Page 20 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“Good evening, Ruen,” Caedmon says as I approach, his voice smooth and even. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

I come to a stop before him and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Coldness seeps through my bones, etched into my veins as the reason I’d called out to him sits in the back of my mind. I wait a moment, and then a few more, as his gaze falls over me. He’s an assessing male, the God of Prophecy. Despite knowing that I trust him more than I do most other Divine Beings, his brown eyes—that often turn a bit hazy and clouded as if he’s looking into the very fabric of the world and seeing all of the threads of futures to come—keeps me cautious.

“Is it true the Council is being called?” The words come out, more demanding than I intend, but I don’t apologize for that. Apologies mean nothing if you do not mean them.

Caedmon’s face, once pleasant and open, closes quickly. Though he’s not ostentatiously angry, the moment the Council is mentioned, his guard slams into place. My body tenses, half expecting a raging outburst. Nothing. Caedmon’s dissatisfaction is a slow silent creeping thing. I’m far more accustomed to violence rather than silence, and even if I like this male, regardless of his standing as a Divine Being, my own body prepares for it. A lifetime and a childhood of having to do so cannot be erased in the span of a few years.

I likely should have eased into this conversation, I know, but my greed for information commands me and drives me. I inhale once more and stand taller as I wait for his answer. I tower over the God of Prophecy physically, but I know that if it were to come down to a true battle, I would not win. His power is far greater than mine.

A buzzing starts up under my skin as he tilts his head up at me. It’s a warning, one that I’ll ignore if it means earning even a modicum of the information that I seek. I stare back at him, meeting his gaze as I know few often do.

“You know that’s none of your business, Ruen,” Caedmon says, his voice quiet but firm. “Whether or not a God Council is called does not concern students.”

I frown. “You mean Mortal Gods,” I say.

“Considering that all students here are Mortal Gods,” he replies, “then yes. That’s exactly what I mean.” Eyes equally as dark as his skin peer into mine. I know he’s warned off plenty of curious students with that disquieting look of his. The God of Prophecy is feared and revered by Mortal Gods and Gods alike. I won’t be cowed, though.

“Why do you wish to know?” he asks. “Is it perhaps because you worry that your father will return to Riviere?”

I stiffen. His gaze hadn’t made me feel nearly as defensive as the mention of my sire does. I resist the urge to scowl, but still, the weight of my discomfort falls over me as I gaze back at the Divine Being before me. Were it any other God, I wouldn’t even be here, but Caedmon treats all Mortal Gods as equals. A rather bizarre trait for someone of his position to be so kind and polite to those below him, but it’s also what gave me leave to approach him. Therefore, I disregard my own discomfort and answer.

“Azai doesn’t seem too concerned with his sons. Why would that bother me?” Ice drips from each word.

Caedmon’s eyes soften at my words, and he takes a step towards me, reaching out with his free hand as his other keeps a book close to his chest. He closes his fingers around my arm and squeezes. My muscles bunch tight, but I don’t pull away. “Azai might seem a large and intimidating figure, but he is just as much at the whims of the God King as the rest of us.”

The God King. My chest hardens and my abdomen clenches. Though I’ve never met Tryphone, the effects of his power permeate every speck of my life and surroundings. This very Academy, as well as the whole of this mortal plane, are under his control as well as that of his closest Council of the Upper Gods. Upper Gods such as my father.

When Caedmon speaks again, his tone is gentle, almost reassuring. “If a Council happens, he will come if he’s called.”

Not before, though. Gods forbid the God of Strength pay attention to his bastards. That was fine with my brothers and me. His infrequent visits were not the blissful reunions of Mortals and their own offspring. He can play with the dozens of other Demi-Gods he’s created over the years and leave us the fuck alone.

I nod once before I step back and away from his hold. Caedmon releases me with a wan smile. “I suggest you turn your focus to closer impending matters,” he says. “The start of the new semester and the addition of new faces, perhaps?”

“You mean the incoming servants?” I frown. “We’re due for a new Terra after the last one’s departure, but I doubt whoever they are will last long. Kalix…” I let my words drift off. Asking about the Council is one thing, but discussing my brothers is another subject entirely. One I do not consider freely. No one can truly control Kalix’s darkness, save for himself, and he refuses to so long as Theos and I are unharmed by his actions.

Caedmon’s eyes glow unnaturally, the earthen color fading slightly and swirling with mist in that otherworldly way as his smile widens. “Yes, I did hear that Kalix and your last Terra did not end on the best of terms.” That was putting the situation mildly. Kalix had used the human as little more than entertainment for when he was bored. That never ended well and it hadn’t this time either.

I shook my head. “The Terra will not return,” I say. “It’s for the best.”

Caedmon sighs. “Yes, well, I would not worry about your next one,” he replies. “I suspect that this semester will see quite an intriguing change.”

The way he phrases his words makes me think he’s seen something in one of his visions. He so rarely shares them unless ordered by Tryphone that the mere fact that he’s hinting at it to one such as me makes me curious.

“What do you mean?” I ask. Is it about the mortals? I have to wonder. Is that why he mentioned the new Terra? What could they do here in a school run by Gods and Mortal Gods?

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. As if he hears my inner thoughts, his response pricks at something deep inside of me. Something surrounded by walls of ice and thorns. My pride. “You’ll see, Ruen,” he muses. “I dare say, you’ll see quite well what kind of mortals will soon enter your life.”

That definitely sounds like a prophecy to me, but I know better than to push him to reveal more. No good ever comes from prodding for insights into the future—doing so, as Caedmon has taught, will inevitably alter it. The moment one learns what will befall them, it’ll disappear like smoke into the wonders of the past, present, and future. It is better to go into the darkness of life without a clue and adapt as you proceed.

“I’ll see you in class, Ruen,” Caedmon says, bowing his head slightly as a nod of respect. “Have a good rest of the break.”

As I watch him go, that prickle of unease blossoms into something more. As much as I respect Caedmon, I cannot help but feel a bit of pity for him. He’s a grand instructor, well versed in all subjects from history to power control. Unlike other Gods, however, he is always found alone. Reading or musing to animals—creatures with lives shorter than even mortals.

It is truly mournful how a God as kind as he is isolated because of his abilities.

Knowing too much is as much of a burden as knowing too little, perhaps even more.

Still, I cannot help but wonder at the meaning behind his words.

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