16. Leah #2
I’m hit with a sense of familiarity, my mind drifting to Aster begging me to come out with her and have some fun in Infernum.
“Will there be dancing?” I ask, starting to nibble my lip before I remember the lipstick on it.
He laughs and then stops himself when he realizes I’m serious. “Oh, no. It’s not—well, it’s an important event.”
Right, and dancing isn’t important. I know a small, purple demon who’d have something to say about that. Probably not any laughing or flirting, either, she’d say. Darkness forbid they actually have fun of any kind. They should just own up and call it a drudgery instead.
“So just a lot of standing around and talking to notable people?” I ask.
“Yes, exactly. No dancing to worry about, I promise,” Rowan says, misreading me. Little does he know, I like dancing. It’s one of the few times I can really cut loose—to feel free, even if I’m definitely not.
“So,” he says, his eyes scanning the training clothes I’m still wearing. “You’re coming, right?”
I sigh and drop my arms. “Yes, all right. I just have to put my dress on. Wait here.”
A few minutes later, I’m opening the door again, now fastened into a bodice of golden metal, which looks a bit like a breastplate, except it’s cut far too low to protect vital arteries and organs, emphasizing the expanse of skin between my cleavage and collar bones.
Swathes of white fabric fall in light layers around my hips, with more draping loosely over my shoulders, leaving my back bare for my wings to sit comfortably over the bodice.
As I meet Rowan’s approving gaze, I’m just now realizing it looks very similar to his outfit.
Is that coincidence? Maybe his family and mine order from the same tailor in Aphelion?
However it happened, we look very matchy as we join up with a larger group of fledglings, including Filippa, her dress a stream of pale-blue fabric falling from a silver cuff around her neck.
It does nothing for her complexion, the colors washing her out.
Or making her fade into the background, a grim thought suggests as I wonder who picked it for her.
“Let’s get going,” I mutter to her, aware that my wings are still new enough that they’re attracting whispers and stares from our peers.
“All right,” she nods, turning to Rowan. “Good job, by the way. The general was going to have my head if she didn’t come.”
I frown at her. “He asked you to make sure I was coming? Why didn’t you say?”
“Because you would’ve said yes just to keep me out of trouble, and I don’t need your pity,” she says under her breath, scanning the room as she avoids my eyes.
I take a step back, pricked once again by that tension between us—the one that rears its head so unpredictably.
“Filippa, I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, brighter this time, and turns. “Fancy flying yourself to the Seraph Seat this time?”
I exhale with relief. “Yes, please.”
The flight goes so much smoother with me in control, no longer terrified my escort will get complacent and drop me.
I focus on the wind dragging its fingers through my hair and the taste of the city on my tongue: woodsmoke, the sharp vinegar of wineries, and the savory tang of hot food.
It helps calm me ahead of facing the most powerful ephilium in Aradis with my new look.
I find my eyes drifting to Rowan a little ahead of me, gliding easily on the breeze.
He’s been looking out for me from the start.
Okay, yes, maybe at first it was because of my last name, but I don’t think he’s got it in him to do things totally out of self-interest. Rowan really believes the stuff the ephilium say about honor, and my instinct tells me he hasn’t ever lied to me.
What you see with Rowan is, I think, what you get.
And maybe that should be refreshing. Maybe it should be exactly what I want.
But it’s not.
We dip down past the gargantuan tree, its branches lit from behind by the sinking sun, making it look like it’s been set ablaze.
It’s easier for me to notice now how the buildings around here were constructed with flight in mind.
The edges of the Seraph Seat’s entrance, for example, are built at a slant, so as to reduce air resistance as we glide through the archway, landing in the tiled hall beyond.
The others know where we’re going, so I follow along, through a row of columns and into a circular atrium beyond.
The gold of the pillars gleams in the brazier light, rising up toward a glass dome.
I crane my neck to take in the detailing—the central point of the dome is adorned with a golden globe, from which rays of colored glass arc outward.
Below it, concentric circles of plaster and marble are decorated with reliefs of ephilium that I think are meant to represent the ancestors.
The statues cluster around the edge of the dome, arms outstretched toward the center.
It’s then I realize what the globe is meant to be: the Heart of Dawn, the collateral that the ephilium handed over to Strata when the Concords were signed.
It’s strange to think something that gets such a tribute in Aradis is nestled somewhere in the Assembly building back in Strata.
Looking at it suddenly makes it feel as if the two realms—and the two different lives I’ve lived in them—are much closer together than I thought.
I shake the disconcerting idea off as my eyes settle on the ball. Ephilium in their finery are already mingling, sipping on drinks to the background of exceptionally staid music. I get Rowan’s laughter now. Dancing to this dirge would be about as fun as going swimming in a sewer.
I glance around to see who I recognize, but I can’t spot the general or the seraphim at first glance.
It’s busy—most fledglings are already here, as well as our instructors, fledgling family members, and a host of Brigade officials.
I spot Colonel Cavat standing with a woman who’s talking animatedly at him, but he seems distracted, staring over to the far side of the atrium where the throng of people gets significantly thicker.
“The seraphim are probably over there,” Rowan says as he steps forward between Filippa and me, offering us each one of his arms. “Should we go find our families?”
But before either of us can answer, Efram hurries up to us, breathless and eyes shining with exhilaration.
“Have you seen him yet?”
“Who? General Garion?” I ask, remembering how excited Efram was the last time he met my grandfather.
“No,” he says, stunned. “You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Obviously not,” Filippa says impatiently. “We just got here.”
“We have a guest of honor at the ball,” he says, elated to share the gossip. Immediately, I feel relieved. It sounds like I won’t be the most interesting thing at this event, even with my wings.
“Who?” Rowan demands.
“One of the demon lords has come to Aradis,” Efram says, and my blood turns to ice.
“Which one?” Rowan asks as Filippa gasps.
A faint ringing starts up in my ears. I feel like I’m listening to Efram speak to us from very far away, but then I don’t need to hear the next words to know what they’ll be:
“It’s Lord Syrus of Malice.”