36. Kiera
Chapter 36
Kiera
“ H old your hand over the chalice.” Tryphone’s words are a living nightmare. Not because he brandishes that brimstone dagger with such comfort that there can be no question of how adept he is at using it, but because I do as he says.
Just as my legs had moved without my consent, so, too, does my arm. How can I ever possibly hope to kill this man—this powerful deity—if the mere sound of his voice hypnotizes my body into answering his commands without hesitation?
My arm lifts over the opening of the basin and Tryphone reaches forward, taking my wrist into his grip and turning it over so that my forearm is stretched across the opening. My stomach presses into the edge of the stone and once more images of blood-soaked bodies and dead eyes assail me. I bite down on my tongue until I taste rust and raw meat. My mind is a safe place. It always has been. My haven when I was tied to chairs in the headquarters of the Underworld and beaten for no other reason than the mere fact I needed to understand pain in order to deal in it.
There’s something different about pain when you acknowledge that there’s no real logic behind it. The mind fights to understand, to delve into a way to avoid it in the future and when it becomes clear that there is no reason—no meaning behind the darkest of agonies—it fractures.
Blood floods over my tongue as Tryphone turns the brimstone dagger downward and slices across my wrist. The sharp discomfort of the injury has me gasping aloud, but my arm doesn’t jerk back as it should. It’s held suspended by the Divine ability of the God King standing before me. My breathing comes in ragged pants as sweat beads pop up along my brow and then slide toward my temples. An unfamiliar illness takes root in my stomach as I watch my own blood drip ruby red as it slides over pale flesh, into the stone bowl between the God King and me.
Pain burns against the inside of my throat with each rasping breath I take. I can’t get enough air—as if it’s all suddenly escaped the small room, sucked out by some unseen force. Yet, I’m the only one left with the inability and everyone else continues on—watching this ceremony with cold gazes that speak nothing of the curiosity I know they’re feeling.
Who am I? What am I? Who is my God parent?
I can’t deny that I want to know, that the craving to understand the reason for my birth is a hot iron in my core. Muscles jump up and down the arm I have stretched out over the brimstone embedded chalice that sits front and center. The eyes of the Gods are on me and though Caedmon’s presence is a minor safety net, I feel utterly alone in this room.
Caedmon may be kind, but he, too, is a God. A liar. A deceiver.
This blood of mine—whether it be the blood of a God or a monster—will not define me, I decide. I am still Kiera. Assassin of the Underworld. Daughter of a Mortal God who died protecting his only child. I am nothing if not resilient even in the face of the darkest of beings.
Fighting against the instinctive need to protect myself and keep my gaze away from the God King’s, I lift my head. Inch by painstaking inch, the veins in my neck straining as I battle against my primordial inclination to bow before a stronger power, I raise my gaze to meet Tryphone’s.
His shock is a violent reward. My lips twitch as I set my eyes on his and stare, daring him to castigate me for the action. He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head to the side as if examining a creature he’s never seen before. Then he brings the blade down a second time, searing across my flesh in a fast motion that leaves me gasping, yet again, for air that’s not there.
More blood spills into the chalice.
No one speaks.
Taboo. Taboo. Taboo. My head screams the word over and over again. Is this it? Is this what Caedmon tried to warn me about? I try to look at him, but my body is not my own. Was it ever truly?
A third strike, so fast that I don’t see it coming, leaves me gasping for breath. Then, there are finally three straight lines cut across my forearm and wrist where blood bubbles up and spills to collect at the bottom of the chalice. Tryphone squeezes either side of my wrist as if urging the blood to flow faster before my natural healing takes effect and closes the otherwise clean cuts. They won’t heal as fast though. The brimstone made sure of it. I can only imagine that the harsh grip is little more than a minor punishment for daring to look him in the eye.
“Danai.” It takes me a moment to realize that Tryphone is speaking again. Our gazes are so locked that I have to pour nearly all of my energy into holding his stare without breaking.
The God Queen steps forward at her name and ascends to the stand next to the God King at the chalice. “Begin the ceremony,” he orders.
Danai glances from him to me before she dips her head in acknowledgment of his order. My arm is throbbing as more blood pours out—more, I think, than should be possible from three single cuts.
Soft, with a voice that holds a thousand years of experience and more lives than I can bear to count, Danai begins to speak. The words that spill forth from between her lips are of a language I don’t recognize, one that is too old for my young mind to comprehend. As she speaks, I feel my skin begin to heat.
Her eyes are on mine, the flames of her emotions still swirling within them. Hold on, my child … I blink, unsure if that was her voice I heard. It can’t be. Her lips are parted, her mouth moving as she chants whatever Divine spell is creating this hailstorm of fire in my veins.
Reaching forward with my free hand, I grip the edge of the chalice as fire blazes a path over the wounds Tryphone inflicted. Gritting my teeth against the agonizing pain, I step back into my head—into that place I devised years ago under Ophelia’s tutelage.
It doesn’t hurt, I tell myself. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt.
Tell a child a lie enough times, they’ll start to believe it until the lie is more fact than any truth.
Another body moves up to the chalice. I cut my eyes away from Tryphone to see Makeda. Her smooth earthy skin is like a beacon for my stinging eyes as I fight against the urge to scream. At her side, Gygaea appears. Her long dark hair is pulled away from the perfect features of a face that is both ultimately feminine and jaggedly androgyne.
Shadows are all around me. Invading my nostrils, my eyes, my very being.
Caedmon appears. Azai. They surround me. All of the Gods at the lip of the brimstone basin. Their voices collide with Danai’s as they speak that strange tongue that sounds all at once like a million screams of agony and a million cries of bliss. My head spins. Around and around, the room spins until I see nothing and no one anymore. The forms of the Gods become nothing but a blur. My arm is released and the smell of more blood—fresh blood that isn’t my own—hits my senses.
I blink and the room appears once more, all six Gods holding their own arms over the basin with thin lines of blood welling from their own wrists and slipping over to mix with my own.
Caedmon. Gygaea. Azai. Tryphone. Danai. Makeda.
The blood of the Gods falls into the collection of my own, swirling into the dark liquid with the force of six powerful Divine Beings. Rot. Decay. Death. It coalesces into one forbidden combination that should never be.
I’m going to throw up. The thought is a sudden knowing in my mind and yet, when I gag, nothing comes forth.
My arms are shaking as I hold myself up with nothing short of sheer will. My legs tremble so harshly that I know if I release my grip on the chalice, I’ll fall. Six pairs of eyes gaze down into the frothing mixture at the bottom of the basin. The blood congeals and bubbles as if it’s being heated up from within. No, not from the chalice itself, but from the ancient chant they partook in.
I wait and I pray—for quite possibly the first time in my life, I pray to a deity I’m not sure even exists. I pray to the Goddess that gave birth to me and I hope she can hear me. Because something tells me that if this works—that if this ceremony succeeds—it will mean nothing good for anyone.
Seconds pass. Then minutes. Time stretches and shortens in such a way that I know I must be under some sort of spell. There’s no possible way that hours can become mere breaths. Yet, it does.
“Well?” Azai is the first to speak, his tone full of frustration. “Where is the answer?”
Tryphone doesn’t respond. I’m still trying not to vomit my guts up onto the stone floor beneath my feet. My insides have liquefied. My eyes lock onto the concoction of blood in the chalice. A bubble pops and steam rises, smelling of something so old that it can only be described as decay.
The crimson color of the blend of bloods has turned it black. There is nothing but corrosion beyond, a darkness so dense that it threatens the existence of light itself. I am mesmerized by it, drawn into that darkness because of its familiarity. As if it holds a secret that only I know. Unperturbed by the presence of the inky black of the blood blend, I reach for it. No one says a word as I dip the fingers of my wounded arm into the mixture. The blood sticks to my skin and despite the bubbling of its liquid, it isn’t hot to the touch.
Yes, there is something in this blood that is mine. Is it because my blood was added or is it because there’s something else calling to me?
All too suddenly, a hand grabs my arm and yanks me back, dragging me away from the chalice. Without looking to see who it is, I start to struggle. It’s not the action of an assassin, but of a deeply rooted animal desire to touch that which belongs to me.
Mine! The blood screams to me. You are mine and I am yours.
“Tryphone.” I recognize the voice that rumbles against my back as the man holding me yanks me yet another step away from the basin. “Did the ceremony work?”
No! My lips part, but nothing comes free. The tears I worked so hard to hold back before rush back to the surface.
“No.” The remark is from Danai, not Tryphone.
There is nothing but silence save for the harsh beastly noises that rise up from my throat. I have to touch it again. I was almost there. The secret was on the fringes of my mind, the truth I’ve spent twenty years not knowing right there.
“You said it would work,” Tryphone says, his voice the only thing that makes me stop fighting to get to the chalice.
“With all six of us here, it should have,” Danai replies.
“Perhaps your research was flawed,” Azai comments.
A sound of feminine fury and then … nothing. I sag against the chest of the man at my back. Caedmon’s scent, soft and clean, invades my nostrils, calming me further. A few more moments pass and each breath I draw away from the chalice brings me closer and closer to my natural being. I shake my head, trying to chase away the last lingering effects of the spell that had woven a dark, ancient power over my mind and body.
“What does this mean then?” Caedmon is the one to ask the question that I’m sure we’re all thinking.
If this ceremony didn’t work … then what are they to do next?
“Perhaps she is not of Divine blood,” Gygaea’s suggests, but almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth, Makeda is dissuading the rest of the Gods of that notion.
“We’ve kept our eyes on the girl since her presence was brought to our attention. Danai and I have both witnessed the evidence of her Divinity. There is no question that she is of Divine blood.”
“Then why didn’t the ceremony work?” Azai demands.
Caedmon’s hands are on my upper arms, keeping me stable as I stand amid six powerful beings. Shaking him off as I slide to the side and away from the haven of his arms—a safety I can’t allow myself to rely on—I eye the other beings in the room with narrow-eyed scrutiny. I knew there was a reason Danai and Makeda had borne witness to the mock battles during training, but I hadn’t known it was because they wanted to be sure that I was a Mortal God. I glance at Caedmon out of the corner of my eyes. Perhaps his status amongst the God Council isn’t as powerful as I’d once been led to believe. Not if the others weren’t quite convinced of his support of my heritage.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I remain silent as the Gods argue over whether or not the ceremony’s failure is a fault of my blood or the fact that it was never meant to work in the first place.
“ Enough! ” My whole body jolts at the dark rumble of Tryphone’s command.
All other sound ceases—even the light tap of wind against the glass above our heads goes quiet as if the world itself cannot help but bow to his orders.
“We will keep to the original plan,” Tryphone’s words hold no room for argument. “The Spring Equinox is but a mere two weeks away.” Cold eyes that hold the power of storm and lightning fall upon where I stand. Just like before, I react by fighting my own instincts to look away, to cow to the man who is far stronger than I will ever be. I meet the God King’s gaze.
His lips twitch as if amused, this time, rather than surprised by my show of silent defiance. I can sense the God Queen’s attention on my face, but I don’t turn to face her. To pay attention to another predator when one that is far more dangerous has me in its thrall would be the height of both arrogance and stupidity, and I am neither arrogant nor stupid.
“Then the Spring Equinox ceremony will continue forward,” Caedmon speaks, interrupting the disquieting force of wills between the God King and me with his words. “Perhaps this is for the best.”
Tryphone jerks his chin in agreement. Massive as he is, the God King looks once at his Queen before turning and striding from the room, and the moment he is gone, I feel as if the entire space has opened up. The air is easier to breathe and my insides don’t feel quite as riotous. I don’t move a muscle nor do I speak as Gygaea is the next to leave with Makeda quietly following after, offering me a passing glance as she exits the room. Azai scowls down at me and thunders past in a fury of stomps. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The God of Strength is nothing if not a petulant child.
Nails score the sides of my arms as the last remaining male God moves past me, towards Danai. “I know you wished to uncover the secrets of her blood, my Queen,” Caedmon says. “I am sorry that the ceremony was a failure.”
Directing my attention past Caedmon’s shoulder, I meet the golden ringed gaze of the God Queen, her focus centered on me in such a way that it feels penetrating to my very soul. Her eyes hold untold stories, and though they seem benevolent, I have to remind myself of Caedmon’s words. The Gods are all liars and she is no different. Even if she is merely complicit in the oppression of the people of Anatol, the fact remains—Danai, the God Queen, has built her throne on the blood and bones of mortals. I squeeze my arms tighter to my chest.
“Yes,” she murmurs almost absently, as if it takes a moment longer than it should for Caedmon’s words to truly take root in her mind. “You may be right, Caedmon.” Her eyes never leave my face. “I shall discuss the Spring Equinox ceremony with Tryphone. I have the sense that this child holds a secret we all must know. He is right. Even if we must wait, two weeks is but a blink of time to us.”
Caedmon is good. Though I find him difficult to trust completely, I must acknowledge the fact that he is nothing if not unbending. Not by the flicker of an eyelash does he reveal what he knows. As the God of Prophecy, and what little he’s revealed to me, he already knows the secrets of my blood.
“Yes, my Queen.” Clasping a gentle hand on the God Queen’s arm, Caedmon bows his head in respect and silent agreement to her words. Then, without further hesitation, he releases her and turns to me. “Come,” he orders, striding past me towards the door. “I shall return you to your quarters.”