Page 58 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“Either sit or kneel,” he snaps.

“I’d rather kneel,” I say. At least, that way, it won’t be nearly as attention-drawing as being on the same level as the other Mortal Gods.

He points at his side and I go to one knee alongside the stone benches. Carefully, Theos leans forward and drops his voice. “If you know what’s good for you, Terra,” he says, “you won’t ask about our God parent again.”

My lips part, another response and question on my tongue. Before it breaks free, several Mortal Gods jerk to their feet, shouting in glee, and I, too, find myself standing abruptly, my eyes fixed back on the arena.

Kalix stands there, coated in a spray of blood that extends from his throat down his tunic. He holds the head of Deva by the hair as blood drips in long strings to the ground beneath him. The remains of his opponent’s body are sprawled across the ground, the severed part of her spine clearly visible through the gore as it sticks out of her cleanly sliced neck.

I sigh. The sound of Terra vomiting reaches my ears. I don’t look over at Niall, but I hope he’s turned his eyes away from the sight below.

“This,” Theos says, calling me to turn my head towards him again, “is what you can expect from the Academy.” The eyes he settles on his brother are both deadened and tormented. “He is violent entertainment and the Gods love him for it.”

“They love him because he’ll kill at their behest?”

“They love him because they think he’ll kill at their behest,” Theos clarifies. “And he feeds on it.”

A hum settles in my throat as I face forward once more to watch as Kalix carries the head of Deva to the tent of the Gods. He holds it up for them, prompting many to smile and cheer. Several others, no doubt anti-betters, grumble. Kalix tosses the head upward and then catches it, like a cat playing with a toy.

“The winner is Kalix Darkhaven,” Dolos announces. “Next fighters, take your places. Corillo Irritas and Darius Moxbane.”

Darius. The newly announced name has me glancing at Theos' expression as it hardens into one that could’ve been carved from stone. He touches his jawline, the lightest tremor shaking his fingers as he leans back and crosses his legs. Even as Kalix leaves the arena—walking out of the tunnel beneath the Gods instead of returning the same way he dropped below—the savagery of the crowd doesn’t diminish.

As the body of Deva is dragged out to make way for the next fight, the arena rumbles with noise in such a way that makes it feel as if the stone beneath us is shaking. Even if I don’t particularly care for these Darkhavens, I know that I would not be any different than Theos were I in his position and Regis in Darius’.

It would have been easier for us both if we weren’t so intrinsically aware that death is easy to come by when you’re surrounded by the fervor of Divine violence.

Chapter 26

Theos

The cries and cheers of the crowd fade from my hearing as the sole of my attention fixates on the man who steps out of the tunnel. Darius stands tall, a sleeveless leather tunic strapped to his chest and back. The muscles in his arms bulge with each stride and he lifts his head, turning it from side to side, eyes focused on the stands. He’s searching for me.

I grit my teeth and force myself to remain still. I don’t lift my eyes to the Gods across from me and I don’t call Darius’ attention to me. At my side, I can sense the Terra’s curiosity. Fuck, I wish that Kalix hadn’t been called down there. The ground is bathed in Deva’s blood and even if it’ll quickly dry under the heat of the sun, the stench is no doubt prickling at Darius’ senses.

I clasp my hands in front of myself and drop them down between my spread knees. Maladesia was the perfect presider, but she was a red herring. I should have known. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, I raise my head and peer across the arena to the tents shading the Gods watching this unholy performance.

It’s an unholy display of power—one they revel in. I can pick out several of them who are grinning as Darius lifts his arms and several of our classmates—his friends—cheer. The stupid lot of them are so spellbound by their own blood that they think of this farce as an honor. My spine straightens and I sit up taller as a shadow reappears behind the Terra. Ruen stands on the platform with a dark look on his face—Kiera’s earlier curiosity forgotten.

I’m half surprised he’s returned so quickly, but thankful regardless as he takes a seat back at my side. “He’ll be fine.” Ruen’s words are ones that I want to hear, but they don’t ring with the same confidence I’m used to from him.

“I should’ve let you train him more,” I mutter, cursing my own arrogance.

“He’s strong,” Ruen replies. It’s not a confirmation, but it may as well be one.

We both know that between us, Ruen is the better teacher. The only reason I even insisted was because of who Darius is. I close my eyes again. If he dies…

The rising tide of my emotions gives way to power. It crackles along my spine and flows in my blood. Something shifts beneath the surface of my skin, like lightning coming alive and given a physical body. A hard, too warm hand settles on my shoulder. It should hurt. With just that singular touch, Ruen should feel the effects of my Divinity coursing through him and shattering apart his defenses.

But Ruen doesn’t react to it. His knowledge of pain allows him to suck it all up and swallow it into himself, negating the reaction that should occur. “Don’t let them see.” His whisper is practically nonexistent. It’s spoken so low that the next wave of the crowd’s screams as the second opponent makes their way into the arena nearly makes it impossible to hear.

I don’t have to ask who he’s referring to. We’re always aware of our Masters. Always watching. Always waiting. The muscles over my back ache and stretch from past reminders of our disobedience. Before me, Darius lifts his sword from the sheath on his back, his naturally slitted and narrow eyes growing ever more hooded as he circles Corillo Irritas—the one he’ll have to kill if he wants to make it out alive.

Corillo has already killed. He’s been in this arena at least once before. Were this training, I’d say he’d be a good match for Darius. But this is not training. For the two of them, this is life and death and Corillo already knows what’s at stake in the most visceral way.

The scene before me fades, growing farther and farther away as I’m cast backward in time, to the very moment I realized that we—my brothers and I—found the inevitability of our existence.

“What is it?”

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