17. Leah #2
“Good to see you’ve finally given yourself a fighting chance,” he says, as if I had any control over my wings turning up. “Shame about the color, but then I suppose we can’t expect everything from a nephilim.”
I straighten up, unable to resist replying, “Probably best not to expect anything at all, sir.”
That earns me a hard stare. “Humility is an overrated trait, Leah.” His eyes flick briefly to Filippa—the extent of his acknowledgment of her. “If you don’t want to set a high bar for your own sake, set it for the family’s.”
“Yes, sir,” I say neutrally. I can’t let Syrus’s sudden appearance destroy my strategy of not pissing the general off.
He nods, seeming satisfied. “Now come, I have some people I want you to meet.”
Garion starts moving back through the crowd. I grab Filippa’s elbow and follow after him.
“Come on,” I say when she resists.
“What are you doing?” she asks. “He asked you, not me. I don’t want to go over there.”
“He meant both of us,” I say, though now I think about it, I’m not sure it’s actually true. Too late, however; we’re walking up to a group of ephilium who spread out to make room for Garion as he approaches.
“Filippa,” says a middle-aged woman to his right, giving her a tight smile.
My cousin ducks her head. “Hi, Mom.”
I stare at my aunt—my mother’s half sister—searching for Cerys Polaris in her face but finding very little.
As near as I can tell, she looks more like Garion’s first wife than him, with brown eyes and a warm complexion like Filippa’s.
Maybe that’s for the best. Garion having my mom’s green eyes is one thing, but meeting a woman who shared her features would be unsettling.
“May I introduce you all to my granddaughter, Fledgling Leah Illidore,” Garion says to the group. When he makes no mention of Filippa, I hope that’s because all these people already know her and don’t require introductions. Unfortunately, the strained look on my aunt’s face suggests otherwise.
“We’ve heard a lot about you, Leah,” she says, sounding about as warm as a blizzard. “I’m Ghola, the general’s firstborn.” She says the last word with slight emphasis—a subtle reminder that I’m an illegitimate afterthought in this family.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ghola,” I say, wondering how I can make myself seem less of a threat to her and her offspring. “Filippa has been a great help to me as I try to acclimate to Aradis,” I say. “I’m very grateful.”
“She was only doing what was expected of her, I’m sure,” Ghola says, taking a long sip of wine. I can’t tell who it’s a dig at: me or Garion or Filippa. Maybe all of us. My cousin, meanwhile, stays silent, hovering miserably at the edge of the group.
“And the first trial too,” I add, glancing in her direction in a way I hope is encouraging. “I probably wouldn’t have survived if she hadn’t helped me prepare.”
“Nonsense,” Garion says. “What you showed in the Eyrie was natural talent, and you can’t teach that.”
I catch a flash of pain and anger in Filippa’s eyes, but then I’m distracted by Garion as he introduces the rest of the group. They’re mostly members of various Aphelion bloodlines, with the occasional Luminis family thrown in.
“And of course, you know the Gradis clan,” Garion says, gesturing to a man who can only be Rowan’s older brother.
There’s a strong family resemblance. He’s a bit taller than his younger sibling and bedecked mostly in golden armor, like he’s ready to head to a battle at any moment.
It’s intense, even by ephilium standards.
“Are you Roryn?” I ask. The brunette breaks into a smile that instantly makes him look more approachable, taking my hand. Garion’s eyes gleam with approval too. He’s pleased his little mascot in the trials is playing this ridiculous game of family trees.
“I am.” Roryn’s eyes flicker to my wings, and he raises his eyebrows. “I can see why you’ve caught my brother’s eye. Very striking.”
I feel my cheeks heat and am glad Rowan has been pulled into some other conversation elsewhere.
I’m even gladder when the discussion topic pivots away from me and moves on to politics, including the arrival of the demons, though I can’t say I absorb much of what is said.
I’m too aware of him—Syrus—and how close he is.
I realize I’m able to pinpoint almost exactly where he is without looking—I don’t know if it’s the bond or just an unhealthy obsession—but I can sense him, and that means I don’t get a moment to forget the strange emotion blooming in my chest.
It’s more serious than excitement, deeper than craving him. Bewilderingly, I’m on the edge of tears, thinking of him coming all this way to me. Whole realms separated us, and now he’s in the same room. Is it really just because I needed him?
Even with this truce clause Syrus has invoked, coming to Aradis is hugely risky.
I have a million questions, but at least it’s a relief to get one answer—now I know why he hasn’t spoken to me since the fall.
He was busy traveling to Aradis, whatever that entailed, and then probably had to put all his energy into convincing the ephilium not to murder him on sight.
“The demons are either playing a very bold or very stupid game,” Garion says, echoing my thoughts. “But it has Luminis’s seraphs on the back foot, which may work in our favor.”
“Father,” Ghola says, a touch of anxious warning in her tone which Garion waves away.
I briefly wonder what he means. Does he think the seraphim might be more willing to listen to him about the blight if they need Aradis’s backing against Infernum? I don’t have the space in my brain to break it down, because just then a prickle of sensation runs up my neck.
I fight not to lean into it, it’s so welcome.
“Come find me.”
Just the idea of him being in touching distance again sends a thrill of anticipation through me. It would be pathetic, if it wasn’t so fucking compelling.
“How? The ephilium will be watching your every move.”
“Yes, but they respect my need to speak with my advisors in private from time to time. There’s a side chamber between the western columns of the atrium.
Cut around the southern side and stop beside the pillar with the crest on it.
I have to remain in the sightline of my guards, but they won’t be able to see you. ”
It seems pointlessly risky when I could just go back to my room and have a whole conversation with him without having to worry about being seen or overheard with him.
But I go anyway, making an excuse about freshening up to Garion and the others. The hold Syrus has on me doesn’t allow me to do anything else.
He’s chosen the meeting spot well. As I reach the pillar in question, I see him standing to one side of it, his back against the stone.
We’re feet apart, but anyone looking would just see Syrus standing opposite Viz, head bent as if the pair of them are deep in conversation.
I stare at Syrus’s profile, able to drink it in now no one’s watching, my eyes hungrily taking in the smooth sweep of his jaw and the way his hair curls a little at the nape of his neck.
This close, I crave him even more than before. I don’t know how I stood the weeks of separation up to now. I itch to run my fingers through his hair, to kiss my way along that jaw. It’s not right or sensible or safe, but I can’t pretend I don’t want what I want.
I exhale, frustrated I can’t even look him in the eyes as we talk. But I have too many questions to wait for a better opportunity.
“Are you—”
“Shhh,” he hushes me. The shushing tickles the inside of my mind. “Speak to me in your head only. It’ll help keep up the illusion that I’m just talking to Viz.”
My eyes briefly meet the pale-faced demon’s. He gives me a small smile and a nod. He looks bemused, I think. Probably wondering, like me, how in the world we all got into this mess. Which brings me to my point. I prod at the presence in my mind, watching Syrus’s expression twitch in reaction.
“Are you insane?” I begin. “What are you doing here?”
Syrus
There are a hundred ways I could answer her question. The first one that comes to mind isn’t an option:
Yes, I am insane. Being without you makes me lose my mind.
That might be coming on a little strong. Maybe:
No, I’m not insane. This plan is totally logical and not at all dangerous and we’ll have all your problems fixed in no time.
She wouldn’t believe that in a million years. No matter how much we might wish otherwise, the truth is always more complicated:
I’m here to save you, like I’ll keep on doing every day you’ll let me.
And by the way, it took all my self-control not to take you in my arms the moment I laid eyes on you and the fact I didn’t is, I think, proof of my good intentions.
Because I’m genuinely not here for that—to get you to remember all the ways we were so good together—but maybe it won’t hurt if I manage to remind you a little in the meantime.
In the end, I settle for “When I not only learned that you are facing death via oracle in the third trial, but also witnessed your attempted murder, I decided that perhaps you’d been left to your own devices in Aradis quite long enough.”
Of course, she finds something aggravating in that, and I even enjoy the prickle of displeasure that dances across her mind.
“I’m surprised you managed to make it this far while keeping your head connected to your shoulders,” she says. “How did you get the other lords to agree to this? I’m assuming you didn’t mention me when you suggested you visit Aradis.”
Ah, yes. About that.
“The other lords didn’t agree to it,” I say. “They don’t know I’m here.”
“What?!” She makes an audible noise in the back of her throat, and Viz raises his eyebrows.
“I take it you got to the bit about this trip being less official than advertised?” he says quietly, and I nod.
“You mean all that stuff about Infernum agreeing to scale back the war and you being an envoy is a lie?” she asks.
“Well, I had to find some way of reaching you without, as you say, getting my head separated from my body.”