32. Leah #2
Syrus doesn’t immediately respond as we start to walk back to the Assembly building. Is he wondering similar things about how I can fit into his life after everything that’s happened? Eventually, he breaks his silence, sounding determined.
“Once I’ve smoothed things over with the demon lords, the four of us can work on relations with the ephilium, for real this time. We’ll prove to them that Infernum had nothing to do with Garion’s coup, and neither did you.”
“Okay,” I say. All of that seems like a long way off—a possibility for a distant future. But it would be part of a good future. It would at least mean that I wouldn’t need to fear the seraphim coming after me anymore.
“I can provide an alibi to your whereabouts when the attack happened,” he continues. “And that way you’ll be free to return to Aradis, if that’s what you want.”
I almost stop walking. He spent so long begging me to leave Aradis, and now he’s suggesting I go back there? He’s looking ahead rather than down at me, so I can’t fully read his face. I think maybe I’ve upset him, saying I don’t know where my home is, but his tone is surprisingly neutral.
I can’t help but think this would all be easier if he was in my mind while we were having this conversation.
It made everything more visceral when we argued, but it meant we often couldn’t hide what we were really feeling.
There was no barrier between the two of us then, and we were both always raw and exposed to each other.
Is that what this is about? Does Syrus not feel as close to me now we don’t have the possession bond? Maybe without that connection, he’s less interested in holding onto me so tightly.
Suddenly, I want that closeness again, the kind we had in Infernum, living together, training together each day. I might not be able to invite Syrus to climb into my mind and body again, but there are other ways I can reignite that feeling.
“Why don’t we do some training when I get back?” I say. “You can show me some shadow slinging tricks. I focused on honing my lightning at the academy, but no one’s shown me the first thing about how to use my other power.”
Syrus glances at me, surprised. “I thought you’d be done with training now. You’re already very capable with your magic, and you don’t have the fledgling trials hanging over your head anymore.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised too. “There’s more against us now than ever. I want to be prepared. Surely, that’s the smartest thing?”
His jaw tightens, like he disagrees. It irritates me.
“What’s the problem?” I demand.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Think about it, Leah. The more powerful you get, the more likely you are to become the subject of the prophecy. When you were risking your life in the trials, honing every weapon you had was a reasonable risk to take. But now there’s less immediate danger—”
“Are we really doing this again?” I gape at him. “Syrus, I thought you were done letting your fear of the prophecy rule you. It’s ridiculous!”
I can see it’s hard for him to let go of the idea that he’s built so many decisions on, but he doesn’t immediately argue. He twists his head away from me with a frustrated grumble, staring out over the streets of the city.
“All right,” he relents. “We can train, if that’s what you want.”
Which is how we find ourselves in an empty room of the assemblyman’s residence, exchanging volleys of shadow.
It’s a long, spacious hall, probably only used for the occasional big dinner reception.
The furniture is all pushed over to one side and covered in dust sheets, leaving plenty of space for Syrus and me to circle each other.
He’s clearly still in a bad mood, because he pushes me hard. I don’t mind. The intensity of his attacks just makes for a better challenge, as I dodge one tendril, cutting it off with a swipe of my lightning-imbued sword, and try to block another with my own plume of darkness.
“You’re cheating,” he says, red eyes flashing. “If you want to get better with your demonic powers, you can’t fall back on your other magic.”
Syrus’s shadows swallow up my own, then proceed to wrap around my arm and yank it behind my back, forcing me to bend over.
“Kind of rich coming from a guy who relies on someone else’s runes for his magic, don’t you think?” I grunt.
He steps closer, leaning in so his lips almost brush my ear. “Maybe focus less on smart comebacks and more on smart fighting,” he murmurs. “Besides, what if someone in the house were to see? How are you going to explain a demon conjuring lightning?”
I huff but concentrate on drawing another stream of shadow from my palm, putting my energy into peeling his shadow off my arm and twisting myself free.
“Good,” he says as his shadow dissipates into a wisp of mist.
Ultimately, I know I’ll never beat Syrus at this game. He’s just too damn strong. But I have a trick up my sleeve.
He puts distance between us again before he flings his next set of shadows at me. I dodge the dark streams, then return with a few of my own—smaller, weaker, and slower than his, but that doesn’t matter if I can slow down my target too.
I push the prickling demon magic outward, toward Syrus’s feet. His legs jerk for a moment, and he stumbles. One of my shadows clips his shoulder, snagging on it and almost unbalancing him. His eyes widen, though he quickly counters, ripping my shadow apart with one of his own.
“That—did you—” He searches for the words.
I smirk. “You told me to use my demon powers.” He shakes his head, and I shrug. “You knew I could do that. I told you about it when I was sparring with Rowan.”
“Yes, but seeing it in action is something else,” he replies, his face shifting from bemused to determined. “Try it again.”
He draws his sword, and I’m happy to obey. I’ve only done this a few times, and I want to test its limits. As Syrus swings his blade, I focus on his hands, and for a second, his arms stutter, frozen in place just long enough to turn the elegant swing clumsy.
It’s a moment of control, nothing more. Syrus asks if I can hold it for longer, but I find it impossible.
“You shouldn’t be able to do it at all,” he comments, examining the hands and feet I briefly controlled. “Without a spell to provide an opening, demons can’t possess someone without permission.”
I tilt my head. “But I’m not a demon. So maybe the rules don’t apply to me.”
His forehead creases, and I wonder if he’s considering the implications—I didn’t just get some demon abilities from Syrus, but new abilities beyond them. If he’s worried about me becoming more powerful, then this will surely upset him.
But he says nothing, just returns to sparring with me, the ferocity of the fight growing every time I stick him in place for a second and throw him off his game.
And then, in one glorious, lucky moment, I get my opening. I lose my sword when his shadow disarms me, but I counterattack. Using my now free hand to double the force of my shadows, I stall his hand so my shadows snap around his sword, making it clatter against the floor.
Before he can conjure again, I launch myself at him, bringing him down to the wooden boards.
It’s admittedly a flawed strategy—Syrus is much bigger and stronger than me, and he knows my hand-to-hand tricks already.
Still, I take joy in briefly pinning him before he rolls us over and has me pressed against the floor with a growl of triumph.
Pressed together, gasping, the atmosphere between us changes. Heat spreads low across my belly. I wriggle a little beneath him and watch his eyes darken as our bodies connect, grinding together.
He drops his face to my neck, dragging his teeth across the skin above my collar bone, and I release a little keening noise, his cock starting to harden against me in response. My pulse quickens, and I arch up against him, hands rising to grip his muscled arms.
And then, out of nowhere, my stupid brain remembers our conversation out in the city.
Return to Aradis, if that’s what you want.
My thudding heart slows, and suddenly I need air. There’s too much of Syrus around me, crowding me, filling my senses so I can’t think clearly.
I brace a hand against his shoulder and shuffle out from under him. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what I’m doing, a line appearing between his brows as he watches me climb to my feet and dust myself off.
“I think that’s enough training for today,” I say, swallowing down my breathlessness.
“Leah,” he says, rolling onto his back and sitting up. It’s half question, half request. But I can’t give him the answers or responses he wants. Not yet.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I say.
Like a coward, I don’t look at his face as I sheathe my sword and slip out of the room.