Page 39 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“Sink somewhere deep,” I hear her say as my mind fades away from reality, back into the darkest recesses of my personal oblivion. Her hand moves over the top of my head, through my hair. “Don’t let them fool you. The Gods are not your friends. Not even if they offer to find your God parent and bring her to you. They are tricksters. Liars. All they want is to destroy you and control you.”

So do you, I think. I bite the words back, reminding myself that if I let her break through to me now, I’ll have wasted all of this time bearing her ‘lessons’ for nothing.

The sharp drag of a blade runs over my skin. Blood flows down my arm. I fade faster, pulling further and further away. The pain doesn’t stop, but my reactions slow down until it’s like I’m not reacting at all. Nothing will stop this. It’s all at her will. No answers. No begging. No pleading can end it all. The Gods will be worse.

Fingers grip my wrist, lifting and not minding the strap holding it down. Red-hot liquid fire burns up my arm as it’s snapped back. I want to scream as the pain jolts me back into the real world. More blood fills my lips, chasing the sound down my throat until it chokes me.

Breathless, I want to sob but find there’s nothing left inside of me—no air or sound in my vocal cords to do so. I just want it to stop. I want it all to stop. I never wanted to be this. Not a Mortal God. Not a cursed existence.

“You’re lucky.” Ophelia’s tone is indifferent as she speaks, her words shooting past all of my barriers like poisoned arrows. “Humans wouldn’t be able to heal as you do. With you, I don’t have to worry about damaging you beyond repair. You’ll still be able to perform your duties as an assassin even after I’m done with you—perhaps even better. You’ll know, personally, what hurts your target. What will incapacitate them, render them defenseless with their pain. Use that knowledge to manipulate your targets the same way the Gods manipulate the rest of the human race, Kiera. Feed on it.”

More than hunger. More than pain. More than relief. I want to know … why any of this is necessary. Why must I be the one to feel it at all? Is there a point? And if so, why was I born without knowing it?

If Gods are so awful, then why did one lay with my father? Why did they give birth to me?

It’s long since past the time I knew how to cry. I stopped when I realized that no one cared, no one would comfort a crying child who had nothing to give. Who had nothing but the curse of her own blood flowing through her veins.

Regis had been right. No one in the Underworld concerns themselves with crying children, and besides, I’m not a child anymore. Children have parents. Children have hopes and dreams. All I have is … this.

I am a weapon now. An assassin. Those who take lives don’t deserve to weep. So, even as Ophelia’s lessons continue, not a single tear falls. Instead, it’s me who falls—deeper and deeper into the dark.

The incessant taptaptap of something pecking at the glass of my window jolts me out of the old memory and half-dream. With a groan, I sit up and wince at the stretch of my flesh at the backs of my legs. At least one thing is going my way today—the poison, even if it’s working its way out of my system, worked long enough to form scabs over the wounds. I quickly wrap them and jerk my pants legs down over the bandages. It’s not so bad now that a few hours have passed.

Taptaptap.

The noise starts up again and I twist my head to spot a dark bird with its beak glistening in the dim light outside flapping its wings on the opposite side of the glass. Quickly leveraging up off the bed, I head to the window and open the pane. With the mesh of crossed wrought iron bars placed over the window, the bird has nowhere to perch but the metal itself. So, with its claw-like feet wrapped around one of the bars, it flaps its wings again and emits a soft caw.

Just above the sharpness of its claws, I spot a tiny scroll no longer than my pinkie attached to the bird’s foot. Weaving my fingers through the bars, I carefully remove the twine holding the scroll to the bird’s leg and unfold it.

Target remains unknown. Deposit fulfilled. Await further orders. — R

Motherfucker. In my anger, I crumple the paper into my fist before I can think better of it. Once I’ve realized what I’ve done, though, I sigh and drop it into the metal plate beneath the candle on my nightstand. It only takes a moment to find the matchsticks and light both the candle and the paper, erasing the evidence of Regis and, therefore, Ophelia’s message.

There is at least one good thing about Regis’ message coming now, though. If the deposit is fulfilled, then that means at least half of the four million denza is waiting for me upon the completion of this mission. Still, though, if the client has already handed over half of the reward, why is there no more information on the target?

As that thought percolates in my mind, I quickly scribble a note back to Regis, requesting a new poison, and attach it to the bird’s leg before tapping the end of its beak twice to let it know that its duty is fulfilled. Punishments like the one I suffered today will likely continue to happen so long as the Darkhavens’ ridiculous bet remains. As much as I hate the idea of weakening myself, I’ll take every precaution necessary to ensure that my identity remains a secret. After all, my life isn’t the only one at stake and even if an assassin often works alone, I can’t betray those who’ve allowed me to live this long.

All I need to do is make it past a few weeks, but until then, making sure I actually maintain the wounds the same way a human would is imperative.

Once the bird is well on its way, I quickly change into the only other pair of pants I have, a dull black pair that’s faded into an off-gray over time. Now that my legs have been bandaged, even with the poison flushing out of my system, it’s easier to move. Since I doubt having shredded calves is excuse enough not to finish my duties, I head up to the chambers of the Darkhaven brothers and set about finishing the tasks I was informed of during orientation.

Entering the Mortal Gods’ rooms without the owners present feels eerily similar to my training exercises as a child—sneaking into shops and other buildings for reconnaissance. I ignore the warning signs and take my chance to snoop. The initial room is circular in size, stone walls darkened further with ornate paintings and swooping drapes and tapestries.

Unlike my closet of a room, the open shared space between the brothers is wide with three arching claw-like windows that begin at wide bases and stretch up towards a narrowed ceiling, getting smaller and smaller until they come to a point. Stained glass blurs the image of the outside world on the two side windows, highlighting the clarity of the center one. I stride towards the windows and the set of spiral stairs that cling to the wall crossing over the upper part of the glass and head for the second floor.

There are two doors on the second floor. The first leads into a bathing chamber, complete with a bronze claw-foot tub facing a round window overlooking the ocean and sky. It’s a luxury I’ve only seen in similar places—rooms and mansions possessed by the Divine. The second leads into a bedroom—Kalix’s, I presume.

Standing in the doorway, I take it in. Various weapons hang from the walls. Several swords—some long, some short—daggers, crossbows, arrows, and axes. The types are endless. I stride farther into the darkened interior, past the plush bed that is much larger than the entirety of the room I was given and topped with fur-lined blankets and pillows.

The room is quiet, too quiet. There’s not even a scurry of mice within the walls. I close my eyes as I reach the center and push out a bit of my power, seeking out the spiders I know linger everywhere. Only, I find none. Reopening my eyes, I glance around and find myself strangely alone. None of my little friends reside within these walls. I’ve never been in a place—house or not—that didn’t have at least a few of them.

The feeling of emptiness leaves me unsettled, so I quickly go about my tasks—making the bed, sweeping the floors, and collecting the tossed clothes to be laundered later before departing. Though it was curiosity and wariness that led me to his room first, I find myself suffering with a strange prickling sensation at the nape of my neck as I work. As if I’m being watched.

That prickling grows fiercer and fiercer the longer I linger. As I leave, I know that if Kalix Darkhaven’s name comes back to me as my target, I’ll have no choice but to return, but for now, I’d like to escape his inner sanctuary as quickly as possible. I don’t care for the sensation of being watched. Not in the past and not now.

As I make my way down the stairs, the door to the shared space opens. I pause on the last step, turning my head as Ruen steps inside. I expect him to be followed by Theos and Kalix, but he only kicks the door shut and quickly removes his uniform jacket before tossing it across the space onto the back of one of the lounges. Though I’m sure he’s well aware of my presence, he ignores me and strides across the room towards the same darkened corner he’d been in when I’d first caught a glimpse of him.

I debate my options. Do I ignore him and continue with my Terra duties? I’ll have to put my investigation of both his and Theos’ rooms on hold while he’s present. That won’t be a problem, though, since I expect to be here for quite some time.

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