands, clearing his throat. The guests go quiet, turning toward him.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’m sorry to say we haven’t invited you here tonight simply to enjoy good company.” He smiles, but there’s a serious look in his eyes. “As you’ll all be aware, Aphelion has been dealing with a problem over the last few years that the seraphim have ignored.”

I’m careful to keep my expression neutral. Do these people not know about Captain Pellery’s investigation, or are they deliberately not mentioning it? There don’t seem to be any objections to Ustarne’s statement, though there’s a flutter of unease from some of the guests when he mentions the seraphim.

“That might sound harsh,” Garion says, rising from his seat too. “But if you had seen firsthand the worst effects of the blight, you’d share our concerns about Luminis’s leadership. Which is why I have brought an example here for you tonight.”

People straighten in their seats as Garion gestures to one of the servants. She ducks out, only to return with a second person moments later.

He’s dressed in simple clothes, a loose leather jerkin and cotton pants. There’s no gold, flowing fabric, or armor to be seen. The sleeves of his brown shirt are rolled up high and his collar pulled open so we can get the full effect of the damage to his skin.

His flesh is raw and dimpled with pustules, crusted white in places, and with bulbous yellow blisters in others. Some of them have burst, leaving pink, weeping sores that look ripe for infection. His wings are dull, with clumps of feathers missing, red membrane visible beneath. It’s like he’s been trapped outside in the baking sun for days on end—roasted alive.

“Yeln is a farmer from Riverhole,” Ustarne says. “You can see that the blight has struck him badly.”

“Others have it worse, sir,” Yeln says quietly. “It’s hardest on children, and older folk. Some of them are dying.”

At a fancy dinner in Strata, the ladies and gentlemen would likely recoil at the sight of him, but these are ephilium, so they sit up straight and take in his wounds without shock. But when I study their faces, I see traces of reaction there—anger, calculation, and a flicker of horror over what Yeln’s body has been reduced to, how visibly weakened he is.

“That’s precisely why you’re here,” Ustarne says to him. “The seraphs should face up to reality.”

Yeln shifts restlessly, apparently not satisfied with this. “We need help, now. Why doesn’t anyone have answers?” His voice starts to rise, agitated. “They say it’s not catching. But then how does it spring up? There are new cases every day. And that’s not even getting to the crops⁠—”

“Thank you, Yeln,” Garion says, cutting him off. “It’s important that people see what the seraphs are ignoring.”

He doesn’t look at Yeln while he speaks though, and a moment later, Garion’s dismissed the farmer. The whole thing leaves me with a nasty taste in my mouth. Yeln was paraded in front of us like a zoo animal—a useful prop to display and then discard before addressing the guests again.

“You all know that Luminis hoards power, keeping it from Aphelion and Celadis,” he says. “For too long, we have meekly accepted our place in the order of things, but now Luminis’s failures of governance are hurting us all. The time has come to restore balance, to create true equality between the three regions.”

“Quite the speech,” Syrus murmurs into my mind, unenthused.

“He sounds like he’s more worried about who has the power than who’s actually being harmed by the blight,” I reply. I’m seeing what Captain Pellery described about my grandfather play out in front of my own eyes. It makes me trust her more but also makes me question why I’m here.

“I think that’s a fair assessment,” Syrus replies. “You can always make your excuses and leave, you know,” he suggests.

“You’re right,” I say, surprised. Leaving early might annoy Garion, but I’ve given him enough of my time this evening.

“It has been known to happen,” Syrus says smugly.

He’s decidedly less smug when Rowan catches me trying to sneak out after people rise from the table for more socializing over after-dinner drinks.