“Wrong? How so?” Rans asked warily.
It occurred to me that by criticizing ‘our’ strategy, I was mostly criticizing Rans’ attempts to keep me alive in the weeks since I’d met him. Which, since he’d been mostly successful in that monumental undertaking, was kind of a shitty thing for me to do. And yet... I was pretty sure I was right about how we needed to change our strategy going forward.
For the hundredth time since Rans and I had acknowledged the depth of the feelings between us, I took a leap of faith that this relationship was different than all the other so-called relationships I’d had in my short life. Ignoring the presence of the others in the room, I turned to him and gathered his hands in mine, looking up at him earnestly.
“We’ve been so focused on surviving that it never occurred to us to think about winning,” I told him. “The way I see it, if we continue on our present path, we’ll never be free of this constant race to stay one step ahead of our enemies. And eventually, we’ll lose that race. It’s inevitable.”
Rans’ brows drew together, and he twisted his hands until mine were held in his, rather than the other way around. “Some of our enemies are immortal, Zorah.”
My father cleared his throat. Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze away from Rans, only to find him looking at me with something like consternation—as if I were a teenager caught making out on the front porch after a date. The ridiculousness of it made me raise my eyebrows in clear challenge.
Go ahead, I thought. Come after me for being in love, after you spent most of my life neglecting my emotional needs. Try it, and see what happens.
Whether Dad saw something of this in my expression, or whether he thought better of it on his own, I had no idea. But all he said was, “Are they really immortal, though?”
His tone was gruff, but the question was a reasonable one.
“Yes,” Rans replied flatly. “There is no method for killing a demon. They are immortal and eternal.”
Edward had returned to his comfortable chair, but now he leaned forward, his fingers laced, forearms resting on his bony knees. “That is true, sir, as far as it goes.” His eyes flicked to Albigard. “However, just because a demon cannot be killed, doesn’t mean that one may not be, shall we say... neutralized. For a time, at least.”
I followed the elderly butler’s gaze to the Fae. Albigard raised a skeptical brow.
“You speak of the Fae attempts to remove key demons from the field of battle during the war, I assume?” he asked. “Attempts, I might add, that cost the lives of countless warriors.”
“And that met with only minimal success,” Rans added dryly.
I leaned forward, intrigued. “Whoa. Still, that’s the first I’ve heard about this. What kind of... neutralization... are we talking about, here?”
“Hacking the demon’s body into manageable pieces and encasing each one in a large volume of salt,” Edward said tartly. “After which, the salt-encased pieces are scattered over as wide an area as possible.”
I blinked, tilting my head to one side as I considered the grisly pronouncement. “Okay... wow. That’s... extreme. Does it work, though?”
“After a fashion,” Albigard said, his tone grim. “Demons regenerate by recalling all of their constituent parts magically from wherever they happen to be.”
“But the salt interferes with that...” I mused, thinking about Myrial’s reaction when Rans had managed to snap off the blade of my salt-laced dagger in her chest.
“It slows the process,” Albigard said. “Perhaps not in a way particularly troublesome to a creature that inhabits eternity, but significant on the mortal scale, nonetheless.”
“Years?” I asked, feeling the first stirring of hope.
“Decades,” Albigard replied. “Perhaps centuries.”
“In theory,” Rans added sharply. “Since the handful of Fae attempts that made it beyond the ‘hacking into pieces’ stage were quickly undone when other demons tracked down the scattered pieces and retrieved them.”
“The demon Orobas was removed from the theater of conflict for more than seventeen years,” Albigard said, with a touch of defensiveness.
“That’s because no one can stand Orobas,” Edward said. “The fool never shuts up.”
“And can the other demons stand Myrial?” I asked pointedly.
“Myrial has allies,” Edward replied. “How many and how loyal will depend largely on Nigellus’ success with the Council.”
I’d held out longer than I expected without resorting to anxious pacing, but I gave in and started prowling around the room as I thought hard about this new revelation. “What if the pieces were hidden in, like, salt mines? Or if some of them were hidden in Dhuinne?”
“If the goal is not to allow the war to restart, it would probably be best not to bring dismembered demon parts to the Fae realm,” Albigard said with an edge to his voice.
“But the salt mines?” I prompted.
Rans hadn’t moved, but his eyes followed me closely. “It might slow them down. Though they could simply send a demon-bound human in to retrieve the body part, once it was located.”
I stopped, focusing my attention on him. “You really hate this idea. Why is that?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Because entire flights of battle-trained Fae broke themselves against these particular jagged rocks. How do you intend to dismember a creature who can teleport at will? One who can influence minds, and who is barely fazed by non-magical weapons?”
I drew the salt dagger from the sheath at my thigh. “Myrial was pretty fazed by this,” I pointed out.
Rans scoffed. “Myrial could have popped out of existence at any time during that little skirmish.”
“Those doomed flights of battle-hardened Fae in the war didn’t have a demon of the first rank fighting alongside them,” Edward said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?” Albigard said, as though the words were insulting. “I should certainly think not!”
Rans turned on Edward, his blue eyes boring into the elderly man’s.
