15. Leah #2
He shifts position, moving himself more directly in front of my seat. His hands rest on the chair arms, so he’s bracketing me as he studies my face. I refuse to flush under his scrutiny, watching his eyes fall to my aching jaw, which I’m sure is sporting a pretty impressive bruise by now.
His own jaw clenches again. I distracted him for a moment, but that anger is back, probably resulting from the way I messed up at the warehouse.
“Follow with your eyes,” he says, lifting his index finger in front of my face and moving it slowly back and forth. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.
“You could have died today,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. I wonder if he’s reconsidering our deal. Would it be a good thing if Syrus realized I’m not as useful to him as he hoped? Maybe he’d release me. Or maybe he’d just keep me on the hook on the off chance he needed me again, and in the meantime, I’d wither and die.
I’d rather not take that risk. Better for me to be useful, so I can do whatever it is he needs me to do and then get out of here.
“But it’s not the first time,” I add. “I’ll be more careful going forward.”
My words only irritate him further. He drops his hand and rises, putting a few feet between us.
“I misjudged what I could achieve in your body in its current condition. I should’ve expected it, but it’s been—” He considers his words, rephrasing. “I’m not used to operating within human limitations.”
Big bad demon doesn’t know what it’s like to be vulnerable, now there’s a surprise. His phrasing rankles me, as does his anger. He’s the one who signed me up for this, and now he’s going to be pissed with me for doing my best?
“So I got a little banged up,” I say, not liking the direction this is going. “I’ll heal, and maybe next time you’ll remember I’m more breakable than you are and won’t make me try to take on three men twice my size.”
He turns to glare at me. “I could’ve used my magic to even the odds if you’d kept hold of the knife.”
My mouth opens in outrage. “Are you really blaming me—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “But next time you won’t drop it.
Because you’re going to get stronger. Your reflexes aren’t terrible, but your body doesn’t know how to fight.
I can take the reins, but without any real muscle—or muscle memory of blocks and strikes, for that matter—I can only do so much.
We’ll start rectifying that when you’re healed. ”
After I’ve healed. After I’m stronger. That sounds like a lot of waiting around—time for the possession to poison me. Anxiety sharpens my words.
“And if I refuse?” I ask. “Are you going to flay my back open like you did to that demon?”
The red in his eyes darkens. “If you don’t want to see unpleasant things, I suggest you don’t go snooping in places uninvited. That demon had to be punished.”
“What was his crime?” I demand. I want to know what infraction earns you that kind of torture in Infernum. It will help me judge exactly how close I am to that lash myself.
“He was a soul snare,” the Lord of Malice replies, turning away from me, his shoulders hunched with tension. “He made a bad deal.”
“Bad how?” I push. Surely any deal that secures a new subject for Infernum is good in the demons’ eyes.
“The human sold his soul in exchange for revenge on someone. The snare not only agreed but severely overstepped in holding up his side of the bargain. He didn’t just bring misfortune on the person in question, he wound up killing them.
Not on purpose, I don’t think, but he should’ve known better than to accept the deal in the first place. ”
It’s surprising and not at the same time.
Wingers aren’t supposed to kill humans in the cities, but the rich and powerful of Strata like being on friendly terms with the supernaturals.
It pays—in demon gold or ephilium wine or whatever fat profits are being passed around from the latest trade deal.
Not that the average Stratan ever sees any of that coin.
But it means that when a winger slips up—and they do; everyone’s heard stories—often the only consequence is that some money exchanges hands, and it’s swept under the rug.
That’s not what’s written in the Concords, of course.
A winger breaking the rules is supposed to be punished by his own people and the proof handed over to the other two realms.
Except I’ve never actually heard of it happening until now.
“So after you whipped him, you sent him back to Strata?” I ask.
Syrus nods. “For his punishment to be verified by human and ephilium witnesses, yes.”
I think of the way Quill counted those lashes, the control in Syrus’s posture as he delivered them. It was an act of legal punishment rather than naked cruelty. The demon needed those scars to prove he’d faced judgment and that Infernum didn’t let murder go unchecked.
But if the demons weren’t manipulating people into handing over their souls, there wouldn’t have been any injustice in the first place.
Syrus turns toward the door. “Come in, Viz.”
The skull-faced demon enters. “I’ve got the healer. She’s waiting in Rose’s room.”
This conversation hasn’t done anything to lessen the throbbing in my jaw or the pain in my side, and I’m eager to get away from Syrus’s anger. But Vizmodeus’s use of my name seems to trigger a thought for the Lord of Malice as I stand up and head to the door.
“Who is Leah?”
I freeze mid-step, heart lurching.
How could he know? Did he hear something in my mind during the fight? I have to admit it’s possible. It’s hard to guard your thoughts when they’re getting knocked around your head with someone’s fist.
And even now, I’m too exhausted to lie. Especially when he probably already knows the answer to his question.
“I am,” I say.
“I suppose Radley isn’t your real last name either?” he asks.
I sigh and give a little shake of my head. I don’t know what he wants from me. Surely, he doesn’t think he can threaten me, imprison me, and then demand honesty.
Apparently yes, because although his jaw isn’t clenched any more, his eyes still have a dangerous glint to them. I feel a prickle across the back of my neck, and then his voice caresses the inside of my mind.
“You know, I could just make you tell me who you really are.”
I shut my eyes for a moment, locking most of my thoughts away from him, leaving only a request.
“Please don’t. You don’t need it.” When I open them again, I find his gaze. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he slips back out of my mind, drifting from it like a mist on the plains. This time when I move toward the door, he doesn’t stop me.
Syrus
“Yealey wants to speak to you,” Viz says, returning after taking Rose to the healer.
No, not Rose. Leah.
It suits her better somehow. There’s nothing wrong with Rose, but it feels a little obvious in what it represents.
Beauty. Passion. It’s clear she has both those things.
But roses are delicate, ethereal. Blooming today, withering tomorrow, fading away without a fight.
That’s not her. I’ve been inside her mind enough to know the fire that burns there, the strength and determination.
There’s beauty in that, but not beauty like a rose—beauty like tempered steel.
Like something that has passed through flames and come out stronger.
You don’t need to know anything about me.
That’s what she said. And she’s right. Except I keep learning things against my will.
Like her deductive streak, trying to connect the dots of the Morphos troubles.
Then there’s the way she handles pain—not hiding it under bravado but not wallowing in it either.
And the arranged marriage…it’s absurd, how badly I want to know why she still wears a ring from a man she thinks might’ve tried to kill her.
Viz walks with me to the lake. Even though there are plenty of keepers to watch over the Morphos, Yealey rarely leaves it, so we must meet him there.
“Did he mention what it’s about?” I ask.
“No,” Viz says, checking a note on a piece of parchment before shoving it back in his pocket, “but he asked me to fetch Quill too, so it must relate to the security breaches.”
“Quill would’ve heard from the patrols if there’d been any more visitors to the lake,” I point out.
The Morphos never used to need any security the keepers couldn’t provide, but after the souls started going missing and the keepers spotted unknown figures at its edges, I set up a guard to check the perimeter regularly.
“True, but maybe he’s come up with a way to keep the lake safe on top of the patrols,” Viz reasons. “Shoring up our defenses might be a better use of our time.”
I know his game, and it’s a struggle to keep from rolling my eyes.
“You mean, a better use of our time than trying to go after the ephilium for whatever they’re up to.”
“It just doesn’t seem like the Strata visit went all that well,” he says. His jaw probably aches from holding back a smug smile.
“It wasn’t a waste of time,” I snap. “We found smiting marks. Five. Spread over two locations. And the locals didn’t know what the buildings in question were being used for.”
Viz is already scribbling everything I say down, but now his pencil pauses. “And her injuries?”
I grit my teeth. “I made a mistake.”