44. Kiera
Chapter 44
Kiera
T he Garden of Statues has been altered since the last time we’d been here. Together, the Darkhavens, Maeryn, Niall, and I arrive surrounded by the dead Terra guards and their leaders—Zalika and Nubo.
The energy tonight is far different than during the first ceremony. There is no mountain of petrified wood ready to be burned. In fact, it appears as if someone has come through and thoroughly cleaned the area of any lingering debris.
There’s a distinct lack of rotten smell, but something earthy and dry lingers on the back of my tongue and in my nostrils. Turning my head, I survey the area as several Terra drift away, some silent command working their hands and feet like puppets on strings. Without twisting completely, I sidle a look out of my periphery at Nubo.
Though he and Zalika don’t touch, the new tension between them is practically a visible string tying them together. I plan to take that string, form a rope, and hang them with it.
After all, well-fed monsters are safer than starving Mortal Gods and I am nothing if not famished.
I turn away from Nubo and Zalika and focus my attention on the dais set in the center of the garden, surrounded by statues of the fallen. That is what they are, I’ve realized. People and creatures who must have inhabited this place before these so-called Gods ripped into this world and claimed it as their own. I stride towards it, sensing the twin shadows following me and knowing that they, like me, are here for Ruen. They are here for revenge.
Fires flare to life in a circle around the dais, revealing more than just the stage, but a wide circular table set and laden with various foods. Mortal Gods drift closer, curiosity growing stronger than their apprehension. Tension is thick in the air tonight and despite the fact that the last vestiges of winter can be felt in the darkness of the night, a cool layer of sweat dots my flesh.
Where they feel apprehension, I feel only anticipation. It’s been an eternity in the making, this violence of mine. It calls to me, the rage’s voice so raspy and thready that it’s clear it’s been screaming for me a long time now.
Pausing before the table, I look down. My upper lip curls back over my teeth in disgust. A boar’s head rests upon one of the largest plates. Another is filled with the steaming, cooked body of a deer. A tiger’s claws, severed and set forth as an appetizer. Animal after animal decorated and displayed as a pseudo-tribute to the Hunt.
I see their faces—those of the Mortal Gods killed in that forsaken place.
“These aren’t…” Theos’ question is breathy and tight with barely restrained revulsion.
“It is,” I confirm and he rips his hand back from the edge of the table, nearly stumbling in his haste to get away. “ Fuck .” He disappears from my periphery and I don’t turn to watch as he begins to dry heave—I can hear it well enough.
Everything changes when the sun goes down, it appears, and now that it has set over Ortus Island, the Gods have revealed their true intentions in the ghastliest of ways. Theos’ uncertainty of the animals set before us, though, as well as the lack of horror from the others tells me that I’m the only one who can see the truth.
Perhaps it’s due to what Makeda had taught me or perhaps it’s because of what Caedmon had revealed—this secondary power of mine, the one that came from my father, is different than Ariadne’s. It’s a power that is as quiet as it is ominous. Now that it’s been awakened, though, there is no going back.
I see it all now. The truth these false Gods have been shoving in our faces our whole lives.
An echoing bell chimes and all of the fires go out, casting the garden into a sea of pitch black. Gasps of surprise and fear rise up around us. I remain silent, waiting. A second later, the bell chimes again and the fires burst back to life to reveal that the Gods are standing before us once more—three of them.
Tryphone. Azai. Gygaea.
My blood sings inside my veins, calling for retribution. My skin tingles. I lift my gaze up and up some more until I meet eyes not unlike my own. I’d like to say I see no resemblance to my grandfather, the God King, but now that I know the truth of my lineage, I can see the features that belong to Ariadne, and therefore, me. His might be more masculine, but the tilt of his eyes and the straightness of his nose equal my own. That doesn’t matter. My eyes descend to the chest he has on display. My lips tighten before curling upward. Tryphone isn’t just smug, he’s arrogant. Like the rest of us, he has dressed in another mors pallium.
Death comes for you, I think to myself. It comes tonight.
“Welcome!” Tryphone calls out, raising both arms. “To the Feast!”
There’s no sign of Ruen as the ceremony begins. No sign of Caedmon or Ariadne or Makeda or Danai either. I expect the ceremony to be lavish with much talking from the Gods still on the platform, but it’s not. Aside from announcing the start of the Feast and encouraging everyone to eat from the provided ‘food,’ Tryphone and the other Gods merely go to their own table and drink their wine.
Closing my eyes briefly, I reach for that small door in the back of Kalix’s mind that still connects him to me. I whisper into it and after a moment of absolutely no response, his hand trails down my forearm as he walks away. My eyes reopen and I focus on the setting before me.
Maeryn approaches the table and starts reaching for a plate, her hand trembling. I reach out and grab her wrist. “Don’t,” I warn her.
Her one good eye widens as she looks up at me. Her hair has been pulled back to reveal the new scar on her face and the fact that one eye no longer works, but the healing has thankfully finished. Other than the line that splits her skin and the milky fog of her iris, she looks much the same as ever.
“I-I don’t think they’ll let us not eat,” she whispers.
I shake my head regardless. “Trust me,” I tell her. “You do not want to eat this food.” For that matter… “Don’t drink anything they bring you either.”
Something touches the surface of my mind—a flash of bodies atop one of the granite stone tables of the garden, blood and soot and stone dust coating pale and tan skin that merge together as one. My own body tightens in response, my core seizing and pulsing as if recalling something my mind has forgotten.
I shake my head and ward off the sensation as I focus on the reality before me.
I don’t feel weak anymore. My wrath has boosted my confidence and given new light to the power my father passed down to me. Even I have to admit that I must have been born for this. As Caedmon said, only I can kill Tryphone. Where other Mortal Gods received their powers from their own souls, some only marginally connected to their God parents’, I hold both of my parents’ abilities within me.
A shadow scurries from beneath the table and to the bare toe of my foot. Ara creeps onto my leg and then quickly scuttles up the side of my leg not stopping until she manages to leap from my thigh to my hanging arm and race the rest of the way up.
“Come on,” I say, turning away from the table. I drag Maeryn after me and the others follow.
I can sense the Gods’ eyes watching me, waiting for me to do something.
“Do you have a plan?” Maeryn asks.
Ara’s foot taps insistently on my bare shoulder, images sliding from her little mind into mine. I inhale sharply. I have more than a plan. I have a way to kill the God King. Finally, I know how to hurt him, but first I need to make sure Ruen is safe, and most importantly, alive.
“I don’t think so.” Maeryn’s arm is ripped from my grasp as she cries out. Whirling around, I find Zalika gripping Maeryn’s long red hair, digging her nails into my friend’s scalp until rivulets of blood drip down the side of her face. “I believe the Gods invited you to feast .” She shoves Maeryn back towards the table and stands between us, daring me to go through her.
Despite the obviously clear night overhead, lightning tears across the sky, ripping the darkness in half as it crackles. Zalika’s dark look shifts from me to Theos. “I would not try anything, were I you, Darkhaven,” she snaps. “Your father wishes nothing more than to punish you the same as your brother.”
“Whatever pain he has felt, I assure you, I will deliver it tenfold,” Theos replies, his expression far darker than I’ve ever seen it. His throat pulses with his racing heart, sweat coating his body. How much power had he lost on the night of that first ceremony and is he draining himself with using what he has left?
I touch a hand to his arm and immediately feel the tension in his body ease. Silently, I offer him my presence, and the strike of lightning that had been ignored by most despite its obvious mismatched appearance with the stormless sky evaporates.
“Where is he?” I demand, stepping forward and reclaiming Zalika’s attention.
Maeryn shuffles behind Zalika, her eyes wide and lips parted as Niall hurries to her side. I jerk my chin in a silent command to go—to flee. She hesitates but then just as quickly nods and turns, she and Niall slipping between the bodies of those congregating at the tables full of cannibalistic offerings.
“He will be along shortly,” Zalika replies.
I step closer. “I may not have a blade, Zalika,” I say, keeping my voice even and low as I let my gaze drift up from her throat to her eyes and back again, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t have teeth and claws. Be very careful with how you answer my next question—those ‘Gods’ of yours wouldn’t save you from me if it amused them to see you die.”
“You cannot kill me.”
A familiar face appears in the crowd, walking quickly towards us. Nubo’s bald head bobs up and down and back and forth as he rushes forward. When his eyes raise and I offer him a smile, his dispassionate expression finally cracks. His brow creases, the lack of hair making it almost too difficult to see so far away but it’s too late for him to help her now.
I return my attention to Zalika. Her confident and self-assured gaze is on mine, the corner of her lips turned upward. Kalix appears at my side, easing out of the congregation and drawing her attention as he comes to a stop, an amused smile set into his own mouth.
Zalika’s amusement fades as sweat beads at her brow. She swallows and then seems to realize something’s wrong. She swallows again. She takes a step back, glancing right and left as if she expects warriors to attack. We have no warriors, only each other.
Her breathing turns ragged, though she tries to maintain a calm demeanor. I wait.
“You cannot … kill me.” Her repeated words are followed by no actions. In the distance, I see that Nubo has crossed half of the garden and is still working his way here.
I turn back to the Mortal God that was willing to betray her own kind for power. Running now, Nubo is running for her. His face a mask of pain and something more—resolute horror.
How closely are they linked? I wonder. Does he feel what she’s feeling? Does he feel the numbness in her lips as she parts them to breathe better? The pinpricks of pain up her spine and arms as she crosses them over her chest only to let them drop once more when it heightens the sharp little stabbing sensations?
“What…” Her swallowing comes more often and Theos relaxes further on my left as if he senses what’s coming. “What…”
“You told me I couldn’t kill you,” I say as Nubo finally arrives.
He dives across the small space carved out just for us, away from the Mortal Gods devouring the meat the Gods have provided like hungry animals. Though a part of me wished to warn them, Caedmon had shown me what would happen if I did so. When he’d touched me as he and Ariadne had left, he’d given me snippets of the future—of the different pasts. What doing so had earned him, I don’t know, but I am grateful nonetheless. Because now I know had I tried to stop them all, none of them would have survived past the first hour. If I tell them after the fact, none of their minds would.
So, I’ll keep this secret and I’ll take the truth with me to the grave.
Zalika collapses into her partner’s arms, shivering, teeth chattering. Bubbly froth rises up from her mouth, red with blood. Her eyes jerk right and left, seeking … seeking … seeking …
I step into her line of vision and lean down. “I don’t have to kill you,” I tell her. “Because you’re already dead.”
Then the screams begin.