22. Syrus
Syrus
Leah pants against my ear, her legs wrapped around my hips so she’s flush against me. I can feel every curve of her body, can smell the sweet scent of her hair as it brushes against my cheek.
Then I grab the arm she’s trying to strangle me with and throw her forward, flipping her off my back so she hits the ground with a thud.
I drop down, intending to pin her with my legs, but she shoves a knee up to put space between us, buying herself time to lift her knife and press the tip against my shoulder.
“Got you,” she says gleefully, her green eyes sparkling. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, a flush nearly hiding those distracting freckles of hers. I desperately want to reach down and stroke a thumb across them. Instead, I use my impressive self-control and take hold of her wrist instead.
“No, you missed.” I pull the training knife closer to my neck, holding her gaze as I lean in, forcing the blunted metal against my skin so her knuckles graze the base of my throat.
She huffs in frustration, then shifts, lowering her knee and moving to sit up. My treacherous body hums in response, wanting more—more contact, more of her moving against me—so I quickly release her, stepping back so she can climb to her feet.
It still surprises me just how much fun it is to train her.
I’d forgotten that I’m good at this—teaching.
Spotting someone’s mistakes and finding ways to correct them.
Sharing in their triumph when they master something new.
Back in my human days, my generals were always telling me not to waste time sparring with new recruits, but it was one of my favorite ways to blow off steam when the rest of my royal duties were weighing me down.
It’s even better with her, and that’s what makes it so perilous.
There’s a lot of things I haven’t felt for a long time that are reawakening in me now—distracting, tempting things that keep me up at night.
I’ve known since the day of the lords’ meeting that I need to be more careful.
And not just because of the way she completely undid me with her performance in front of her mirror.
It was her reaction to the Rancorite’s blood that really set my alarm bells ringing.
I’ve been an idiot to ignore it, how she’s getting too strong too quickly, able to do things she shouldn’t.
And she’s healing inhumanly fast—something the healer who usually treats demons hadn’t noticed until I asked about it.
There’s a distinct possibility that Leah is more dangerous than I could’ve ever imagined when I let myself be bound to her.
The question is: Does she imagine it?
I watch her now as she dusts herself off, scowling.
“That’s not the first time you’ve avoided going for the throat when you had a clear shot,” I say.
She shrugs, wiping her face with the back of her hand, but she doesn’t meet my eye.
I want badly to slip into her head, see if I can catch any errant thoughts she forgets to guard from me, but invading her mind without warning or permission has become more and more repellant to me as the weeks have gone on.
The idea of doing it now, just to steal a glimpse at what she’s thinking, makes me physically sick.
“I couldn’t see the opening,” she says eventually. “I guess I just don’t think fast enough.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not incompetence, it’s reluctance.” I narrow my eyes at her guilty expression. “Why are you trying to make yourself seem less of a threat than you are?”
Her eyes go wide. “I’m not!”
“You pull back from making the killing blow every time. Eventually, that will get you killed.”
Her mouth pulls into a tight line. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she says.
“Good,” I reply firmly. “Only monsters want to kill someone. But this life often doesn’t give you a choice.”
“Life,” she repeats, putting her hand on her hips. “Or demon lords. You’re the one who forced my hand with the sorcerers. It didn’t have to go that way.”
My frustration builds, compounded by the fact that maybe I do wish I’d handled that a little differently.
“They were going to sacrifice you,” I point out. “And I highly doubt you were their first victim. If things had gone their way, you probably wouldn’t have been their last. Would you really rather I’d left those wretches alive, free to murder more poor innocents?”
“Except you didn’t kill all of them,” she snaps. “Some of them got away, so for all you know they already have.”
“Now you’re complaining I wasn’t thorough enough?” I ask in disbelief.
She doesn’t have an answer for that, so instead she crosses her arms and looks away.
Before she does, I catch the strange emotion in her eyes, and once again I wish I could read her.
I know she doesn’t have a rosy view of the world.
I know she’s seen death and violence aplenty—she profited off of it, for darkness’s sake.
So where does this resistance come from?
This hard line she’s drawn against killing, even if it could cost her everything?
“I know you don’t have a death wish. You’re a survivor, Leah. And if someone is threatening that survival, you have to fight back with everything you have. Refusing to strike a fatal blow is like fighting with one hand tied behind your back—it sets you up to lose.”
She shakes her head, though I don’t know exactly what she’s objecting to.
“Are we done here?” she asks, still not looking at me.
“No, we’re not,” I say, my voice hard. If she doesn’t take the need to defend herself seriously, she’s going to get herself killed. And that’s not acceptable.
“We’ll go to Strata tomorrow to see if anything’s changed at the warehouse and to question the gang those thugs obviously belonged to,” I say.
“Things will probably get ugly, and you may have to use deadly force. If you refuse, I’ll use it for you, so I suggest you spend the rest of the day getting used to that idea. ”
Anger burns brightly in her eyes. If I was in her mind right now, I’m sure I’d be hit with an onslaught of furious thoughts. But none of them make it to her lips—she’s too good at reining in her rage in to allow that to happen.
“Now we’re done,” I say, and with a sharp nod, she turns and strides away.
When she’s gone, I drag my hand over my face, trying to breathe through my frustration.
I know she must be as mystified by my behavior as I am by hers.
I’ll spend days avoiding Leah, trying to keep my distance in case she is what I fear she may be.
Then, inevitably, she’ll draw me back in with her spiky mind and stubborn determination and unbridled enthusiasm for the strangest things.
I’ll go from keeping half a castle between us to offering to buy her a whole store of plants in the hopes of seeing her smile.
If she realizes just what I’d do for that smile, I’d be finished. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist its pull. Not when it’s offering me something I haven’t come close to in centuries.
I touch my hand to the pin on my collar as I head to my office. Viz is already waiting for me there when I arrive.
“What have you found out about her?” I ask. There’s no need to specify who I’m talking about.
“I traced her from the records office in Pax,” Viz says. “There’s only one Leah who was married the day you were summoned.”
So she wasn’t lying about that, at least.
“Her full name is Leah Polaris. She’s the daughter of Nathaniel Polaris, a merchant. Her mother, Cerys, passed away when she was five.”
“How?” I ask, wondering if it will throw up some clues.
Viz gives me a look. “If there was anything of note about the mother, I would’ve led with it. The death certificate says she died of natural causes. She was the daughter of a midwife and a clerk. Nice and boring.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I found in the official records, anyway.”
“There has to be more,” I say. “Keep looking.”
He sighs. “If you’re afraid she’s hiding something, just cut her loose. We’ll be back to square one, but that’s better than—”
“Keep looking,” I insist, hating my own weakness even as I give the order.
Leah
I deliberately don’t say much when it’s time for us to visit Strata.
We don’t need to trace any old rifts this time, so we meet in the castle courtyard where Viz is already etching runes into the stone wall.
I try to discreetly study them, hoping it’ll be easier to memorize their shapes now I understand a little Cyrax.
I can make out some of the patterns and meaning now—runes related to the idea of opening and travel next to ones that must be related to location, though the references are a little vague.
But when Syrus arrives, I drop my gaze, keeping my response short when he greets me. It’s not just because I’m angry about yesterday, although I’m happy for him to think that. The real reason is I’ve decided it’s time. I’m breaking free today, at least for a little while.
I’ve been practicing. I know I can kick him out of my head, now I just have to keep him out.
I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold him off, but there’s only so much time I can spend sitting around meditating before I put it to the test. So when Syrus hands me the rune-etched knife and I take it without a word, it’s because I’m mentally preparing myself, making sure I’m ready.
Weeks ago, this was my escape strategy. I thought I could maybe block Syrus out long enough to find a way to undo the binding spell.
But now I’ve seen how strong the magic is—have felt how deep the bond goes—I’m more doubtful than ever that I’ll be able to find a fast solution.
Well, fast enough to put it in motion while holding Syrus’s possession at bay.
So when I get to Strata, I’m going to test my new skill for a more important purpose: Evie.