23. Leah #3
“What? I wasn’t going to say anything…” he replies. “Other than mentioning that soldier boy might put a dent in his armor if his chest puffs up anymore.”
I hide my smirk with a strategic sip of my drink.
As the meal winds down, I notice Garion and Ustarne discussing something intensely at the end of the table. Eventually, Garion nods and Ustarne stands, clearing his throat. The guests go quiet, turning toward him.
“Ladies and gentleman, I’m sorry to say we haven’t invited you here tonight simply to enjoy good company.” He smiles, but there’s a serious look in his eyes. “As you’ll all be aware, Aphelion has been dealing with a problem over the last few years that the seraphim have ignored.”
I’m careful to keep my expression neutral.
Do these people not know about Captain Pellery’s investigation, or are they deliberately not mentioning it?
There don’t seem to be any objections to Ustarne’s statement, though there’s a flutter of unease from some of the guests when he mentions the seraphim.
“That might sound harsh,” Garion says, rising from his seat too. “But if you had seen firsthand the worst effects of the blight, you’d share our concerns about Luminis’s leadership. Which is why I have brought an example here for you tonight.”
People straighten in their seats as Garion gestures to one of the servants. She ducks out, only to return with a second person moments later.
He’s dressed in simple clothes, a loose leather jerkin and cotton pants. There’s no gold, flowing fabric, or armor to be seen. The sleeves of his brown shirt are rolled up high and his collar pulled open so we can get the full effect of the damage to his skin.
His flesh is raw and dimpled with pustules, crusted white in places, and with bulbous yellow blisters in others.
Some of them have burst, leaving pink, weeping sores that look ripe for infection.
His wings are dull, with clumps of feathers missing, red membrane visible beneath.
It’s like he’s been trapped outside in the baking sun for days on end—roasted alive.
“Yeln is a farmer from Riverhole,” Ustarne says. “You can see that the blight has struck him badly.”
“Others have it worse, sir,” Yeln says quietly. “It’s hardest on children, and older folk. Some of them are dying.”
At a fancy dinner in Strata, the ladies and gentlemen would likely recoil at the sight of him, but these are ephilium, so they sit up straight and take in his wounds without shock.
But when I study their faces, I see traces of reaction there—anger, calculation, and a flicker of horror over what Yeln’s body has been reduced to, how visibly weakened he is.
“That’s precisely why you’re here,” Ustarne says to him. “The seraphs should face up to reality.”
Yeln shifts restlessly, apparently not satisfied with this. “We need help, now. Why doesn’t anyone have answers?” His voice starts to rise, agitated. “They say it’s not catching. But then how does it spring up? There are new cases every day. And that’s not even getting to the crops—”
“Thank you, Yeln,” Garion says, cutting him off. “It’s important that people see what the seraphs are ignoring.”
He doesn’t look at Yeln while he speaks though, and a moment later, Garion’s dismissed the farmer. The whole thing leaves me with a nasty taste in my mouth. Yeln was paraded in front of us like a zoo animal—a useful prop to display and then discard before addressing the guests again.
“You all know that Luminis hoards power, keeping it from Aphelion and Celadis,” he says.
“For too long, we have meekly accepted our place in the order of things, but now Luminis’s failures of governance are hurting us all.
The time has come to restore balance, to create true equality between the three regions. ”
“Quite the speech,” Syrus murmurs into my mind, unenthused.
“He sounds like he’s more worried about who has the power than who’s actually being harmed by the blight,” I reply. I’m seeing what Captain Pellery described about my grandfather play out in front of my own eyes. It makes me trust her more but also makes me question why I’m here.
“I think that’s a fair assessment,” Syrus replies. “You can always make your excuses and leave, you know,” he suggests.
“You’re right,” I say, surprised. Leaving early might annoy Garion, but I’ve given him enough of my time this evening.
“It has been known to happen,” Syrus says smugly.
He’s decidedly less smug when Rowan catches me trying to sneak out after people rise from the table for more socializing over after-dinner drinks.
“You’re going?” Rowan asks as I hover by the door.
“Yes,” I say. “I don’t really feel in the mood to talk any longer.”
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your grandfather?”
“No,” I say flatly. “You can tell him I’ve left though, if you want.”
Rowan’s brow furrows, like he can’t comprehend why I wouldn’t be eager to spend every possible minute with the general. It occurs to me that Rowan’s barely spoken to me all evening, too busy orbiting my grandfather. He wants to impress Garion, not me.
But there’s something warring on his face now. He looks back toward the party, then at me with a sympathetic expression.
“No, I’ll come with you,” he says, contradicting my ungenerous thoughts. “Just let me tell Roryn.”
“He’s like a bad smell, the way you can’t shake him off,” Syrus mutters after Rowan’s hurried off.
“You’re not in a position to accuse people of being clingy, Syrus,” I say. “You’re literally possessing me right now.”
“I seem to remember you wanting me to stay,” he counters, unperturbed. “Besides, if all goes to plan, we won’t be able to do this for much longer.”
He says it softly, but I can hear the pain in the words, and it forces a long breath out of me. I want to reply, but then Rowan’s coming back, and we’re heading out into the night sky, gliding back toward the academy.
Rowan sticks close to me, and I can feel his eyes on my face.
“I understand why you wanted to leave,” Rowan says. “It can’t be easy for you after what happened to Filippa. I’m sure it’s just as hard on the general, even if he has to push through to fulfill all his duties.”
“He doesn’t give a shit about Filippa,” I grind out, unable to hold back the response. “He basically told me so.”
Rowan doesn’t say anything to that, but at least he doesn’t argue the point.
“To be honest, I’m a little surprised you’re coping as well as you are,” he says. “You two seemed close. I think you were good for Filippa.”
I scoff. “Was I? I feel like I only made her life harder.”
Rowan shakes his head. “I knew her for a long time. She always felt like an outsider, but you showed her there was a way outsiders could still find a place for themselves, if they worked hard enough.”
I tilt my head, not liking his assessment. I was trying to fit in to survive, but Filippa shouldn’t have had to fight for her place in her own realm, in her own family. Now she’s gone, and the head of that family doesn’t care at all. Except…
I remember meeting Filippa’s mother. I remember how she flinched at Garion’s bullying of her daughter. She should have stood up to him on Filippa’s behalf, but that doesn’t mean she’s as heartless as Garion. And right now, she still thinks her daughter is dead.
“If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret?” I ask Rowan.
Syrus pipes up. “Are you sure this is wise?”
I ignore him, watching Rowan’s face carefully.
He hesitates when I ask him the question, but because he’s the good little ephilium golden boy who genuinely buys into all this honor stuff, I believe him when he nods. “Yes, okay.”
“Filippa isn’t dead,” I say. “She was injured in the battle, but she’s healing in Strata, and she’s going to come back when she’s better.”