Page 25 of The Demon's Little Girl
I follow because there's no alternative, because my legs are too unsteady to carry me anywhere else, because some part of me has been dreaming of these corridors for two years even when it hurt too much to remember them clearly. Nalla grows heavier in my arms as we walk, excitement at new surroundings giving way to the sleepiness that always follows overstimulation.
The servants' wing looks exactly as I left it. Same narrow hallways, same plain doors, same windows that let in just enough light to keep the spaces from feeling like crypts. Avenor stops at a door I recognize with a jolt that goes straight through my bones.
My room. Unchanged down to the simple quilt folded at the foot of the bed, the small table where I used to keep books borrowed from Rovak's library, the washbasin that still holds a thin film of dust like no one's disturbed it in all the time I've been gone.
"Rest," Avenor says, stepping aside to let me enter. "I'll have food brought up."
I pause in the doorway, suddenly unable to move forward or back. Nalla has gone heavy and warm against my shoulder, her breathing evening out into sleep patterns I know by heart. Safe. For the first time in days—maybe weeks—we're both actually safe.
"Avenor." His name escapes before I can stop it, rusty with disuse and edged with desperation. "I?—"
"I'm glad you're not hurt." The words come out quiet, almost gentle, nothing like the sharp-edged humor I remember from our old interactions. His navy eyes meet mine for just a moment, and I see something there that might be relief. "I'm glad you both made it back."
And then he leaves me alone, my mind spinning.
13
ROVAK
Istand in the gardens like a man struck by lightning, my mind fracturing into pieces I can't fit back together. The fountain's familiar splash does nothing to calm the chaos raging through my thoughts. Liora. Alive. Here. And with achild.
The implications hit me in waves, each one more devastating than the last. Did she leave because of someone else? Some demon who caught her eye, who offered her things I never could? The thought burns through me like molten metal, jealousy and confusion warring with relief so sharp it cuts.
Or worse—did she leave because she was carrying another's child and couldn't bear to tell me? The idea that she'd felt so trapped, so ashamed, that disappearing seemed like her only option makes my chest tighten until breathing becomes a conscious effort.
I've spent two years imagining every possible scenario for her disappearance. Kidnapping. Murder. Simple flight from a life she couldn't tolerate anymore. Never this. Never returning with proof of a life I knew nothing about, a connection to someone who wasn't me.
The gardens blur at the edges as I try to process what I saw. The child—Nalla, I heard Liora whisper her name—with her dusky skin and dark curls, those distinctive eyes that catch light like captured starfire. Beautiful. Unmistakably part demon. And reaching toward me with the fearless curiosity only the very young possess.
Footsteps on stone announce Avenor's return before I see him. He moves differently now, like someone who's witnessed something that shifted the ground beneath his feet. When he stops beside me, his usual sardonic composure has cracked enough to show genuine bewilderment.
"Well." His voice carries none of its typical sharp edge. "That was unexpected."
I can't form words. Can barely form thoughts beyond the endless loop of questions that have no answers. Avenor seems to understand, because he continues without waiting for a response.
"At least she's home." The words sound careful, chosen with the precision he usually reserves for diplomatic situations. "At least they're both safe."
Safe. Yes. Despite everything else spinning out of control, that much is true. Liora is here, whole and breathing and real instead of existing only in memories that have started to feel more like dreams. Whatever happened, wherever she's been, she survived it.
I nod because it's easier than trying to speak around the knot in my throat.
"I've arranged for food to be sent to her room," Avenor adds. "She needs rest. The child too."
The mention of food breaks through my paralysis like cold water. "I'll take it."
Avenor's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "You'll... what?"
"I'll take it." The words come out rougher than intended, edged with something that might be desperation. "To her room."
For a moment, Avenor looks like he wants to argue. His navy eyes search my face with the thoroughness of someone who's learned to read my moods through six years of partnership. Whatever he sees there must convince him that pushing would be unwise, because he simply nods.
"I'll have it prepared. Give you some time to..." He gestures vaguely at my general state of dishevelment. "Compose yourself."
Compose myself. As if there's any configuration of my thoughts that would make this situation less catastrophic. But Avenor's right—I need to gather what remains of my control before facing Liora again. Before meeting her daughter properly, without the shock and confusion that rendered me effectively mute in the courtyard.
An hour later, I stand outside her door with a tray that trembles slightly in my hands. Ridiculous. I've negotiated trade agreements worth thousands of nodals, faced down rival merchants who thought my reputation was exaggerated, stared down xaphan diplomats who'd have gladly seen me dead. None of it prepared me for this.
I knock twice, soft enough not to startle a sleeping child.
