Page 33 of Soul Forge

“You died.”

“Immortal,” it replied, the honeyed voice softer than she was used to, more like a purr. She was still sat on it, her knees resting on either side of its hips, its hand at her back to keep her from moving away. She needed something to distract it, to give her an opening before her terror closed her throat over. The last thing she wanted was tofaint.

“You’re bleeding,” she blurted, but when she looked down at the wound in its gut, her brow knitted. The hole was closing over slowly, torn muscle and skin knitting back together right before her eyes. “Youw-werebleeding,” she corrected. Her voice was thin, a hair's breadth away from hysterical.

The demon simply watched her.

“You’re hurt.” She cast a look over its wings, which didn’t seem to be healing anywhere near as quickly as the rest of it. The creature ignored her, studying her with those frightening black eyes like she was a puzzle it couldn’t solve.

“You haven’t tried to kill me yet,” it noted.

Elda blinked. “What?”

“You haven’t tried to kill me. There’s a dagger in each of my boots and one in my bag. You haven’t even reached for them.”

“What would be the p-point?” she croaked. “I’d be dead before I t-touched the hilt.”

“True.”

“Who are you?” she asked, swiping water out of her eyes. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, rivulets of icy rain running down her spine.

Its head cocked. “Strange creature,” it murmured.

Elda didn’t stop to question the absurdity of being called strange by a talking demon. She was hyper aware of the fact that it could see the pulse hammering in her throat, feel the tremors running through her entire body. Her instincts screamed at her to defend herself.

But it didn’t attack. It just waited, testing her. It was clear that the creature expected her to strike first. It was waiting for a reason to kill her. The thought struck her as odd – her father had always told her demons didn’t hesitate.

She cast her eyes over the many old wounds on its torso. There were hundreds, some clearly deliberate, others more like the result of a fight she wasn’t privy to. A vivid scar split the skin from its left collarbone all the way to its right hip, and Elda’s breath caught when she imagined what sort of pain it must have brought. She reached out like she could soothe an agony that had long since faded, pity overtaking her panic for just a moment. Its gloved hand caught her wrist when her fingertips were an inch away from the raised skin, bringing her back to her senses.

“Don’t.” When she looked up, the red had started returning to those dark eyes. “Please don’t.” She nodded slowly and moved away, sliding backwards to sit in the mud. Sypher got slowly to his feet, broken wings hanging awkwardly behind him as the last traces of the demon faded.

A whinny from above revealed Atlas descending through the rain, making a wide circle, and trotting to a stop beside them. Reiner slid out of the saddle and bent to check Elda over immediately, turning her face left and right, then patting her limbs to look for breaks. Her brow was furrowed, the magic dulling until only the usual rings around her irises remained.

Elda had no words to describe what she was feeling. There was no question she could ask that would soothe the turmoil in her thoughts. She was a wielder, and the man tasked with trainingand protecting her was a demon. Ademon. The Spirits had entrusted the safety of Valerus to a creature its armies would kill on sight if they knew the truth. How could she stay married to him, knowing what hid beneath the surface?

“Can you walk?” The question was quiet, barely audible over the rain pelting the dirt. Elda craned her neck to look up at him when Reiner stepped back, her eyes darting between them.

“Kilmarthen isn’t far from here,” she said. “I can make it if you two can.”

When Elda didn’t answer, Sypher nodded slowly. She watched him limp over to the dropped cloak and hold it up, mud sliding easily from the strange fabric. When it was clean, he dropped it over her shoulders, pulling the hood up to protect her from the rain. Reiner’s hand strayed towards the bloodied mace at her hip each time he drew close to the princess.

A snap of his fingers produced an orange flame that blossomed in his palm, expanding until his whole hand was engulfed. He waved the fingers of his free hand, and the fire separated from him, encased in an almost transparent bubble of air to float down to the ground just in front of her. The heat warmed her frozen bones, the fire protected from the rain by the bubble.

Every movement made Sypher flinch, and when he called on his umbramancy to reform the armour around his body, his hiss of pain was audible. Elda watched him limp to the other side of the flame and sit slowly on the ground, ignoring the mud.

“Does magic hurt you?” she asked hoarsely.

“Only the umbramancy.”

“Why?”

His head dipped. “It doesn’t belong to me.” Which meant it belonged to the demon.

“How can your magic not belong to you?” Reiner asked warily.

“With respect, Captain, I’m not answering your questions right now. We need to leave. If more wraiths show up, I’mbattered, and your Pegasus is bleeding.” He waved a hand towards the winged horse, and Elda saw the long slash in his left flank. Reiner moved away to tend to it immediately.

Elda wanted to question Sypher, to demand answers, but the words refused to form. Her mind was a huge, blank well of nothing. She was numb, both to the cold and to her emotions. She should be screaming, crying, begging Reiner to take her away. But she wasn’t.

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