9. Syrus
Syrus
The black desert of Vyle lies in front of me, cresting and falling in dramatic undulations beneath the purple sky. The sand here is soft and fine and glitters so much under the light of the ourani that it looks like an ocean stretching out beyond the windows of Liege Damein’s palace.
“Kind of you to host, Liege Damein,” says Lady Jing from her seat, twisting one of her long braids in her clawed fingers. “Especially after last time.”
She’s talking, of course, of the day I informed the other two lords of Infernum that I’d murdered the fourth of our number, Kaliban.
It had been a…contentious meeting. There was ample proof of Kaliban’s crimes, but it sat behind Rancor’s borders—somewhere I wasn’t exactly welcome after beheading the Rancorites’ lord.
It took a carefully organized diplomatic party and a few close calls with total civil war before we could all agree I’d acted appropriately.
“The innkeeper who welcomes the highwayman sleeps soundly in his bed, my dear Lady Jing,” Damein says from behind their customary veil.
Damein sits in a tall, straight-back chair that matches most of their palace—all sleek lines and understated elegance.
I’m not sure how they do it, but sound works differently here, almost muffled, as if the entire place is under a blanket of dust, or a shroud woven by time.
My castle was built by Ajax’s grandmother, but Viz told me that Liege Damein’s ancestors have all been unusually long-lived, and no one outside Vyle is sure how long the palace has been here.
It’s a calm environment. Unshakable. A good location for this meeting.
“So who exactly is the highwayman in this analogy, Liege Damein?” I ask, still studying the dunes outside the window.
“Perhaps that’s yet to be seen, Lord Syrus,” they reply.
My lips twitch. “Well, I’ve certainly been called worse.”
I’m finding Damein’s mysteriousness fun today, for a change. Probably because I’m in a good mood, the best I’ve been in for more than a week. And it’s all for one simple reason.
She let me back in.
After ten days of not knowing for certain where she was, of reaching out and being rebuffed, yesterday she actually called for me.
And of course, like the desperate fool I am, I immediately answered.
I wanted to be angry with her, I am angry, but I was also too relieved to dwell on that in the moment.
It wasn’t just aggravating, being blocked off from her mind.
It felt deeply wrong. Like I’d been shut out on a freezing winter’s night, stripped of anything that could keep me warm.
It was painful, so much more painful than it should’ve been.
I was desperate for her, and feeling those walls come down, pouring myself back into her mind and body again, felt like a homecoming I’d almost given up on hoping for.
That relief faded fast when I realized why she’d called me. It took a life-or-death situation for her to open up to me again. That hurt like a gut wound all on its own, but it was nothing next to the bloody, sharp-toothed reality that I might lose even more of her than I already had.
She was alone, and in danger, and nothing could’ve stopped me from trying to keep her safe. Except where she’s gone, nothing’s safe. That much was obvious from even the brief sliver of her new life that I saw.
A new life she was meant to be building with me.
“Do you think we should expect trouble?” I ask, trying to think of something other than Leah as I turn away from the window to face the other lords.
Lady Jing presses her lips together, considering this. “I don’t imagine Lord Midane is your biggest fan, Lord Syrus. But personally, I think we’ve done well to even get this far. I was sure we’d have an ugly power struggle on our hands when it turned out Kaliban refused to name another heir.”
“Even the pig grows weary of the mud eventually, Lady Jing,” Liege Damein says, adjusting a pleat in their voluminous robes.
“Yes, hopefully the Rancorites are tired of messy leadership and ready for some stability,” I say.
“But that doesn’t mean they’ll have forgiven you, Lord Syrus,” Lady Jing says, baring her fangs in a way that’s entirely too gleeful. “Lord Midane was chosen by Kaliban’s advisors, after all, which may speak to his loyalties.”
“How can I want for anything as long as I have you on my side, Lady Jing?” I reply wryly.
She picks at her braid again, offering me a dangerous smile that says she’s only for me as long as she’s not against me.
“I suppose not all the advisors were aware that Kaliban was tampering with the lake,” she offers. “And those that were claim they advised Kaliban against it. So maybe they’re privately thanking you.”
We share a look. Both of us know better than to really believe that.
“Either way,” I say, “if they’re trying to publicly distance themselves from Kaliban—whether they’re sincere about that or not—then we can hope that their selection for their new lord is cut from a different cloth.”
“Or perhaps is made of stronger stuff entirely,” comes a voice from the doorway.
I turn, Damein and Jing rising from their seats to greet the demon who’s just arrived.
He has bright crimson eyes like mine, and the same bone-white skin and red horns as Kaliban.
But he’s much smaller, shorter even than Lady Jing, wearing black armor polished so brightly it gleams in the lamplight.
“Lord Midane,” Liege Damein says, gliding forward to offer their hand.
“I haven’t had the privilege of spending much time in your domain before, Liege Damein,” says Midane, shaking it. “It is quite breathtaking.”
“A gardener cannot take credit for the beauty of the flowers in their garden,” Liege Damein says.
“But they can take pride in how well they care for them,” Lord Midane replies lightly. Liege Damein’s eyes brighten, and their handshake becomes more enthusiastic.
“Yes, yes, quite right,” they say. Even with the veil draped across their nose and covering their mouth, I can hear the smile in their voice.
Lord Midane greets Lady Jing next, and finally me.
I expected to be left last, given the recent history between our domains, but it’s a good sign when he offers me his hand just like the others.
He wears his height well, unmoved by the way I tower over him, and as I take his hand, I sense the quiet power lurking beneath his skin.
“Lord Syrus,” he says, his red eyes studying me. “Would you believe that several of my advisors warned me you might try to take my head the moment I walked in here?”
“I would,” I say, letting him know I’m not offended by their wariness.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Would believe it, or would take my head?”
I release a tight laugh. Clearly Midane wants to keep me on my toes. “The former. I reserve the latter for lords who try to ruin our realm with reckless grabs for power.”
Midane nods. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a reckless bone in my body, then,” he says.
“Not one?” Lady Jing asks. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
It’s a light, teasing comment, but when I look up and meet her gaze, I read something more serious there. Jing is no peacemaker, but she doesn’t want open conflict between domains any more than I do.
“As far as I can see, ruling a domain isn’t really about fun, Lady Jing,” Midane says politely, taking a seat that Liege Damein offers him. “Or personal gratification in general. That’s something my predecessor would have done well to remember.”
“The chef who only cooks for himself won’t keep his restaurant open for long,” Liege Damein agrees.
Midane seems to be weighing something up, then takes care to look us each in the eyes as he speaks. “I’m perhaps an unexpected choice to take General Kaliban’s place. Though I was one of the highest-ranking officers in Infernum’s army and Rancor’s militia, I was never close to the lord.”
“Kaliban’s fighting forces were his pride and joy,” Lady Jing says, giving him a calculating look. “It seems strange he wouldn’t make sure all his key officers were personally loyal to him.”
Lord Midane nods. “In most cases, you’d be right about that.
I was suspicious of my promotions under Kaliban myself at first, but it became clear that after Grata’s coup, he was cautious about which demons among his ranks he gave power to.
For some reason, he didn’t consider me much of a threat.
” He gives a small smile as if he finds this amusing.
“I’m sure that will be our gain, Lord Midane,” I say, making a mental note not to underestimate the demon.
Rancorites are tough, and they wouldn’t have chosen Midane as their new leader if they didn’t think he had the mettle for it.
Which means all of these pleasantries could mean nothing. There’s no way to know, yet.
I know I should be spending this whole meeting trying to read Midane’s every expression and dissect each piece of phrasing to work out if the Rancorites really will hold a grudge against Malice for what happened.
On the surface, everything is back to normal.
The Morphos has been restored, and there’s no war between our people.
But I can’t help thinking that “normal” may be exactly what some demons don’t want.
That’s what my focus should be on. But as the meeting goes on, I find I can’t concentrate. I’m going through the motions, and whenever an answer isn’t expected of me, my mind starts to drift back to Leah. Wondering what she’s doing. Worrying about her.
Less than two weeks ago, we were in Infernum together, and now she’s a whole realm away, fighting in some insane pale-blood war game.
Which means, despite my efforts to the contrary, we’re a step closer to her becoming exactly what I feared: an ephilium weapon that someday, somehow, might destroy the very land I’ve vowed to protect.
Is this how prophecies work? That no matter what you do, or how hard you fight, you only end up running harder and faster into the waiting arms of fate? How did we get here?