"I hope not, no."
I shook my head, then winced: not wise to move suddenly just yet. "There's your answer."
"I don't understand."
"You could have claimed to be Tiern, claimed that he, not you, was the demon; you two looked exactly alike in the mist. Yet you didn't even try to lie. Tiern pleaded with me—ha, no, he ordered me to save him; you could have done the same. Yet you said nothing. Ach, don't look at me like that! I'm not a sentimental little girl! Tiern admitted conjuring you. Yes, yes, I know you don't mean any harm; you already had a good chance to kill me while I was unconscious, yet didn't take it, and there's not the slightest aura of evil about you. But Tiern couldn't have known he was going to get a... well, what are you? A pacifistic demon?"
He almost choked on what must surely have been his first true laugh. "Something like that."
"Your... ah... people aren't going to be coming after you, are they?"
"No. I am human now." He paused, considering that with a slight frown, then added, "Mortal. They cannot."
Amen to that. "So. A village has no possible need for demonic powers. Tiern had to have known it. Yet he had already risked Woodedge once and would have gone right on putting it in peril."
The demon blinked. "Why?"
"Why?" I let out my breath in a great sigh. "Look you, I've seen the type again and again during the War: the mage so lost in the pure lust of magical invention that he can't see the horror he's unleashing." I'd been there myself. "But you..." I shook my head. "You remind me of something else."
"What?"
"Why did you want to be human?" I countered.
The demon—or former demon—shuddered, as human a movement as anyone could want. "What can I tell you?" he asked softly. "I grew weary, so very totally weary, of evil. I had made my escape or thought I had, and was nearly in this mortal realm when I was snared. Until now."
His gaze met mine. And in it I saw the same thing I'd seen often enough in my own reflection: not bitterness or even regret. Ah no, the emotion goes too deep for that. What I saw reflected in his eyes was nothing but utter, soul-aching weariness.
And I forced a smile. "I made the right choice. I only hope you like being mortal."
"I do." It was said with utmost certainty. "I will."
"Say that again in about fifty years or so." I scrambled to my feet, trying to brush out my wrinkled, grass-stained robe. He rose more slowly, plainly absorbed in the novelty of a new, tangible body. I looked him up and down and felt a grin forming. "I do good work."
That caused his second laugh, more convincingly human than the first. "For which I am truly grateful." He paused. "I wasn't sure how to court a mortal woman. Did you like the rose?"
"Till the cursed thing stuck me, yes."
"Ah."
"Just what does that mean? No, never mind. We have time to work on... whatever. But first we need a name for you. I don't suppose you have one that—"
"No."
"Right. You wouldn't." After a moment's thought I said, "Seirach. A good, solid name owned by so many men in my own land that it won't rouse suspicion."
"Seirach," he echoed, plainly startled at the idea of actually owning a name. "Yes."
"But how am I to explain you to the good folk of Woodedge? A wanderer, perhaps."