After a moment, Yew continued. “But keep an eye on her, just in case. If anything were to happen to her in Dean Blake’s absence, I’d never forgive myself.”
Des didn’t love the idea of babysitting when he should be hunting, but perhaps this was an opportunity. “And the consorter, sir? Would you like me to track him, as well?”
“You’ll be plenty busy with your own patrols, not to mentionMiss Blake. I’ll put another guard on it.”
Des did his best to hide his disappointment, but Yew knew him too well.
“You don’t have to take on everything, Whitlow. Your performance has already far surpassed that of your peers.”
Des nodded. Commander Yew thought Des wanted what all young guards wanted: glory, recognition, respect. But this went far beyond that for Des.
All hunters had heard old tales of people consorting with the demons they conjured, using dark magic to wield control over them. It was magic, after all, that had created the curse on the kingdom in the first place, and why it had been outlawed along with inventing. But hearing those tales had been nothing compared to seeing, andfeeling, the very wrongness of a demon under thrall firsthand. It took the fire in Des’s chest, the rage that burned at every casual act of negligence that created a demon, and fanned it into an inferno.
Demons were responsible for the fact that every member of the Iron Guard was an orphan. But a controlled demon could be responsible for so much worse. A weapon instead of a rabid animal.
Wisteria kept records of every human-demon encounter, whether it resulted in a human’s death or not. There were men at the fort who studied the records for patterns, improving the Iron Guard’s capabilities over the years and reducing fatal encounters significantly for humans. When he was fifteen, Des had snuck into the archives and looked for the record of his parents’ deaths. He regretted it, sometimes, because what he read had left him with night terrors for months afterward. But it had helped him decide that endingveritawas his calling.
Des had been four months old at the time of the attack. His fatherwas a farmer, and, per the account pieced together by the Iron Guard, he’d most likely gone out that night to the chicken coop after hearing a commotion. The noise had woken Des, and his mother had gone to rock him back to sleep. But when she went into Des’s room, she saw a monster looming over his cradle, its red eyes flashing at her when she opened the door.
According to the records, she had screamed at the demon on purpose to draw it away from Des, and it had worked. It pursued her downstairs and into the parlor, where it caught up with her, tearing her to shreds with its long talons. Hearing her screams, Des’s father had returned to the house just in time to watch the life drain out of her. He started to reach for his axe, but the demon would already have been growing after feasting on his mother’s flesh. Des’s father ran for the alarm bell to alert the town guard, only managing to ring it twice before he was attacked. He lived long enough to tell his neighbor what happened, then bled out on the floor of his house. The demon was eventually caught and killed by a mob of villagers, being too far out of the city to warrant their own platoon of Iron Guards.
There was no time to study the demon once it was pierced with an iron-tipped spear. It had gone up in green flames, like they all did. But the records stated that the demon’s talons resembled scythes, and the theory was that a nearby farmer had attempted to create some sort of new blade for more efficient farm work. No one had ever been caught. His parents never received justice.
“You did well tonight, Whitlow,” Commander Yew said. “Go get some rest. You look like you need it.”
Des saluted and returned to the barracks, where Gareth was telling the rest of the guards what they’d seen. He didn’t blame thekid for his excitement; everyone shared stories of their hunting when something unusual occurred. But he didn’t like discussing things he didn’t yet understand.
“You’re telling us you saw an honest-to-gods thrall,” a guard around Gareth’s age said. She was sitting close to him, her chin propped on her elbow, and Gareth was blushing under the attention.
“If it wasn’t a thrall, that man was extremely lucky not to have his face ripped off,” Gareth said, glancing across the room to Des for confirmation.
“What about the dean’s niece?” the girl asked. “Do you think she knows about the demon?”
“No idea,” Gareth replied.
“It’s interesting that she waited until her uncle was gone to meet with this man, though,” the girl said, and Des nodded in silent agreement. No matter what Commander Yew thought, something stank about the entire thing.
He closed his eyes to rest and grunted as a weight settled on the end of his bunk just a moment later.
“What do you want, Daisy?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“I heard you were spying on the dean’s niece tonight,” she said in a deliberately teasing voice.
“Hmm.”
“I’ve heard she’s very pretty,” Daisy pressed.
“It was dark.”
“Oh come on, Des. Tell me something! This week has been exceedingly dull.”
He forced himself to sit up on his elbows. “I didn’t kill anything either, if it makes you feel better.”
“I meant in terms of gossip, not demons. Anyway, you saw athrall. That must have been thrilling!” Daisy was cross-legged on the foot of his bed, her chin-length red hair tucked behind her ears. She was scrawny and cheerful and couldn’t have been more different from Des if she tried. He’d never understood why she befriended him, but she was his oldest friend in the Guard. He trusted her more than anyone else there.
But he still didn’t want her sitting on his bunk.
“Like I said, it was dark. I couldn’t make out any details, other than it was about the size and shape of a sheep.”