Page 24 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

Red stains across his cheeks and he quickly looks away. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I-I’d said that aloud.”

A frown steals across my face. “What do you mean, you didn’t realize you’d said that aloud?”

He dips his head further, practically shoving his chin into his chest. “I-I’m not quite—I mean, there’s nothing—I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that your hair is quite … unique.”

Reaching up, I finger the silver strands. It’s only slightly lighter than blonde. Should I have dyed it, I wonder, but no, that would’ve required constant upkeep and if I’m going to be here for the next few months, the fewer lies I tell—visual or physical ones—the easier it’ll be to blend in.

“I-I’m sorry, I sometimes don’t realize I’ve said something until it’s already out,” the boy explains, seeming nervous as his eyes keep bouncing up to my face and back down to the ground.

“It’s fine,” I say, unbothered. “You’re right. Silver hair—it’s not common.” An oversight on my part, for sure. Too late now, though, I suppose.

“It’s pretty, though,” he says almost hurriedly as if he’s afraid he’s offended me despite my words. Then again, anyone else would’ve been.

“Thank you.”

The boy shoves his hand out, fingers straight. “I’m Niall.”

“Kiera.” I take his hand.

“Are you a returner?” he asks. “I haven’t been here before.”

“No,” I answer. “I’m new as well—new to here anyways. I used to work as a servant in a Lower God’s house, but never anywhere as infamous as one of the Academies.” The lie slips out easily.

The relief on his face is amusing. The tension in his shoulders melts away and he reaches up, releasing my hand as he adjusts the worn cravat tied at his throat. There’s a shadow of hair under his jaw and along his upper lip, but it’s not dark enough to actually be considered facial hair—just the mere hint of something to come. My lips twitch. How cute and also how sad. He’s too young, in my opinion, to be somewhere as dangerous as here.

“When I received the letter of my acceptance, my family was overjoyed,” he continues, sputtering as the words spill out of his mouth. “We never thought I’d be chosen. I mean, so many people apply but only a certain number are accepted each year.”

“Oh?” I arch a brow. “Why is that?”

He blinks. “W-why is what?”

“Why do you think so many people apply?” I ask.

“Well, of course it’s because we’ll be able to make our families proud and raise our status by serving such Divine Masters.”

Masters. The very word makes a dark, gloomy feeling arise within me. Poor Niall can’t understand what that word actually means to someone like me, but I force a smile on my face.

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful addition.”

His responding grin is bright and full of straight white teeth. Yes, it’s clear he’s worked for a God before. Only humans who’ve had to be around Gods for so many years would be so well-kept. No doubt, they accepted him because he’s pretty. Gods do seem to adore pretty things. In fact, a quick glance around tells me that most of the waiting servants are humans of great beauty. Perhaps keeping my silver hair natural will be beneficial.

A loud clap rings out over the crowd and the soft lull of conversation ceases almost immediately as the attention of those gathered within the courtyard turns to the stone steps where a man and a woman stand. The woman is obviously human. She’s beautiful, but her age is somewhere between her early to late forties, and Divine Beings rarely look as though they’ve aged past thirty.

She stands ready, at attention, with her dimpled hands clasped before her long skirts as the man at her side steps up and calls out over the crowd. “Welcome to the Mortal Gods Academy of Riviere! We’re proud to welcome the new crop of Terra to our most Divine of institutes.”

I glance around. Crop is right—it feels as though each and every person here has been harvested simply for the matter of being stepping stools for the Mortal Gods beyond those doors.

“The lot of you have been specially chosen to serve the next generation of Gods,” the man continues, carefully smoothing the thin brown locks of hair back over the tops of his ears, the strands barely long enough to cover them. His bony face is gaunt in the cheeks, which is only made severe by the bright plastered smile he presents. His lips are stretched impossibly wide as he smiles down on us.

“As many of you are aware, the Gods came down from their Divine realm hundreds of years ago to live among us”—he spreads his arms wide—“their children and servants. It is the duty and pleasure of each and every mortal here to love and respect their Gods. For the next four months, each of you will be assigned to a room that may house anywhere from one to three Mortal Gods—or as we like to refer to them here, our very own Mortal Gods.”

My neck cranes back as I listen to the man’s spiel. His voice is amiable in tone, but his words sound regurgitated. Worshipful. It grates along my nerves. Still, I remain stationary, watching him with focus and keeping the sole of my attention trained ahead so as not to appear disinterested.

“For those of you who are new here, we simply have three rules,” the man states as he holds up three fingers. “We welcome all of you and will provide you with your uniforms, meals, and boarding, but anyone who disrespects the future of our great races—Divine and Mortal alike—will suffer the consequences.” He pauses, his smile slipping a bit as his expression turns more serious. Then, after a beat, he lowers his hand and looks to the woman at his side. “Ms. Dauphine?”

The woman nods to him and steps forward as he moves back. “As my partner, Mr. Hael, stated—there are only three rules which you are to treat as your life’s motto in this institution. Number one,” she holds up a singular finger, “Gods are the most blessed of creatures and their word is law. You shall treat their children as a higher authority unless otherwise disrupted by a Divine Being. No human may contradict a God’s command.”

It’s a fight to keep my expression placid, especially when—out of the corner of my eye—I notice Niall’s enthralled face as he clasps his hands together and leans forward. The reverence in his expression is mirrored by those of the faces around me and, somehow, I manage to keep it from making me physically sick.

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