43. Kiera
Chapter 43
Kiera
O rtus Academy is a graveyard of empty bodies. Mortal Gods and false Gods alike wander these halls unaware that they are the ghosts that inhabit this place. I can see it now, after Tryphone’s announcement of the Feast, after his reveal of Ruen’s tortured state, and his subsequent dismissal, all I see are the phantoms that haunt this place.
Faces, old and new, familiar and unfamiliar, surround me as we’re herded from the assembly hall to our dorm rooms. Kalix, Theos, and I are followed closely by Nubo and Zalika. Nubo’s empty expression and Zalika’s smile, like that of a painted doll, make my body tremble with the desire for murder.
We’re marched to our dorms like prisoners to prepare for the gallows. I almost laugh when I see what lies on Ruen's bed as they lead me to it. Because they know he won’t be coming back here and they know I’m not sleeping in my own room. They know everything.
The mors pallium rests at the edge of the mattress, spread out in the way of a lady’s dressing gown. The fabric is just as transparent as the first time I wore it. This one is different in a few ways. The old one had been meant to reveal as much skin as possible, or so I’d thought. This one is worse. Large cutouts of the see-through fabric are missing, revealing long stretches of skin as Zalika, herself, forces me into the dress.
I glare daggers at her the entire time, stopped from killing her by one thing and one thing only—and it has nothing to do with the veritable army of Terra in the hallway waiting for her to give an order. No, I don’t fear them. I can feel my own power seizing in my chest, spreading through my limbs, preparing, seeking reprisal.
I let Zalika order me about and stuff me into the mors pallium because I know that it will lead back to Ruen. I will see him again at the Feast.
“The Gods warned me that you would be far more defiant,” Zalika says as she shoves me over to a dressing table that had been brought in by the same Terra I remembered from before—Iysa is silent and far different than she had been days ago. The mortal Terra had been alive then; Now, there’s no questioning the waxy hue of her flesh or the deadened hollow gaze that moves over nothing at all as she’s commanded by Zalika and Nubo.
“What would be the point now?” I respond as Zalika unwinds my hair and lets it fall down my back.
My daggers lie on the bed along with my old clothes. No more weapons for me, but that’s alright. I am the weapon.
Zalika hums in her throat, the sound off-key, but amused nonetheless. “Perhaps you’re smarter than I originally assumed,” she says. The insult is delivered with such casualness that it sounds more like a compliment. “Though I do have to admit, I expected more from the granddaughter of the God King.”
I don’t close my eyes, but instead meet hers in reflection as she lifts a gold-leafed, horse hair brush and begins to drag it through my hair.
“Why did Nubo send dead men to help the Underworld?” I ask, not sure if I’ll even be granted an answer, but if she’s no longer attempting to hide what she knows then perhaps now is the perfect time for my questions.
Zalika chuckles at my question, the sound a low almost masculine noise that contradicts her distinctly feminine looks. Her black braids slip over her shoulders and down her back, some wrapped in twine and gold ribbon as she lifts her eyes to mine in the reflection. “A distraction,” she murmurs, “and he didn’t work with your little guild—he only worked with the one human. A failure of a human at that.” She scoffs and continues her work.
“Don’t you think humans will ask what happened to all of the Mortal Gods?” I demand, biting my tongue hard enough to taste blood after the words have left my lips.
Zalika snorts, her brush strokes slowing as she shakes her head. “Of course not,” she says. “The humans will accept any reason the Gods give them. Tryphone has done this before—though not on quite such a scale. You’re all so gullible—the humans and Mortal Gods alike—to think that the Gods would let those capable of killing them live.”
I narrow my eyes on her in the mirror. “Do you think you’re safe from him? You’re a Mortal God.”
The hands in my hair become punishing as she grips a large mass of it at the back of my skull and jerks me back into the chair. She bares her teeth down at me, the dots lining her forehead and features obscured in the waning light from the window.
“I am to be a full God before the night is through,” Zalika snaps. “I will be rewarded for my assistance to the Gods, and using your powers, I will become one of them.”
“Now, who’s gullible?” I hiss the words through clenched teeth as I sink my nails into either side of the chair. I spread my legs and settle my feet flat on the floor, ready at any moment to launch up and do battle. I flick a glance at the daggers laid out on the end of the bed. One second to stand. A second to reach them. A third to slit her open from belly to throat. The image is there in my mind and oh, how I crave to feel her hot blood rush across my blade.
“I’d remind you that you’re just like me—a Mortal god,” I tell her, “but that would be a lie. You’re far dimmer if you think that the Gods are going to turn you into one of them. They aren’t Gods at all. You cannot become what doesn’t exist.”
Like birds that are born and raised in a cage fear the freedom of flight, Zalika denies my response with a growl. She glares down at me, twisting my hair tighter and tighter, and a sharp pain enters my skull. She resists the truth with such vehemence that I almost feel pity for her. But almost isn’t quite pity and all I have for this woman is the desire to maim and slaughter her.
“You will die tonight,” she hisses, “and I will become a Goddess.”
My breasts heave with each intake of breath. I find myself smiling at her as she bends me backward, causing my spine to creak with the unnatural position. “One of us will be dying tonight,” I inform her. “That is certain.”
“ You ,” she insists.
When I don’t respond, she growls again and throws me back into place. This time, as she rakes the brush through my hair it’s with rough, angry movements. I smile because I know, somehow, that a small battle was won here.
When she finishes dressing me up for my supposed funeral, she grips my arms and yanks me out of the chair. The sun has fully set by the time we enter the hallway and I find everyone waiting. Not just Kalix and Theos but Maeryn and Niall too. I want to curse when I see that unlike the other Terra, Niall has been dressed in the same mors pallium as the Darkhavens. Perhaps he has no powers of his own, but it’s clear that the Gods plan to kill us all tonight.
Zalika’s earlier anger fades when she sets her eyes on Maeryn and the scar that now lines the other woman’s face. Stepping towards her, Maeryn flinches, and Niall—despite how much he trembles—attempts to stand between them.
Zalika laughs, the noise of amusement like nails on bone. “How adorable,” she murmurs. “A little mouse protecting a wounded lioness.”
None of the Terra respond to her taunt. My lips curl upward. “I could say the same about you,” I murmur, just loud enough to capture her attention.
Her smile falling away, Zalika turns to me. “Those big, bad Gods need a mouse to protect them,” I continue when I’ve captured her attention. “Tell me something, is the cheese worth it, little rat?”
I change the term at the end and watch as her face contorts in all manner of rage. She contemplates attacking me. She may not say as much, but the progression of the desire to do so lingers on her face. Her brows furrow and her lips curl backward as her eyes seek out my body—checking for weapons she knows I don’t have.
I offer my hands up in response, waiting. Unfortunately, though, she turns away from my provocation and announces in a low tone, “It’s time. Let’s go.”
My back is shoved and I stumble forward a step before turning and glaring over my shoulder at the bald Nubo. Though his expression hasn’t altered a single bit, it’s clear from the vibration of power rolling off him that I’ve upset him as well. I’d originally thought Zalika the defacto leader of the two, but now I recognize that there’s something between them. A trust and an understanding. They are partners and I just insulted his lover.
I force myself to turn forward again and start walking. An insult is the least of their worries.
A lion that wishes to live will always strike at just the right moment.