Page 38 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“You may return to your station, Terra,” the Goddess snaps. “Hurry it up—you’ve already interrupted my class more than enough.”

“Yes, Your Divinity.” I straighten and walk stiffly up the stairs, well aware that heads turn. I ignore them all, save for the three responsible. As I pass by their seats, I cut a look their way. Unable to stop myself, I silently promise my vengeance. Theos tilts his head but offers no smile or other sign of amusement. Kalix yawns, completely missing my glare. Ruen … avoids my gaze altogether and stoically stares towards the blackboard at the front.

Cowards.

By the end of the class, my legs are a mass of fire and I taste vomit in the back of my throat. As Terra trail their Mortal Gods from the room, I turn and stumble into a pair of thick arms. Looking up into a familiar pair of blue eyes, I rip myself free and take a bow.

“If you’ll tell me where the texts for the rest of your classes are,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “I’ll go retrieve them.”

Ruen says nothing. Instead, he takes my arm and hauls me out into the corridor. The wounded skin of my calves stretches with each stride. I bite down on my tongue to keep from making a sound. Ruen doesn’t stop until we’re out of the building and at the very edge of the open courtyard farthest from the entrance.

With a scowl, he points—gesturing towards the northern tower. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he snaps, “and don’t return today.”

“But—”

“Dismissed.” That’s it. Ruen doesn’t stay to see if I’ll follow his order. He turns on his heel and stomps back to the building’s entrance, the doors hanging open as both Theos and Kalix wait on either side of the open pathway.

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. As if I could refuse his order here or now. The pain in my legs reaches its crescendo as I make my way back to the northern tower and the tingles of my own ability move over the shredded flesh. A curse slips from my lips as I slam into my room and shut the door at my back.

No doubt it’ll seem odd if I’m not limping or at least flinching for the next few days. With gritted teeth, I do the only thing I know to do. I reach into the minimalistic sack I brought with me and remove a carefully hidden dagger as I take a seat on the creaking bed. Dragging my pants legs up my caves, I place the handle between my teeth and bite down as I roll the fabric all the way up to my knees.

It’s hard to see with such little light, but even beyond the rivers of red that are quickly drying on my skin, I can feel the split and raised flesh. I’m half tempted to wonder if the Goddess held back at all because a true human likely wouldn’t have been able to make it back to their rooms without help as I have. Yet, she’d not spared me a single glance once she was done with me.

Removing the hilt of the dagger from my teeth, I set the sharp edge to my flesh and swipe several lines across the skin that’s already in the process of knitting itself back together. Breath rushes out of me as my stomach cramps. I quickly perform the same to my other leg before dropping the dagger and bending in half, stuffing my head between my knees as I huff and pant through the pain.

The light poison on the blade’s sharpened edge will do the task. It’ll slow down the healing long enough for it to be feasible that I’m nothing more than an unfortunate mortal tasked with three of the worst Mortal Gods in the Mortal Gods Academy.

Heat fills my mouth and with it, my saliva. Still, I fight back the urge to puke. Whether they had meant to or not, the irony of failing to humiliate me only to have an unintentional shame and punishment brought about by the Gods themselves is not lost on me. It’s almost worse than if I had simply bent over the corridor and let Malachi fuck me as he and Theos had wanted.

Hissing through the pain, I clutch at the edge of my mattress. Dizziness assails me. It grows and spirals through my mind until positioning my head down between my legs isn’t enough. Sitting up, I flop down, my back to the bed as the wooden beams above me spin and spin.

I close my eyes. The poison works its way through my system, all too fucking familiar.

Chapter 17

Kiera

“This is a game of endurance.” Ophelia’s words filter through my mind as my muscles jump and twitch beneath the surface of my flesh. The rotten taste of decay sits on my tongue, choking me with each breath I wheeze out. “If you are caught, you will be tortured for information. Who helped you? Who knew of your existence? Where were you born? Who is your father? Who is your mother? What are their names?”

Everything from the back of my throat to the front coating of my teeth feels bone dry. My vision has long since blurred and the only thing I can even feel is the abundance of pain. The flesh that’s been ripped clean from my arms only to grow back minutes later hangs like ribbons over the sides of the chair I’m currently tied down to.

No amount of relief could put the fire of my body out. I am nothing but a smoking pile of cinders, unaware that I’ve already died. And because there’s still one pinprick of light left, Ophelia focuses on it, bringing it back to life over and over again, only to snuff it out in the cruelest of ways.

If she wanted information, I would give it. If she wanted my death, I would slit my own throat. If she wanted anything, I would make it happen. Whatever it took to stop the agony that rends my flesh from my bones and leaks the blood from my veins. But she doesn’t.

The burns along my spine flaking away the deadened skin to reveal a new, unmarred surface underneath. That more than anything—the healing—was what broke me. It feels like hours, days ago that I finally cried until I had nothing left but dust in my eyes. Dust and rot. I gave all I had to give her. My tears. My pleas. My promises. My undying devotion. All of it in vain because the faster I heal, the faster I’m pressed back deep within the quagmire of agony.

All the while, Ophelia circles me. Around and around, she goes. Like some sick twisted nursery rhyme meant for children’s play. Not that I know what that is anymore. I haven’t been a child since the night I was brought here. Since the night she bought me.

Hunger stabs at my gut, a vicious spinning blade ripping through my insides. The rumbling sound my intestines make forces me to close my eyes again in preparation. The cane falls down across my bare back, right over the burned flesh from the fiery brand of the last session that’s only half done knitting itself back together. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood and my mouth fills with blessed liquid—tasting of rot and rust.

“Control your urges.” Easier said than done. Ophelia continues. “Your existence risks more than just yourself,” she says. “It risks me and the entire Guild. You know I’m only doing this because I must.” A soft hand settles at the top of my head and I resist the urge to jerk away. Not out of fear or pain but because she’s right. I need to control my urges and the first way to start is to be completely still. No matter that even her gentle touch now makes me feel as if every inch of my flesh is covered in biting little insects. I want to vomit up what is left in my guts—which is nothing but hopelessness and bile.

“Good, you’re learning.” Ophelia’s praise falls on deaf ears. I don’t care for it any longer. We’ve been at this for so long that I’ve forgotten what time means anymore. If I’ve learned anything from the torture, it’s that she’s a master of it. Positive reinforcement. Gaining the target’s trust. Getting them to drop their guard so that they give you all the answers you want.

The difference between true torture and this is that … Ophelia already has all of the answers that I could possibly give her. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, no amount of begging or offering desired information I could give until she decides I’ve learned the lesson.

My pain is nothing compared to the lives that are at risk just by hiding my existence.

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