Page 6 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

That’s all I need. I don’t care if he calls me a bleeding heart. Unlike the Gods who once abandoned us and the God parent I have who actually did as well, I can sleep at night knowing that at least I’ve got one.

Chapter 3

Kiera

The human child and his family were taken to the God Lord’s castle. By twilight, all of Mineval knows this. For daring to stand up to the Lord—no, not even for standing up, but for failing to fall to Talmatia’s feet the second she stepped out of her carriage and beg for forgiveness for an accident they had no hand in—they’ll perish in the dungeons.

Or at least they will if something isn’t done.

“In and out, Kiera,” Regis says quietly as we stop alongside the back of the stone wall that circles the southern side of Talmatia’s castle. “I don’t care what you run across, we’re just here to get the family and leave.”

“Understood,” I say through clenched teeth. I stare up the wall, eyeing the tight stone bricks with displeasure as I reach up and drop my cloak from my body. “We’ll enter and exit here,” I say, tossing my cloak onto a mound of dirt. I kick some grass and leaves over it—enough to cover its presence, but not so much that I won’t be able to quickly find it when we return. It’s a cooler night, but all that fabric will get in the way and we need to be quick about this.

Regis curses under his breath. “You’re damn lucky I’m even helping you,” he mutters. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be getting involved at all.”

“You’re welcome to leave,” I tell him, retrieving a few of the stilettos in my belt. I glance over the thin knives and think better of it, shoving them back into place, before I retrieve the thicker daggers strapped to my thighs. “I can handle this alone.”

Regis scoffs and follows my actions—dropping his own cloak and removing his daggers as well. “There are three of them,” he says. “The child will likely be unable to walk after the accident. No doubt the father was beaten by the guards.” If the child is still alive, that is. It’s a thought both of us, no doubt, have, but we keep it to ourselves out of sheer hope.

My lips curve down in a scowl and I shove the pointed end of my dagger right into the stones—wedging it between two loose bricks. “Then keep your thoughts to yourself, shut up, and let’s get on with it,” I toss back.

Jumping, I shove my second dagger a foot above and wedge the first one out to do the same once more. Using nothing but our upper body strength, Regis and I scale the wall to the top until we’re able to swing our bodies onto the ledge and return our daggers to their rightful places.

“The dungeons should be in the lower regions,” Regis whispers. He points one way and then the other. “You go that way and I’ll go this way. If you need me—”

“The spiders will find you,” I say.

He grimaces and a small shudder works its way through his system. “Yeah, fine,” he says. “Just don’t let those little fuckers touch me.”

The small, offhand comment finally clears some of the rage from my mind. It’d probably be best not to tell him that my little spider mates do far more than touch him—they do me the favor of keeping an eye on him whenever I need them to.

Regis jumps off the ledge and disappears into the darkness of the courtyard below. A cloud of dust and dirt filters up from where he lands, and the sound of his footsteps fades quickly into the night. Crouching, I turn and run down the length of the wall’s ledge—placing one foot in front of the other to keep my balance as I hurry along. It’s like walking a tightrope, but thankfully the stone wall is well built and there aren’t any crumbling parts at the top that might disrupt my speed.

I make it to the end and leap down with stealth, hurrying through the side lot, where I suspect the guards usually train, and into the outer corridors. The smell of smoking meat filters through the castle grounds and happy voices echo out from the primary public chambers. Servants of the Goddess, Talmatia, enjoying their evening and the efforts of serving such a supposedly great creature, all the while innocent civilians starve down below. It’s disgusting. No doubt a few of the higher-ranking soldiers are Mortal Gods—my very own kind.

Mortal Gods are worse than Gods. Whereas Gods are their own entity—they have no notion of the plight of mortals—Mortal Gods are mortal themselves. Yet, both treat humans as little more than cattle to be ruled over and slaughtered.

I suck in a breath and push down my desire to let my fury reign free. Instead, I focus on finding a staircase leading down to the lower levels—the dungeons. The outer corridors disappear at my back the second I find what I’m looking for. A wooden door leading right into the basement of the castle. I crack it open and slip inside, flinching as hot putrid air hits me in the face.

Unwilling to waste time with discomfort, however, I hurry down the staircase—letting the few torches anchored into the walls light my way. The smell of rotting wood and mold filters through my nostrils, and with a grimace, I reach down and pull the scarf around my neck up over my mouth and nose to dull the scent.

The sound of weeping reaches my ears and I follow it into a darkened chamber, pausing when I see the narrow bars of metal lining one side of the small room. The woman from this morning—plump and middle-aged with round, albeit grimy cheeks—sits with her back against the wall, clutching a small form against her chest. She rocks it back and forth, though it doesn’t stir.

In front of her, the man who’d attempted to defend her by standing up to Talmatia lays on his chest, facing the bars. He’s unconscious with the half of his face that is visible bruised and bloodied, his gray hair matted to the side of his head. The woman, being the only one awake and aware, doesn’t even react to me when I approach.

I pause in front of the door and bend down. “Ma’am.”

Her head tips up at my voice and her eyes widen. “Please,” she says quickly, holding the boy in her arms closer. “Please don’t.”

I look at the young one and my chest tightens. He’s blue and white and stiff in her arms, faded marks of red lining his nose and mouth. His legs dangle past her skirts and from the tears in his clothes, I can see the wounds from the carriage. Long gashes up his legs and chest. My chest fills with remorse. Our assumption had been correct. He hadn’t lived long after the accident—the wheels had obviously crushed his tiny form. Likely one of his lungs had been punctured by a broken rib or two. He’d died in pain, drowning in his own blood, unable to cry out or do anything to stop his soul from fading from this world. The tragedy steals my breath and causes pinpricks of hatred to stab at my flesh.

I swallow roughly. “I’m not here to take him away,” I assure her quietly. “I’m here to get you out of here.” I withdraw a few small instruments from one of the many pockets in my pants and set to work on the lock. It’s primitive—obviously, Talmatia had not been concerned with a jailbreak. No one else would dare to pull a stunt like this.

Just as I hear a click, a small black creature crawls down one of the bars next to my head. I glance up and eye it. Staring into the spider’s beady black eyes, I send it away with a mental push to hurry. Regis should be nearly finished with his own duty by now since he’ll have determined that his side of the castle dungeons didn’t hold our targets, but it’s better to check the progress nonetheless.

“My boy,” the woman sobs, “he can’t walk.”

I close my eyes and grip the door of the cell, letting it swing inward. “He can’t do anything anymore,” I say to her. Cruel, yes, but necessary. “I’m sorry.” The apology I offer won’t help, and won’t erase what has already been done, but I say it anyway.

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