12. Kiera
Chapter 12
Kiera
I t’s neither dawn nor dusk as the Darkhavens and I leave the North Tower, but perhaps somewhere in the late afternoon. I try to recall what day it’d been when we’d left the Academy to go to Madam Brione’s, counting backward from the three days Maeryn had told me it’d been. Still, I don’t know what day that makes today, but what I do know is that classes most certainly are not in session.
No one lingers in the corridors or the courtyards. I can’t exactly blame them since one look up to the skies is enough to assume that rain will soon fall and no one enjoys getting wet in a thunderstorm. But why not the inner corridors?
I glance up one way and down another as Ruen takes the lead, directing our group through the Academy hallways towards the Gods’ wing. The closer we get, the more sweat beads pop up along my spine.
Theos walks next to me, casting worried glances my way every few minutes. I offer him a small smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes, but I can’t help it. It’s difficult to offer a genuine smile if you’re not sure what you’re walking towards—death or … acceptance.
The burning attention of Kalix’s eyes on the back of my head keeps my gaze mostly straight. I don’t bother to glance over my shoulder at him, sure that he’ll merely offer me another of his sardonic and threatening smiles. I swallow roughly, my throat bobbing with the action, when I see the painted windows and murals of the Gods’ corridors. I know the Gods of the Mortal Gods Academy of Riviere live and work in these places, but surely the God Council would have even better accommodations. Wouldn’t they?
My silent question is answered a moment later as Ruen leads us past the offices—including the door to Dolos’ office that I remember from my sentencing several weeks back—to a staircase. We ascend the stairs, one after another with Kalix, once more, bringing up the rear. When we reach the next floor, something slithers over the top of my foot and I bite down a scream, jolting to a halt as I grip my skirts and look down to spy the smallest snake I’ve ever seen slip over my foot and around my ankle.
The creature’s little black scaled head tips back gazing up at me briefly before it closes its eyes and settles against my skin as if it means to fall asleep like that, wrapped around my leg.
“Leave him,” Kalix orders at my back, finally forcing me to turn and look at him.
“He’s yours?” I clarify. Though I’ve never minded my own familiars crawling over my arms and legs—it had felt natural to let them do so—this creature is not mine. I cannot meld their mind with my own or reach out and sense their feelings.
Kalix nods in response. “Should the Gods wish to separate us and talk to you alone, I will be able to see and listen to everything.”
He likely won’t be able to see everything, I think with a grimace, not with the snake’s body and head covered by my skirts. Another thought occurs to me. Will he be able to see up my skirt with the snake’s presence? I whip my head around to glare at him and for a moment, I part my lips to tell him to take back his perverted familiar when a hand reaches out and latches on to my wrist, stopping me.
“Kiera.” Theos’ choked voice has me turning back to face whatever it is he’s trying to capture my attention for. When I do see it, my whole body goes cold.
Caedmon stands outside a set of crimson double doors with similar carvings to the painted scenes on the first level of the building etched into the wood. His hands are clasped behind his back, but his face is tight with concern and tension. One of the beads of sweat on my spine pops and sends the liquid sliding down my back.
“Thank you for coming,” Caedmon begins. The doors crack open and the sound of voices exits as a familiar face appears, quickly slipping free of the room and closing the door behind them.
Dauphine stands next to Caedmon, her face paler than usual. My gaze pans down to her dress. Gone is the plain gray of the Academy Terra attire and in its place is a more ornate gown of pale yellow muslin. A little detail decorates the front and bottom of the skirt and her puffy short sleeves make her shoulders look a bit more mannish than ever before. The only thing that does anything to accentuate her body is the thin ribbon tied around her torso just under her breasts. The color does nothing for her countenance, but the dress itself is pretty and far more expensive than I’d expect any human Terra to be able to afford.
“Th-they are ready, Your Divinity,” Dauphine says without looking in our direction.
“Thank you, Dauphine.” Caedmon nods to her. “You may return to your regular duties.”
Dauphine doesn’t need to be told twice; as soon as Caedmon’s dismissal has left his lips, she practically sprints down the corridor. She keeps her head down, not even bothering to glance up as if she doesn’t want to know who’s been called to the God Council as she bypasses the Darkhavens and me on her way to take the stairs down to the ground floor.
Once the resounding clap of her feet on the stairs has receded, all of our attention returns to each other. Caedmon and I gaze at one another for a long moment. When he finally releases a breath, he unfolds his arms from behind his back and holds one out for me.
“Come, Kiera,” he commands. “The God Council awaits.”
I take a step forward, but Theos’ hand on my arm hasn’t released me. I pause when the hold keeps me from moving more than that single step and look back. “Theos?” His attention isn’t on me but on Caedmon.
“We’re going with her,” Theos says, directing the words to Caedmon.
Caedmon lets his hand drop and then shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, Theos,” he replies. “You may wait out here, but you cannot go in with her.”
Ruen shifts his stance from slightly in front of me to completely there, his big body stepping between me and the path to the God of Prophecy. The snake around my ankle rubs its head against my skin and I jerk my gaze back to Kalix’s. His eyes aren’t on mine but as he raises a palm to warm the small of my back, he directs me forward.
Theos’ grip on my wrist eases and then falls away as Kalix urges me around Ruen and further down the hall. Caedmon seems just as surprised as I am because his eyebrows rise and continue to do so until they’re as high as I suspect they can go before Kalix and I stop before him.
“We will be out here.” Kalix’s voice is quiet as he speaks. “Should she scream, we will know. Should she be harmed, we will know. Should anything happen to her that we would not approve of, we will know.”
Verbally, as far as threats go, it’s not very inventive. Physically, though, Kalix’s eyes glitter like emeralds dipped in blood. The specs of red grow in volume and brightness as they swim through the mossy irises. Cold air wafts over the back of my neck and my braid flutters to the side. I’ve never been one of those petite women. Muscular? Yes. Average in height and weight? Yes. But never small or petite.
Next to Kalix and Caedmon, I feel like I’ve entered someone else’s body. Someone far tinier and far more breakable.
Hating the strange thought, I pull away from Kalix’s hand and shake my head, reaching for Caedmon. Holding my hand out for him to take, I eye him speculatively. “I’m ready,” I inform him, though I feel anything but.
Caedmon’s much darker fingers slide over mine, rougher than I expected. I blink and glance down, for the first time, noticing the calluses there. Calluses I know well because it took years for me to develop them enough beyond my own healing capabilities.
My eyes lift back to his face and though I don’t say anything, I know that those marks can’t lie. If it took me—a Mortal God—years to develop those calluses with my healing, how long had it taken him?
I’d once assumed that Caedmon was someone obsessed with knowledge and futures. Perhaps, I was wrong though. Even Gods cannot hide the signs of sword usage. He might appreciate books and art and instruction—in this world of the Divine and Mortal, he might be my guide—but I suspect he is far more than that.
This man, whoever he pretends to be, is a warrior beneath it all.
The room that Caedmon leads me into is long and tall. The ceiling arching over our heads is so high up that they are shadowed. As we enter the double doors, the first thing I notice is the floor. Most of the buildings at the Academy are made of some sort of stone and the Gods’ buildings are no different. The floor of this room, however, is carefully painted with depictions of the Gods.
Starting with the tanned face of a particularly beautiful male whose rugged features are cut into a square jaw and glittering gold eyes. He appears somehow familiar, but I don’t have a chance to continue examining the image before Caedmon’s urging me forward. My eyes continue, remaining on the floor as we pass over a woman with long golden blonde hair set in waves over her high and round breasts. The next image is more than familiar.
It’s Caedmon with his dark skin tone a striking contrast against the light gray of the stone. I jerk my head up and look at him, but his gaze is focused ahead. Only then do I finally turn the rest of my attention to what lies in front of me.
The God Council chambers are set up much like throne rooms of old—back before they existed in this world. I’d read of old Kings and Queens and how they’d held audiences in long rooms with a dais set up at the very end. This room is similar to those old storybooks. The pillars lining either side are separated by recessed wall insets and arching stained glass windows similar to those in the lower corridor halls. Candle chandeliers, round and unlit, hang from golden chains anchored to the ceiling and walls.
My attention finally lands on the five Gods and Goddesses waiting upon the dais with an ornate golden and redwood table stretched before their chairs. An empty seat remains at the far left side and I realize it’s meant for Caedmon. He stops me before the dais and moves away from me, striding up to join the rest of them, rounding the table, and taking his seat.
I’d walked too fast to examine the other images painted on the floors, but as I gaze upon the now six faces before me, I realize that those images were meant to represent these men and women. The God Council.
Slowly, I let my gaze move from Caedmon to the others. On his right is a woman I don’t recognize, her skin is a soft brown, several shades lighter than Caedmon’s but no less luxurious in its smoothness. Her hair is dark, nearly pitch black as it hangs in waves over her shoulders and down her back out of sight. Upon her head sits a simple gold crown that matches the gold bracelets adorning her wrists. Her eyes are a darker brown than her skin, but soft with sympathy as she looks at me.
Stiffening at that sympathy, I turn my head quickly to the side, skipping over the God and Goddess at the center of the table whose chair backs rise higher than the rest. At the very end is the same man I saw in the first floor painting. His golden hair is darker than the artwork with various shades of brown through the locks. But just like the woman, he wears it long in thick waves. The only difference is that several of his strands are gathered together and locked in little trinkets of jewelry that pin the locks into braids.
His jawline is sharp and angled and covered by the light stubble of beard growth that reaches halfway up his cheeks. Bold gold eyes peer back at me, not with sympathy but with idle curiosity and … boredom?
Why does he look so familiar?
Before my mind can supply an answer, my attention falls to the woman at his side. A woman with dark skin, similar to Caedmon’s, sits straight-backed with her bare shoulders covered only by a light white cape tied at her throat with a simple gold chain. Her wiry hair fans out behind her head in a large puffy afro that appears like a halo surrounding her soft features. Of the rest of the men and women sitting upon the dais, her bone structure is the most petite and fragile looking.
For someone like me, that fact makes me far more cautious of her than any other. I know from experience that those who appear delicate are often the most dangerous.
As my attention moves to her eyes, I blink, realizing that she’s staring back. One dark eyebrow arches at me, amusement clear in her open expression. Her eyes are the color of honey, with lighter brown rings circling the point of her pupil.
Finally, I look at the two sitting at the center. The woman is the same as the floor painting. Her long blonde hair curls over her shoulders and down toward her chest. Her features are striking and far sharper than the image had depicted. The more I stare at her, the more I realize she’s not truly blonde. Instead, her hair is like a thousand different variations of the color—some of it darker, but much of it is lighter and almost the same shade of silver as mine. Her shoulders are straight back and her lips set into an ambiguous line that doesn’t give me any hint as to what lies within her mind.
The lone man at her side is none other than the man I know to be Tryphone. His features are slightly different from what I’d seen in a few of his paintings and the statues of him around the Academy. There are thin, fine lines at the corners of his lips and between the dark slashes of his brows. Age lines? A shiver slithers down my spine and I try not to focus on them, to let him know that I’ve noticed something that I shouldn’t.
Caedmon said that they are Atlanteans, not Gods. I know that. I understand it, yet still, my mind struggles to connect his truth with what I’ve known all my life. These are Gods that I’ve always feared and resented. Gods are immortal and all powerful. They shouldn’t have age lines. The fact that they do only lends more credit to Caedmon’s outrageous words.
My attention centers a bit more on his eyes. No painting could have shown the vibrant storms that create the color of his irises. Silver and blue clash together like seas and storm clouds. But it’s not the color that makes my heart skip a beat, but the lightning flashing within them. The riot of untapped power that exudes from his very bones pours into the room, sliding over my flesh. My throat closes up and a similar power that I’d felt from Dolos slams into me. My knees buckle and I hit the ground hard.
My legs crack against the stone and the pain ricochets through my limbs. I bite back a curse, sure I’ve just broken something. My kneecaps feel like they’ve been shattered. Fissures form under my flesh as the injury throbs anew.
“Tryphone.” The name is spoken with a feminine voice, admonishing.
Gasping, I try to suck air, but it never comes. My lungs collapse in my chest and my ribcage opens into a cavern for the dead. I am but a corpse in flesh, waiting to rot.
Air. I need air.
Something moves against my ankle and I nearly jerk my dress up and reach for whatever it is when I remember the snake Kalix had placed with me. The little creature is circling my leg, spinning around and around and shivering its scales against my skin as if it’s trying to tell me … what? That Kalix is nearby? That he’s on the other side of those doors along with Ruen and Theos?
The Darkhavens are powerful but these … these are the actual fucking Gods. Even if Caedmon admitted that these beings are not Gods in their world, to me, that’s exactly what they are. The power rolling off them and permeating the room practically strangles me. I squeeze my eyes shut as a choked noise leaves my mouth and black dots dance behind my eyelids.
I reach down, still, though, patting the snake through the dress skirts in the hopes that doing so will make the little creature calm down and not alert Kalix.
“ Tryphone .” This time, the woman’s voice fills with annoyance. “That’s enough.”
Suddenly, I can breathe again. My eyes snap open as air returns to my lungs and the graveyard of my body springs back to life. I suck in breath after breath, coughing as it chokes me. My hands clench and unclench on the stone floor as I remain, kneeling on the ground before the dais.
No doors crash open. No Darkhavens come storming in. More than the fact that I haven’t passed out, the fact that the Darkhaven brothers are not currently bearing down on me tells me that all of that must have happened in only a matter of seconds.
A chair scrapes back, the sound a sharp cry in my mind. Footsteps echo closer, but still, I don’t look up. Afraid, I realize. I’m afraid to. My limbs tremble and my mind crawls over itself, searching for a way out—a way to escape my body and free itself.
It doesn’t matter that the hand that cups my shoulder is gentle. It doesn’t matter that the voice that follows it is soothing. The second someone else is near, I flinch away, scooting back slightly on my broken knees, ignoring the shriek of agony that my body responds with.
Tsking in her throat, the woman reaches for my chin and lifts my face upward. The blonde Goddess. Her full, peach colored lips purse in displeasure as she takes in my expression. Then she turns, accusingly, on the God King. “She’s hurt herself thanks to your power,” she snaps.
Tryphone’s voice, when he speaks, is a low rumble. “She will heal, Danai.”
Danai. I blink in recognition. This woman is Danai—the Queen of the Gods, wife to Tryphone. She is the Goddess of Beauty and … of pain, I recall dimly.
Danai huffs an irritated breath and then hooks her hand around one of my arms and urges me to stand. I do, but my legs shake and tremble with the effort. Yes, Tryphone is right, I will heal. I can already feel the heat around my fractured kneecaps working faster than ever before as it repairs the damage caused by my fall. Is the speed and heat because the brimstone is gone? I wonder absently.
I’m so focused on the quickly receding pain, my brow puckered in confusion, that it takes me another moment to realize that a woman is speaking.
Lifting my head, I blink as the woman on Caedmon’s right arches a brow at me. Her lips part. “Did you not hear me, child?” she demands.
I shake my head, feeling like my head managed the impossible feat of escaping because right now it feels very much detached from my body. The woman taps her long fingers against the table’s empty surface.
“I asked if this is the first time you’ve ever received an injury,” she snaps. “You appear confused by the healing.”
My head tips down again and I feel something wet slide under the skirts of my dress. Though the folds had cushioned my landing somewhat, no doubt the sharpness with which my knees had cracked against the stone had still split the flesh.
“I’ve never healed this fast before,” I admit and am thankful that I can be honest. “It feels … warm.”
In response, the woman turns her attention to Tryphone. “Caedmon must be right then,” she states, directing the words at him. “It’s very unlikely that she’s made it to adulthood with no wound before and if she’s only now noticing the rapid healing and heat of it, then?—”
“Unlikely,” Tryphone rumbles, cutting her off, “but not impossible.”
Danai’s hand slides away from me as I straighten. As much as I want to yank my skirts up and see if the wound is still there, I won’t. Instead, I lift my head, forcing the action past the threshold of my trembling fear.
“I’ve been wounded before,” I say. “I’ve never felt … this.” I gesture down to my legs.
It has to be the removal of the brimstone, I decide. Before this, I’d certainly healed faster than a normal human, but never with this odd sensation of fire licking over my flesh. It’s barely been minutes since I’d injured myself and yet the pain is already completely gone. The remaining wetness on my calves is likely blood from already closed wounds.
Tryphone hums in the back of his throat and gestures for Danai to return to him. She sighs and carefully releases me, pausing to see if I’ll falter again. When I don’t, she moves back to the dais and strides up the side steps until she circles the table to her own seat at the God King’s side.
My heart thuds a rapid beat in my chest as I wait for one of them to speak again. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long.
“How did you say you found her again, Caedmon?” the man at the opposite end inquires, those gold eyes of his roving over me.
“She’s been a Terra at the Academy for several months,” Caedmon replies with a cool tone. “Serving your sons, in fact, Azai.”
Shock slams into me. Azai. This man is Azai, God of Strength and Virility and he is the Darkhavens’ father. My eyes snap to his face and delve over his features with a renewed intensity. The familiarity I see becomes all the more consuming. His eyes are the same gold as Theos’. His cut jawline is similar to Ruen’s and the shape of his lips and nose … they’re all Kalix.
By the Gods … how had I not seen it before?
Azai barks out a laugh, but it sounds nothing like any of his sons. Then again, I can’t currently recall if I’ve ever heard Ruen laugh. Is this man part of the reason for that? Azai turns those burning sunset eyes back on me, assessing. “She’s been my sons’ servant for months, you say?” He eyes me. “Perhaps her survival for so long is a true testament to her heritage.”
The implication has me narrowing my gaze on him, but I keep my lips pressed together.
The woman next to Azai is the next to speak. “This is a unique situation, Tryphone,” she comments, her tone light and airy, almost too soft for me to hear. Yet, it rings in my head with all of the bells of a perfect symphony. Pinpricks of awareness dart down my spine. Her voice is the kind that would cause ships to crash straight into cliffs just for the chance to get closer to its bearer. I find myself unintentionally swaying with the sound of it tinkling in my ears like the wind chimes I’d seen women place in their gardens. The music of nature slips over my senses like a gentle caress.
“That’s putting it mildly, Makeda,” Azai snorts.
Ignoring him, Makeda—the soft-spoken Goddess—turns her honey gaze on me. “Tell us of your background, child,” she orders. “Who are your parents?”
“I …” My eyes span to Caedmon briefly. He nods for me to continue and I take in a deep breath. “I’m an orphan,” I admit, biting down on the words even as my father’s face springs to my mind.
“How long have you been an orphan?” Makeda inquires.
“Ten years, ma’am.” As I answer her question, I decide to stick as close to the truth as possible. “My father and I lived in the Hinterlands, but our cabin was attacked by bandits and he died. Our home was burned to the ground.”
She taps her chin with one nail. “So you entered society then? Your father never told you of your mother?”
I shake my head, wincing as I realize how tricky it will be to stick to the truth from here on out. Carefully, I lift my eyes to meet hers. “I don’t remember my mother,” I admit. “It was always just my father and me until he died. After he was gone, I needed to work to pay for myself.” Every word is a truth, though it paints what I went through in a far different light than my mind recalls.
“How pitiable,” the woman next to Caedmon murmurs.
“There is a way for us to determine her bloodline,” Tryphone announces. “She is obviously a Mortal God—I can feel her power from here.”
Danai nods. “As can I. It’s quite strong. Her God parent must be the upper echelon.”
“If her father was human,” Makeda says, her voice sending those tendrils of pleasure rippling over my ears once more, “then there is a Goddess out there that gave birth and did not report her child.”
“What of her punishment?” Azai leans forward in his seat and even as his question makes my muscles clench, his expression turns dark in an instant. “It is against our laws for Mortal Gods to be hidden.”
“And how was she to know?” the woman next to Caedmon speaks again, irritation flashing in her eyes as she turns them on Azai.
Azai sneers at her. “Ignorance has never been a reason before, Gygaea,” he snaps. “I was forced to kill one of my own lovers for hiding my son.”
“If you’ll recall, the mother was punished, not your son,” Caedmon says quietly, cutting in without ever moving from his seat.
Azai glares over Gygaea’s head to the man. “He was punished.”
Who? My mind searches over all that I know of the Darkhavens. Which of his sons did he have to punish? Which of their mothers died by his hands? The questions circling my mind make me realize just how much I don’t know about them still. The realization sits on my chest like a heavy weight. My fingers ball into fists at my sides and I bury them in the folds of my dress.
Caedmon releases a slow and almost sad sounding breath. “That was for attacking you, Azai,” Caedmon reminds him. The God of Prophecy lifts his ebony eyes to mine and holds my stare as he continues. “Ruen was protecting the parent he knew. Despite that, he knew that attacking a God is against our laws. He was not punished for keeping his own existence a secret.”
Ruen. My heart slams into my ribcage with this information. It was Ruen’s mother that Azai had slaughtered. Had he done so in front of him? My mind supplies a horrible image—a younger Ruen in a child’s body, with a child’s strength viciously climbing onto the strong looking man sitting before me now, biting, fighting, and pounding little fists into the man as he cut down the mortal woman that had birthed and raised Ruen Darkhaven.
In that small image, I don’t picture Ruen with the scar that now marks the side of his face, over his brow, and down his upper cheekbone. Had that been given to him as punishment from his own father?
“With the girl’s father gone,” Makeda states, dragging all of the Gods’ attention back to her, “he cannot be punished for her existence. As for the girl’s mother—we will perform the ceremony to find her bloodline and then whoever she is, we will call her here and she will be punished.” She turns her gaze to Tryphone. “Is that decision acceptable, my King?”
Tryphone looks her over before turning dark eyes on me once again. I freeze, ice coating my bones to hold me in place as his power rolls over me for the second time, heavy and … a bit curious, I think. I blink at that. Yes, I realize a moment later. The power that reaches out to me from the man seated in the center of the Council is oppressive, but it’s also inquisitive. Is that heaviness on purpose as I’d suspected it had been earlier? Or is it just a natural weight to his power like that of Dolos’?
“Yes,” the God King finally says after a long strained silence.
My breath still doesn’t release from my chest. He holds me suspended for several more moments. It isn’t until Danai’s hand comes down on his arm and he turns in her direction that the feeling of air filling my lungs returns.
“She’ll be entered into our records as a Mortal God while we await the date of the ceremony,” Danai states. Her hand leaves Tryphone’s and her gaze moves towards the end of the dais. “Until then, Caedmon, I’d ask that you be put in charge of her care. She’ll have to be brought up to speed on lessons and such.”
“I’m going to attend classes?” I blurt out the question before I can think better of it.
All six pairs of the God Council’s eyes fall upon me. I press my lips together. It’s Gygaea who speaks first. “Yes, of course,” she says. “You are a Mortal God, child. Not a human. You should be afforded the same respect.”
Respect? I slide my tongue along my upper teeth to distract myself from the caustic irritation caused by that comment. Mortal Gods are not respected—at least, not by these false Gods.
“Kiera will be prepared for the ceremony,” Caedmon states, assuring the others. “And everything else will be taken care of.”
Tryphone nods, but it’s Danai who speaks next. “We’ll have the ceremony the night after the second equinox. Spring comes soon.”
Caedmon’s lips press together, but he doesn’t disagree. He simply bows his head toward her in what I assume is both an acknowledgment of her words and an agreement.
I let my gaze rise to meet his, but just as I take a step back, unsure if I should bow first or simply leave, Tryphone straightens in his seat. “Kiera?” He says my name as his brow furrows over the slanted slits of his eyes. “That is your name?”
Frowning, I nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
At his side, Danai’s face pales. “Did your father choose your name?” she asks, the question whipping out of her mouth, more of a demand than an inquiry.
“I-I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “He never said.”
The twisting violet of her gaze darkens and then she turns to her husband. “I see.” Her voice lowers. “Thank you, child. You may leave.”
I don’t hesitate or bother to ask why my name seems to be so upsetting to them. I simply curtsy awkwardly, turn, and flee the room, feeling the sharp gazes of the God Council burning into my back the whole way.