The complex was larger than I’d expected—I’d imagined it as a single building, but instead more than a dozen covered the hilltop, some with trickling fountains, others with statues. There was a small amphitheater, a tour guide speaking to her group where the stage had once been. Everything seemed bright and clean after the rain, almost ruthlessly so, as though it had been freshly washed for us.
Daziel was unusually quiet. It took me a while to realize, as I was wowed by the beauty of the place, the contrast of white stone and newly blue sky. “Are you okay?”
“It’s strange.” He trailed a hand over a fluted column. “Built by shedim but to human tastes.”
Of course. I was embarrassed I hadn’t realized this earlier. “Does it make you angry? Seeing what humans used your people to do?”
He looked at me, too quickly for a human to move, his speed jarring. I didn’t usually startle him into that. “Yes.”
“Do you hate it?”
He tilted his head. Paz popped his own head out, tilted as well. “It’s very beautiful. But yes. I think I might. I think I might burn it to the ground if I didn’t think it would get you in trouble.”
“I appreciate your forbearance.” I paused, then added more seriously, “I’m sorry if it’s painful.”
“I wanted to see it. It feels important to…bear witness to what they did.”
We wandered, silent for a few minutes. From so high, we could see all of Talum: the great plazas, spice markets, and public buildings. We could see the other hills—Society Hill, with its private residences and the glimmering dome of the Hall of the Sanhedrin; Lyra’s Seat, green and lush, the highest point in the city; Diamond Hill, where the grand duke kept his palace, though his family had long ago lost all political power and now had only riches and social clout. We could see the Lyceum jutting out on its peninsula, and even the black bar of the Keep, tiny from this distance.
“I’m sorry if it’s too much,” I said as we leaned against a wall taking in the view. The Lersach River cut like a ribbon north and south, and we could make out the curve of the uninhabited islet off Talum’s west coast, then the vineyards along the far bank. Sunset was already on its way, despite the hour not yet being four, and it painted the world gold. “Everyone treating you differently because you’re a shayd, here and at my aunt’s.”
Both our forearms rested on the stone, and our shoulders brushed. His warmth bled into me. “It’s sweet how much your aunt cares about you.”
“She does?”
“Clearly.” He paused. “Will your parents visit you?”
“I’ll go home this summer, and maybe they’ll come for my graduation, but I don’t expect before then.”
“I’ll have to go home with you in summer, then.”
I started. I’d never imagined Daziel meeting my family. Now I pictured Daziel on the high plains and the stir he would cause. People would be meticulously polite, even if they tried to banish him. He’d get on with my sisters, because he was basically a childhimself, and my mother because he’d help with chores without her asking. Dad would like him too. And my grandmother always appreciated a good-looking, well-dressed young man.
He’d fit in perfectly.
“Do you miss your family?” I asked. “What are they like?”
“My father is distant. My mother…” Daziel’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Not very maternal.”
“No?” I asked, surprised. I knew, without any doubt or sentimentality, my mother would fight a bear for me and my sisters. A demon. “How so?”
“It’s not such a…procedure for her…as it is for human women to have children. And she has so many. We aren’t as interesting as other things in her life.”
I stared. “What’s more interesting than your kids?”
“What isn’t?” His smile didn’t seem sad or self-pitying. “I’m used to it. And I’m trying to become interesting.”
“Ithink you’re interesting.” I was offended on his behalf. Daziel was one of the most interesting people I knew. Not just because he was a shayd but because of his curiosity about the world around him, his delight in beautiful things, the way he listened and tried to make me happy.
He smiled, and a warmth bloomed in my chest. “Thank you,” he said, pressing his shoulder more firmly into mine. I smiled back, and we watched the oranges and golds of the setting sun in silence.
Thirteen
“Did you hear about theearthquake in Ilthalit?” Ezra said a few weeks later at our usual pub. The temperature had continued to drop, and the students around us layered coats on top of sweaters and knotted scarves around necks. The heavy rains were worse than previous years, people said. They caused flooding by the river shore, including at the Lyceum. Some of the administrative offices had to be hurriedly closed and moved to higher grounds.
Yet I loved the rain, as I loved the wind. I loved watching the silver rain dash against the river, loved listening to it from the cozy safety of the Keep or my rooms as I worked on endless iterations of the spell to restore the scrolls. Daziel wasn’t as charmed, grumbling when knockball practices were canceled. I tried to entertain him with baking projects, and we explored Talum after my aunt’s luncheons—though we stuck to indoor activities, like museums and coffee shops and the pub.
Jelan nodded in response to Ezra’s question. “Killed over a hundred people. They’ve had tremors there in the past, but not so far north—they didn’t have the infrastructure for it.”
