A Practical Guide to Dating a Demon, page 19
“I’m sorry, miss,” the civil servant said. “They would like to speak with him alone.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Are you arresting him? He’s a minor.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said again.
“It’s all right.” Daziel squeezed my hand, letting go as he stepped out of the room. His nightclothes had shifted into formal black, the lines severe and crisp. “I’ll see you soon.”
My breath came hard and fast, and panic welled in my throat. “I’m coming with you!”
Two of the gendarme stepped in my path, blocking the door of my apartment. I gaped at them, gaped at Daziel on the other side, who simply gave me an inscrutable nod before turning to go. “Daziel!” I cried. I turned to the two men before me, who stared above me as though I was invisible. “Are you trapping me in here? Madame Hadar!”
“It’s just for a moment, so there won’t be any trouble,” she said, her voice quivering. “Everything will be fine.”
I glared at her and at the others. Then I slammed my door as fiercely as possible and collapsed on my couch, shaking. I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin upon them and trying not to cry. Outside, the sky was a flat, cool gray, only a few plumes of smoke in the distance adding any texture.
It was Sunday morning. Last night had been so wonderful and terrible—the realization of the word “Ziz,” the party and disaster at the Rocks, kissing Daziel. Today, my cohort would be at the Keep. We had a potential key now. We might be able to decipher everything. They’d probably be expecting me.
Instead, trembling, I packed an overnight bag. And as soon as the gendarme were gone, I set out for my aunt’s.
Eighteen
“They took Daziel,” I told Aunt Tirtzah. We were in her bedroom, where I’d been escorted by her assistant, Chava. It was an alarmingly elegant chamber, a silk rug on the polished wood floor, a massive bed, a high ceiling painted with florals. The room was bigger than my entire apartment.
My aunt sat at her vanity, wrapped in a white cotton robe, her hair still wet from showering. I paced behind her. “He didn’t do anything, and the gendarme took him away.”
Aunt Tirtzah’s reflection lifted her brows. “Didn’t do anything? The demon who froze the entire river?”
“He didn’t freeze it. He calmed it. And there’s nothing wrong about that.” Except for the binding we’d performed.
“Technically, there is.” Aunt Tirtzah turned from her mirror so she could level the full force of her gaze at me. “High shedim are bound by the treaty to give notice of their location if they stay in Talum for more than twenty-four hours.”
Unease brewed in my stomach, clawing its way through my body. I pushed it down. “Daziel’s a wild shayd, not high.”
My aunt snorted. “Naomi, a wild shayd couldn’t have cast that spell. Which means he lied and is a high shayd, a member of their court. He’s concealed a shocking amount of power. Which makes him unpredictable. And unpredictable can mean dangerous.”
But Daziel wasn’t high. He’d been able to cast the spell because I’d cast it when we were bound together. Would telling her about the binding put Daziel in more or less danger? Would it break the treaty? I trusted my aunt, but I didn’t know if she would keep this a secret. I decided to hold my ground. “He has all the markings of a wild shayd.”
“A high shayd is more than capable of altering their appearance,” she said impatiently. “That’s why they present to us as humans. They could easily also look like wild shedim.”
I needed a different angle. “Fine. But even if he is a high shayd, he shouldn’t have been arrested. People could be dead if he hadn’t done something.”
“While the Sanhedrin would see student death as a tragedy, they’d understand it.” Aunt Tirtzah turned back to the mirror, combing out her wet, tangled curls. “They don’t understand how a shayd could cast that spell, even a high shayd. People fear what they don’t understand.”
I tried not to squirm. Maybe I should admit how we’d cast the spell, if it would make them fear Daziel less. Surely a consensual binding wasn’t illegal? “Fear doesn’t make arrests legal.”
Her comb caught on a knot, and I took it from her, working it carefully through the strands. I’d had years of experience fixing my sisters’ hair.
“Fear makes people irrational,” Aunt Tirtzah said, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Everyone is already on edge—the treaty renewal is coming up in two years, and it’s negotiated by high shedim. People are going to think he’s a spy. Or a saboteur.”
I studied her. She was two years older than my father, but they shared so many of the same features—the texture of their hair, the curve of their noses, the color of their eyes. It comforted me, and even though I didn’t know her well, it made me feel like I could ask of her what I would of my father, who loved and supported me unconditionally. And you couldn’t get anything if you didn’t ask for it. “He saved us. And I’m asking you for help.”
She turned, gently taking the comb from one hand and unwinding the fingers of my other from the fist they’d formed. “I like Daziel, and it’s clear you care for each other. But I don’t know his motivations, and I’m not sure they are good. You don’t, either.”
“He wants to see the world,” I told her. “Before he’s stuck at home running the family business.”
She gave me a sad smile, like she didn’t believe me. “It might be wise to disentangle yourself from him now. A wild shayd is one thing; they come to the border markets and have affairs with humans. But a high shayd—they’re very different from us. What do you think would happen if you, a human girl, married a high shayd? Do you think he’d stay here with you in Talum after you graduated? Would you take him home to your village?”
He’s not a high shayd, I wanted to say. Still, her words wormed their way inside me, and my unease started to grow. When it came down to it, I was a poor village girl from the high plains, and Daziel was…not. It shouldn’t have hurt, shouldn’t have twisted up my stomach and made me want to crawl into bed. Yet it did.
“We don’t know much about the shedim court,” Aunt Tirtzah said, “but we know anyone who can cast such a spell is very high-ranking. So high-ranking, he’s not going to stay in human lands. This isn’t his real life. This is just an adventure to him.”
My parents want me to step into the family business, I remembered him saying. Rocks, I’d thought, but maybe it wasn’t.
What if he was a high shayd?
No. No, he wasn’t; it was the binding that had allowed us to cast the spell. He had told me as much. Still, I stared at my boots, the worn toes, the frayed laces. I felt very small and sad. “Very high-ranking” sounded bad. He was supposed to be normal, like me. “I don’t think I’m just an adventure to him.”
My aunt sighed. “Maybe not. But I want you to understand what’s going on. He’s a member of a mercurial species. I want you to be cognizant of the fact that while you’re opening up your heart, he could be using you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. And that’s what worries me.”
I was quiet for a moment. “You could be right,” I finally said. “But there could be more context. And he still doesn’t deserve to be arrested. He saved us. It’s my turn to save him.”
She looked so tired. “Fine. Let’s go try to rescue your boyfriend.”
* * *
~ ~ ~
The Sanhedrin’s official seat perched atop Society Hill, so it didn’t take long to get there from my aunt’s house—a short drive up sandstone streets, past parks, residences, and gardens. Most of the council members lived nearby to have a quick commute—helpful, Aunt Tirtzah said, when night sessions ran long or when they were summoned with little notice. As everyone had been today.
“You’ll have to impress them,” Aunt Tirtzah said. Chava sat across from us, flipping furiously through a notebook. My aunt sat beside me and redid my braids in a neat knot at my nape. I stared out the window at the world, still glistening from last night’s storm. Branches had been knocked to the sidewalks and even here, in Talum’s most exclusive neighborhood, not all cleaned up. “Many won’t want to listen to you because you’re young; others because you’re my niece. That is separate from your request, which is already something no one will want to grant.”
Nervous energy buzzed through me. “How do I impress them?”
“If I knew the answer, I’d be running the place.” Aunt Tirtzah straightened my collar. I’d thrown on a neat, respectable dress of my aunt’s and felt like a child playing dress-up. The weights in the hem pulled at my shoulders. I hadn’t worn a dress since arriving in Talum. I wore my blue School of Humanities blazer over it, the Lyceum’s emblem shining on the breast, since my aunt had said it would be good to remind everyone I was a student. It would make me more sympathetic.
We drove down a wide avenue, pausing at gilded gates. The guard gave our credentials a perfunctory check—she clearly knew my aunt—and Samuel drove us on.
I’d never been to the Sanhedrin’s House of Law before, and it impressed me more than I liked. Tall cypress trees lined the drive, which ended before a winged building made of three stories of golden sandstone. Businessfolk and messengers and well-dressed civilians bustled up and down the steps.
Samuel opened the carriage door and lowered the footstep. Aunt Tirtzah descended, then me, then Chava. We trailed her up the marble stairs. She nodded assertively to the entrance guards, and I tried to look like I belonged.
I didn’t. The entrance hall itself was humblingly large, two stories high and echoing with foot traffic. Whorls of paint formed sky and clouds on the ceiling. People swept about, the swish of uniforms and clatter of heels aggressively loud. It even smelled expensive, hints of jasmine and rose lingering in the air.
“Councilwoman Bat Tovah.” A man appeared before us in the crisp gray uniform of a civil servant. “They’re ready.”
“I should expect so,” she said. She followed him, and so we all did, through an archway and down one hall, then another. “The petitioner’s entrance,” Tirtzah said to me when we reached a modest-looking antechamber. On the far side, a white plaque with neat gold font read Great Council Chamber.
The civil servant stepped through first; Aunt Tirtzah held up a hand, so Chava and I waited. I could see only the floor inside, white marble, gleaming so brightly I thought I might slip when I stepped on it. I heard three loud bangs, like a gavel, and then the voice of the young man said, “Tirtzah bat Tovah, Naomi bat Yardena, and Chava Vilner.”
We stepped into the grand hall, which I’d only seen in ink newspaper drawings before. A glass dome let in rays of sun, which streamed color across the white marble floor and walls. Rows of seats edged three sides of the room. In them sat the seventy-two members of the Great Sanhedrin—seventy-one, given my aunt’s place at my side.
Directly across from us, a man sat in a larger box than any of the others. He had a face like a turnip and a great, protruding mustache. The topaz amulet resting on his black robes declared his affiliation with the Tribe of Simeon—the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin. On either side of his box were two men in black: one who must have been the Speaker of the Sanhedrin, and another who looked to be the scribe.
I scanned the councilors. They were equal parts men and women, and everyone wore formal tribal affiliation robes. The Naphtali councilors sat high on the left, their blush-pink robes the color of a perfect summer rose. Their presence felt like a shot of relief.
“The Sanhedrin recognizes Tirtzah bat Tovah, Naomi bat Yardena, and Chava Vilner,” the Speaker intoned. He was a skeletal man with a long face and a displeased expression.
“Hello, Tirtzah,” the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin said in a tired voice. “Perhaps you can shed some light on this situation. And your absence these last few hours.”
“Apologies.” Aunt Tirtzah sounded unapologetic. Her voice was dry and professional, like reeds rustling in the wind. “Family duties.”
“This would be the niece.” The Chief Judge’s gaze transferred to me. I didn’t want to quail—I wanted to maintain the self-delusion that I was brave—but it turned out I hated being perceived by authority.
“Yes, Naomi bat Yardena of the Naphtali tribe. My brother’s daughter. Naomi, as I wrote, was at the event. I believe you may be interested in her account.”
The Chief Judge waved a hand. “Go on, then, girl.”
I tried hard not to clear my throat before projecting clearly, as my aunt had instructed. “My name is Naomi bat Yardena. I’m betrothed to Daziel bar Cathmeus. I’m here to request his release.”
A murmur sailed around the room, and the attention of those assembled fastened on me.
“He saved more than a dozen Lyceum students from the storm last night. I’m here to vouch for his character and take him home.”
A woman to my left spoke, wearing the white of Zebulun. “We have reports he was able to control the river itself. How do we know he—and demonkind—weren’t involved in last night’s flooding? In the strangeness of the winds and waters being wrong?”
I hadn’t even known there’d been flooding and had no idea how to defend against such an off-base accusation. Panic surged through me. How was I supposed to debate people two, three times my age, who’d made a career of arguing? Especially when I was scared to tell them the truth?
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning,” the Chief Judge said. “You say he’s your betrothed. How did you come into this situation?”
Hesitantly, I explained.
The Chief Judge rubbed his forehead, glancing sidelong at a man to his left in the silver-blue robes of Dan. “Is this binding?”
“Due to the exchange of pomegranate and ring…” The Danite made a reluctant face. “Yes.”
“Daziel clearly believes the betrothal is binding,” my aunt added.
“You must admit it is a very strange thing, Tirtzah,” another councilor burst out. “And to have not told any of us!”
A few people made noises of agreement, but my aunt only snorted. “Half this room knew about my niece’s betrothal as soon as the shayd attended my gathering four months ago. Several have met him in person. If anyone didn’t know of him, their head was buried.”
“We didn’t know he was a high shayd,” the Chief Judge said gravely. “We were under the belief she was betrothed to a wild demon.”
“As was I,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “Until the events of last night, I had no idea he was high.”
“You expect us to believe that?” another woman said witheringly, this one in Asher purple.
Aunt Tirtzah’s chin jerked up. “Do you want to administer a truth spell on me, Melanie?”
The woman looked mad enough to spit. “Maybe we should.”
“Enough,” the chief said, and my head stopped pinging between the women and refocused on him. I hadn’t realized this wouldn’t just be about me and Daziel but about my aunt’s personal relations with the Council—because these were her peers, after all, and she would have both allies and enemies. “Whether or not Tirtzah knew is less important than what we do moving forward.”
“Like my niece said, you should release him. According to Law 322-B of the Matine Codex, family members are permitted to lodge foreign nationals on their own properties,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “I am willing to house the shayd Daziel.”
One of the older men leaned forward. “A betrothed is not a family member. And technically, your house is not your own—it’s held in trust by the Judahite tribe for their representatives.”
“Oh, shove it, Harry,” Aunt Tirtzah said irritably, losing her professional tone. “The house is fine. You know in any legal battle, I’ll win—there’s precedent. And what, do you want these children to get married now so we have the legal tie? They’re not yet twenty.”
“She could be lying,” the Asher woman who didn’t seem to like my aunt said.
“I’m not lying!” I said hotly.
“She could be bespelled,” the woman—Melanie—said. “Demons can do that.”
“Enchanting humans is against the treaty,” another woman said.
“So is a high demon staying in Talum without giving us notice,” Melanie snapped back.
“And so is detaining a shayd who has broken no laws,” Aunt Tirtzah said coldly. “Which Daziel has not.”
“Tirtzah’s right. We can’t keep him locked up,” the Chief Judge said. “We might as well release him into your custody. You can keep an eye on him, and we won’t be accused of breaking the treaty.”
“They’re already going to accuse us of it, given how we treated him,” a man who hadn’t spoken before said.
“Reasonable need,” said another. I couldn’t keep track of everyone; my head was whirling trying to remember who said what, who was on our side and who against. “They’ll agree.”
“Since when have shedim been reasonable?” a councilor in mustard-colored robes said.
Melanie scowled. “You’re not seriously considering letting out a powerful high demon?”
“We can’t aggravate our own allies,” another man said. “I say we release him to Tirtzah.”
“Tirtzah has served for merely three years,” someone in teal said. “She’s hardly the best equipped to house a shayd.”
“And precisely where do you think the shayd should be housed to prevent his people from descending in fury?” a woman asked caustically.
“I say we banish him!” someone yelled.
The room descended into outright chaos, Sanhedrin members shouting back and forth, some standing to make their point, others thumping fists against their stands. I watched with wide eyes. These were the people running our country. Weren’t they supposed to have it together?
“Enough,” the Chief Judge finally said. When no one listened, he banged his gavel against his desk. “Enough!”
