6. Kiera
Chapter 6
Kiera
“ K ill Tryphone?” I repeat the words as if I heard him wrong. I know I must have, but then Caedmon simply nods, confirming the correctness of the statement. I sit back in shock. A beat of silence passes and then two and three. They continue to pass until I can’t take it anymore. “Are you insane?” It’s a legitimate question. If he thinks I’m somehow capable of killing the King of the Gods—never mind what he’s revealed about the fact that they’re not Gods at all but some sort of ‘magical’ species from another world—he has to be insane.
It’s at that moment that Ophelia sits forward and sets her glass next to Caedmon’s on the table set before them. “I have to agree with Kiera,” she states. “She is well trained, but even she isn’t capable of killing Tryphone. Even if what you say is true, he has several hundred years of experience on her. She’s more accustomed to catching targets unaware.”
“She will be able to catch him unaware,” Caedmon states, gaze settled on my face as if he can somehow delve into my mind with simply a will of his own.
I frown as something more penetrates my realization. “You said that I was of his blood, what did you mean by that? My father was mortal.”
Caedmon is shaking his head before I’ve finished my statement. “Your father was not mortal, Kiera. Not completely.”
“He was,” I insist. “He never had any abilities and?—”
“I know this, Kiera,” Caedmon says, interrupting me. “Because I knew your father as well as your mother. Your father was a Mortal God and he was one of the first to—” His words cut off and he closes his eyes, raising a hand to his temple yet again as if he’s in pain. Then he shakes himself and his lashes flutter upward once more.
Tension spreads through my limbs. I picture my father, the strong, barrel-chested man who had raised me, who had taught me right from wrong, who had carried me in his arms as he showed me the Hinterlands where I’d been born. He had been a Mortal God? Then … what did that make me? More God than mortal? No, the Gods weren’t Gods.
I shake my head. “You said that the Gods aren’t actually Gods,” I say, fixing my gaze on Caedmon again. “What are they? What are you ?”
Caedmon’s lips spread into a mockery of a smile. “You would not know of it here, but in our world, we were known as Atlanteans. Our Kingdom was massive and great and we stemmed from a city of prosperity called Atlantis.” His pseudo smile falls in an instant. “Unfortunately, when we crossed over into this world, our great city fell and with it, the remains of our legacy.”
“Atlantean.” The word sounds strange, like something that doesn’t belong on my tongue. My eyes squint. “Atlanteans are not Gods?” I clarify.
He shakes his head. “No. Atlanteans are simply long-lived humans,” Caedmon answers. “In our world, Atlanteans are simply descendants of what are known as Fae and human races. Our magic and longevity come from our Fae ancestors and everything else, our human ancestry.”
They weren’t Gods but Atlanteans. Humans. Mortal . His earlier words make all the more sense. No wonder Tryphone had needed to find a way to lengthen their lives. They’d come into this world masquerading as Gods and Gods didn’t die except under special circumstances.
Then the memory of what I’d discussed with Regis that very morning comes slamming into my head. “Does that mean that anyone can kill the Gods—the Atlanteans?” Is that why Regis had been able to kill that Mortal God? But then, why had the man disintegrated? If he, like any normal person, was just able to be killed then he wouldn’t have turned to dust. Could Regis be wrong? Could he have been drugged when it happened?
Caedmon’s lips pinch tight into a mulish line. “You’re correct,” he says, his words stilted, and for a moment I think he’s read my mind, but then he continues. “There are many things that Tryphone spread to keep the people of this world from attacking our kind. The belief that mortals of this world are unable to kill us is one of them.”
“Regis—” I stand abruptly and turn towards the door as it flies open. All eyes shoot to the figure standing there. It’s not Regis though. Nor is it Carcel. Instead, the plump harried figure of Madam Brione stands in the doorway, her bosom heaving with great effort.
Her eyes fly wildly over the three figures of the Darkhavens—each of whom steps closer to me—and then skitter over Caedmon before focusing on Ophelia. “There is trouble, Ma’am,” Madam Brione huffs out, her ruddy cheeks flushed with color.
Ophelia stands. “What’s happened?”
“The Academy is alight with the flames of welcome,” she hurries out, her words stumbling over one another. “Fires are being lit throughout the streets and,” she swallows, an edge of fear and concern filling her voice, “carriages are entering.”
Caedmon, too, stands. A hard hand lands on my shoulder and grips me tight. I look up as Ruen’s face blanches. His normally tanned skin seems to leach of color in front of my eyes. Unthinking, I reach up and cup my fingers over the ones settled on my shoulder. Midnight eyes flick down to meet mine. I frown at him, but he merely shakes his head and removes his hand from me. I let him go even as confusion pours into me.
“What do the carriages have to—” Before I can finish my sentence, Caedmon curses low.
“The God Council,” he snaps. “They weren’t supposed to arrive for several more days.”
I push up from the chair. “We have to get back,” I say. “We can’t be caught out.”
Caedmon waves a hand in my direction. “Worry not about that,” he says absently even as he drags a palm over his face, suddenly appearing far older than he looks, especially when his fingers tremble ever so slightly.
“Azai will be there,” Theos says quietly on my other side.
As I turn to look at him, Caedmon responds. “Yes, he will, and I have no doubt that he will wish to see the three of you.”
Azai, the Darkhaven’s God parent—Atlantean parent, I mentally correct. It will be a struggle to remember that all that I have known for the past twenty years of my life is not the truth. Yet, harder still, I believe it will be for me to pretend to know nothing.
Before the conversation can be derailed completely, I direct my attention to Caedmon and Ophelia. “Regis went on a mission and he claims to have killed a Mortal God—he said that they disintegrated when he killed them, that he didn’t know until it was too late.”
Ophelia’s expression tightens but that’s all the reaction I get from her. I’m not surprised.
Caedmon sighs. “That is another thing we will have to discuss later.”
“But you know why it happened?” I press, frowning.
Caedmon’s soil-rich gaze meets mine. “There is plenty more that you do not know, Kiera. More still I cannot tell you or risk changing the future that I foresee.”
Frustration pours through me. I’ve never been good at riddles and that's all he seems to be able to speak in. “What can you tell me?” I demand, my fingers clenching into fists.
Caedmon heaves a great breath, but before he can speak, Ruen’s hand closes around my upper arm and tugs me back. Caedmon strides around the lounge and heads for the doorway where Madam Brione still stands, her wild array of frayed curls flying in every direction.
“We need to leave.”
I ignore Ruen, pulling out of his hold despite his tone. “I have more questions,” I call out to Caedmon as he gently nudges Madam Brione to the side and peers down the hallway past the kitchen.
“When did the carriages start to arrive?” Caedmon asks her.
A flurry of movement catches my attention and I turn to watch as Ophelia moves away from the lounges and heads back into the room where I’d first arrived to find her, Carcel, and Caedmon.
“Not but an hour ago,” Madam Brione answers.
Caedmon’s features darken. “I see.” He clears his thunderous expression a moment later as he pastes a small smile on his face before looking back to Madam Brione. “I must thank you for allowing us the use of your home.”
Madam Brione blinks up at him. No doubt she’s shocked that a God would be so kind to her. “I-it is not a problem,” she sputters out a moment later.
“Then we must hurry to be on our way.” He looks back at the woman and nods. “Thank you again, darling.”
My head spins and I can’t tell where to set my eyes. Ophelia is in the smaller room, her hands scattering over the table, rifling through pages. Theos and Ruen squeeze ever closer, but Kalix’s presence is practically a shadow still against the wall. The answers I’ve received tonight have only left me with more questions. My heart pounds in my chest.
“Caedmon, we haven’t finished—” My voice is cut off as Ruen sharply pulls on me yet again, turning and twisting me behind him as Carcel reappears in the doorway leading out of the rooms. A low growl erupts from his chest as he practically pushes me against the wall.
No, not a wall, I realize as two familiar hands creep up and grab ahold of my upper arms. Kalix. I pull and tug against him. “Stop it,” I hiss. “Damn it.”
“Carcel,” Ophelia calls from the back room. “Come help me.”
Carcel shoves past Madam Brione and shoulders around Caedmon—not caring that he’s a being far more powerful than himself—as he heads towards Ophelia. A dull pounding takes up residence in the back of my swirling mind. I can’t leave like this without talking to Caedmon one on one.
“We have to go,” Theos says, echoing Ruen’s earlier words as the two look once at each other and then back at where Kalix and I stand.
Ruen’s eyes slide over me and narrow on where Kalix’s hands hold me in place before he shakes his head and turns back to Caedmon. “We’ll return to the Academy,” he announces. “If the God Council is arriving earlier than planned, we should be where they expect us to be.”
Caedmon turns away from Regis and Madam Brione, his eyes finding Ruen’s. Before Caedmon can agree or disagree, however, Kalix’s hands tighten hard enough to hurt and I flinch under the grip on my arms.
“There is something else we must do before we leave,” Kalix says, speaking for the first time since he entered.
All eyes are suddenly on the man at my back, even my own as I twist to glance at him over my shoulder. The green of his irises is nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils. Is he … angry? I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen him angry before. Annoyed, yes. Thrilled by potential murder, absolutely. The expression on his face now is not one I’ve ever experienced and as I stare at the sharp lines of his features, the way his skin tightens over his high cheekbones, turning his face almost skeletal, I decide I never want to see him this way again. I go still, warning bells sounding in my head.
Ruen seems to understand what Kalix means though, and in a flash, he nods and is suddenly across the room in front of the doorway that leads into the smaller section at the back of the chambers where Carcel and Ophelia are.
“You,” Ruen snaps, his cold midnight blue eyes glowering at Ophelia. “You will undo the blood contract with Kiera Nezerac.”
The sound of blood rushing through my ears becomes louder than wind. Undo the contract with Ophelia? I tamp down the hope that blossoms in my chest. Shaking my head, I speak, “That’s not—” What? Possible? Important right now? I don’t get an opportunity to finish before Kalix clamps a hand over my mouth, silencing me.
“Quiet,” he commands.
Rage replaces nervousness. My teeth sink into the pad of his palm in a split second and blood fills my mouth. Dragging me back further against his chest, Kalix drags a tongue up the back of my ear. “Bite harder, little Thief ,” he whisper-hisses into the shell. “I like it when you cause me pain. Makes my cock want to repay the favor.”
I release him immediately with a growl of frustration. The taste of his blood remains on my tongue, a reminder. As if I need that right now with Kalix practically wrapped around me.
My attention fixates on Caedmon, who’s watching all of us with a strange sort of contemplative look that I can’t quite figure out. He’s just as hard to read as Ruen is—or rather, was. I don’t know when Ruen became easier to understand, but it’s not something I currently have time to ponder.
As much as I want— crave —the removal of the brimstone and the end of my blood contract with Ophelia, I know it isn’t that simple. “Caedmon,” I say again, harder this time. When his eyes fall back to mine, I level him with a meaningful look. “I need a word— alone ,” I add the last word before any of the Darkhavens can protest, and yes, I know they want to.
Kalix’s hands squeeze my upper arms in response. Gritting my teeth to keep from yanking myself from his grip and knowing that doing so would only serve to piss him off, I wait for Caedmon’s response with little patience. A moment passes and then, finally—blessedly—Caedmon nods his agreement.
I’m out of Kalix’s arms in a heartbeat, using my Divine speed—or Atlantean speed—unreservedly to make it across the room to Caedmon’s side in an instant. “This way,” I say, grabbing ahold of the God’s arm and pulling him from the room.
Caedmon comes quietly, easily. I keep going until the two of us are well away from the group of them. Even though I want to have the conversation sooner—I debate on stopping in the front of the shop, but then decide against it since we’re still too close to prying ears for my peace of mind—I lead Caedmon up the stairs to the second floor and into the bedroom that was once mine.
The door shuts behind us and I’m suddenly alone with a man I thought was my enemy. A man who knows more about my past and who I am than I ever thought possible. For several long-winded seconds, we just stare at each other. One gaze seeking and the other … enigmatic. Damn him.
Caedmon holds his arms out. “Well, you’ve got me alone, Kiera,” he says with a slight smile. Is he amused? At this situation? His arms drop back to his sides. “What is it that you wish to ask?”
So much. I have so much left to ask, questions percolating and collecting in the back of my mind. They collide against one another like falling stars, crashing in giant, hulking waves of stardust and rocky uncertainty.
“You’re not telling us everything,” I finally decide on.
Caedmon arches a brow, but he doesn’t deny it.
“Why do you think I can kill Tryphone?” I demand and as his lips part, I hold up a hand with a sigh. “And don’t feed me that bullshit about being of his bloodline.” A fact that I’m not entirely sure about, but that I’m certain he believes, and … I don’t know, maybe he’s right. If he truly knew my parents, then maybe I am. That’s something to be considered later though.
Caedmon closes his mouth and turns away from me. He strides across the small length of the room to the lone slit of a window on the far side away from the door next to the twin bed. He settles himself there, a shoulder pressed into the window pane as he gazes out into the night.
I take a step towards him. “How am I supposed to do anything if I don’t know what’s happening?” I ask him. “I need to know everything that you know.”
“No.” Caedmon shakes his head as the denial leaves his lips.
“Caedmon—” Frustration pours through me. What is the point of all of this? Why give me scraps of information that only serve to confuse me further?
“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he says, surprising me into silence. “Believe me, were the decision mine and mine alone, I would tell you everything.”
“Then why—” My words cut off again as his head turns, the gold of his jewelry glinting in the moonlight that comes in through the window at his side. I didn’t realize how dark the room was until now. I should’ve lit a candle or something.
“The future is not always set in stone.” Caedmon’s voice is low as he speaks, and the sound of it sends chills dancing along my arms. “There are some things as ever-changing as the wind—one small detail may throw the events off course—and there are other things that will happen no matter what anyone does.” When he turns towards me and meets my gaze, a glitter of gold slithers through his dark irises. My blood turns to ice in my veins as a fresh wave of something I’ve always tried to repress moves through me.
Fear. It’s a heady and unwelcome presence but there nonetheless.
“Telling you everything would put the future I wish to see at risk,” Caedmon explains. “So, yes, you’re right. I haven’t told you everything and I have no intentions to tell you. If you know, your actions may change, and therefore, the salvation I desire—that this world needs —may be in jeopardy.”
I think about that for a moment. “The book you gave me,” I start again, frowning as something niggles at the back of my mind. A question I can’t quite reach. “You said it’s spelled to tell me what I need to know.”
Caedmon continues to stare at me, the flecks of gold mixing with the dark brown of his gaze. Gold like Theos’ eyes. “That’s not a question,” he states.
I frown. “Do I have to ask a question for you to tell me something that’s not a riddle?” I snap.
His lips twitch, the corners curling up into an almost caustic smile. “Yes.”
“Yes?” I stare at him.
“Yes,” he repeats.
“I have to ask a question?” I clarify. When he merely stares back at me without a word, I guess again. “I have to ask the right question?”
He nods. “Now, she gets it.”
I don’t get anything. In fact, I’m more confused than before I dragged him up here. I shake my head. “How am I supposed to know what questions to ask to get the answers I need?” I demand. “I don’t have time to unravel your ridiculous word puzzles to get to the truth. The longer I remain at the Academy, the more danger I pose—” I cut myself off, remembering what Kalix and Ruen had insinuated and even demanded before I’d come away to speak with Caedmon alone.
“The brimstone…” My words drift as my hand reaches up and touches the back of my neck. “If it’s removed, my Divinity?—”
“Magic,” Caedmon corrects quietly.
I shoot him a look. “No offense,” I tell him, “but it’s a little difficult to spend twenty years calling it one thing only to be told that it’s something else entirely and change my terminology in a single night. So, I think I’ll continue to call it Divinity.”
His smirk turns more genuine. “Fair enough,” he says with a head tilt. “Continue. What about the brimstone?”
I lick my lips nervously as the brimstone beneath my skin seems to heat at my touch and remembrance of it. It’s been there for so long now that it’s easy to forget it exists for long periods of time.
“If I remove it, my abilities—my Divinity—it won’t be hidden anymore,” I guess.
“If you’re asking,” Caedmon starts, “then yes, that is correct. Removing the brimstone that binds you to Ophelia is akin to removing the mask you’ve worn for the past ten years. It will become obvious to all that you are not mortal—if you prefer the terms of this world.”
I bite down on my lip hard enough to taste blood. Rarely have I ever let myself hope, but now, disappointment wells within me—a testament to how much hope I’ve held out for having it removed. I close my eyes as they begin to burn.
“I see.” My shoulders sag. “Then I suppose I should keep it.”
Caedmon clicks his tongue and my eyes open again, surprised by the noise. His brow puckers and his smile is gone as he looks at me. “I will take care of the consequences of your Divinity, Kiera,” he says quietly. “If you want the stone removed, then remove it.”
I straighten. “Can I? Is that the right question? Can I remove the brimstone without being killed for defying the Gods and hiding my existence?”
Caedmon’s smile returns and spreads over the lower half of his face. “That,” he tells me, “is the right question, and my answer is yes. Do you want it removed?”
As much as I want my next breath, I think to myself, but as my lips part to say as much, the sound of pounding footsteps up the staircase stops me and I turn as a hard hand raps upon the closed door.
“Kiera.” Ruen’s dark voice comes through the wood. “Enough. Come out here. I’m getting that fucking thing removed if I have to hold you down and cut it out myself.”
Caedmon is across the room in the blink of an eye, startling me. I recoil from him, my hand snapping to my hidden blade in an instinctive response. Caedmon holds a hand out to me, though, staying my movements as he turns and opens the door.
“I think that’s quite enough, Ruen,” he chastises. “It’s not like you to interrupt a private conversation.”
“It is when the one in that conversation is a liar and a traitor.”
My eyes widen at Ruen’s cold response.
Caedmon opens the door wider until both Ruen and I can see each other. “That is quite ironic coming from you,” Caedmon replies just as coolly before he gestures to me. “There. As you can see, she’s quite alright and our conversation is over. You may take her downstairs to get the brimstone removed.”
Ruen glares at Caedmon before reaching through the now open doorway. His fingers close around my wrist and he pulls me, quickly but firmly, out into the hallway. Neither of the men says another word as Ruen turns and leads me back the way we came. Distantly, I’m aware that Caedmon follows us, and as we near the doorway that leads into the back rooms, I note that Madam Brione is gone.
Regis stares at me as we pass him. I stay quiet as Ruen gently nudges me back into the rooms and then locks his attention on Ophelia. With her arms crossed over her chest, she doesn’t wilt under his scrutiny. Instead, she straightens away from the table and steps towards the Darkhaven facing her down. The blood in my veins chills at the look she gives him back.
It would have had me shrinking away in memory of all the times I’d been tied to a chair and forced to endure her brand of education if it weren’t for Ruen holding me in place.
Ruen breaks the silence. “The brimstone,” he growls before tightening his hold on my wrist and pulling me in front of him. “Remove it,” he orders. “ Now. ”
Now that Caedmon has said that doing so won’t ruin all of us, I decide that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen. “And why do you think I’ll do something like that?” Ophelia finally asks.
Ruen releases me to step around me, his massive frame larger than hers, his stance menacing. “Because if you don’t, I will sever your head from your shoulders and it will become a moot point,” he states calmly as if he’s saying nothing of importance instead of threatening the woman who’s kept me tied to her as a blood contracted servant for a decade. My breath catches in my throat.
“We don’t have time for this,” Theos snaps. “Do it, woman, or my brother won’t be the only one to force your hand.”
My head turns and my gaze meets a familiar set of green irises. Kalix is staring at me with all the subtlety of a hungry lion.
Ruen doesn’t turn around or acknowledge Theos’ statement. Neither does Ophelia for that matter. The two remain standing before each other, eyes narrowed. Finally, Kalix breaks our connection and moves further into the room, drawing all three of their attention. As if they were all aware of him but quietly ignoring his dark shadowy presence until it became more of a threat.
“You will remove that abominable stone in her neck or I will remove yours from your body,” Kalix tells her with a cold, almost deranged smile. “It is your choice, but you should know—I hope you fight. It will make killing you all the more pleasurable for me.”
Ruen, for a change, doesn’t tell Kalix to back off. Instead, he nods in agreement and then flips his eyes back to Ophelia. His hand appears at his back and I blink as he delves behind his cloak and under his tunic and, with careful fingers, he removes a dagger I hadn’t known he’d been carrying in the same place where I so often kept my own. “I will give you three seconds to decide,” Ruen states before tossing the dagger in Kalix’s direction.
My eyes follow the blade as Kalix plucks it from the air and then turns it over his knuckles, catching it again and tapping his chin with the sharp end, smiling a bit wider.
“Starting now,” Kalix says.