17. Kiera
Chapter 17
Kiera
L ater, after I’ve washed away the sweat and sand from my skin, I sit alone in the Darkhavens’ rooms contemplating the strange buzzing under my skin. The sun has long since set and still they have not returned. The fire in the hearth is dying as well, and I have no desire to get up to tend to it. Instead, I just sit there. In the near darkness, covered in the sensation of little insects crawling under my flesh.
It’s not like when my spiders come to me. That feels … different, though I’m sure many others would not agree. To most, spiders are just as much insects as a fly or a bee, but they’re not. They’re far more intelligent creatures than even many Mortal Gods.
As if sensing my inner thoughts, Ara comes creeping out of the shadows and marches towards me. My lips twitch in amusement as she latches on to my trouser leg and crawls up until she reaches my knee. The moment she stops, reclining on her perch on my leg, she peers up at me with her numerous black eyes.
Curious. That is the emotion that comes from her, slipping more easily than ever into my mind. That, too, is different. Whereas before, it had been somewhat difficult to find the creatures that claim their place as my familiars, now it’s as natural as breathing. I used to have to work at finding them, at calling out to them. Now, they are there. Always. Perhaps I would be frightened and disturbed by that were it not for the fact that, in many ways, their presence feels like comfortable company. They don’t demand anything from me. They don’t pressure me for anything. They are simply there, silent and waiting.
I lift a finger and pat the top of Ara’s little head, the short fuzz making my twitching lips turn into a full-blown grin. “I’m alright,” I assure her. “I’m just feeling off.”
Maybe because I lost a fucking battle to Ruen or maybe because I felt like neither of us had even really been trying. Or maybe because since I woke up that first time back after having the brimstone removed, I’ve felt a growing sensation building within me. A pressure that swells with each passing day.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts and I cup a hand beneath Ara as I stand. For a moment, I contemplate taking her with me, but I don’t know who it could be on the other side of that door, and other than the few people who frequent the Darkhaven quarters, not many know of her existence.
Ultimately, I decide to leave her behind, setting her gently on the lounge I’d been previously sitting on before petting her head and heading for the door as the person on the other side knocks again. I’ll call for her if I need her.
I know before I turn the lock that it’s not one of the Darkhavens. None of them would knock on their own damned chamber door. Still, I find myself repressing both surprise and confusion when I spy a Terra on the other side. Not one I know well as I don’t recognize her face, but the clothes she wears tell me that she’s a servant just like I used to be.
“Yes?” I frown down at her as she stares up at me with wide doe brown eyes that remind me of the deer my father and I used to hunt for food when I was a child.
Her head dips back down as a flush creeps up her neck. “M-my a-apologies, my lady,” she says. “I-I was sent to retrieve you.”
My lips curl down instinctively at the ‘lady’ comment, but I ask instead, “Who sent you?”
“L-Lord Caedmon,” she stutters.
Caedmon . Of course, it must be about my tutoring. I suppose the Gods decided to give him that task. Despite my earlier wishes, I’m not yet certain if I’m grateful for that or not.
Carefully, I step out of the chambers and seal the door shut behind me. The fire has died down more than enough, I don’t have to worry about going back to put it out. If it does suddenly spark up and catch on something nearby, well … I don’t exactly care if the entire Academy burns down or not.
“Lead the way,” I tell the mousy girl, gesturing back towards the stairs.
Her head comes up slightly and this time, instead of peering at me openly with gaping curiosity, she’s a bit more discreet. Her gaze moves over me through the veil of her lashes and the dishwater blonde of her hair before she bobs her head and turns to go first.
The change in my status—and more specifically, in the way I’m being treated—leaves my insides rioting in annoyance. There is nothing about me that has changed. I look the same. I sound the same. I even act the same, though a little less polite than I’d been previously, especially with the Darkhavens. Yet, somehow, I am different from those around me now that my heritage is no longer hidden.
As I consider that, though, I’m reminded of Niall. I should talk to him soon, I decide. Tell him that nothing has changed between him and me. No matter that he knows my secrets, I am always and still just Kiera, the ex-servant who never quite fit and the girl he befriended when she had no one else.
My heart aches at that. Yes, Niall is my friend … just as Regis is … was.
The female Terra in front of me leads me down the stairs of the North Tower, out and through several outdoor corridors before surprising me and leading me down a different set of stairs I don’t recall ever having traveled before. I know it from the blueprints Regis had given me what now feels like a millennia ago. Even in those details, though, there had been nothing more than short notes and lines to draw out the walls and exit routes.
In person, this section of the Academy is much brighter than I expected. Wall sconces light up the curving staircase, illuminating the path without any windows, but when we get to the bottom, the walls disappear entirely and reveal glass all around. Unlike the darkness that had been outside the windows on the way here, the windows here are full of light. Someone with Divinity must be in charge of taking care of this place, but it’s the only excuse for the bright, almost sunny, interior. Unnatural warmth permeates the air, sliding over my face and shoulders, seeping past the clothes I’m wearing as a sweet scent lingers. I sniff and frown. There’s a hint of floral but also something deeper and richer.
“Miss?”
I hear the Terra, but my focus is on the man standing several paces in front of me. Shrouded in a light golden long coat that folds lopsided over one half of his chest, Caedmon stands like a King of old surrounded by leafy trees and sprouts of colorful blooms. The foliage shivers as if there’s an invisible wind only they can sense. Somehow, it pulls them toward him before fluttering back as Caedmon lifts his head and meets my gaze.
“That will be all, Desireé. Thank you for bringing her to me.”
The girl—Desireé—bobs her head, bowing slightly before she scuttles away, back towards the stairwell, and out of sight. Caedmon and I are left alone in silence. I wait for him to begin, to explain why I’m here even if it’s for the tutoring I was informed I would be subject to, but he doesn’t speak. Not even when I chance several more paces into the … well, room would seem an odd thing to call it now that I realize what it truly is. A greenhouse. Or rather a green corridor.
On the map, this section of the academy appeared like a long-forgotten hallway with no end. Seeing it in person makes me realize that it had always been built for this—to house great palms and miniature trees and buds of a floral nature. I pass around where Caedmon stands in front of a stone table with two seats set out. If he expects me to sit before him without ever saying a word to me, he’ll have to think again.
I keep my side facing him even as I bend over a particularly fat bush and lift one of the leafy stalks that protrude from its top. Little dots of red line the stalk and when I touch one gently it unfurls, going from what once looked like a berry to a full-blown bloom in a matter of seconds. That rich, heady scent gets stronger.
“I would be careful around that one,” Caedmon murmurs quietly. “She can become a bit testy when touched without permission.”
I straighten and face him fully. The God of Prophecy is dressed like he’s attending some party later. The gold stitching on his coat edges all the way to his knees and the billowy white pants that cover the rest of his legs only serve to make his skin even darker. When I look into his face, it’s like looking into the night sky.
“Why did you call me here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my displeasure with him.
Not because he called me here. Not even because he was Ophelia’s client which means he—along with practically everyone I’ve trusted for the last few months—has been lying to me. I don’t trust him and I’m certainly not happy to be in his presence when I don’t know what to do with him. Yet, he still holds a lot of power over me.
Caedmon closes his eyes with a sigh and when he reopens and fixes them on me, it’s with a creased brow. “You don’t need to act so defensive around me, Kiera,” he says. “I don’t wish you any harm.”
“You’ve lied to me once already; what’s to say that’s not a lie as well,” I shoot back.
Ebony eyes glitter dangerously, and I get the distinct impression that the face Caedmon has shown me up until this point is not all there is to him. I believe that feeling; it’s an instinctual reaction that has saved my life more times than I care to count. Right now those instincts are roaring at me with a good dose of apprehension. I might be an assassin—or I suppose was an assassin—but I’m still mortal. God blood or not, I’ve always been and always will be mortal. To stay alive as I have, relying on my senses and my intuition, isn’t just an option. It’s a necessity.
With soft, but deliberate movements, Caedmon moves around the stone table at his side and takes a seat. When he lifts his hands to the box perched in the center there, gold rings glint across three of his fingers, two on one hand and one on the other.
“Come.” The word is an order. “Take a seat.”
Biting down on my lip, I leave behind the leafy bush and take the five or so steps to the table. I sit down gingerly in the seat across from him. Caedmon lifts the lid of the wooden box and then begins to withdraw small objects.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks as he lays out a flat checkered mat and then sets the smaller objects atop it.
“Chess.” I haven’t seen a board in a long time, not since the early days of Ophelia’s training. Even then, it was a rarity. Ophelia didn’t love chess the way those of the gaming persuasion did, but she did find its value in teaching strategy. Regis and I had played many times that first and second year in the Underworld.
Is he still in Riviere? The question pops into my mind before I can stop it and I close my eyes, hating the wave of pain that assails me. I’m angry with Regis, and though I know that anger is rooted in hurt, that doesn’t make it any less volatile.
“That’s correct.” Caedmon’s voice pulls me back and I lift my gaze to collide with his as he finishes setting up the board.
“I thought I was here for the tutoring I was told I needed,” I say as he flips the lid of the wooden box shut again and sets it to the side.
“You are.”
The rings on his hands glitter again as he lifts one hand, hovering it over a pawn on his side of the board. I frown at his words. “Then what is this? ” I gesture to the game set in front of me.
Caedmon doesn’t answer right away because of course he doesn’t. Why would anyone want to give me an answer to a question when I ask it? Instead, he takes his time, glancing over the pieces from the pawns to the rooks and bishops. Finally, he settles on one pawn and moves it barely an inch from its original position.
“Tryphone wishes to set you up with another God from the Council for tutoring,” he says as he lifts his fingers away from the piece.
My spine straightens and my eyes flash from the board to his face, but he’s not looking at me. He’s still looking at the damn pawn. “Who?” I demand when he doesn’t elaborate further.
“I am not sure yet,” he admits. “Though, if I were to choose, myself, I think it might do you some good to speak with a female God. Perhaps Makeda or … Danai would also be a good choice.”
I want to spend one on one time with the Queen of the Gods about as much as I want to toss myself out a window. I sit forward in my seat and place my elbows on the edge of the stone table.
“Is this what you consider tutoring or are you just here to torture me with information you’ll never fully give me?” My tone is sharp. It’s definitely not how anyone of a lower status—Mortal God or not—should speak to a God.
Unsurprisingly, though, Caedmon doesn’t admonish me. He simply gestures to the board and says, “Your move.”
With gritted teeth, I turn my attention to the checkered mat. I consider my choice for a moment. In chess, there are few ways to start but many to end. Though it’s a game of strategy, it’s a board with pieces and a finite number of endings. There are only two players and therefore only two choices.
I move a pawn and return my attention to Caedmon. “Do you truly think I can pull off what you want me to, especially without the full details?” I’m careful not to speak the truth aloud. Though it seems as if we’re alone, I know I’m not the only one who has familiars, and with Tryphone on the Academy grounds—as well as the God Council—I’m not taking any chances with my own life that I don’t have to.
Caedmon doesn’t answer immediately, instead moving his rook up right behind his pawn. I roll my eyes and move another pawn. Finally, after what feels like an untold number of seconds that have passed in tense silence, Caedmon’s next turn ends and he raises his gaze.
“I know that you can do what needs to be done,” he says, his words just as discreet. “I do not doubt your skills, Kiera. Both what you have learned and what power you have naturally will aid you in this quest.”
“There is no quest,” I snap and his eyes flicker up to meet mine. “This is not a storybook. This is my life—the life of dozens, hundreds of others.”
“Try hundreds of thousands.” Caedmon’s full dark lips pinch downward as his face takes on a contemplative look.
My jaw tightens in irritation. “Tell me what the taboo is,” I order. “What have the Gods?—”
“No.”
The exposed skin over my face and neck grows tight. “Then I can’t help you.”
“You can and you will,” he says, his attention returning to the board between us. “I did not invite you here to discuss what your future will be.”
“Then what did you?—”
He doesn’t let me finish the question, sitting forward and steepling his hands together in front of him. “Have you felt any different since the brimstone was removed?” he asks, his voice lowering until it’s a strain to hear it.
My eyes dart from side to side, but there’s no one else here other than the plants. Almost as if my body is responding to Caedmon’s words, that earlier buzzing under my skin comes to life again. The wave of pinpricks roll over my shoulder blades, up my arms, and down my thighs.
“Different … how?” It’s my turn to move and my eyes focus on the pieces in front of me. No one has been taken yet, all the porcelain black and white miniature statues are still there. My mind, however, is eons away.
“The more powerful of the God children have control over various elements,” Caedmon says instead of giving me a true answer. “Familiars are a sign of an exceedingly powerful Mortal God.”
Mortal God . One corner of my mouth turns up in sardonic amusement. When he’s not a God at all. None of them are according to him.
“Mastery over elements comes with certain physical reactions,” he continues when I don’t speak. “Brimstone is the one thing that can stifle those abilities.”
“I still had them,” I say, looking up. “Even with the brimstone.”
“Yes, you did.”
The buzzing grows louder, filling my ears. A dull pain begins to throb behind my eyes. I plant my hands on the edge of the table and lean forward. Lifting one, I take my rook and shift it closer to one of his pawns. One more move and it’ll be mine.
“Whose garden is this?” I ask, changing topics.
Caedmon blinks, and for the first time, I think I’ve actually surprised him. I try not to let the satisfaction show on my face, but it’s hard. Brown eyes flash down to the board and then back to me again. A beat passes and then he moves the pawn closer to my rook.
I narrow my eyes on the placement of his piece before I take it, lifting the now captured pawn in my hand.
“The owner of this garden is a friend,” is all he says as I turn the porcelain shape over in my palm, watching the false light smooth over its surface.
“Do Gods have friends?” I ask. “Or allies?”
“Why can’t it be both?”
I want to deny him either but I can’t. “What would you consider Ophelia then? A friend or an ally?”
Caedmon hesitates a moment and when I glance at his face, it’s to see the skin between his thick perfect brows pinched. “Ophelia is…”
He doesn’t need to answer, I think I get it now. I hold the pawn up between us. “She’s a pawn,” I say, answering for him. I look down at the chessboard with more interest now. Pawns. Rooks. Bishops. Knights.
I set the pawn down and gesture to him. “Your move.”
Just like that, the game restarts. Caedmon moves his pieces and I move mine. Despite what he said about Tryphone wanting a different tutor for me, to Caedmon, this game is his version of tutoring, I realize. I’m not entirely sure what lesson he means to teach me. The Gods and their manipulations. I wonder if there’s some spell that’s been cast over them that forces them to do everything in their strange roundabout ways. It would definitely save everyone time and energy if they could simply do away with all of the social cloaking.
Even the Academy is a game. The grounds are the board. The students are pieces, separated into hierarchies. The only difference between the game in front of me and the one we’re playing in real life is the fact that these pieces have no emotions and no autonomy of their own.
If I lose a pawn, I lose a pawn. Not the game.
In life, though, losing a pawn means losing a person. Each loss chips away at you until all that’s left is the husk of the player.
Caedmon and I play in near silence for a long time. The only sound is that of our breathing and the soft whoosh of an invisible wind that flutters at the plants surrounding us. That rich, enticing scent of the blooms seems to sink into my skin, into my very bones.
Finally, when it’s down to just a few pieces on either side of the board—Kings, Queens, a knight, two rooks, and a pawn—Caedmon looks up at me again.
“You play the game well.”
I’ve been playing a game since the night my father died. A game of survival.
“I’m trying to learn your lesson,” I tell him before lifting my eyes to meet his. “How am I doing?”
He sighs at that. “I’m not entirely sure yet,” he admits before sweeping his hand over the pieces on the board. “You’re an offensive player and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I think you play by your emotions. You’re angry right now and anger makes you quick to decisions that you might otherwise take more time to consider.”
Angry? He thinks I’m angry? Am I? I briefly consider his words. Yes, I suppose I am angry, but I’ve been this way for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be anything but enraged .
I pick up his King and turn it over in my palm. “Whatever it is that Tryphone has done, he couldn’t have done it alone, could he?”
Eyes the color of burnt umber bore into me. For several long seconds, he doesn’t answer. I start to think he won’t, but then he does. “No,” he admits. “There are Gods that know, Gods that—though they disagree with the cruelty of the taboo—have been complicit because of the benefits.”
Benefits? So, it has something to do with giving the Gods what they want. I consider his words, trying to puzzle together everything he’s giving me. There are holes, but the image is becoming clearer. Immortality. Power. Oppression. I need more information. I tighten my hold on the porcelain King in my hand.
“One man cannot control a population just like one can’t turn the tide of a battle. It must be more. You say you wish to stop what’s been happening, but how long did it take you to decide to take action?” Did it start with me? Or before? Has he already failed once? Am I just to be another dead pawn in his effort to right the wrongs that he and his brethren have committed?
Caedmon is silent at my question, but I’m far from done. I set the King back into its place, harder than necessary, and the sound it makes is a giant clack in the near quiet of the greenhouse.
“How many pawns have you killed to get here, Caedmon?”
The abrupt inhalation tells me I was right to ask. I close my eyes, unwilling to look at his face as he answers. I don’t want to see what I know will be guilt or shame. It doesn’t matter if that’s how he feels now. When you take a life, you make that decision yourself. You accept whatever the consequences may be. Guilt or shame cannot bring back the dead or erase the past. I know this better than most. The world is a merciless place, and sometimes to survive, you must be just as ruthless as the monsters you fight.
“I don’t pretend to know how you feel, Kiera,” Caedmon begins and it doesn’t escape my notice that he refuses to answer my last question. “But I did not bring you here—to the Academy—because I do not see a future. You are the future for your generation.”
Fuck. Him. I want to scream in his face, punch him, rail against the unfairness that surrounds not just me but every unfortunate soul born into this world less powerful than a God. “No, I’m not,” I tell him. “I’m nothing but a pawn in your game.” The words cut through me and then through the air, but once they’re out, I refuse to take them back. They’re true after all.
I thought I’d learned well enough already that there is no one I can truly rely on but myself. Regis went to Ophelia and Ophelia already knew things—for ten. Fucking. Years. She knew. Still, she never told me the truth. Is there anyone in this Gods forsaken world who is on my side? Who prioritizes me above all others? The desire for something so ridiculous as loyalty is pathetic, and yet, I want it still.
“If you are anything at all, Kiera, you are a key , not a pawn. But if you were, I’d like for you to remember this … at the end of the game, both the pawn and the queen end up in the same box.” As if to punctuate that fact, he lifts one of the pieces on the board and ironically, it’s the only remaining pawn. The porcelain shell of it glints under the pseudo-light shining through the murky glass.
I have nothing to say to that. There’s nothing I can say. He’s right, but we’re also speaking in hypotheticals and hyperboles. Not reality. The reality is this:
The Gods are liars, and if I don’t find some way to resign myself to whatever prophecy Caedmon is trying to force to fruition then it’s not just my life in danger.
At the end of the day, it never has been. First, it was mine and my father’s. Then it was mine and the entire Underworld. Now, it’s mine and the Darkhavens. If I were less than my morals, it would be so easy to turn away, to refuse to play these games.
I can’t.
I have no interest in saving the lives of the Mortal Gods of this Academy or the others for that matter. I have no interest in saving the lives of mortals or Gods alike. They’re all cogs in this clock tower of horrid hierarchy. Just because they’ve sat back and let this society grow and fester the way it has, why do I have to be the one to fix it? Why must I be the one they turn to?
It’s not fucking fair.
I didn’t ask for any of this.
I don’t want it.
I just don’t want the people I have actually come to care about to be killed because I know too much, because I’m a threat.
“What you need is a hero,” I tell him. “Someone from the storybooks.” I pick up my queen and reach for the game box. Slowly, methodically, I take each piece off the board and put it back in the box before I fold up the mat and place it inside as well.
Then, and only then, do I lift my gaze to meet his. “I am no one’s hero,” I say. “And I’m certainly no one’s salvation.”