40. Syrus
Syrus
I’m less than friendly when Strickland returns to the residence that evening to speak with me. I don’t have it in me to be pleasant when I’ve spent hours stewing alone, replaying the argument between Leah and me.
So when the chief assemblyman requests a conversation, all I can think is that Leah only suggested we stay in Pax after she spoke to Strickland.
Maybe if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have had that fight, and she’d be here right now, where she should be: resting and recovering with me by her side.
It’s not really fair to Strickland to blame him. Leah doesn’t need someone to put an idea in her head—in fact, she strongly resents any hint of manipulation. But I’m desperate for places to direct my anger, and he’s an obvious target.
“I thought perhaps you’d be busy visiting your sorceress friend,” I say stiffly when we meet in one of the residence drawing rooms.
Strickland searches my face as I drop down into a chair, his own expression tense. “My sorceress friend,” he repeats.
“Yes. Roseingrave,” I clarify. “Were you unclear as to which one I meant? Tell me, Assemblyman, do many of your friends operate secret sorcerer circles?”
A touch of frustration flashes in his eyes. As a politician, he’s a good diplomat, which means he generally excels at presenting a calm and collected demeanor. But even Strickland is human, and I can tell he doesn’t appreciate my rudeness.
“I’m having the wardens interrogate her as we speak, Lord Syrus. We’ll find out about this order, and maybe then we’ll get to the bottom of where that weapon on the plains came from too.”
I nod, very slightly appeased. At least Strickland is taking our concerns about this seriously.
“But I’m not here to talk about Strata,” Strickland continues. “Not directly anyway. I wanted to speak to you at the party actually, but…” He shrugs, acknowledging we had a good reason to be distracted yesterday. “I’m assuming you still haven’t managed to get in touch with the other lords?”
I suppress a scoff. He makes it sound like my messages are getting lost in the mail. In reality, I’m sure the demon lords are tossing them out as soon as—maybe before—they’ve read them.
“No, I haven’t,” I say, trying to sound less irritated by this fact than I am.
Strickland nods, steepling his fingers. “Well, I have.”
I stiffen. “In what context?” I demand.
“The same as yours. I contacted them to propose a meeting between you and them, to help resolve your issues.”
“And they responded?”
“Yes. I suspected they might react more kindly to the request if it came from me, and I was correct.”
I feel another twinge of resentment toward the assemblyman—not just because he’s succeeded where I failed, but because he took action without discussing it with me first. But then, isn’t that the kind of thinking that got me into trouble with Leah back in Infernum?
I’m so used to being in charge, to having everything go through me.
I struggle when anyone pushes back against my authority—like Leah demanding I explain myself to her, or Strickland making decisions without consulting me.
Is Leah right to say I’ve been a ruler for too long? Have my expectations become warped and unreasonable?
“The lords have agreed to meet with me,” I repeat slowly.
Strickland nods. “Yes, with some mediation from myself. This is good news…is it not? I assumed you’d be all for the idea. It would happen here in Pax—on neutral ground—I thought that would be most agreeable to you.”
He’s right. I should be shaking his hand, grateful right now. It’s always been my intention to broker a truce with the other lords and return to my domain. I never questioned that—until this morning, when Leah proposed something I’d never even considered to be an option.
And my immediate reaction was to say no. Of course it was. I couldn’t have dedicated my life to my realm only to turn my back on it so easily.
Leah’s words come back to me, about being a slave to duty.
I won’t lie to myself, they bit deep. I hate to have everything I’ve given to Malice over the last three hundred years—my entire demon existence, and the reason for ending my human one—reduced to obligation, a burden I’ve been forced to bear.
Because that would make me no better than a carthorse who carries its load only to avoid its owner’s lash. It makes me someone who can’t point at their actions as proof of honor or selflessness, but just the blind obedience of a fool whose hand was forced.
But it was a lot easier to pretend I was where I wanted to be, doing exactly what I wanted, before Leah came along.
And then I discovered I was willing to risk far, far too much for a chance at what I actually wanted.
She stripped back the story I’d woven around myself and forced me to see what true devotion looked like—to her and to Malice.
I wanted to do better—be better—for Infernum, because I wanted to do the same for her.
So maybe my sense of duty is all just an illusion, or maybe it needed Leah to really shore up its foundations. Either way, now she has given me a chance to walk away from my lordship. In some ways, it could all be so simple.
And what would it mean if I didn’t take that way out? If I resolved things with the lords and recommitted to Infernum? Would she feel I was turning my back on her, on the idea of a life for us together?
“Why would they agree to meet with me after all this time?” I ask Strickland at last, aware he’s been waiting for some response from me.
Strickland lifts his shoulders. “I hope they have finally realized that working with you is the only sensible solution for Infernum. But they know the terms of your sanctuary are dependent on my order. It’s possible they hope that by meeting with me as well as you, they’ll be able to change my mind about shielding you from them. ”
I nod. I’m more comfortable with this answer that acknowledges everything might not work out after all. It seems more plausible than the idea that the lords suddenly want to play nice.
“That doesn’t exactly leave me eager to take them up on their offer,” I point out.
“Not their offer. Mine,” Strickland corrects. “And if you’ll permit me, it’s not so much a request.” He straightens up in his seat as I eye him, surprised.
“When I first gave you sanctuary, you offered me a favor in return. I’m calling it in to ask that you meet with the lords.
I know there are risks. But peace for Infernum is better for everyone.
And the sooner you reconcile with them, the sooner tension might ease between the demon realm and Aradis. ”
I consider the lengths Strickland will go to in order to keep his people safe—and not for the first time see myself in him.
It’s something I’m not sure Leah understands, the way leadership shapes someone.
The mark it leaves. The sense of responsibility that never goes away.
If she understood, would she ever suggest I simply step down and leave Malice in the hands of someone else?
I don’t think I’d hate a future in Strata, not if it meant keeping Leah by my side.
But life can’t only be about what I want—it never has been.
From my early years as a prince to becoming a king and then a lord of Infernum, I learned that when your choices have life-or-death stakes, you lose the right to be selfish.
“You’re sure you want this to be the favor?” I ask Strickland. “You could choose anything: something personal, even.”
Strickland inclines his head. “Making Strata safe is personal to me, Lord Syrus. Surely you can understand that?”
I can. And even if I don’t know what I’ll do about Leah and me—about what she’s asked of me—I know I don’t have to turn my back on Infernum just yet. Besides, meeting with the lords doesn’t mean agreeing to anything. I’ll just hear what they have to say and make my decision from there.
“I’m a man of my word, Mr. Strickland. Organize the meeting, and you shall have your wish.”
Filippa
“It’s nice…I guess,” I say, staring up at the townhouse of reddish brick as Leah weighs the key in her hand.
This morning, she went to see her husband’s solicitors—her dead husband.
Leah is a widow, it turns out, which feels somehow weirder than finding out she’s romantically involved with the Lord of Malice.
At this point, I’ve just learned to roll with my cousin’s wild backstory.
It’s comforting, actually. I used to think I was our family’s biggest oddity—the descendant of generations of great warriors who somehow had crappy aim and the agility of a drunk hippo. But then Leah came along and made things much more interesting.
She huffs a laugh at my lack of enthusiasm. “What? It’s not grand enough after where you’ve been hanging out lately?”
It really isn’t very grand compared to the house where I grew up. But where I’ve been hanging out lately…Staying with Hodges has meant discovering that two small rooms in a run-down Pax neighborhood can be cozier—and make me feel more comfortable—than any home I’ve had before.
I shrug, trying to seem casual when really I want to defend the virtues of Hodges’s house with a fiery passion. “I mean, it’s fancier than Hodges’s place, but…”
“It doesn’t have Hodges,” Leah supplies quickly, giving me a sidelong look.
I’m getting better at not flushing every time she mentions him. A tiny bit better. It’s been less than a month since she dragged me off the battlefield and dumped me in Hodges’s lap—
I mean…on his table. I’m definitely not thinking about Hodges’s lap now.
But anyway, it’s been a matter of weeks since we met.
That should be too little time to feel so close to someone.
But most people also don’t meet under such intense circumstances.
We were thrown together by forced proximity and by me needing Hodges to survive in those early days.
You get comfortable with someone fast when you need their help changing dressings and getting out of bed.