Page 84 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

Fear makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed. It’s practically the first rule I was taught in the Underworld. So, as I’m led through the maze-like corridors of the Mortal Gods Academy of Riviere, I shove that shit down. I count my steps back from the north tower and find that I’m being led towards a section of the Academy I’ve never been to before.

Regis’ map had helped when I’d first arrived here and I’d memorized it top to bottom. Memorizing an outline on parchment, however, is vastly different from watching the darkened stone corridors turn to wide hallways with more and more ornate wall sconces lit with gas and fire to illuminate them. The stained glass windows we pass depict more and more outlandish images. Gods battling ancient monsters—some of the sea with a dozen tentacles, some of the land with great big teeth and glowing yellow eyes.

I turn my head away from them and face the Mortal God in front of me. If nothing else can alleviate my anxiety, it’s the fact that he’s got his back to me—clearly unaware of the danger I present. That sets me at ease. If the Gods knew my true identity then there’s no way they’d send one measly Mortal God to have me brought in nor would I be unchained.

The word ‘reprimand’ circles my head again and again. I’m so focused on putting one foot in front of the other as well as trying to think of any reason I could be brought before the dean for reprimanding that it takes a moment for me to realize that we’ve stopped. I look up as the Mortal God guard in charge knocks heavily upon a thick wooden door painted in red and etched in gold. There’s a plaque at the center of the door, but I don’t manage to read it before the door creaks open and the Mortal God turns, shoving me through the opening.

The front of my boot catches on the lip in the doorway all too suddenly, sending me sprawling out on the floor. Even though I’d planned it to appear as mortal and clumsy as possible, when my knees crack against the hard black flooring, it fucking hurts. I stay down on the ground, though, only peering up through the threads of my hair to ascertain who’s present.

Dauphine stands a few steps behind Dolos, her form bent ever so slightly to keep her head as far below his as she can while she stands. Her long uniform skirts, a charcoal gray, disappear behind the God’s desk. The dark color of her clothes makes the pale dimpled hands she clasps before them appear that much paler. Her straight hair has been pulled back and is held in a low ponytail at the base of her skull. It’s not her attire or stature that causes concern, though, but the deep lines on either side of her half-hidden mouth as she bows her head. It’s the rapid thrum of her heart racing that I can see ticking in the vein in her throat.

She’s afraid, and that cannot mean anything good.

Dolos stays sitting behind the massive desk that takes up a solid half of the width of the room. Unlike Caedmon’s office, Dolos’ is pristine, wiped clean of any small trinkets or plants or books that may belie his interests. Instead, the floor is made of solid black marble, and the only thing that hangs on the walls is the tapestry behind him depicting Tryphone, the King of the Gods.

The shroud of darkness that surrounds Dolos is there, thankfully. It’s probably the only reason Dauphine is able to stand so still as she, too, peers up at me from beneath her lashes. As soon as her gaze connects with mine, her eyes flare as do her nostrils. She’d seemed to be obsessive and worshipful of the Gods at orientation, amidst all of the other Terra, but right here and right now, I see nothing but a terrified human woman.

I frown slightly, but then she jerks her chin down—almost as if she’s warning me to do the same. I hadn’t expected that, not from her, but I follow the silent communication and I shoot my eyes back to the black marble. Sweat gathers on the back of my neck beneath the weight of my hair.

That same dense air from the battle arena washes over me in waves. Thankfully, though, it’s not my first time experiencing this level of pressure. I swallow reflexively, stifling the desire to vomit. Even if he’s repressing his ability, I can still sense it. It sits upon my back and shoulders like heavy weights dragging me down. I keep my lips sealed shut as I wait for the God to speak.

A moment passes and then another. Finally, in my periphery, I watch as Dolos’ hand appears from the shadows, flicking towards the guard at my back. The man bows and then backs out of the room, closing the door behind him and sealing me in the room with Dolos, God of Imprisonment. I temper the rapid beat of my heart as it races in my chest, breathing slowly—in through my nose and out through my mouth.

I can’t see Dolos’ expression, but the sweat gathering at the top of Dauphine’s forehead is enough to have me nervous. Even without being able to visually see the God in full, there’s a certain amount of intimidation that comes with silence. I know it well. I’ve trained in it. So, I know exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to unsettle me, and unfortunately, it’s fucking working.

Breathe, I order myself. In and out. Just breathe.

I’ve killed his kind before. He has no idea the power I wield. I flex my hands into fists against the dark marble flooring at that reminder. The silence is combined with a stillness and in stillness, I find a lot of information.

The quiet of the room allows me to focus on my other senses. I want to look around, but I don’t want to break the sudden spell cast over the room. There’s someone else in here. Does Dolos know? He has to, and yet, he doesn’t acknowledge them.

“You are Kiera Nezerac,” Dolos finally speaks, his voice far less loud than it was at the arena, but no less deep. It rings with that same confidence I expect most Gods to have, especially those of the Upper God echelon.

“Y-yes, sir.” It’s not difficult to force a bit of a stutter into my voice. Any mortal in my position would be pissing their pants terrified right now.

“You are a new introduction to our Academy, are you not?” he demands.

I jerk my head up and down in answer. A moment later, Dauphine’s high-pitched, offended tone responds. “Speak,” she practically shrieks. “The God Lord, Dolos, asked you a question.”

“I apologize,” I say quickly. “Yes, sir. That is correct. I am a new Terra.” A bead of sweat travels down the side of my face from the hairline at the edge of my temple to my jaw. My skin itches.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought here?”

In a burst of amusement not befitting my current circumstances, I wonder if he knows just how like a mortal he sounds. Those words are exactly the same as those spoken to me by Ophelia—of all people—the day I’d been sold to her Guild. Slowly, I lift my head and settle my gaze on where I expect Dolos’ face to be in the mass of shadow and darkness sitting in his chair, as if he’s an actual person and not an outline of obscurity.

Dauphine looks at me, her already tight face growing more and more pinched as if the skin over her cheekbones is sucking into her very skeletal frame. If she were near enough to shove my head down, I have no doubt she’d try. The fear coming off of her in waves is enough for me to know just how threatened she is by the presence of Dolos.

“No, I do not, sir.” This time, I keep my voice even and flat.

The wisps of shade and shadow sway as the outline of Dolos tilts his head to the left. My skin—once itchy—now feels hot. Impossibly hot. As if someone has poured boiling water down my spine and over my chest. My breaths come in shallow gasps as I fight through the pain.

“You are a brave one, Kiera Nezerac,” Dolos states. “Rarely have I ever seen a mortal face me with such unflinching eyes.”

Even if it’s a mistake, I can’t drag my gaze away now. “You did not command me not to look at you when you were talking, sir,” I say.

The chuckle tinged with brass that follows my statement doesn’t relieve me. In fact, it makes me feel as if the bones in my body are quaking together. What is wrong with me? The pressure he exerts without even trying is so damn powerful. Dozens of invisible boulders crash into my back and shoulders. My head throbs with agony. My mouth goes dry and still, I keep my neck high.

“You are correct,” Dolos says as his amusement tapers off. He’s quiet for another moment and then he turns to Dauphine. “I’ve changed my mind about this one,” he says to her. “Prepare a cell in the dungeons. I will decide a new punishment.”

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