Page 5 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

The morning sun glints off of her golden hair and tanned skin. The softness of her features, the rounded cheeks and button nose along with the slender curve of her breasts beneath the ornate gown she’s wearing, is all an illusion to the true wickedness beyond the Goddess’ shell. She’s well known in these parts for being both extraordinarily self-obsessed—a trait from her powers of vanity, I suppose—as well as incredibly cruel.

If they know exactly what’s about to happen, the other Gods—the ones that are hiding their Divinity—will quickly disperse into the crowd to make their getaway. It’s an insult to hide one’s Divinity as, according to the Upper Gods, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lower, less powerful or wealthy Gods, however, prefer their invisibility over Divine expectation. Talmatia is not one of them. She turns to the crowd and waves her fingers expectantly.

“Well? Which of you is responsible for stopping my carriage?”

“M-my Goddess,” an older man steps forward from where he stands in front of her gilded carriage. “We apologize, but your carriage, i-it nearly ran over my son. He’s—”

My attention turns to the ground behind him where a small form is held, clutched in his mother’s arms. Blood splatters soak into the road stones as she carefully rocks the crying child. There’s no nearly about it—Talmatia’s carriage had, in fact, run over the boy—and from the looks of things, he isn’t long for this world. No doubt the man had softened his phrasing in the hopes of not placing the blame on the Goddess and earning her wrath, but the damage had already been done.

“Unacceptable!” Talmatia shrieks. “How dare you! Do you not know how to address me?”

A sinking knowing sits in my chest as I rise to my feet and step back, away from the edge of the roof. A few of the onlookers below note my shadow, but by the time they look back, I’ve already moved out of their line of sight. I blow out a breath, resting my back against the sun-warmed chimney at the top of the roof.

Disgusting. Vile. Unworthy. All things the Gods toss at us, humans. The last one is what hurts the worst. Unworthy. Unworthy of what? I’ve always wondered. Unworthy of pity? Of patience? Of love?

If we are so unworthy, then why did they come here to begin with?

I turn away from the sight and slide down the opposite slope of the roof. A cry rises up—a man’s choked strangulation. I grit my teeth. Ignore it, Kiera. There’s nothing you can do for him. I have my own skin to worry about.

When my feet are back on solid ground once more, I turn and glance at where the backs of the people are still gathered in the market square. The mouth of the alleyway is crowded with them. Above them, the sounds of Talmatia’s shrieking reach my ears.

“—dungeons, at once! Daring to disobey your Gods, how blasphemous.” My hands clench into fists. The weight of something familiar sits against my chest. Helplessness. Powerlessness. Rage.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, turning back to the square. Perhaps if I hide my face then— I don’t get a chance to finish the thought.

The second I move for the crowd, a hard hand closes over my shoulder and jerks me back. “Don’t even fucking think about it,” Regis’ dark voice hisses into my ear as he manhandles me away from the mouth of the alley and around the next corner.

With a growl, I slam my elbow back and down into his lower abdomen. He grunts and wheezes at the blow, loosening his grasp enough for me to spin out of his reach.

“Don’t!” he snaps, his tone breathless as he places a hand over his stomach. “Kiera, it’s not worth it.”

Violence sings in my blood as I hear a woman’s cries reach a new pitch. “No one else can help them,” I snap.

He shakes his head. “And neither can you,” he says. “You can’t or you risk all of us in the Underworld.” He’s right. I know it well. The very first thing Ophelia should’ve done when I was brought to her was send me into the waiting arms of one of the Academies and the Gods themselves. She didn’t, and because of that, I am not only beholden to them, I am at constant risk.

“Let it go. It’s not our fucking business. If you’re caught, you’ll be dead.” Regis rubs his hand over his stomach and takes a step closer to me. “I know you want to help them, but be smart about it.” Emotion pours through me, flooding my system with the need to fight, but as he closes his arms around me—softer this time, gentler—it all flies away. “If you want to help them, then wait.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong,” I say.

“I know, Kiera,” he whispers. I duck my head against his shoulder and after a brief moment of hesitation, he lifts a palm to the back of my head, pressing it harder against him. Were he anyone else, I wouldn’t even dare show this vulnerability, but he’s not. He’s Regis. My friend, my comrade. He’s known me as long as I’ve been in the Underworld. “I know,” he says the words again, his voice sharper and deeper than before. If anyone were to understand the incredibly unfair differences between mortals and Gods and the tyranny with which they rule the world, it would be Regis.

“They’ll be taken to the dungeons,” I say. “Probably the boy too.” That’s where he’ll die. I know it, though I don’t say as much. From the looks of it and the amount of blood, he’d needed immediate attention from a doctor—not to be carted off with his parents to dungeons for some perceived insult to the God of this city. Guilt weighs heavy in my veins.

Regis nods and pulls away from me. “Then we’ll get them out,” he says. “But not now. We cannot risk your existence being found out. Especially not now.”

His meaning is not lost on me, but I know he’s right. I hate it, but I allow myself to be led away by him. Each step feels like I’m striding across broken glass, and no matter how far away the cries become, they echo in my head.

Regis keeps his arm around my back, refusing to allow me to turn back.

“Tonight,” I repeat, looking up at him as we finally make it back to the front of the inn. “Promise me.”

He sighs and finally releases me to take a step back. “You’re a damn bleeding heart, Kiera,” he states. “It’s a fucking wonder you’ve lasted as an assassin, much less a good one.”

“I only hurt my targets,” I remind him. “If there’s no money to be made, then there’s no point.”

It doesn’t hurt that Ophelia had learned to only give me targets that I could convince myself deserved their deaths. Rapists. Murderers. People that destroyed the lives of others just because they could. I’d like to believe that humans were different from Gods, but that was one thing I’d become excruciatingly aware of in the last ten years—Gods. Humans. Mortal. Immortal. It didn’t matter what blood ran through you. Everyone was capable of the worst.

“Fine,” Regis huffs at me. “I promise. Tonight. We’ll save them.”

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