A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness (Mortal Gods #4)

1. Caedmon

Chapter 1

Caedmon

20 years ago…

B lood soaks into the pale linen sheets, spreading towards the edges like a sinister disease wishing death upon all that it touches. There’s so much of the damned liquid, that it's a wonder the body can hold it all within the thin confines of skin and bone. Another gush of crimson is preceded by a groan from the woman splayed out on the sunken bed of the hovel-like inn.

Ariadne had demanded that we stop for the night, her brow puckered and face cold with sweat. I’d never seen a woman in the throes of labor before. Even as old as I am, it just wasn’t done in our world and in this … well, pregnancies between ‘Gods’ and mortals aren’t exactly celebrated. Now, I know why all the tales of childbirth are so secretive. I can’t imagine that any woman would want to bear this kind of agony if they truly knew what to expect.

Ari’s baby is coming, and I fear it will kill her.

"Hold on," I urge even as panic seems to skim up every single one of my nerve endings. Oh, God. The baby. I close my eyes as I pray to long-forgotten phantoms of the old world— our old world—for strength.

"I can't." Ariadne's face holds no color. Her cheeks are sallow and jaundiced-looking at the edges. That's not right, is it? Shouldn't she be flushed from all of the grunting and pushing she's been doing? From my position at the end of the bed, I glance up the length of her body and then back to the sheets soaked in red.

She's not going to make it .

For the first time in my life, I'm not sure if it's a knowing from the future or my own fear. Normally, I can distinguish the two. Not now. Now, my best friend—my only love in the whole of this forsaken existence—is dying and she's giving birth to another's child.

"Caedmon." When I look back to Ariadne's too-pale face, staring into eyes the color of ocean storms, sometimes blue, but most of the time a stark gray, I want to beg her not to do this. I know it's ridiculous, the plea I wish to make of her. I can forgive her for loving another. I can forgive her bearing this child. What I cannot forgive is her death. I don't care if it means that this child will not exist. Nothing is more important to me than this woman. "Please." The word is far hoarser than it should be, pain tinging her lyrical voice and turning it into something new. Something I do not want to hear. "Help my child."

I close my eyes. Help my child. Not 'help me.' Fresh pain lances through my chest. When I reopen my eyes and settle them upon her face, I realize that she's reclined back. Rather, she's sunken down, unable to hold herself up on her elbows any longer. A grimace steals over her beautiful face. All around us, I can hear the skittering of little creatures—in the walls, in the ceiling, beneath the floorboards. They've all come to her aid, lured by her pain and power.

Fine silvery lashes flutter as Ariadne closes her eyes and breathes shallowly. If I don't do something here and now, she'll die. I nearly sway on my feet. That is a true knowing; the reminder of my own abilities and what I can see means that I can change the outcome—at least, in this instance—if I work fast enough.

"Stay here," I say, whirling towards the thin door.

A low, tired chuckle follows me and as my hand lands on the handle, I look back over my shoulder. Her lashes lift and she turns her head my way, a shadow of a smile playing across her lips. "Are you sure?" she asks. "I thought I might go for a turn out in the garden."

My jaw drops. Her lower body is coated in fresh blood, her face is pinched tight with agony, and yet, she still makes jokes. With a shake of my head, I turn the handle and step out into the dimly lit hallway. "I shall return quickly," I tell her. "Hold on until then, Ari. Please ... if you care for me at all, do not die before I return."

When I next look at her, the smile is gone. Her eyes are hardened pits of steel and stone. "I will not die before this child is brought into the world," she tells me, and somehow ... that eases my concern. No matter what the future I am forced to foresee holds, I have the distinct impression that Ariadne, my closest friend and confidant, would bend the laws of the world to see her child born. I have never been more grateful for the evidence of her rejection of me.

I bow my head slightly and let the door shut. The second she's out of sight, I race to the end of the narrow passageway. When we'd come into the small village on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, far from any of the God cities, I'd seen plenty of the mortal farmers in their fields. They had oxen and horses. Surely, someone in this village had helped an animal give birth. Though it's less than she deserves, Ariadne will have her help and she will have her child.

Half an hour later, with a harried female rushing on my right side and a rather plump man with a gray beard on my left, I return to the structure that acts as both a tavern and inn for the village. I rush the two of them up the creaking stairs to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time for myself until I'm barreling back into the room.

Gasping and chest heaving, I stride across the room to Ariadne's side. Her eyes are open as my knees hit the uneven floorboards. "Ari, I've brought help," I tell her, taking one hand into both of mine. She's cold. Too cold. I try to rub some warmth into her flesh, but it doesn't seem to work.

The man waddles into the room and takes up residence between Ariadne's legs. The woman is at his side in an instant, her face pinched. The man, a cattle farmer, had confessed his experience with assisting many living creatures give birth, and the woman is a retired midwife. Though she claimed to not have assisted in a birth in several years, she was better than nothing, and I hadn't been willing to waste any more time on my search.

"Can you help her?" I demand, rubbing insistently at Ariadne's hands.

The man bows his head, lifting the sheets that had fallen back down over Ariadne's legs now that they are no longer bent upward at the knee. She must've been too tired to hold them up. The midwife's face is pale as she takes in the scene. Please, I beg silently. Please help her .

When the man appears once more, his face is set in disapproving lines. "I'm sorry, sir, but with all of this blood, I don't have high hopes for the woman or the child."

"But you can still do something," I snap. "Can't you?"

He shakes his head. "In instances like this, I would recommend cutting the mother to save the child—that way at least one of them will live. If it continues much more like this, they will both die."

Cutting the mother... " No. " Rage bubbles up inside me, an emotion I've never felt quite this strongly before. Wrathful. Hot. Full of sharp fury. "No, she is not going to die."

The woman comes forward, her face scrunching up in that way I've seen plenty do when they're feeling sympathetic. I wave her off with a curse. " Don't ," I seethe. "Don't you dare tell me that there's nothing else to be done."

The man stands, looking down at Ariadne with his hands planted firmly on his hips. "This much blood tells me that the child is probably turned," he says. "It's trying to come out the wrong way. Were your wife one of my heifers I'd simply reach in and turn the calf, but..." He holds both hands up and I see the problem without him having to explain it. He's a large man with rather large hands. No matter that Ariadne's body should be built for birth, her strength against his mortal bones would break him if he even managed to get inside. I don't bother to correct him on the assumption of our relationship. The man slowly lowers his arms back to his sides and takes a step back. "I am sorry, sir. I cannot help you."

With that, he turns and strides for the door. Hope sinking, I cast a look to the woman who's hovering nearby, her eyes going from Ariadne to the collection of blood-soaked sheets at the edge of the bed and back again.

" Please ." I don't know what else to do, who else to seek out for help. As the farmer leaves, quietly shaking his head as he closes the door behind him, I'm left with no one else but the mortal midwife.

Wringing her hands together in front of her dirtied apron, she frowns as she turns her attention back to Ariadne and me. "You are not like us," she begins.

I close my eyes. Ah, that fucking class system of Tryphone's. Mortals and Gods. I want to curse his arrogance. To come to this world and set our society up as benevolent Gods to the people here is such a sick kind of oppression. I turn my head down.

"No, ma'am," I say. "We're not."

"I-I want your assurance that I'll not be punished should I fail." Her stuttering, fear-filled demand has my head snapping back up and my eyes opening to settle on her.

"You'll help us?"

She inhales deeply and moves forward. Grabbing a crate set against the far wall beneath a wall sconce illuminated by a collection of burning oil, she drags it to the end of the bed. "If you promise me and give me your oath that I shall not be punished if nothing can be done," she tells me. "If you are"—she pauses and swallows—"what I think you are then no doubt, your wife will survive this birth. The child..." Her brown eyes spear over me, examining. "Is it half-mortal? You worry that it will not survive? I was always told that, erm, special blood would heal any wound and that death could not come for those of ... Divine lineage for something like this."

The reality of what I am asking of this woman and the danger it would put her in crashes over me. Of course, all of Tryphone's propaganda about the damned 'Gods' and our 'Divine Blood' would have reached even the furthest regions of Anatol in the last several hundred years.

"You don't want them in pain, yes?" she asks.

I latch on to the excuse immediately. "She will survive, as will the babe, but undying as we are, the pain may make her wish for a death that will never come." Lies. Lies. Lies. "I give you my word, here and now, that you shall not be blamed should you fail to..."

She nods as if that was the answer she expected. "I'll need a clean set of towels, hot water, and..." The woman begins listing off a collection of other items and I release Ariadne's hand—only realizing when it falls to the bed that it'd gone limp—to do her bidding.

When I glance down, Ariadne's face is contorted in a mess of pain and her chest pumps up and down rapidly. Unable to stop myself, I brush a strand of her hair back from her sweat-coated forehead and press a kiss to her temple. "Not long now, Ari," I whisper. "Just hang in there a little longer."

I leave her and turn to go attend to the midwife's demands. When I return with several fresh towels from the tavern's innkeeper as well as hot water and the many other things requested, I find that the midwife has propped Ariadne's feet on either corner of the slender bed. Ariadne's knees are tilted outward, and her upper body is half-sitting with another crate between her at the wall with pillows to cushion her spine. I settle the objects at the midwife's side.

"What else might I do?"

Sweat coating her face, she points to the place between Ariadne's legs. "I shall need you to be here," she orders. "I will tell you what to do, but due to your ... circumstances"—I want to grunt at that comment, wishing more than I ever have before that I could slit Tryphone's throat. I've never been violent, but if anything the Great Divine Liar should receive some punishment for what he's put us all through—"I fear that if I try to turn the babe, a contraction will shatter my hand. Your fingers are far slimmer than Gazzeg’s." I assume she means the farmer, so I simply nod. "I shall talk you through how to turn the child to allow the birth."

All at once, the midwife and I switch places. I find myself positioned on the crate between Ariadne's legs with the other woman at my back, her soft hand gentle on my shoulder.

"Alright," she says, "we're going to ease our way in." A strange sort of sickness takes root in my gut as I follow the woman's commands. More blood, all over my hands, pours out. Ariadne cries out.

"She's in pain." I move to pull out. "I should stop."

"No!" The midwife's hand becomes punishing on my shoulder. "We must turn the child now." I glance back and see that her eyes aren't on me but Ariadne. She shakes her head. "If I didn't know better about you Divine Beings, I'd say that she's already on death's doorstep."

Fuck. "What do I do?" I snap, grabbing her attention once more. Should Ariadne die here and the woman find out the truth of our secrets, I'll have to kill her. As much as I don't want to, to leave her living with the knowledge of our kind would be to punish her with something far worse. Tryphone would torture her for the information on who revealed themselves and then he would kill her, slowly and painfully.

The midwife shakes herself and refocuses on the task at hand. Then, after much twisting and turning, the sensation of a small body descending, head first, through Ariadne's womb makes my heart thud a new beat in my chest. A knowing . Not now. Please, not now. I clench my teeth and shove back the vision with sheer force of will.

"Almost there." The midwife's voice comes from somewhere far away, though I know she's still right next to me. "Alright, let me?—"

She moves into position, ready to take over, but it's too late. With another gush across my hands, I draw back and the babe follows. A sharp infant's cry echoes throughout the room and for the first time in hours, Ariadne seems to gain some strength. She sits up a bit more.

"My baby?" she asks, breathless.

"Oh, dear, good job," the midwife says, breathing a sigh of relief.

Bright gray eyes open as I hold the child in my palms, one behind her small head and the other beneath her butt. The midwife moves around, soaking one of the towels in the hot water and grabbing one of the utensils she'd asked me for to snip the cord still attached to the child's belly. I find myself unable to move to help her. All of my focus remains on the red-faced infant in my palms. Tiny. Fragile. Resilient.

"Congratulations, Mother darling," the midwife says as she wipes around my hands, cleaning the babe of the blood and other things coating her small form. "Your daughter is beautiful and, going by those lungs, quite healthy."

"A girl?" Ariadne's voice is high, hopeful.

Standing on shaky legs, I take four jolting steps around the frame of the bed to the head where Ariadne's wide eyes are staring at me and the bundle I hold. She reaches out and though it pains me, I release the infant into her waiting arms. "Oh, she's beautiful." A misty sheen I've never seen enters Ariadne's eyes. Through all that we have experienced—fleeing our homes, fighting with her parents over their poor choices reigning over the people of this world, losing friends—she's never cried. Not once.

She does so now. Big, fat tears roll down her face as she holds the babe close to her, right between her breasts. I'm only distantly aware of the midwife, cleaning things up, collecting as many of the bloodied sheets as she can and stuffing them into one of the crates, turned back over so that the hollow side is open.

The knowing is back and it's centered on the tiny, little thing resting against Ariadne's bosom. She is the key.

"Oh, my darling," Ariadne coos as she gently strokes the babe's soft cheek. "Oh, my sweet girl."

Through a choked voice, I speak. "She looks like you."

Ariadne's eyes lift to meet mine. On any other new mother, her expression would be prideful, but at my words, her forehead pinches, twin lines forming between her brows. "You're right," she answers, and we both know it's not a good thing.

"I shall leave you to take care of your young, my lord and lady." Turning at the interruption of the midwife, I realize that the woman has finished her duties and is standing by the door.

"Thank you," Ariadne murmurs, dipping her head in the woman's direction. She's still quite pale and obviously shaky, but now that the babe is free from her body, her natural healing has taken over. No doubt she wants the woman gone so that her familiars may come to greet the child.

Taking that as my cue, I head over to the midwife and withdraw a heavy pouch from the confines of my robes. I hand her the entire thing. "I cannot thank you enough for your help, ma'am," I whisper as I hold her hands in mine and set the heavy sack of denza within her palm.

Her eyes widen at the feel of it, moving from the pouch to my face. "My lord? Sir? I cannot take?—"

I shake my head, cutting her off. "You shall take it all. You are our savior. All I ask in return is that you do not speak of this to anyone else."

Her head tips. "If you are the father, my lord, then you have nothing to worry for? The child would be whole Div?—"

"Please," I beseech her. "Speak of what you have done for us to no one. Should anyone ask where the money came from, you may say that you worked for us and that we were heavy with drink when we paid you." I squeeze her hands in mine. "It is for your safety as well."

Straightening, the midwife finally answers me with a nod. "Yes, my lord. Th-thank you for your generosity."

I release her and reach for the door handle. "Thank you for yours ," I say as I usher her into the hallway.

When we're alone once more, I flip the lock and turn back to face Ariadne. She seems to pull the babe closer, though I don't know how it's possible considering that the infant is already plastered to her chest and seeking out one of her breasts beneath her thin shift with a natural instinct. My chest constricts at the sight.

"What is it?" Ariadne demands. "Your eyes ... you've seen something."

Her palm cups the back of the child's head. "You're right," I tell her. "I have seen something." Many pathways, all of which lead to doom, death, and decay. All but one. One that may actually lead to the liberation of us all. Despite the midwife's cleaning, the scent of blood is still heavy in the air as I make my way back to the bedside and go to my knees.

More tears fill Ariadne's eyes. "No." She begins to shake her head back and forth. "No. Not her." With both hands, she wraps herself around her newborn daughter, protecting her ... from me.

I dip my head. "I'm so sorry." Sorrier than she can ever know. "We must find her father and then ... we will go to the Underworld."

Her gasp is an echo in the room. "The Assassin's Guild? Why?"

"You know I cannot tell you the why." I lift my eyes back to hers and find her face full of pain and anger.

"I just had her," she snaps. "You want me to give her up now? Henric is safe where he is. He cannot care for her that way that I?—"

"If you keep her, she will enter the Academies," I warn her. "She will be seen as a threat."

"I will keep her a secret from Tryphone." Ariadne's strong voice is accompanied by a note of firmness.

Raising myself back to my feet, I stand before her deeply aware that for her survival and the survival of her babe, I am to become a great villain. A monster. Instead of giving her a hint of my plan, though, I reach out and cup her cheek.

"Alright," I lie. "I don't wish to scare you. We will discuss it later. For now, you should rest with your babe."

She relaxes almost instantly, heaving a great breath of relief as she sinks back against the pillows. A violent stab of guilt nearly unmans me. I force a small smile to my face as I reach behind her and remove the crate, allowing her to fully recline. "I shall go and see about travel arrangements."

My body moves as if it's a puppet on a string. I feel nothing as I leave the room, and using the last of my denza left over from paying off the midwife, I obtain from the Innkeeper a sleeping tonic and food. When I return to the room, the babe is nursing steadily at Ariadne's breast. Halting in the doorway, I take in the resemblance between the two. Fine tuffs of silver hair matching Ariadne's crest the infant’s head. Her skin is the same pale creamy shade. Those eyes ... those gray eyes.

Ariadne lifts her head and offers me a smile, spurring me into action as I head towards her. "You need sustenance," I tell her. "You're weak and as competent as our healing is, I will not feel comfortable until you're full of more color." I set the plate of food on the crate I took from behind her earlier and hand over the mug of hot liquid. She takes a careful sip with one hand while the other holds the babe to her chest as easily as breathing.

Bastard , I tell myself. Taking advantage of her needs this way is cruel. Yet, I cannot help the bubble of hope and relief when she downs over half of the mug in one go. I take it from her when she fumbles to set it down.

"You'll come with me?" Ariadne mumbles, her tone already slurred as she reaches out and finds my hand with one of hers and twines our fingers together. I freeze. "With Henric in hiding, I don't know that I can do this without you. You're my oldest friend, Caedmon."

Another stab. I resist the urge to look down and see if my shame has sprouted visible signs. Her voice grows softer with each word. The heavy weight of exhaustion caused by the birth and hastened by the tonic in the tea makes her fingers go slack against my own.

"I will never be far from you and your babe," I tell her, meaning the words. Never.

Ari's hand falls from mine completely and I turn to see that she's fallen into slumber. Her head rolls to the side against the thin, flat pillows behind her. The babe makes a noise and before the infant can roll from her chest, I reach out and pluck her free. A button nose, petal-soft lips, and rosy cheeks. Staring into the face of my friend reflected in a new being makes my chest ache.

"I am sorry, little one," I whisper as I pull her towards my chest and wrap her in the confines of my robes. "This is for the best, though. I promise you. The two of you will meet again."

Some day.

Hours later, as I race down the dirt path between two fields of yellow stalks of wheat with the babe strapped to my chest, I swear the ground beneath the horse's hooves trembles. A scream echoes into the night, one of betrayal and a misery so deep that I know I'll hear it in each of my nightmares forever more.