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Stavros takes the supposed insult in stride. “Just make sure you’re not out so late you’re groggy for our morning class.”
I let sarcasm color my tone. “You have my full dedication.”
I hold my head high as I carry the plate through the doorway.
The royal guards are so used to bizarre but innocuous behavior from spoiled nobles that neither of the two stationed by the front gate remarks on my cargo. They don’t care where I eat my apparent late-evening snack.
As I head down the road between the college’s walls and the Temple of the Crown, I tuck the small plate close to my side under the fall of my cloak. A few worshippers leaving the temple glance at me on my way up the steps, but none of their gazes linger.
What I’m doing isn’t against any law or standard of propriety, but it is a little unusual. I’d rather not encourage questions.
The vast inner worship hall still overwhelms me when I step beneath its looming ceiling. I swallow thickly and push myself on toward the base of the central tower, the thick column that extends from the ground floor to high above the rest of the roof.
The tower where I sealed Wendos’s fate and in some ways my own as well.
I haven’t set foot on the spiral staircase since that evening. Girding myself, I begin the climb.
Julita’s presence stirs.Are you sure this is the best place to reach out to the daimon?
I shrug. “We know there were some up here when Wendos was orchestrating his plans. And they’re divine spirits, right? They probably like hanging out in temples in general—when they’re not making mischief elsewhere.”
Let’s hope they don’t decide to hassle you too badly.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that.” The city’s wandering spirit-creatures haven’t disturbed anyone at the college since that night. I doubt theywantedto fling around glass during the ball or knock down part of the Quadring—it was the scourge sorcerers imposing their magic on the invisible beings.
But my brief encounter with a couple of them in the woods near the conspirators’ bonfire reminded me of how much they might still be affected by the tactics inflicted on them. The scourge sorcerers manipulated them before—and maybe still are in some way we haven’t uncovered.
The daimon might be able to reveal things I haven’t learned through other means. Anything I can do to bring our investigations and my cozying up to the scourge sorcerers to an end, I’m all for.
I keep climbing until I reach the first slightly wider platform above the level of the roof. Narrow marble pillars frame an alcove with three arched windows. The floor is bare, but lingering traces of wax speak of previous acts of worship.
I set the plate in the middle of the alcove and kneel next to it. No one’s sure that daimon ever actually consume the traditional food offerings people leave for them, but I hope they at least appreciate the gesture. This is a finer spread than the scraps of meat and fruit they’d typically receive.
Bowing my head, I extend my senses to check for any trace of magical presence. Nothing catches my attention, but that’s not totally unexpected. The spirit-creatures roam all through our world, but I’ve only noticed traces of their energy when they’re particularly riled up.
I inhale slowly, listening hard to confirm there are no human lurkers nearby, and launch into my plea in a low voice.
“Daimon of the city, I offer these delicacies in thanks for the peace you’ve given us in the past few weeks. I know you were forced to harm us. I’d like to make sure that never happens again. If there’s anything you can show me about the people who manipulated you so I can expose them and stop them, I open myself to your help.”
Closing my eyes, I will my breath to even out. Will the tension out of my body, as much as I’m capable of it.
If I’m too tightly guarded, who knows if the daimon will be able to convey anything at all?
For the first few minutes, there’s only the cooling breeze drifting through the windows and the pang spreading through my knees from my position on the hard floor. Then a quiver of sensation brushes past my arm.
My pulse hiccups, but I hold myself still and calm. The quiver grazes my skin again, tickling over my neck and across my scalp. Another faint impression glides over my hands.
An emotion that isn’t my own seeps into my chest: a pang of regret that feels like an apology. Then a tremor passes through my mind, giving me a flash of that high tower room, my fall on the steps, the pressure of the spirits pinning me down.
A lump rises in my throat. “I know it wasn’t your idea to hurt me. He was controlling you. Do you know how he managed it? Or what else the people like him were hoping to do? Who else was working with him?”
The memory fractures into a blur of jumbled images that I can’t make any sense of. Maybe that’s the daimon’s way of indicating they’ve got no answers to my questions.
I settle my nerves as well as I can and give it another shot. “Are they leaving you alone now, or are they still trying to push you around?”
That question results in an immediate jolt of distress. A rush of heat sweeps through me, tightening around my body.
Behind my closed eyelids, I catch a glimpse of billowing flames. But it’s dark inside the fire, so dark and cramped, like my very soul is being squeezed—
