Chapter Sixteen

Wind streamed over Darius' wings— hawk wings. It was an inconvenience to travel this way, slower than in his typical form. He'd been tempted to change, but ultimately, he had decided that since his mountain retreat no longer represented complete solitude, he could use what time he had alone to think.

The truth of the matter was that he had no interest in Alethia of Zharen. But he'd meant it when he'd told her that he thought interest and even affection could be forthcoming. She was an aggressive woman, true, but she'd at least been straightforward with him. Unless, of course, she'd deduced the source of his earlier frustration with potential matches. The whole thing could have been an elaborate ploy, and the moment she'd claimed she would return to Zharen could have been a bluff. He hadn't gotten that impression at the time— otherwise he certainly wouldn't have entreated her to stay— but it was still possible.

He increased the speed of his wingbeats, slicing through the air above the currents that swept down from the mountains. At some point he'd have to simply make a decision about her, about whether he believed her to be presenting herself honestly or not. The problem was one of time . He'd be expected to either dismiss her or announce their betrothal in a matter of weeks, months if he was extremely lucky and his mother was feeling uncharacteristically patient. That was assuming Alethia herself was content to wait that long, which wasn't at all guaranteed. And somehow he was supposed to assess this while dealing with the fact that he was currently harboring a condemned woman in his manor.

That was the other matter, of course. He'd been dwelling on it for days now, and the situation wasn't any clearer. He wanted to preserve this girl's life— didn't want the stain of her blood on his hands— but he could only allow himself that luxury if he could be certain that her destiny didn't come at the price of the safety of his people. Really, Naratha's solution had been a well-reasoned one; the priests taught that those who went to the afterlife as sacrifices were granted special status in the Ashen Halls, so it was a simple way to bypass the danger without attempting to cheat destiny.

But surely there were other ways to accomplish the same thing? He could perhaps purchase passage for Tanitha on a ship to some distant land, sending her off to pursue a grand destiny there. If her destiny was here in the Shadowborn City, though, he was simply delaying danger, not avoiding it completely. He sighed softly. Then again, in that situation, perhaps she'd view him as a friend, one who'd protected her in a time of need.

Of course, if she knew who he was, it would be a short jump to deduce who had ordered her death, since there was an extremely limited pool of people who could order a prince to do anything. Sending her off to some great destiny with the knowledge that the queen of demons had ordered her blood spilled was not, perhaps, the wisest course.

The air around him was steadily chilling, though it didn't bother him unduly through his layer of downy feathers. Clouds and mist hung around the mountain peaks, and he dove through one of the clouds, making a rapid descent. The manor and its grounds came suddenly into view. He gave an internal sigh as he banked east, circling to that side of the estate. Normally, this place was a retreat for him, a haven. But now it was just another place laden with traps and obstacles that he had to navigate.

His hawk's eyes picked something out, a form on one of the benches in the garden. He angled his wings downward, diving through the layer of elemental enchantments that encased the estate like a dome. No other demon could cross it; they were set to allow him alone, though he'd be expected to adjust that when he wed, obviously.

He pulled out of the dive, adjusting his trajectory to circle the periphery of the garden. As he'd initially thought, the form on the bench was indeed his houseguest, but to his surprise, she seemed to be asleep. He flapped his wings hard to break his speed, talons scraping lightly on the stone of the bench as he landed on its polished arm.

He kept to his hawk form, looking her over. The moonlight had softened her features, and her pale golden hair looked almost white in its glow. She had wrapped herself in a light shawl, and even asleep, her grip on it was tight, as if she was seeking comfort in its warmth. Part of it was folded beneath her head as a pillow, and even in the moonlight, he could see some faint discoloration there, tiny stains. His heart sank as he looked more closely at her face. Yes, those were tear trails, long since dried, but still very evident.

His wings drooped. Gods. He wanted to save her, and he could only do that if he knew she didn't view him as an enemy. Everything he'd done so far had been calculated to that end, missteps notwithstanding. In not coming to her over the past few days, he'd meant to give her space, to try to make her feel less vulnerable and afraid. Or at least, that was what he'd told himself. In truth, her anger at his admission that it was surprising that he hadn't killed her had cut him deeply, and he hadn't wanted to face her again after that. Shame wasn't an emotion he was accustomed to confronting.

But looking at her now, he wondered if leaving her to her own devices hadn't been yet another misstep. She was alone, completely alone. Trapped here, isolated from what little family she had, and facing an utterly uncertain future.

Could he even blame her if she began to hate him?

He debated waking her, though the prospect made him deeply uncomfortable. He couldn't afford another blunder, couldn't afford to inadvertently anger or frighten her again somehow. And if the tears were any indicator, she was already in a vulnerable place emotionally. Perhaps it would be best to keep his distance for one more night.

He spread his wings, then paused, slowly lowering them again. Leaving her alone without even attempting to offer any comfort was a misstep, one he'd just been berating himself for making over the past three days. And if he was being honest with himself, it was also a coward's path. Maybe Kai was right that he was a fool, but he refused to be a coward on top of it.

He glided off the bench, landing a few feet away, then shifted form.

Tanitha awoke to a firm hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flew open, and she shoved herself upright, whirling to face the newcomer. Darkness pressed against her eyes— unnatural darkness.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." Her host's voice. He withdrew his hand. Tanitha settled, her back stiff as she angled herself toward the sound. Despite how startled she'd been, her heartbeat was slowing as the initial disorientation faded.

"Are you well?" he asked, and to her faint surprise, there was a genuine note of concern in his voice. "How long have you been asleep out here?"

Tanitha blinked, completely at a loss as to how to answer that. "I suppose that depends on if you're capable of blocking the sun this completely, my lord," she said after a moment of unsuccessfully trying to get her bearings. "Or if this is just the darkness of night."

"It's night. I'm only shielding us from the moon and stars right now." A pause. "Were you just enjoying the garden and fell asleep?"

She bit her lip. Beautiful though the grounds might be, enjoying was entirely the wrong word, with how much pain had been in her heart. She swallowed back another rise of it, determined not to give it any more quarter than she already had.

"It's been several hours, if the moon has risen already," she said, with a dubious glance upward, which of course revealed nothing but pitch blackness. She knew she was ignoring his second question, but hoped he'd let it pass. Slowly, despite the difficulty of moving with any grace while blind, she lowered her feet to the stone path. "I'm well, my lord," she said, with what she hoped was a respectful dip of the head. "I was just tired."

"Is there… anything you'd like to talk about?" he asked, an odd note of caution in his voice. She pursed her lips. She wasn't sure what cause he had to seem wary or concerned. At least, not compared to her. "I won't push you if you'd rather not speak about it with me, but there are salt trails on your cheeks."

Warmth rose in her face. So much for retaining some show of control and confidence in herself. Aside from that, he'd just confirmed that the darkness that kept her blind didn't inhibit him even slightly. The unfairness of the whole situation struck her once more, but she took a slow, calming breath. Fiery anger and icy fear were both appropriate feelings for the situation she was in, but somehow, after all her tears, those emotions felt less potent, less overwhelming. As true as it was that she didn't know this demon's intentions, and a part of her wanted to direct some of her anger and fear toward him because of it… she had to admit that he'd given her no cause to think he meant to hurt her.

Slowly, some of the tension in her body began to unfurl. She was well within her rights to be afraid. But perhaps she could choose not to be specifically afraid of him. With that thought, she consciously took a slow breath, the motion coming a little easier, a little more freely, than it had before.

"Thank you, my lord, for asking after my well-being," she said quietly. "But I'm well enough."

There was a slight pause. "If you're certain," he replied at last.

She wasn't, not at all, but she was glad that he didn't seem interested in pressing. Good intentions or not, she didn't want to try to explain all that had driven her to tears, didn't want to feel that vulnerable with someone that she couldn't even see.

"What about you, my lord?" she asked, forcing her voice to be firm. "It's been three days. Were you obliged to remain in the city? Is everything all right?"

A quiet sigh. "I haven't been staying in the city," he said, his tone taking a note of reluctant admission. "I've been here in the evenings. I just thought that after our last conversation you might appreciate some time alone. Though now, I think perhaps I should have just asked you if that was the case." There was a faint rustle of movement, and she frowned, not quite able to identify it; it hadn't sounded quite like cloth. "I'm sorry that I was gone so late today as well," he continued. "It was unavoidable, but I can't imagine it's easy for you to be alone with your thoughts right now."

She gave a nod of acknowledgement to the sentiment, mostly because she wasn't sure how else to respond. If nothing else, she was grateful that he seemed to have dedicated some thought to the strain of her situation finally— a part of her was still irritated at his earlier casual dismissal of the fear he'd caused her, even if the emotion had largely cooled.

"Let's go back inside," he said, his tone still gentle. She stood hesitantly, then realized that she had no idea which way she was facing relative to the manor house.

"I… I can't see the path, my lord," she said, her voice small.

"I'll guide you," he said. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she thought she detected a faint hint of apology in his voice. She nodded, suddenly feeling a strange rush of shyness. She managed not to startle back when he took her hand, laying it lightly on his forearm. His skin was warm and his muscles firm and hard beneath her hand. A frustratingly irrational warmth rose in her cheeks.

Something feather-light brushed against her right shoulder, and she jolted in surprise. The jump caused her to lose her footing on the irregular stone path, and she stumbled to one side. A scant instant later, though, he'd wrapped an arm around her, arresting her stumble and setting her upright again.

"I'm sorry; that was one of my wings," he said. "I'd forgotten you didn't know I had them."

"That's…" She had to clear her throat. Mostly human . The arm around her waist certainly felt human; she'd felt the definition of his muscles when he'd caught her, pulling her back onto the path. Mostly human, but not all, she reminded herself.

"Wings are common enough among your kind, from what I've seen, my lord," she managed finally. "There's no reason you should have thought to explain." Her cheeks still felt very warm, and it was a great relief when he apparently decided that she was stable again and removed his arm from her waist. Half desperate to distract herself, she cast around for a different subject. Fortunately, there was one ready to hand.

"Were you able to make any progress today on finding out who…?" She trailed off, still struggling to say the words ‘finding out who ordered me killed' outright. Though at least the new subject had the fortunate side effect of rapidly cooling her blood, she thought sourly.

"Who…? Oh," he said, as if in abrupt understanding. "No. Today was…" He trailed off as well, then let out a quiet sigh. "Complicated," he finished after a moment.

Tanitha stifled a rise of annoyance with difficulty. She'd already been struggling with that emotion directed toward herself— the rises of attraction she kept feeling were ridiculous — but hearing that the matter of finding out why her life was in danger was not, apparently, the highest of priorities was doubly irritating.

She shook her head slightly at herself. Whatever his actual status relative to other demons, he was nobility. She had no idea what concerns and responsibilities he had to address. She wasn't actively in danger while she stayed here, so anything more important than the inconvenience of keeping a houseguest would undoubtedly rank higher in urgency to him.

Still, it would be nice to know exactly how low she was on that list. "Complicated?" she prompted. "Is everything all right in the city?"

"Yes, everything's fine. It's just that…" He trailed off. "How much do you know about the royal family?" he asked.

"The royals? As much as anyone, I suppose," she said with a shrug as they walked. Despite his guidance, she took each step with care, paying attention to the uneven surface of the stone path beneath her feet. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious how they're spoken of in the Sanctuary," he said, matching her shrug; she felt it in the rise and fall of his arm beneath her hand, in a slight tension of his muscled forearm. Her breath caught, her blood starting to warm again.

She swallowed, forcing her voice to be neutral and dearly hoping that he'd attribute any change in it to her being anxious at his proximity. "Queen Naratha is well-spoken of," she said. "The priests admire her leadership and speak well of her dedication to the gods. I've heard some outside the Sanctuary say that the piety is a mask for the benefit of foreign dignitaries— just politics to give the Sabrians one less justification for convincing others that our cities are unholy— but if it is a mask, she's never let it slip that I've heard."

He made a noncommittal noise. "And the others?"

"The other members of the family?" she asked, considering for a moment. The scent of flowers was growing stronger, so she thought they must be close to the garden's outer ring, near the house. "Their actions don't tend to impact Sanctuary matters as much, I suppose. The fostered prince— Prince Kaion— has been known to visit to see how the foundlings are faring. They say he's very skilled at assessing elemental talent. And that he's very strong in its use himself."

He made a small noise of disagreement. "He's more useful in those arts for versatility than raw strength," he said. "Here— we're by the stairs. The banister is just in front of you to your right."

"Thank you," she said, though it occurred to her that perhaps gratitude for the guidance was misplaced, since her inability to manage by herself was entirely his doing in the first place. Still, she did appreciate the care he was taking.

"Do you mean to say that Prince Kaion isn't particularly strong?" she asked. She found the banister and gripped it firmly as they slowly started up the stairs, her left hand still on his arm. "I thought that was the reason Queen Naratha chose him?"

"Her Majesty had a number of reasons, but to answer your question… no. He's not weak by any means, but most of us have talents that are tilted toward one side or the other of the Rifts," he said. "Kai is unusual in that he's nearly equally talented in all of them. It translates to less raw strength in any given discipline than someone whose strength is more focused."

Her ears perked. Kai , he'd said. He was familiar enough with the royals to use a nickname like that? Had she misjudged his status? Or was he perhaps a childhood friend of the fostered prince, from the days before Kaion had been adopted into the royal household?

Not wanting to call attention to the fact that he might have just given her a clue about his identity, she asked, "And you, my lord? Are you stronger in a particular discipline?"

He lifted his shoulder in a shrug again. This time, since he was a half-step ahead of her on the stairs, guiding her forward, the motion caused his right wing to brush her back, the feathers gliding over the fabric of her kaftan before pulling away. The brush of feathers sent a warm tingle running through her body, and she stifled it with a sharp breath. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice her reaction.

"My natural talents lie with light, shadow, and fire, but I've trained hard in all of them," he said. "Last stair— we're on the terrace," he said as she took the final step up, the stone surface cool beneath her feet. "And Queen Naratha's heir?" he asked. He led her to the banister overlooking the garden, then gently guided her hands to rest on it before stepping away. The scent of flowers was fainter here, but still gentle and sweet. "Do they talk about him in the Sanctuary as well?"

"The crown prince? Of course they do," she said. "There's always speculation about what sort of ruler he'll be. He's…" She trailed off. Some of the rumors about Prince Darius were... well, dark. She knew she had no way to gauge accuracy, as far distant from nobles and royals as she was, so many of the stories were likely just that. Rumors aside, though, she did know the prince was a very strong demon. Before being officially named as Naratha's successor, he'd undergone a formal series of three Trials, tasks that demons traditionally completed as a prerequisite to increasing in status or position. One of the tasks he'd been set to had involved personally handling a foreign-funded revolt in an outlying city. People had spread tales of it for months afterward. Tales of the prince's strength, his decisiveness, and his utter lack of mercy for those who opposed him.

She gave herself a quick internal shake, realizing that she'd gone quiet. She wasn't foolish enough to even hint at discomfiture toward the royals to one of their own kind, so she combed quickly through her memories for something else.

"The older priests like to complain that the crown prince isn't pious enough, but they never seem to have any examples from any time more recent than his boyhood," she said. "So most of us think such talk is just childhood irreverence given too much weight by querulous old men. At any rate, none of the oracles seem to have had any visions of his coronation bringing down the wrath of the gods," she added lightly.

He grunted. "Well, Naratha isn't going anywhere any time soon, so there's still plenty of time for the oracles' visions to cause the prince trouble." For some reason, he sounded a bit surly there. "Actually, it's some of the prince's business that threw the city into disarray today," he said. "I don't suppose they talk about his marriage prospects in the Sanctuary?"

The question surprised a small laugh out of her. "My lord, have you never spent time around gaggles of young women?" she asked.

A pause, broken only by the chirping of night insects in the garden below. "Well…no, actually," he said. Without seeing his face, she wasn't certain if his tone was more perplexed or intrigued. "I've heard how young men speak about women when there aren't any about, but I don't imagine it's the same."

"You might be surprised," she said with a rueful smile. He wasn't so bad to talk to when he wasn't casually mentioning how close she'd recently come to death, or pushing her about soul-speaking, she thought. In fact, this conversation felt… normal. Maybe even companionable, although she supposed that could just be that she'd been starved for interaction over the last three days. She continued, "Prince Darius is the mysterious, handsome, and most importantly, unattached heir to the throne. Girls are always tittering on about the time they caught a glimpse of him at some public function or other. About how handsome he was, and their speculations about what his attentions would be like."

He made a sound like a halfway choked laugh. "They speculate about that ?" he asked, his tone somewhere between amused and appalled.

She lifted one shoulder, though she still wore a small smile. It was nice to be able to think about something beyond her current predicament for a small time, to talk of matters unrelated to herself. And the darkness, for all its inconvenience, almost let her forget about the nature of her host. "As I said, my lord. I think it's not so different from the way men speak. We all have similar needs."

"I suppose." He considered, then said, "They're really that interested in his looks, though? He's a shapeshifter. He's presenting himself exactly how he wants to. It's not like with you humans, where it's just the luck of good parentage that determines beauty."

"Oh, that's discussed as well," Tanitha said with an airy wave of one hand before returning it to the banister. "Usually by older women. When the younger ones are giggling about whatever demon lord has caught public fancy that day, they'll try to break it off by mentioning that the lord in question is probably some hideous beast when he's alone. It doesn't work," she said ruefully.

"No?" he asked, surprised. "I had always thought… most humans seem quite frightened of us. A reminder of that doesn't stop such talk?"

"Danger is intriguing and perhaps even alluring at a distance, my lord," she said. Her voice went lower as she added, almost to herself, "Less so when the threat is clear and close."

He was silent for a moment, and abruptly, she realized that she'd just heavily implied that she still considered him a threat. While she was quickly wrestling with whether or not she should negate that somehow, he said, "I suppose that's true." Something in his tone made her think they weren't referring to the same thing, that perhaps she'd somehow reminded him of something dangerous to him , though she couldn't imagine what that might be.

"In any case," he said, "the prince recently invited a potential marriage prospect to the city. And… well, this one has a flair for the dramatic. Alethia of Zharen, though I don't know if the name means anything to you." Tanitha thought for a moment, then shook her head. She had little reason to know the names of demons from other cities. He continued, "She arrived in the form of a leviathan, rising out of the harbor like a beast out of legend."

Tanitha glanced his way in surprise despite the darkness. "A leviathan?" she asked. Gods be thanked that she'd never actually seen one of the massive sea serpents, but she'd seen ink drawings on old scrolls in the Sanctuary. "Isn't taking a drake's form forbidden to all but the royal family?"

"Technically, the law only forbids others from taking the form of the drakes of air and fire," he replied. "It was Diantha's preferred form, her most powerful form, so it's legally reserved for the royals. You know the history and the stories, I'm sure." She nodded. Every child could recite them. "Nonetheless, it was bold of Alethia to arrive like that," he said, sounding thoughtful. "Very much a statement about not considering the prince to be especially high above her in status."

"And what did the prince think of that?" Tanitha asked, leaning slightly against the banister. The year previous, the prince had weathered a scandal over breaking off a betrothal. He'd done it just before the prospective consort had undergone the traditional Trials that would have confirmed her eligibility to marry into the royal family. Tanitha had been bored nearly to tears by the gossip and speculation on the subject many times. She honestly didn't care very much about her question itself, but perhaps the answer might imply something about her host. Further clues about how close he was to the royal family, and therefore what his position was, perhaps.

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure what the prince thought of it, honestly," he said. "I suspect on some level he appreciated her directness. Most of his prospects have been much more coy, from what I've observed. I've gotten the impression that he's very tired of that sort of game." He let out a soft exhalation. "In any case, he invited her to stay in the city for a few weeks."

Tanitha considered. "Do you think that means a betrothal is forthcoming?" she asked, still wondering if she might be able to get a little more information out of him. He'd mentioned breaking off a courtship of his own earlier; perhaps the nearness to his own experience might lead him to let more hints about himself slip, offering more clues about her situation.

There was a long pause, filled with the gentle sounds of the garden beneath them. "I don't know," he said at last. "It's not entirely clear what the prince is looking for in a match. I don't believe that he knows, himself."

Tanitha frowned. That sort of speculation didn't tell her very much; anyone could draw a conclusion like that, so she still didn't have any further hints about his position. She considered casually asking if he was close to the prince, but it might be too obvious of a maneuver. Then again, she didn't have very much to lose by trying.

"Are you a friend of his, then?" she asked, allowing only polite, minimal interest to color her voice. "You've spoken about this with him?"

He sighed softly. "The prince doesn't really have friends in that sense, with the exception of his foster brother," he said. "Closeness like that is difficult when you have that sort of rank. Everyone around him has an agenda, and so to most people, he's either a tool or an obstacle." Another quiet noise of discontentment. "He's a practical man, so he doesn't allow himself to forget that."

Despite her lack of interest in the prince's affairs, that statement struck her as indescribably sad. And then she reminded herself that she was thinking about one of the most powerful people in this corner of the world. The crown prince of the Shadowborn City had enough advantages in his life that her pity was misplaced, if not outright wasted.

Still… "That might explain his hesitance with marriage prospects, then," she said. "Perhaps he's hoping to find someone that doesn't constantly make him feel that way. Like a tool. Or…" She considered. Misplaced pity or not, it was a depressing situation to contemplate. "Like a prize, more likely, to the sort of women who are available to him," she said finally.

He was silent for such a long time that she wondered if he thought she was being impertinent or disrespectful to speculate on the emotional state of a member of the royal family like that, but then he said, "You might be right. But in a way, it's worse than what you said," he said. She tilted her head, and he elaborated, "He's not even the real prize; the throne is. He's an accessory to it."

"It sounds like a very lonely sort of life," Tanitha said, then wondered how much of that conclusion was actual empathy for the prince's situation, or if it had more to do with her own loneliness, her sense of separation and loss that had earlier driven her to tears in the garden. Perhaps it was both.

"It does sound lonely, doesn't it?" her host said quietly. Then, with a suddenness that surprised her, he asked, "Would you care to join me for dinner? I imagine you haven't eaten anything yet."

She started to reply, then paused— she wasn't certain how she was supposed to eat without being able to see so much as the plate in front of her.

"Of course, I understand if that's uncomfortable for you," he said, when she didn't answer. He sounded, to her surprise, almost abashed. "I can take my meal elsewhere, if you'd prefer solitude."

"Oh— it's not that," she said. She was somewhat surprised to realize that that was actually true; she didn't want him to leave. Perhaps it was just that she'd been left alone with her own thoughts for so long, but demon or no, she found herself unexpectedly not averse to his companionship. "It's just…" She made a vague gesture around herself. "Eating in full darkness seems challenging," she said at last.

He paused, and she wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or amused that he apparently hadn't thought of that. It just went to show how minor of an inconvenience the darkness was to him, she supposed.

"I can help you," he said after a moment, an uncharacteristic hesitancy in his voice. "If that's not too uncomfortable to you, that is?"

Perhaps she was just desperate for companionship after three days of solitary explorations— after three days of being alone with her thoughts— but whatever she normally would have thought of this proposition, right then it didn't seem too objectionable. She nodded.

He took her hand again, his own steady and firm. The touch sent a rise of warmth through her that was by now very familiar, but she didn't scold herself for it this time. He'd saved her life, and whatever else he might have done to this point, whatever cause she might have to be frustrated or annoyed, she was grateful to him. From what she'd heard from other women, it wasn't unusual for gratitude to transform into something else for a time. That ‘something else' would fade; it wasn't anything for her to concern herself with, she was sure. She just had to be certain that she didn't do anything foolish in the meantime.

Like letting a demon lord know what kind of feelings he was awakening in her.

They'll pass, she told herself firmly. After she'd worked through everything else, the hurt and the fear and the pain, after she was certain she wasn't in danger, she'd be able to let gratitude simply be that. She was just in a heightened state right now. It didn't mean anything. Not about him, and especially not about her.

She firmly set her mind to focusing on other things, like the texture of the floor, how it changed from polished sandstone to glassy-smooth marble beneath her feet when they reentered the house, how the smell of fresh fruits and cooked fish filled the air. Anything but the feeling of his muscled bicep occasionally brushing against her arm, or the ridged callouses of his hand on hers.

He led her back to the table, the chair making a quiet scraping noise as either he or one of the constructs drew it back for her. He guided her into position, and she sat carefully, tucking her hands together on her lap. She could hear him moving, presumably as he prepared a plate for her. She felt a stirring of discomfort at how backward this was— demons did not serve humans like this— but at the same time, there was a level of pleasant surprise that he was willing to do so. Though she didn't know his exact rank, she'd heard enough stories to expect that he'd be barely willing to associate with her, let alone share meals and conversation with her.

Of course, none of the stories she'd heard would suggest that a demon would be willing to protect a human against one of his own kind, and he'd done that as well. She still couldn't see any real reason he'd taken any interest in her well-being from that point onward, but perhaps ignorance didn't need to preclude gratitude for that simple fact.

There was a faint ring of metal on wood as he placed a plate in front of her. "There's bread on the right side of the plate, and flaked coppertail on the left— it's a freshwater fish, so you may not have had it before, but it has a mild taste. I removed the bones," he added.

"Thank you," she said, still slightly disconcerted at the care he was taking. Though doing it by feel was a bit clumsy, she broke off a section of flatbread and used it to scoop up a small helping of the fish. It had a mild flavor, as he'd said, and seemed to be seasoned with something fragrant and nutty that she didn't recognize but that was nonetheless pleasant. She managed several bites without any dribbling or dropping of food into her lap, to her intense relief.

"Here, your drink," he said. She raised one hand, closing it around the cool metal cup that he pressed into it, then raised the cup to her lips. At the smell, a sudden memory of too-bitter wine on her tongue surged through her, and she went rigid. Before she could stop herself, she thrust the cup away from herself. It made a dull ringing noise as it landed hard on the table's surface, the sound followed by a sharp splat as at least some of the wine spilled.

There was a silence.

"I'm— I'm sorry," she managed, despite how tight her throat felt. Her heart felt practically lodged there. "I just— I can't drink that."

"Well, obviously not, since it's now spread across the table," he exclaimed, clearly perplexed.

The hard spike of panic was starting to fade, but even so, she couldn't tell if the words were meant to chasten her or as a question about what had driven that reaction. Either way, she couldn't seem to straighten her thoughts enough to form a response.

"Are you all right?" he asked after a painful few seconds. "It's not as if…" He trailed off, then gave a quiet oath as if something had just struck him. "Aspholia root."

She shook her head once, trying to make sense of that. "My lord?"

"It's a mild poison," he said. "Nausea and unconsciousness are the most common reactions. It has a bitter taste, so it's usually administered in wines that will mask the flavor." His voice dropped slightly. "It's what you'd been given the night I brought you here."

She swallowed. "How do you know that?" she asked, fighting hard to keep her voice from betraying the obvious suspicion his words raised.

"I could smell it on you," he said quietly. "I've been trained to recognize most poisons. And that's a commonly available one. The Sanctuary has aspholia flowers everywhere, and it's not hard to extract the toxin from the roots." He let out a slow exhalation. "None of this should have happened to you," he said, his voice low. She wasn't certain how to read the tension in his voice. Frustration? At her? Or at the situation in general? "There's another jar of wine here, a sweeter type," he said. She still couldn't quite read his tone. "It shouldn't remind you of… that. Unless you'd prefer water?"

"I think…" She trailed off before finding her voice again. "I think I'd prefer not to drink anything right now," she managed.

"Of course." His voice was gentle, a fact which bizarrely frustrated her. She gave herself a little shake, unable to make sense of her own reaction. "I'm sorry."

She stifled a snort at the apology. He wasn't the one who'd drugged her, after all.

"I don't think you have any cause to apologize, my lord," she said, though she still wasn't sure why she found herself so averse to accepting sympathy in that moment. Perhaps it just felt like an admission of weakness, something she found difficult to tolerate with how vulnerable she'd been feeling.

"I do have cause to apologize, actually," he said, to her surprise. "This situation you're in, it's… it's unfair. And I know that part of it is my doing. I've wanted to set you at ease, to let you know that you're not in danger with me, but I keep failing there, too." He made another quiet noise of frustration. Strangely, she felt herself softening slightly at his words. As awful as she'd been feeling… perhaps she wasn't the only one who was badly off-balance right now.

"In any case… I am sorry," he said. "I know none of this has been easy for you. And I've done precious little to remedy that."

Tanitha hesitated, unsure of what to say. It was obviously true that none of this was easy, but she didn't think he was being precisely fair to himself, either. She started to speak, perhaps to offer some reassurance that he wasn't at fault for everything she was feeling, but what came out was something completely different.

"I can't ever go home," she said softly. "Can I?" The sudden silence from him was answer enough, and she swallowed. "That was what I was dwelling on this afternoon," she said. "In the garden. I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. You said you'd try to find out what exactly the danger to me was, but… it doesn't matter, does it?"

He didn't answer, and she closed her eyes against the pain that rose up inside her. It wasn't as intense as before, but she still found herself fighting tears.

"No matter what answer you find, I'm supposed to be dead," she said, "And there are people in the Sanctuary that know that. I can't go back." She folded her hands tightly together on her lap.

He sighed. "No, you're right," he said, his tone heavy with reluctance. "That's all true. I'm sorry."

The admission struck her hard, though she wasn't sure what else she could have expected. Perhaps on some level she'd hoped that someone as powerful as a demon lord could simply wave away the problem. But even demons couldn't just dismiss pain and sorrow. She swallowed back another rise of tears, although peculiarly, she didn't feel as determined to hide her feelings from him as she had previously.

She bowed her head, steeling herself. She didn't want to discuss yet another difficult subject, but with his confirmation of her fears, she desperately needed to know that there could still be some kind of future for her.

"Three days ago, when you said that if I had elemental abilities, you'd have more options to protect me," she said, her heart beating hard in her throat at the prospect of the chance she was considering taking. "What did you mean by that?"

She heard him shift his weight slightly in his chair, perhaps in surprise. In fact, she was a little surprised herself that she was bringing this topic back to the fore. But she hadn't admitted to anything— certainly not to being a soul-speaker— and she was perilously low on options. So was he, she strongly suspected.

"I was thinking about the programs for talented foundlings and other recruits," he said. His voice was carefully neutral. "Specifically the academy on the island of Sarthen, if you show more than a small amount of talent. I still don't understand fully why you were condemned to death, but I do know that the one who ordered it has never seen your face. If you were to go to another city, assuming a new identity, they'd never know the difference, even if you crossed paths."

"Why might we cross paths?" she asked, frowning. It wasn't as if she made a habit of consorting with nobility.

He cleared his throat. "I'm just trying to account for any possibilities," he said. Which wasn't an answer at all, she thought, but before she could ask for elaboration, he said, "You have hill-tribe heritage, so it'd be easy enough to spin some story about how you'd been raised in an isolated village where your talents weren't fully recognized. The elementalist programs here would welcome you with little question. They'd much rather have you than see you search out similar work in the Sabrian army," he said, a hint of wryness entering his voice. He paused, then said, "But I imagine you're worried about the prospect of leaving your sister."

Tanitha swallowed, then gave a nod. "Were you able to find a way to contact her safely, my lord?"

"No. But I did find out that she's been told you're doing a year in residence at the palace," he said. "So at least she doesn't have reason to think that you're dead."

Tanitha considered that for a moment. It wasn't enough— Lithra wouldn't believe that sort of lie for very long if she didn't get word from Tanitha— but it was something for now, at least.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For finding out."

"Of course." He paused, then said, "If you were able to establish yourself elsewhere, I think after some time— a year or so— you could safely send for her. You'd be earning enough in the Ivory Throne's service to easily support her."

She considered this for a moment. The solution he was proposing was better than anything she'd managed to come up with so far, but it also gave rise to an obvious question.

"Why does it matter if I have magical talent at all?" she asked. "Why couldn't you arrange transport to another of our cities whether I had it or not? I could learn another trade."

"Would you be content with that?" he asked. She tilted her head slightly. That peculiar hint of wariness was back in his voice, and she didn't know what to make of it. "Tying nets for fishing ships, or counting coins for some merchant. Would you be happy in a life that small?"

"It's not so different from recording and delivering messages from a dovecote," she said, perplexed. What under the Rifts had driven that question? She hardly even left the Sanctuary. Her life being small was the furthest thing possible from being a concern. "I just…" She made a hopeless gesture. "I wanted us to be safe."

"And I want that for you as well." There was a rustle of motion, probably the feathers of his wings as he leaned in slightly, or perhaps shrugged. "I suppose when I said I thought you might have more options, I was thinking that laying claim to some power might help you keep the both of you safe."

She hesitated. She'd been so afraid as a child, for both Lithra's safety and her own, and she hadn't felt secure enough in their place in the world to risk separating. Recent events had rebirthed much of that fear, but it had also shattered the illusion that the place they'd claimed had ever truly been theirs. He'd asked if she was content with a small life. She was… and perhaps that was part of the problem. A smaller life was so much easier for someone in power to sweep aside.

She gripped her own wrist tightly. A part of her was still worried that this was a trap, a ploy to convince her to admit to hiding the abilities, but… he didn't seem interested in that. She'd already decided not to be afraid of him. Perhaps it was time to decide to trust him a little bit, too.

"I wasn't completely honest with you before," she said. A faint tremor of apprehension ran through her voice, and she swallowed. A part of her thought that this was a terrible strategy, but a deeper part felt that if she was going to trust him, she wanted to be worthy of trust as well. And that meant being forthright, even if it felt like a risk. "I never told anyone, even my sister," she said. "But… I could soul-speak as a child. I didn't know that was what I was doing, but looking back… it was part of how Lithra and I survived the plague outbreak. I used to will the sparrows into bringing us food. It wasn't much, but I don't think we would have lived without it."

He laid one hand on top of hers. The touch surprised her, but it was gentle, and unexpectedly comforting. She paused, but he didn't speak, so she continued, "I don't know if I can still manage it. I haven't done it since I came to the City, and I assumed the ability had faded. But… if you believe that I may still be able to do it," she said, her heart pounding in her throat, "then I'm willing to find out if that's true."

There was a pause, agonizing in its length as Tanitha tried to guess what he might be thinking, how he might be reacting to this. But when he replied, his voice was measured and calm. "Come with me."