In the city of Talum, the winds were strong, the magic thick, and everyone knew each other’s business.
My floormate, Leah, nudged me as we crossed campus. It was late in the day—the setting sun painted the Lyceum’s marble buildings a tawny gold, and warblers sung from leafy branches as students laughed and shouted. “Your latest suitor,” Leah said with a wicked grin.
I groaned. Sure enough, a boy in a gray blazer lingered before the open brass gate. Beyond, a land bridge led from the Lyceum’s peninsula to the rest of the island. Everyone crossed here to leave campus, so it was a great place to catch someone. “Let’s hide.”
“Too late.” Leah’s brown eyes were bright, her expression impish. “What number are we up to now?”
“I’m not telling.” We slowed, other students swirling around us. The majority of us wore school-issued blazers made of twill-worsted wool to protect against the winds. They varied in color based on which of the five Lyceum schools we attended, but the gold emblem emblazoned on the breast remained the same—an open book against a stylized tree. Leah and I wore blue, for the School of Humanities, paired with sensible blouses and trousers tucked into sturdy boots.
Leah smirked. “Eight, is it?”
“Seven,” I corrected quickly, as though one fewer were any better. Leah cackled while the boy caught sight of us.
Ephraim was reed-thin with freckles stark against his pale face. We had the same Old Cinnaian language class, and we’d worked together on a project last week. He seemed smart and nice enough, save an irritating habit of second-guessing my work.
“Naomi.” He wiped damp hands on his pants and swallowed hard enough to bob the amulet around his neck. “Hi.”
My father’s advice about confronting mice back home flashed through my mind:
They’re more scared of you than you are of them. I suppressed a sigh. “Hey, Ephraim.”
“Well, I’m off.” Leah sounded delighted to leave me in this awkward situation, which would make a good story for her tomorrow. “You two have fun.”
I shot her a pleading look. If she stayed, maybe I’d avoid Ephraim’s inevitable question. “Aren’t we walking home together?”
She shook her head, the crystal studs in her ears glinting in the early-autumn light. “I have a date.”
We’d both been in Talum only a month, but Leah had already gone on more dates than I had in my entire life. Admittedly, I’d been on none. I was torn between admiration and exhaustion at her social life. “Right. See you later.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Ephraim spoke unsmilingly, as though a graver utterance had never been made. He was a serious boy, as all these gray-blazered School of Government boys seemed to be. Their school’s main requirement seemed to be a dour expression and the inability to take a joke—or a hint.
I tried not to sound pained. “Sure.”
We crossed the land bridge over the Lersach River into IssacharQuarter—the Scholars’ Quarter—where students and academics lived in shoulder‑to‑shoulder buildings above bookshops and cheap pubs. I decided to nudge Ephraim and get this over fast. “What’s up?”
“Oh. Uh.” He gave me an appraising look as we turned up Avenue de Bedzin, which cut through Issachar Quarter like an artery. Wind tugged at our clothes. City fashion favored trousers instead of long skirts like back home; without weights in the hem, skirts could easily gust up. People usually wore their hair either short or braided, and I’d bound my own long brown curls in the student style of four braids knotted at the nape.
But despite my best efforts at looking presentable, my ragged shirt had come untucked from my secondhand trousers, and the sole of one boot was half-detached. Even the frayed red string around my wrist looked ready to disintegrate. Like the amulet around my neck, I wore it to protect against demons. Superstition said if it fell off, you were about to meet your spouse.
I hoped Ephraim noticed the bracelet was still securely tied.
He cleared his throat, obviously steeling himself against my dismal appearance. “Are you going with anyone to the graduation festival?”
And there it was.
I wish I could say seven boys had asked me to the Lyceum’s festival because of my dazzling beauty and wit, or for my skill at languages, which had landed me my scholarship.
This was not the case.
“No, Ephraim,” I said tiredly. “I’m not going with anyone to the festival.”
“Really.” Ephraim braced his shoulders. I could almost taste his nervous anticipation. “You’re not?”
“Nope.” The avenue opened onto one of the quarter’s main squares, where loud music and rowdy debates drifted from pubs. We cut across the plaza, passing elderly folk playing games of strategy. Globes of neshem-powered light blazed in wrought iron lamps to hold back the darkness. Children chased each other around the bronze statues at the plaza’s center, which depicted the three primordial beasts of ancient mythology: the Behemoth, a desert-dwelling monster; the Leviathan, a sea serpent with piercing eyes and brilliant scales; and the Ziz, a griffin-like bird with a wingspan capable of blocking out the sun.
Ephraim took my hand and pulled me to a stop, his skin clammy with sweat. “Would you like to go with me?”
Oy. I tugged my hand from his grasp and kept walking. “Thanks, but no.”
Ephraim followed, sounding surprised. “Are you waiting for someone else to ask?”
All the boys did this—they wouldn’t take a simple no for ananswer. They’d all pressed on against my every excuse. Well, almost every excuse.
If it hadn’t been so infuriating, it might have been flattering—except I knew it wasn’t me they were interested in. It was an introduction to my aunt—a member of the Great Council—that made them so desperate to bring me to the festival where she would be in attendance.
To deter my unwanted suitors, I’d settled on a stronger deterrent, one girls in my village had used for ages. I’d first dropped it glibly, a sarcastic whim born more out of frustration than expectation it would work. “I can’t go with anyone.”
“Why not?” Ephraim thrust his chin forward.
“Because I’m already spoken for.” Around us, a fresh easterly wind tugged at the fronds of palm trees in the plaza. A few birds took flight, though most remained. A small blue-and-orange kingfisher swiveled its head and looked, I swear, right at me. “I’m betrothed.”
Ephraim looked skeptical. City folk thought eighteen was young for an engagement, except in unusual circumstances. “To whom?”
I smiled sharply. Because my circumstance was most unusual and impossible to argue against. “To a demon.”
I wasn’t, obviously, betrothed to a demon.
The lie was so silly I had a difficult time keeping a straight face each time I told it. I’d been shocked it’d worked, actually. But people don’t mess with demons, especially not city folk. At home, everyone has crossed paths with demons a time or two at theborder market, where they traded strange feathers or stones, but Talumizans had almost no exposure.
It’s not like I was an expert. I knew the basics: Demons lived in the vast plains in the center of Ena-Cinnai, between the western port cities, like Naborre, and the Lersach River. Some said demons had their own cities in the desert, carved into towering limestone cliffs. Others said they inhabited the cities of ancient human civilizations who’d dared to press into the wilderness only to pay the price with death and ruin. Since the long-standing treaty between humans and demons prevented us from entering their lands, we knew very little.
Just enough to make us blanch, as Ephraim did now. “A demon?”
“Yes.” I turned onto one of the streets branching off the plaza like spokes on a wheel. It sloped down toward the edge of the island, toward the dorms. “He’s terribly jealous.”
“Huh.” Ephraim sounded stumped. “What’s his name?”
“Um.” No one had ever asked for a name before. I cast about. “It’s Daziel.” Many demons’ names ended in
-iel, didn’t they? “The demon Daziel is my betrothed,” I said again, trying to sound convincing.
“How did you meet?”
Wow, this boy really wanted details. Usually, people backed off immediately. I’d never spun an in‑depth story before, and I floundered. “I’m from one of the northwestern plains villages, close to the borderlands. I was . . . out picking flowers . . . and I wandered too close to the wilderness, and there he was. Daziel, my demon betrothed. And we fell madly in love.”
Inwardly, I winced. I was too busy minding my three younger sisters to go out gathering flowers. Plus, I wasn’t stupid enough to linger by the border.
Ephraim, apparently, didn’t have a high enough opinion of my intelligence to find this suspicious. “I didn’t know demons and humans could marry.”
Could humans and demons marry? Another thing to which I had no answer. The grandmothers in my village—some with a knowing gleam in their eyes—had warned us about how seductive demons could be. It wasn’t impossible a village girl had run off with a demon before. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“What do you even talk about? With a demon?” When I glanced at Ephraim with likely wild eyes, he held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. Mazel tov. When’s the wedding?”
I let out a sigh of relief. “It’s a long engagement. Not until after I graduate.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then refocused. “So, do you have any single sisters or cousins?”
Copyright © 2026 by Hannah Reynolds. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
