Page 48 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

So, with little other recourse, I put one foot in front of the other and follow after the Divine Being that just saved me from the wrath of another. I don’t know if he can hear the rapid beating of my heart as we walk, but I practice every trick I know. Quietly inhaling and exhaling in slow even breaths. Counting the steps I take. Gradually, it works. My racing heart calms and I gain back the control over my own body—or most of it.

As we enter one of the stone buildings, the slight warmth from the sun drops dramatically. Water drips from the ends of my hair and my clothes. I repress the shivers, keeping my gaze trained before me like a criminal being led to the gallows. Eyes always forward in case Caedmon glances back even as I focus on my peripheral vision to pick up any signs of interlopers.

There’s no way he can know … is there? Despite my slowed heart rate, my thoughts clamber over each other. Anxiety. Fear. Rage. If Caedmon suspects me, he certainly isn’t acting like it. In fact, during the entire journey from the courtyard to a solid oak door that he unlocks using a slender iron key from his pocket, never once does he turn his face back towards me. It's a natural inclination for any living being to be wary of an enemy at your back—but Gods are different. Perhaps, even if he does suspect me, he doesn’t fear me as an enemy.

As we step into the unlocked chamber, my eyes immediately go to the massive desk piled high with papers and volumes of texts that look far older than myself. There are plants everywhere. Framing the door to my back are large palms that look as though they have more business in the middle of a desert than near frigid waters. Stacks of various flora in potted form are set next to books, tables, oversized chairs, and everywhere in between save for the center of the room that leads straight from the door to that desk.

To the back of the room is a rather large stained glass window with lines etched through the colors to depict a woman. Her long hair is a shock of white, whereas her body is coated in royal purples and indigos. Webs of cracks that seem purposefully placed descend from her fingertips to the ground and her eyes are straight black.

The image is as disturbing as it’s beautiful. Caedmon strides into the room with familiarity and veers to the left to a glass cabinet with several decanters and crystal cups next to a rather large, spiked fern. Uncapping one of the decanters with dark liquid inside, he pours himself a hefty amount and sniffs it with a pleased sigh. Instead of drinking it straight, however, he shuffles to the side and pours it into a tea kettle I hadn’t noticed.

Once he’s done, he grabs ahold of the kettle by its weighted handle and carries it across the room to a large gray-brick fireplace. He sets it on a hook before lighting the fire himself. All the while, I stand there, feeling very much out of place, watching.

It isn’t until Caedmon goes to his desk and takes a seat that he gestures for me to approach. Though I’m curious, I don’t ask why he didn’t order me—as a servant of the Academy—to attend to the little spectacle of his tea-making. I take my stance before his desk like a soldier preparing for battle with my hands clasped together behind my back and my gaze forward.

Caedmon’s expression turns rueful. “Thank you for following me back to my office, Miss…” he begins, pausing with a raised brow.

Pressing my lips together momentarily, I frown before answering. “Kiera,” I say. “Kiera Nezerac.”

He nods but does not comment on my pseudo-surname. “Yes, thank you, Miss Kiera. I do hope you don’t take Rahela’s animosity to heart. Many students at the Academy have not been allowed outside of its walls and therefore, are often stinted in their social awareness.”

Thank yous? From a God? Hopes? What the fuck is this?

“I wouldn’t dare presume anything, Your Divinity,” I reply tersely. “I am sure she was simply attempting to teach one such as myself a valuable lesson.”

Caedmon snorts before covering his mouth and nose, eyes widened as if he, too, is surprised by the sound. Before he can say anything more, though, the whistling of his tea kettle sounds into the room and he quickly stands up. Once again, instead of ordering me to attend to it, I’m left to watch as he, himself, finds a small rag to pull the kettle off the fire and walks back over to his glass cabinet.

I watch as he pours the now steaming tea into his crystal glass before setting the still hot kettle on an overturned empty pot next to the glass cabinet. Once done, Caedmon faces me and gestures for me to move towards the two wingback chairs surrounded by more plants next to the fireplace.

“Take a seat,” he orders.

I’d really rather remain on my feet, especially when I have no clue what he wants nor what he expects, but there’s no possibility of being able to refuse a God. So, I simply follow his command and ease myself gingerly into the smaller of the two chairs. My unease quickly turns to shock as he strides over to me and hands me the warm glass of tea.

I take it with two hands, staring into the strange mixture, blinking when I notice a small petal lift itself up from the bottom, floating to the surface of the rather muddy-looking liquid. “Um … sir?” I raise my gaze from the glass in my hand to Caedmon as he takes a seat in the other chair across from me.

He waves one long-fingered hand to the drink. “Don’t worry,” he says with a light chuckle. “It’s not poisoned.”

I stiffen.

Caedmon leans back against the cushions of his seat and sighs. “I’m sure your throat is feeling rather sore from holding your breath for so long within Rahela’s water prison. This tea is supposed to help that,” he says. His brown eyes flash as if daring me to counter his concern. No mortal would. The fact that my throat hasn’t been ravaged by being underwater for so long is a testament to my bloodline.

Carefully, I lift the glass to my lips. A tart, fruity taste floods my tongue a split second before a flora scent invades my nostrils. The tea is still scalding, but the sweetness of it coats the walls of my throat like honey as it goes down. Several moments of silence pass between us as I sip the tea given to me by the God, and he, in turn, watches me. Once the cup is completely empty, I lick the remainder of the sweetened taste from my lips before setting it down on the table before me.

“Your Divinity,” I begin, “I hope you don’t take offense to this question…”

“Feel free to speak your mind with me, Kiera,” he says as my words dry up with my hesitation.

With what I know is a puckered brow, I lift my gaze to his. “Why are you treating me so kindly?” I ask.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Caedmon says. “In what way have I treated you with kindness?”

He doesn’t know? Seriously? I gesture to the glass sitting between us. “A God such as yourself should have servants,” I say by way of answer. “You could have had me do that myself.”

“Ah.” Caedmon nods as if he understands before stroking a hand down his smooth, unblemished face. The light shadow of hair above his upper lip does nothing to detract from his beauty or his deceptive appearance of youth. “I like doing things for myself.”

I blink. “You do?”

His lips turn up at the edges. “Is that so hard to believe?” he asks.

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