19. Kiera
Chapter 19
Kiera
D eath comes for me in the form of a practically transparent robe-like garment. The cups of the brassiere are soft leather straps that crisscross over the front of my chest as I stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror of my bed chamber. An Ortus Terra, who’d introduced herself as Iysa, scurries back and forth across the room behind me, a slender woman with dark eyes and a willowy figure. Her dark hair is laced with streaks of gray and the mass of it is twisted up into a crown atop her head, leaving her thin, fragile-looking throat bare.
She, along with a Terra for each door in the corridor, had arrived at twilight, informing us that they were to help prepare us for the ceremony. If I’d hoped to gain any more information from her, however, she’s made it her mission to disappoint me. Since informing me of the reason for her presence, she’s remained mute other than the occasional request for me to shift or move or bend to allow her to arrange my hair to some specification it’s clear she’s been tasked with.
Now, I stand facing my mirrored image in little more than a mockery of a gown. The crossing silken top of it is the only piece that’s not utterly and offensively translucent. The outline of my body, from my ribs to my stomach and hips is clearly visible through the dark shadowy fabric, the paleness of my flesh turning it into something gray. Death comes for you.
I wonder, absently, if the meaning of this mors pallium is due to the fact that a pale person wearing one makes their skin appear like that of a corpse.
The long strips of fabric that drape down my stomach and over my hips are cinched closer with gold diamond-shaped brooches. After carting in a portable, though rudimentary, wash tub and actually giving me an opportunity to clean myself more thoroughly than I had in days, my skin glimmers beneath the dress. Every so often, when I twist or turn or move, the slits of the fabric separate and reveal the true color of the flesh beyond.
Iysa comes forward and I lift my arms as she wraps several long lengths of thin golden ropes around my waist. I jump as the heaviness settles firmly on my hips and I realize, it’s not ropes at all, but metal. Lifting the dangling length of one, I raise it to my face and examine it.
The metal is so thin and fragile that it bends easily when I twist an end and then it quickly falls back into its original formation. “How is such a thing created?” I murmur absently.
To my shock, Iysa replies. “The Gods have all manner of magic,” she says quietly, continuing the work of weaving the ropes of metal around me and then braiding them down so that the front part sags forward.
I scowl when I realize what the adornment actually does. The rope seems to gather the folds of the dress and drag them forward, between my legs so that nothing covers me from ankle to thigh, the dress having fallen under the weight.
I lift it. “Is this really necessary?” I demand. Before giving Iysa a chance to respond, I start to undo her work, unbraiding one end and yanking at the ropes.
“No, you mustn’t!” Showing, perhaps for the first time in her life, some defiance, she snatches my hands back and readjusts the adornment. “It is meant to be like this.” She tuts and fixes it. “Oh, the Gods will be most displeased if all is not as they wish.”
I eye her speculatively, arms half lifted as I give in and allow her to do as she wishes—I’ll just rip it off once she’s gone. “What is it, exactly, that the Gods wish for?” I inquire, keeping my tone light as if it’s just mere curiosity that drives me to ask the question.
Iysa seems to freeze with the golden ropes of metal in her hands. “I-I dare not know, M-Mistress.” She bows deeply, dropping the rope and backing up several steps. “O-only the Gods know such a thing.”
My gaze narrows on her. “I merely asked so that I may know what is expected of me tonight,” I say, gentling my voice.
Somehow, the woman manages to supplicate herself further, nearly going onto her knees. “I-I do not know, Mistress,” she insists. “I w-was merely tasked with readying you for the Cleansing this night.”
“I understand, Iysa.” Keeping my tone light, I lift the folds of my dress and take a step away from both her and the mirror. “And you’ve done a wonderful job.”
There’s no point in pushing the poor woman any further; it’s clear she’s terrified that she’s done something wrong and knowing how Riviere Gods treated Terra—from experience—I can’t imagine the horrific punishments heaped upon the Terra here, or if they’re even given punishments at all. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to know that they kill any Terra that displeases them. It’d been enough of a threat in Riviere, though the execution of undesired Terra was at the discretion of Dolos.
Something tells me it’s more of a reality here than anywhere else. As if the cloud of death and decay is hanging over this entire island and its inhabitants. Somewhere in the Academy, a deep knell tolls the time, startling Iysa enough to jerk upward, eyes wide.
“I’ve taken too long,” she says. “I-I must go.”
I open my mouth—to say what? To tell her that it’s alright? That she will be fine? I can’t give her that assurance. So, I merely close my mouth and nod my assent to allow her to leave.
“All Mortal Gods are to meet at the entrance of the garden of statues,” she informs me as she gathers her things—pins and other such items that she’d used to bind the fabric to my body and for my hair.
“Wait!” I reach out as the door swings open, revealing the appearance of many other Terra hurrying from the rooms of other Mortal Gods like fleeing mice from a rising tide. Iysa’s entire face morphs into one of desperation, but she halts at the doorway and glances over her shoulder.
“Mistress?”
I gesture down to my bare feet. “What shoes am I to wear? I only have boots.”
She shakes her head, a few loose strands of black and gray coming free of the crown of hair atop her head to whisper around her face. “You must go to the garden of statues to be Cleansed free of all comforts,” she says quickly, nearly diving into the throng of others speeding past. “Now, I truly must go.”
Gods. I step up to the open doorway, watching as Iysa disappears into the veritable sea of Ortus, Perditia, and Riviere Terra hurrying on.
No one seems to pay any mind to the confused faces of the other Mortal Gods that come to their doorways, dressed much the same. My eyes find Kalix’s and then scan down his frame. My mouth dries up in an instant at the revelation that he’s no more covered than I. None of the Darkhavens are.
Ruen’s scarred chest is on full display as is Theos’ gleaming perfect skin. Kalix’s mors pallium hangs on his hips, but it’s clear that the sheer style of mine is meant only for women because his as well as his brothers’ are far more proper … to an extent.
My gaze skims over the dips and valleys of his body, the shadows that align the sides of his abdomen and then carve into the notches of his hips where, instead of ropes wrapped around his waist, a flat gold belt circles just above the juncture of his thighs.
Held up by a fucking wish and prayer to the Gods, I think absently. Then I notice the loops of metal formed at the bottom of the gold band where layers of the extra fabric have been woven through to keep the clothing from falling completely off him. All it would take though is one single tug and I imagine the whole thing would plummet to the floor. Swallowing against the parched feeling in my mouth and throat, I finally tear my gaze away from the array of male flesh.
My eyes stop on the only door that remains closed. Maeryn’s.
As the last of the Terra scurry back to their true Masters or to perform their duties elsewhere, the four of us step out of our bedchambers. “She’s not coming,” I say as I look down at the black box still in front of Maeryn’s door. I’d heard the Terra outside her own room practically pleading to be allowed entry only to be turned away by quiet but stubborn refusals.
“No,” Kalix surmises. “She’s not.”
I glance at him sharply and he offers nothing more than a shrug before he lowers his eyes to my own garment. I follow his gaze and curse before reaching for the ropes again, intending to yank them free. They feel like heavy weights attached just to keep me walking as though chained from the front. Before I can manage to unravel even one from around my waist, the deep, vibrating knell from earlier echoes through the corridor.
“It’s time to go,” Ruen says.
Sweat beads pop up along my bared spine, naked save for the see-through fabric and the crossing straps of the top of my gown. I’m viscerally aware that I’m wearing no band or underwear. None were provided and Iysa had nearly fainted at the idea that I might put on something the Gods had not provided. Air wafts up the long, thin skirts and I close my eyes to repress the urge to turn tail and follow Maeryn’s example.
I don’t blame her for refusing to take part. If I had another choice, I’d do the same, but this is something we all must face. These rites the Gods have prepared for us … they mean something, and I have to find out what.
Opening my eyes once more, I fall in line with Ruen as Kalix and Theos take the lead. Ruen draws closer, reaching out to capture my hand in such an uncharacteristic move that I nearly stumble over my shoeless feet.
“I’ve told the others about the prison we found,” he whispers.
“I’m sure they were relieved to know that Caedmon is actually alive,” I say, keeping my voice just as quiet as his.
Ruen doesn’t respond for several moments. In fact, it isn’t until we’re about to enter the great hall, that he speaks again. “I told them about Ariadne as well, Kiera.”
My shoulders stiffen and I carefully extract my hand from his. “I see.”
“Kiera.”
I walk faster, reaching Theos and Kalix in under ten strides. “What do you suppose the Cleansing rite will entail?” Theos is musing aloud.
Kalix’s green eyes cut towards me as I come up between them. With my back straight and my head positioned forward, I answer Theos’ question. “No doubt, the Gods think of us as contaminated goods,” I state coolly. “They likely want to wash us of our taint before they consume our powers.”
Theos’ hand snaps out and grips my wrist as Kalix does the same on my other side. “Kiera.” Theos hisses my name, glancing both in front of and behind where we’ve come to a standstill in the main hall. Several curious gazes land on us as Mortal Gods dressed in the same garments as us pass by.
“What?” I yank at my wrists, attempting to pull them free. Theos releases me, but Kalix doesn’t.
“Mind where you speak,” Theos says, his expression conveying surprise that I’d bother to even mention the darkness we’ve yet to address beyond the one and only time I’d revealed the great and terrible taboo that the Gods have partaken in—the very reason our lives are both important and irrelevant to our powerful tyrants.
I tug once more at my captured wrist, trying in vain to withdraw it from Kalix’s implacable grip. “Why does it matter?” I snap. “It’s not like they aren’t planning to kill us.”
Kalix’s free hand claps over my mouth and he nearly lifts me off my feet as he drags me against his chest and backs into one of the shadowy alcoves along either side of the great hall.
“Kiera!” Theos’ responding whisper-hiss follows me as both he and Ruen trail after Kalix. Of all the Darkhavens I expected to do this, it was never Kalix.
Tipping my head back against his bare chest, serpent green eyes meet mine. He arches a brow and removes his hand from my mouth.
“Why do you care if I say it?”
Kalix remains silent for several seconds, long enough for Ruen and Theos to both reach us and then launch into their own tirades and scolding.
“—can’t believe you would be so irrational,” Ruen is saying.
“Do you think someone else might have heard?” Theos asks.
My gaze remains fixed on the man still holding me against him. The corner of Kalix’s mouth quirks upward as if he’s enjoying the singular attention I’m paying him. At my back, I feel the evidence of something big and solid prodding at me.
I scowl. “Are you fucking serious?” I glare up at him.
His grin only widens. “Not that I mind your brand of chaos, little liar,” Kalix replies, bending down until his mouth hovers right over mine, “but perhaps you should save your reveals for more opportune moments.”
My mind goes hazy as his scent invades. Does he mean to reveal what the Gods plan to do to their children at a different point? I consider that. It’s not a terrible idea. It’s not like we’d be able to keep it from them forever. Even if I manage to kill Tryphone—and that’s a fairly generous ‘if’—who’s to say that the rest of the God Council won’t simply pick up where he left off?
“Do not encourage her,” Ruen growls.
Kalix ignores him and continues to stare at me, our eyes locked in ... not a battle, but something else entirely. Every time I look at him, I feel as if I’m falling deeper and deeper into a forest of teeth and bone. Dangerous creatures lie around every corner and one wrong move will send me careening off a path into their waiting arms.
Yanking away from him abruptly, I stumble a few feet towards the opening of the alcove, stopping with a hand on a wall. I suck in a few lungfuls of air before turning to look back at him. Kalix hasn’t moved. His eyes remain locked on me as if daring me to run from him.
A shiver steals over me, sweeping through my limbs and down my spine. His eyes are the same as a creature that has known only darkness. He’s comfortable bathed in blood. He doesn’t care about the lives stolen in this war we didn’t even know we were fighting. Somehow, though, I can’t bear to hate him for that. In fact, I have the strangest inkling that if we are going to win this fight, we will need someone like him. Someone for whom right and wrong do not exist.
“We should get going,” I hear myself say as I straighten. The weight around my middle tries to drag me down, to make me bend. I resist the urge to let it and instead, raise my head higher. The waves of my hair cascade over my shoulders and down my back—just as Iysa had arranged them with her pins and instruments heated over a candle’s flame.
I know what we’re supposed to represent. I suspect the elaborateness of our dress, the mors pallium, and the Terra that attend us are all leading to one thing.
To the Gods we are nothing but offerings to their longevity. We are sacrifices to be slaughtered on the altar of their reign.
Kalix’s responding expression morphs into one of utter delight. He moves forward, practically flattening his brothers in an effort to get to my side. A callused palm comes up to cup my cheek as he leans down and takes my mouth in a harsh, surprising kiss. It lasts for all of a moment before he’s pulling away from me.
“Yes,” he says. “We should.”
His hand finds mine, the backs of his knuckles brushing over the bared skin of my side in a movement that would normally have felt casual. Unfortunately, due to my lack of dress, it feels anything but.
The curious gazes of both Theos and Ruen follow as Kalix urges me back out into the great hall, and together we head towards the corridor that will lead into the garden of statues.