Page 29 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

Morning comes with a dusky awakening sky and silence. If there are birds on the Academy grounds, they’re either asleep or dead. It’s unusual to wake to the sound of nothing and it does not put me at ease for my first day masquerading as a servant within the Mortal Gods Academy.

The spiders within the walls and floorboards bring with them information. Lying in the piece-of-shit bed that I crashed into the night before, I let them crawl out from between the stones in the walls and make their way over me. The second their hairy little legs touch my skin, I’m catapulted into their tiny minds and the last views that they’ve collected to bring to me.

Three Mortal Gods appear in my mind’s eye. All of them tall and stacked with muscle. Are these the Darkhaven brothers I’m to be in charge of? The images change, swapping as I’m presented with a scene from an outside courtyard. My lips part in shock as I watch one of them with a male Terra. The Mortal God seems vaguely familiar, though I can’t quite place him. His hair is slightly longer than average, hanging in dark waves around his shadowed face. I watch as he thrusts the long length of his cock into the mouth of the young man on his knees.

The memory is obviously one from the day before if the daylight is anything to go by. I watch in commingled fascination and disgust as the Mortal God jerks his head back, his body trembling in the throes of his release as he buries the smaller man’s face in his crotch—and his cock down the male’s throat.

This is what is to be expected, I realize. When the senior Terra say that we’re meant to serve the Mortal Gods—it’s more than just to carry their books to classes. My brow pinches and I shake off the particular spider that brought me that information before I realize what I’m doing. After a beat, I reach out and ensure that the spider is alright, but it’s already crawling away from me, returning to one of the holes in the wall.

My guilt fades as I sigh and take in the next scene. The other two are just as tall as the first—though as different as night and day in looks. Whereas one of them appears to have a golden halo of hair around his head with equally golden eyes, the other is as dark as his brother is light. There’s no telling which of them is which—Ruen, Theos, or Kalix. What I can say, however, is that I should be particularly cautious around the one with longer hair. He seems to have no qualms about using Terra as his whores.

It’s not like I haven’t fucked for a job before. It’s just sex. The first time had been the worst, which Ophelia told me was normal for a woman, but every time thereafter … well, I learned fast to separate emotions from the act and it’s easier when you’ve done it without any actual connection.

Sitting up, I shake off those ugly memories and lift my hand to set the spider that brought me the second scene onto the windowsill. I look outside as I get out of bed and the sky brightens further as I find my uniform among the packages I was given before being released to my room yesterday. Inside is a single flat white tunic and black jacket with a matching skirt. It appears much the same as the uniforms the other Terra that had led the orientation had worn. Almost as if the clothes are meant to help us blend into the background, to be seen and not heard by the Divine Beings around us. They didn’t even bother to add extra, as if they expect all Terra to wear the same exact outfit day after day.

I lift the skirt with a scowl. Worse, if all I have is a skirt then there’s no way I’m going to fit in as I want. A small part of me says I should just suck it up, but another, far louder and far more cautious part of me says that to wear a skirt or dress would be a death sentence. How would I move? How would I run if need be?

I should’ve requested a male’s uniform. I contemplate putting it on and just leaving it for the day, but the rising tide of apprehension makes me decide against it. My pants from the day before are black enough to match the top portion of the uniform. It’ll be fine until I can get a change.

I dress quickly, fitting the tunic under my jacket and tucking it into the waistband of my trousers, tightening the bindings of the belt so that it doesn’t slip out even as I lift my arms, allowing room for movement. I snatch up my boots and tug them on, doing them up quickly before making my way out into the corridor. The papers I’d been given the day before had detailed exactly what was expected of me. Terra, especially those that are marked to serve the Mortal Gods or Gods themselves at the Academy, are expected to act independently, reporting for duty to their charges immediately upon rising and waiting for further instructions. So, I do just that, climbing the wide stone stairs at the end of the hall to the top floor of the northern dormitory tower.

There’s only one door at this level. Another thing I’d memorized from the map. This is the only tower that only has one set of rooms on the top floor. Suspicious, but it could be because these three Mortal Gods are brothers and they share their chambers. I move forward and reach out, ready to knock, when it opens suddenly and I come to an abrupt halt, fist raised. The blond from the spider’s memories stands there, without a shirt, grinning as he looks me over. I take a step back, my hand lowering back to my side, and bow my head.

“Good morning, Master.” The words flow easily from my lips, and though I nearly stumble over the ‘master’ bit, I manage to keep going, ignoring the near blunder. “I am Kiera Nezerac, your new Terra. I am reporting for duty.” The damned book Madam Brione had given me and Regis had forced upon me had made sure I knew this protocol. Head down. Body lax. Calm and polite tone. I hope I exemplify the perfect Terra posture and respect.

"Hmmmm.” The hum that escapes him is low and vibrating. I don’t lift my head to meet his sunshine-colored gaze and instead, wait for his response. “They sent a female,” he says, the sound of his tone lilting with amusement. “I can’t tell if the senior Terra are as sadistic as the Gods or simply stupid.”

Finally, I lift my head, and my brow puckers. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I say. “It’s an honor to be accepted into this most prestigious institution.” A fine display of fake admiration, if I do say so myself.

The blond Mortal God’s grin turns into a scowl and he shakes his head. He turns away, stepping back into the chambers beyond, leaving the door open. Under his breath, I hear the muttered phrase, “Another insipid worshiper,” before in a louder voice he calls back to me, “I suppose it doesn’t matter.” He lifts two fingers and makes a come-hither gesture. “Enter.”

My fingers itch to tighten into fists, but I resist the urge. I step forward cautiously, one foot in front of the other as I stare at the wide expanse of his back. Golden muscles contract as he lifts his arms over his head and stretches onto his toes. My gaze spans down over the silken smooth skin that leads straight to his ass encased in dark trousers. “You must be new to the Academy and not just us as your Masters,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as I follow him into the room. His scowl disappears as I let the door close at my back. His gaze moves to it and he smirks. “Definitely new,” he surmises, repeating his assessment. “Or else you wouldn’t have closed off your only escape route.”

I’m not supposed to, I know it, but for a brief moment, I let my gaze meet his at that comment. It’s almost a warning from him, but the fact is that the door is not my only escape route. There are three large windows at his back and in front of them a spiral staircase, though I suppose he knows a human wouldn’t survive a fall from the top of this tower.

I’m not human, though. Not completely.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re—” A door slams open above our heads, cutting off my response, and my whole body goes stiff as the man from the other memory—the one with dark hair hanging into his face—comes barreling down the staircase. He sets his hands on the railing and casually leaps over once he’s reached halfway down. Booted feet slam into the floor and he straightens.

My eyes alight on him and the dark brown leather trousers like the kind I had worn many times during training cover his lower half. My gaze crawls up from there over the broad chest just as ripped as the first male’s. A defined abdomen with a V at his hips that points down directly too— I glance to the wash of dark fabric in his hand. He holds the black tunic loosely, his muscled forearm tightening as he lifts it and tosses it over one shoulder. I trail the tan skin revealed by his lack of donned shirt up further to the face of the man himself, made of stone and the essence of masculine beauty.

The golden-haired man turns and gestures to me. “She’s here, Kalix,” he announces. “Remember what we said—don’t break this one. I’m not cleaning my own room.”

Cold invades my chest as this ‘Kalix’ turns his gaze on me. His eyes are pure green, full of nature and moss, but deeper than the color, I see something more disturbing. I’ve seen eyes like his before. They are the eyes of men locked behind cell doors—wild and untamed. Minds full of disturbing desires and the lack of impulse control to curb those desires. What had the first one said? Don’t break this one? Don’t break me?

Inside, I curse. Yes, of course, luck would not be as graceful as to allow me easy charges. No. I must somehow cater to these spoiled Mortal Gods, at least one of them with a mind of madness. Without knowing, too, when my client will unveil my intended target, there’s no telling how long I’ll be subjected to their presence.

I bow once more, gritting my teeth through my second greeting. “Hello, I am Kiera Nezerac. Your Terra, reporting for duty.”

Footsteps echo across the room and stop right in front of me. A hand finds my chin and tilts my face up. Emerald eyes rove over my face and then down further, stopping when he gets to my attire. “You’re out of uniform?” Kalix doesn’t appear angry. Instead, his brow creases with confusion.

“I was given the wrong one,” I lie.

“But…” His hand leaves my face and touches the jacket I’m wearing. “You’re wearing the top part.” His chest is so damn close, but I ignore it. Or at least, I try to.

“I wasn’t given pants,” I state.

He snorts. “No, of course not. You’re a woman. You should be wearing the skirt of the uniform for servants,” he says. “How else is a man to flip them over your back and take you when he has his needs?”

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