18. Leah #2
I brace myself. No matter how much I want to, this is something I really can’t be honest about.
“I don’t know anything,” I lie, then try to sprinkle in what truth I can. “I had no idea the Lord of Malice had come to Aradis until I arrived at the ball. I didn’t even really think demons could come to this realm.”
“Direct rifts between the two realms are notoriously difficult,” she says. “Getting three of them through was a feat. Though we’re still not sure why they didn’t come via Strata, which makes us nervous.”
I nod, searching for a way to change the subject.
“I have to say, I’m a little surprised that the seraphim have you investigating the blight,” I say at last. “My grandfather said that Aphelion has been struggling to get Luminis to take the problem seriously.”
The captain smiles humorlessly. “Of course he would say that.”
I remember the flash in her eyes when I mentioned Garion before. “What do you mean?”
The smile drops. “General Garion is a very gifted soldier who has served this realm bravely. But he’s always enjoyed power. Just be cautious, Leah. His quest for influence has always struck me as being much more about helping himself than seeking to help the people of Aphelion.”
I can’t say this assessment shocks me. But it’s interesting that Pellery judges him for that. Clearly, to some ephilium, ambition is only approved of if it’s done to bring glory to your people, and not just yourself.
“I should get back,” Pellery says, looking back up to the Seraph Seat. “And you should go home to the academy before trouble finds you.”
I blink, bewildered by this unexpected exchange of confidences. “I’ll try to stay out of trouble,” I say. “But some days it’s easier to avoid than others.”
Pellery’s lips twitch, and her eyes go once more to my wings. “Good night, Fledgling Illidore. And please don’t prove my gut wrong about you. It would destroy a great track record.”
“See you’ve finally got your wings, Illidore,” Baxir grunts at training the next morning.
“Yes, sir,” I say, bracing for the inevitable dressing down.
Of all the instructors, Baxir is the one most likely to find something to criticize.
I don’t think it’s vindictiveness; he just believes it’s character building.
And maybe he’s right—if you want the characters you’re building to all be demoralized messes.
“No need to look so smug about it,” he says to my completely neutral expression. “They’re ugly fucking things.”
There we go. I adjust my feathers, still getting used to the way I can shift sections of them independently of the rest. The movement comes more naturally when I’m in the air, but there’s something satisfying about flattening down my primaries or twitching the rows of coverts so they puff up a little.
It’s reflexive and soothing, like rolling my shoulders or crossing and uncrossing my legs.
But the movement isn’t quite enough to soothe me now.
I hear Keros snicker from over by the archery targets.
I glance around to see him enjoying the dressing down Baxir’s giving me.
In return, I give him a look that says Soon I’ll be making you my archery target, you murderous piece of shit.
I’ve been told I have very expressive eyes.
“But I suppose they’ll do the job,” Baxir continues. “Time to start learning how to use them. Other Illidore, get over here!”
Filippa stiffens, then obediently turns and jogs over to us.
“What a nice little family reunion,” Baxir says humorlessly. “Right, you,” he jabs a finger toward Filippa, “can run flight drills with her.” He jabs his finger at me.
“I can run them by myself, sir,” I say, uncomfortably aware of being a burden to my cousin again. “Filippa doesn’t need to babysit—”
“Quiet,” Baxir barks. “She needs it as much as you do.” He casts a disparaging look over Filippa. “Seventy years with her wings, and she’s almost as crap a flier as you.”
Filippa’s cheeks darken, but otherwise her expression doesn’t change.
“You’ll be thanking me when this flying practice keeps you alive in the next trial,” he says, then strides off to yell at someone else.
“Well, that’s not really fair,” I say lightly when Filippa and I are alone at the edge of the training field. “He hasn’t even seen me fly yet. I could be way more crap than he expects.”
It’s the kind of comment that would usually get a laugh from Filippa, except something’s different today. She shrugs and stretches out her wings.
“Come on, let’s do this.”
We train mostly in silence for a while. Filippa runs through drills to demonstrate them. Even if they’re executed a little clumsily, I’m still able to follow her lead.
“Thanks,” I say breathlessly when we’re nearly an hour in and taking a brief break.
Even though we’re on solid ground, we both keep moving, cycling through various stretches so that if Baxir looks over, he can’t accuse us of slacking.
“I feel like I’m finally picking up a bunch.
I’ve been watching you all this whole time, but it definitely makes more sense now that I’m not stuck down here anymore. ”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have mastered them in no time, probably.” She’s not being sarcastic, but her tone is uncharacteristically flat, and she looks away from me when she speaks.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, knowing that there definitely is.
Filippa continues to stare out across the training fields. I notice her fingers tightening against her palm.
“Why did you do it?” she says suddenly, as if she doesn’t mean for the words to tumble out. “You knew I didn’t want to speak the general last night, and you still dragged me along with you.”
I figured her mood was probably from something to do with her—our—family, but I’m surprised at this specific question.
“I guess I didn’t want you to miss out,” I say. “I wanted you to be included.”
She laughs bitterly. “Miss out? On that humiliation ritual?”
“It wasn’t humili—”
“It was,” she snaps. “Especially with my mother there. I hate the way she looks at me when he’s around.
” She folds her arms across her chest, almost hugging herself.
“I can deal with being a disappointment when it’s just me having to put up with it, but Mom finds it so hard. I don’t want her to go through that.”
I bite my lip. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I was making things worse for Filippa. “I was just trying to help—”
“I didn’t ask you to, Leah!” Filippa throws her hands down by her sides, her voice raw with frustration.
Shit. It hits especially hard because it’s not the first time someone has said that to me. Many months ago, I stood in my father’s house while Evie basically hurled those same words at me. Am I just some self-important asshole who thinks she knows better than everyone? That’s not who I want to be.
I take a step back. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll stop meddling.”
Filippa sighs, yanking her wings open. “I hate this. I hate spending every fucking day doing shit I’m terrible at. I hate being a bitch to you. I—” She hesitates, then grinds out the words. “I hate him.”
I consider telling her what Pellery said about the general—about not trusting him or his motivations—but I doubt hearing other people hate on Garion will make her feel much better.
And anyway, she’s already taking off, flying away back to the others despite it risking her getting in trouble with Baxir.
This time, I don’t follow.