Page 9 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

Shit. Not good. I reach up and bite down on my thumbnail, considering my options. There’s no telling how long it’ll take Regis to finish what he’s planning and I don’t know how much longer this man can go without passing out. Neither Regis nor I could carry him and still make sure our hands are free to fight if we were to get caught. Trying would put us in too much danger. If he’s to get out, he needs to walk out on his own two feet.

“Can you do anything?” the woman asks, her voice desperate. She looks at me with hope and watery eyes.

Damn it. I really wish she hadn’t asked. Hope is a cruel thing for anyone in her position. I curse and turn away from both of them. I bite into my thumb hard, and my free hand goes to my pocket to withdraw a small vial of clean water. I hold my thumb over the opening and let a few droplets of my blood slip inside before the wound can close on its own. Where humans take a long time to heal, Mortal Gods don’t.

As the blood drips into the small vial, the area on the back of my neck grows warm. I’ve never done this before despite my findings about the benefits of Divine Blood. The few books on Divine Blood and its abilities that I’d found and read in the Underworld and across Anatol’s continent were murky on whether this would actually work. It’d been theorized and I’m sure it’d been tested before, but for some reason, no author ever wanted to say outright if a God’s blood or a Mortal God’s blood would truly heal a full-blooded mortal. I’m sure it will. I hope it will.

There’s nothing in that tenuous blood bond at the back of my neck that suggests Ophelia would know what I’m doing save for that warmth. The brimstone always seems to react to any time I use my Divinity. As if it’s heating up to prepare to repress my powers. Thankfully, as long as I don’t take it too far or overuse my abilities, it doesn’t keep me completely powerless and it doesn’t stop me from killing whoever I need to.

By the time I turn back around, my thumb is free of the small tear I made with my teeth. I recap the vile and shake it before shoving it into the man’s hand. “Drink this,” I snap. “Quickly.”

He takes the vial and eyes it with confusion. I can understand. It’s no bigger than my pinkie. Even medicine vials are larger. “What is it?” Irina asks.

“Something that’ll help your husband,” I say. “The effects will allow you to breathe better and you’ll be healed temporarily, but you’ll still need to seek a doctor after we get out of here.”

The man’s eyes soften and he uncaps the vial. “I have a feeling finding a doctor will be the least of our worries after we escape this place,” he says, “but you have my thanks, stranger. For everything.”

With that, he tips his head back and swallows the vial's contents. For a moment, the feeling of guilt hits me. This man is far too trusting. Then again, why would someone rescue them and then try to kill them? Maybe I’m thinking too far into it and overcomplicating things. It wouldn’t be the first time.

When the man is done, he hands me the now empty vial. I shove it back into my pocket and together, the three of us wait. Several seconds pass and I watch the man’s progress with intent eyes. The consumption of God blood—or Mortal God blood—isn’t well spread, but I’d learned that consuming Divine Blood can heal mortals to an extent. I have to hope that I have enough Divinity in my blood to help him and that the brimstone mark under my skin won’t affect its potency.

After a few more tense moments, his breathing does seem to ease and color returns to his cheeks.

“Honey?” Irina touches her husband’s bare chest, around the straps still anchoring their dead son to him.

“I’m fine,” he assures her, somewhat wide-eyed and surprised as he sucks in a full breath. When he turns his gaze my way, I look down and move closer to the wall.

“Good,” I grunt. “Then get ready to move—my friend should be back soon.”

Silence and then, softly, the man responds, “Thank you.”

I ignore the whisper and wait. When Regis returns, his eyes scan the three of us, stopping on the man. He narrows his gaze and then cuts a glare my way. I don’t answer his unspoken accusation. Gordon already looks far better now that he’s had a few droplets of my blood. The evidence of what I’ve done can be seen on the color that has returned to his cheeks even if only slightly.

“Is it ready?” I demand.

He continues to glare at me but answers regardless. “Yes. Follow my footsteps,” he says. “Do not deviate from my path.” His attention moves to the couple. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Gordon replies.

Regis moves past me. “Then let’s go.”

Together, we track Regis, moving as he moves. Step by step as we head for the gate. Once there, he moves to the side of the long metal spokes welded together and then wiggles a few stones out of place. Taking a small tool in his hand he slams the blunt end up against the bolts on the top and bottom, knocking them out of place just enough for him to be able to swing the loosened side of the gate out a few feet.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll go first. Kay?” Just as he hadn’t earlier, Regis doesn’t use my full name as he turns back to me and arches a brow. We know better than to do so in the midst of a job.

I nod. “Go, I’ll follow after they’re through.”

That’s all it takes. Regis slips through the opening he’s created and the man pushes the woman forward. She clutches at him, but at the last second, she finally releases her husband’s hand and slides her body between the rock and metal and onto the other side. Her plump body presses tight to both sides and she wiggles a bit, forcing her way out. The creaking of metal scratches at my ears and I look back anxiously, but we remain undiscovered.

I stop the man just before he moves forward. “You can’t go through like that,” I say, gesturing to the child on his back.

He reaches up and tightens his hold on the straps keeping the child in place. “I can’t leave him.”

“I know,” I say. “But you’ll have to remove him and go through on your own. I’ll pass him through.”

“You won’t leave him?” the man demands.

I press my lips together. I want to tell him that his dead son can’t feel it if they leave him now. That nothing would change if they left his body behind, but I don’t. If anything, I respect them for their decision not to leave the child’s corpse behind, but this is an instance where he needs to trust my judgment.

---