20. Syrus
Syrus
Asterim is barely back from smuggling Leah out when the soldiers are at our door.
“Their honors wish to speak with you,” says a short-haired captain with brown skin who looks like she could move mountains with one hard stare.
“I would be pleased to grant them their wish, Captain—?”
“Captain Pellery Cazele,” she says.
“Ah yes, you were at the ball,” I say. “Apologies, it’s so hard to keep track of you all.”
It’s not strictly true. I instantly recognized the captain as the one who approached Leah by the trade rift in Strata.
But I’m playing my role as the arrogant demon lord, and it’s a common stereotype among demons that ephilium are hard to tell apart.
They’re just so uniform with their white wings and humanoid bodies, in comparison to the variation found in Infernum.
Remembering my human life as I do—full of Stratans who have a similar lack of variation—it’s never been a problem for me.
But as long as I’m being a bit of an asshole, I’m doing what they expect of me.
Too friendly and eager and they’ll be convinced I’m up to something.
The captain just gives me a calculating look before nodding and gesturing for me to follow her soldiers.
Viz and Aster come too, unwilling to let me out of their sight. We walk in silence until Aster’s languid voice pipes up.
“Did you have fun at the ball, my dear?” I glance over my shoulder and see her looking up at Captain Pellery with innocent curiosity.
I smother a smile. Aster is the one who can get away with the charm offensive.
She’s petite and pretty and nonthreatening in her glamorous clothes, and her small talk disarms the ephilium in a way that’s very amusing to watch.
The captain’s eyes flick down at her, though her neutral expression remains unchanged.
“I was on duty,” she says, as if that answers the question.
“I suppose that explains it,” Aster sighs. “They’re very cruel to make you wear armor to a party.”
The soldiers ahead of me exchange looks with each other, unsure what to make of my best friend.
There’s a pause before the captain answers. “I like the armor. To wear the uniform of the Brigade is a privilege.”
Aster hums to show her interest. “Well, that’s good then. And you do look very nice in it. Not everyone can pull off that much gold, darling.”
Captain Pellery clears her throat, and I can see the faintest hint of a blush darkening her cheeks. I smirk. Everyone’s eyes are on the big, bad demon lord and his whip-smart chamberlain, but Aster is the real secret weapon.
Sadly, the captain makes me leave them both behind when we get to the large set of doors that lead to the seraphim’s reception room. I enter a chamber with impressive columns, lit up by a number of large braziers and filled with a palpable tension.
Seraphs Orelle and Wyvier are on their little thrones as I come to stand in front of them, serene on their parked behinds while they make everyone else stand in supplication.
Well, everyone else in Aradis might be their underling. But not me.
“Good afternoon, Seraph Wyvier. Seraph Orelle,” I say. “Would you allow me just a moment to get settled?”
The seraphim exchange a look, but Seraph Wyvier nods.
I turn and let a stream of shadow issue from my palm. The guards stationed beside the doors immediately stiffen, hands going to their weapons, but Seraph Orelle raises his hand.
“Hold,” he says. Perhaps he can sense that my intentions are harmless. Or maybe he just doesn’t mind risking the guards’ lives, given the shadow is heading toward them and way from the seraphim.
The stream of darkness snakes under the doors; a moment later, the doors fly open, and my shadows drag a chair into the room. Once it’s in position, I let the darkness dissipate, fading into whisps on the air. Then I straighten out my cuffs and sit down opposite the seraphim.
“There we go. Now we’re all comfortable.” My smile is genuine, enjoying the irritation on their faces. “Now what did you wish to discuss? I’m afraid my chamberlain hasn’t yet had a chance to convey your initial proposal to the lords. They’re busy people.”
This was always the plan. Stall, buy time, and fabricate minor quibbles over bureaucratic details from the Infernum camp, if needed. It’s been working fine…so far. Judging by their faces, though, that’s not the case anymore.
“We wish to discuss the full-scale battle currently raging on the plains of Strata, Lord Syrus,” Seraph Wyvier says, her tone scathing.
“You can imagine we are a little confused about this development, given we thought we were in the process of negotiating an end to the aggression between Aradis and Infernum.”
I’m very tempted to make a joke about the seraphim being surprised by anything, considering how much they go on about their second sight, but I masterfully restrain myself.
A new battle was always a possibility, of course. Since I executed Kaliban, battles have been less frequent—Lord Midane is nowhere near as trigger happy—but “less frequent” is not “nonexistent.” Still, I have a contingency for this.
“I seem to remember mentioning that Infernum would do its best not to intensify the conflict during our negotiations unless we felt it was necessary to defend ourselves. War is a messy business, seraphs, and things happen. But I’d imagine in this instance Infernum felt provoked and acted accordingly. ”
“You imagine?” Seraph Orelle repeats. “So you don’t know what orders Lord Midane is giving?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Respectfully, I’ve been here the whole time. The last time I received a message from Infernum was two days ago, and I don’t possess your gifts for future telling. If I want to know what happened, I would need to send a message to the other lords.”
From what I’ve seen so far, Seraph Orelle seems the more amiable of the two, which also makes him the most dangerous, because when he goes on the offense, it’s liable to take you by surprise.
It happens now, with a stalk of lightning unfolding across the floor of the chamber, the crack of it reverberating through the air as the burning energy sears the edge of one of my chair legs.
“Let me make myself clear, Lord Syrus. We will not be played for fools. Perhaps you don’t want peace at all and wished to deliberately mislead us, but—”
“Why am I here, if not for peace?” I interrupt, my voice quiet but unyielding as I let the shadow return, rolling from my palms and spreading across the floor.
At the same time, I target the fires burning in their braziers.
Their flames flare, then flicker out, which has the seraphim instantly stretching their wings, eyes wide.
They’ve never seen me on a battlefield, so they have no real idea what I’m capable of—and I’m more than happy to remind them of that.
“I have been an exemplary guest in your realm,” I continue, ignoring the sound of guards drawing weapons behind me.
If nothing else, I can trust in their training.
They won’t move unless the seraphim give the order.
“I have hardly left the quarters you assigned me to except to be paraded around to your friends. I have allowed you to search my lieutenants like they’re common thieves. ”
I let my shadows curl a little closer to the seraphim. Not quite close enough to be an actual threat, but enough to put the possibility in their heads.
“I could be sitting at home in my castle, ruling over my domain right now, but instead I’m here. Use that famed second sight of yours to decide if I’m secretly here to attack Aradis, and if the answer is no, then let us move on from this like civilized people.”
Wyvier and Orelle exchange looks. The eyes on their wings blink uncannily.
I don’t know exactly how this future-telling stuff works, but surely it’s an inexact art, or else the pale-bloods would have successfully burned Infernum to ash centuries ago.
There’s a familiar ripple in their feathers as if from an invisible breeze, and they come to some silent agreement.
“What do you propose, Lord Syrus?” Wyvier asks.
As a sign of goodwill, I withdraw my shadows and let the flames in the braziers return.
“I cannot do anything about the battle already underway, but I will dispatch my lieutenant, Asterim, to Infernum at once to get to the bottom of this.” It has to be Aster. I need Viz here to help with breaking the bond. “I trust that if she travels via Strata, she won’t be attacked by your troops?”
“As long as she stays within city walls, of course,” Seraph Orelle says pointedly.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, reminding myself that as far as we know, the ephilium weren’t directly responsible for the demons we found smote in Pax.
They could have hired the sorcerers from Hathwell’s cabal…
but we don’t actually have any evidence of that.
When this is all over—when Leah’s safe—that’s when I’ll get to the bottom of who really summoned me that night.
“Very well, I will send her immediately,” I say, rising from the chair. I turn swiftly, fast enough that the now twitchy guards straighten up and reach for their weapons again. I just smile at them, aware that in firelight the red of my eyes is gleaming particularly bright.
“You know where this chair goes, don’t you?” I say lightly to the nearest guard, enjoying the mix of confusion and fear on his face. “A pleasure to speak with you, seraphs.” I lift a hand in their direction as I stride out of the chamber.
I know there’s only so long we can keep up this charade.
But if I truly must, I can always open up my own set of communications with the lords and stall Infernum’s army for a few weeks.
Lord Midane seems eager to be seen as a team player, so I think he’d at least hear me out.
I only need to buy enough time to break the bond with Leah.
Once that’s done, it should be easy to find an excuse for the talks to break down, and then I’ll leave Aradis for good.
I nod at Viz and Aster when I return to the entrance hall, letting them know all is well as we set off back toward our quarters. I don’t speak to my friends until we’re behind a closed door, without the guards.
“A battle’s broken out on the plains,” I say, turning to Asterim. “Bad news, but you’re going to have to make a trip back to Malice and find out from Quill what triggered it. If it’s our fault—”
“Sy, there’s something you need to know,” she says, and for the first time I notice that her purple skin looks a little gray.
“What?” I ask, not liking her expression at all.
“I was talking to Captain Pellery, and it turns out the seraphim decided that this battle would make a good second trial. They’re sending the fledglings to the plains.”
“To fight?” I ask stupidly, struggling to process it even as I head to my room and reach out for Leah.
When I settle into her mind, the first thing I feel is the tense energy tightening up her muscles, then I sense the weight of metal on her frame.
“Leah.”
“I can’t talk now, Syrus,” she says, her mental voice strained as she straps her armor on. I can see the flashes of bronze through her eyes. “They’ve announced the second trial. It’s—”
“I know,” I answer. “I just heard.”
“Well then,” she says. “You’ll know why I need to focus right now. We’re leaving soon, and I can’t afford any distractions.”
“Don’t go.”
She pauses, briefly closing her eyes, and a cloud of anger encircles her thoughts. “Like that. That right there is a distraction. For fuck’s sake, Syrus.”
Fear snatches at my throat, making me feel like I can’t breathe.
It might’ve been centuries since I saw a battle between demons and ephilium with my own eyes, but I remember all too well the devastation they wreak.
I’m beyond caring about sounding desperate right now, not when she’s about to put herself right in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
“Leah, you could die. You’ve never fought in a war before—”
“We’ve been through this,” she snaps. “I’m going through with the trials. I have to if I want to stay in Aradis.”
“So don’t stay,” I say, the words spilling out in a frantic flood. “Come back to Infernum. We can go today. Just say the word.”
I don’t understand this—why she would choose this over what I’m offering. Why she would rather run toward blood and pain and death than come back to a place where I believe she was once happy, surrounded by people who care about her, who love her.
She closes her eyes again, weathering a deep, dull ache. I recognize it because I feel it too.
“I can’t,” she says, echoing the words I said to her only a few hours ago. And that’s the ache—the knowledge that you can’t do what you long to, even when you want it so badly, because it might produce a much bigger wound right at your core—one you know you couldn’t come back from.
She starts to fix her sword to her hip. It’s the final touch, and then she’ll be walking out that door.
Raw panic takes hold of me, knowing she’s going somewhere I can’t follow. I remember being forced from her mind as she plummeted to her death. I see my sister folding over as that very same blade pierces straight through, her blood spilling onto the stone floor as the light fades from her eyes.
I couldn’t reach Sideria in time. I was useless. Powerless to stop it. I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen again.
“I’m begging you.” My pride is torn to shreds, consumed by the sharp bite of terror. “Don’t go.”
“I’m sorry, Syrus.”
She takes a step toward the door, and terror surges in me. I reach my magic down through her legs and freeze them, just for a moment, stopping her from moving forward.
“What the fuck?” she demands out loud.
I immediately release her, though she could’ve probably fought my magic off anyway, and she takes a few stumbling steps. I know it was the wrong thing to do, and I try to say so.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Syrus,” she cuts me off, her tone more worrying not because of the emotion in it but because of how icy calm she sounds. “You can’t keep doing this. I won’t let you control me.”
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest as she straightens up and checks herself over once more. Then, without another word, she walks out of the room and into the second trial.