Page 1 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

Chapter 1

Kiera

It is a simple enough practice to distinguish a God from a human. Though they descended from the realm of the Divine to rule over the forsaken land of mortals, they’ve never lost their godly appearance. The Divine is a light that dwells within them, illuminating their features and making them appear somehow otherworldly. Beautiful. Dangerous.

It’s easy to disguise if they choose to—a bit of brimstone on their person will do the trick if they’re brave enough to keep something so dangerous to them so close, but otherwise, it’s like staring at an ever-so-slightly distorted reflection of a human. The mirrored mirage looks human and moves like a human, but in essence, it isn’t. There is always something foreign about the Gods’ appearance that warns the human psyche that they are not what we are. They are predators masquerading as their prey. It’s sickening. A predator should simply be a predator. I’d respect them more if they didn’t pretend to be compassionate or even … simply what they’re not. Mortal.

Despite their hopes and imitations, their Divinity still makes it all too easy to differentiate them from the humans that surround them.

The only times I’ve ever truly had an issue with differentiating a Divine Being from the non-Divine is when they’re a Mortal God.

Mortal Gods are not common in the countryside, though. If they choose to leave the God Cities at all then they have connections, but usually they only do so at the behest of their Masters. The precious dogs of the Divine Beings, happily ignoring the singular half of themselves that makes them not Gods at all, but Mortal Gods, if it means they live in the lap of luxury and freedom. I’ve thankfully only ever come across one in my life, and it’s an experience I am all too happy to avoid repeating.

My ability to differentiate the Divine from the ordinary is a silly little game I’ve played for years to hone my skills. Ophelia used it as a teaching method to instruct her apprentices how to pick out targets from a crowd and follow them. Now, however, I find myself playing it from the shadowed corner of the Black Hat Tavern as a method to keep myself from disintegrating out of sheer boredom into the uncomfortable wooden chair I’ve been stationed in for the last two hours.

Patience is a virtue I do not possess. Ironic, considering my profession.

The game does little for me now but pass the time. Out here in the countryside, there are few Gods to pick out in the crowd of people who have gathered to get out of the downpour or to drink and forget their woes. Most Divine Beings prefer their God Cities to the mortal villages outside of their gilded castles. A few, on occasion, make their way out here—probably out of boredom or curiosity. Most are Lower Gods, Gods of less powerful origins, but still Divine nonetheless.

I scan the room once more and find two in the vicinity. Like telling a donkey from a horse, Ophelia had once said. Though both may be farm animals, one is clearly superior to the other. Taller. Broader. More aesthetically pleasing to the eye. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Gods are the horses and humans are the donkeys in her analogy.

Uncanny, that’s what I think of the Divine Beings who disguise themselves. Disturbing. Though they come in all heights and sizes and colors—like humans—the primary difference that distinguishes them from their mortal counterparts is their beauty. The effect of their Divinity. They shine internally. Their skin never ages. Their eyes are never dulled by disease or flaw. Their hair never loses its luster. They are as they have always been since the dawn of time—perfection personified.

At least on the outside.

It’s wrong. Against nature.

I pinpoint the two Lower Gods in the room and, indeed, they’re attempting to hide their Divinity. Though they’ve managed to shield it from the commoners here, their unblemished skin and clear eyes are a dead giveaway for me. It’s no surprise to find that when entering these types of places—unless they’re preceded by a posse of their godly acquaintances—most Divine Beings choose invisibility over audaciousness. It’s easier for Gods to pass through these parts when they mask themselves, easier for everyone.

Still, I always spot them, and if they were my targets, they’d be dead in an instant for revealing themselves so recklessly. Lucky for them, I’ve got no current orders to attack and even if I detest their existence, I don’t plan to give myself more work than I have to.

Another pass through the room with my gaze finds no more Divine Beings and I settle back against the spine of my seat with crossed arms and an irritated hmph. An easy game that is quickly over is no fun at all. I don’t know why I even bothered.

From my darkened corner in the Black Hat Tavern, I watch the room beneath the hood of my cloak. Outside, rain pours down over the side of the awning and every once in a while, a new arrival will come in, stomping their muddied boots at the front as they shake off the thunderstorm from their heads.

My breathing stabilizes until I’m sure anyone passing by would merely assume I have fallen asleep here, resting between the table and wall. That is, if they can even see me. The long silvery strands of my hair have been carefully braided back and tucked beneath my hood. The cloak that covers the rest of me is large enough to envelop my slender frame, hiding the majority of my curves and stature. Thankfully, it must also hide my gender. Otherwise, I’d have already had to deal with a few of the drunken tavern customers by now.

I count the seconds until my mind begins to drift once more, and just when I’m about to give up for the night and go up to the rented room I’ve got waiting for me—and the bed calling my name—the chair across from mine skids across the floor as it’s pulled from beneath the table.

My eyes shoot up and I curse. “Fuck—I didn’t even hear you walk up,” I mutter. It’s irritating how he manages it every time, especially after all of my training.

Regis grins at my scowl, the corners of his mouth tipping up with amusement. His sand-colored hair is pulled back away from his face and tied off at the base of his skull with a thin leather band, but a few strands have snuck free and sway on the sides of his slightly squared face. Regis reaches up, tucking one of the straight locks behind his ear absently, only for it to slip free once more as he tilts his head at me. “I know,” he says with his usual smugness. “You should look into that—bad habit for one in your line of work.”

My scowl deepens as he plops down into his seat. “No one else can manage it but you and Ophelia,” I point out. “I don’t think that’s half bad for a decade of service.”

“She’d be the first to tell you to do better,” he replies, arching a brow at me. He’s right. Ophelia’s a firm taskmaster. Regis lifts a hand for one of the barmaids to stop by. It doesn’t take long—he’s a handsome man and he knows just how to use it to be noticed when he wants to be. Once he’s assured that a maid will be along, he drops his hand and turns to me. “Have I kept you waiting long?”

“I’m practically wasting away with age,” I deadpan, earning another grin from him. “Obviously this new job isn’t all that important if you weren’t in any rush to bring me the details of it.”

“On the contrary,” he replies coolly, “I think you’ll find this new job is everything you’ve been hoping for.”

I scowl. “Unless it pays my debt, then I doubt it.”

He scoffs. “You act like you hate the Guild.”

I pick at the edge of the table where splinters of wood have come off the grain. “Hard not to hate something you feel imprisoned by.” I say it without much heat. The fact is—the Underworld is both a haven and a noose around my neck. If love and hate are each a side of the same coin, the Guild and Ophelia are the coin itself.

Regis shakes his head. “Even if you have a blood contract brand, you’re the most well-treated servant I’ve ever met,” he says.

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