Page 70 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

“Tea?” I stare at the side of his face harder, but he doesn’t look at me. Not yet.

He nods. “Yes, Madam Brione just received some good rosebay flower leaves.”

Everything in me goes quiet. “Rosebay?” I repeat the word, sure I must have misheard him, but his expression when he turns from the window towards me changes in an instant.

When he speaks again, his tone is the same and it does not match the darkness glittering in his eyes. “Yes, rosebay,” he repeats. “I know I told you I didn’t quite like rosebay, but it’s here and it’s worth a try.”

Already, I can feel my throat closing as agitation takes over, but I keep my face placid. In my mind’s eye, I recall one of the many books we’d been forced to read during training—something we’d pored over though never understood why until it had become necessary. The language of flowers—a secretive, but seemingly innocent way of communication when it was clear we were either being watched by those who couldn’t know the truth or followed.

My gaze darts to the open window and then back to him. That window being open isn’t a mistake. Someone must be near—someone that has Regis on edge. Is it Carcel? Regis is being cagey and not straightforward. He hadn’t come down when I’d entered. We both knew that Carcel was due to arrive, and yet … he still isn’t here. My mind races as I try to come up with answers.

Whoever might be listening, it’s not Carcel. Carcel would know that all assassins in the Underworld are trained to speak in this code. So, why would Regis mention rosebay? In the language of flowers, all I recall of its meaning is ‘danger, beware’ or ‘we are not free.’ I have to choose my response carefully and gather more information from him.

Forcing a smile, I reach forward to take Regis’ hand and lift it. “Perhaps if you’d like, I could make some Rhubarb pie to go with your tea?”

Meaning, do you require my aid or advice?

Regis shakes his head slightly. “Oh, I’m not that hungry, darling love.” The kettle over the fire begins to whistle and he pulls his hand free of mine. “Madam Brione brought in some broken straw and it’s begun to mold—it’s made my nose turn and it’s hard to eat anything anymore.”

It takes considerable effort not to let my face show my reaction to his words.

Broken straw—a broken contract. Whose? Mine? Does Ophelia already know that I’ve been found out? No, she can’t know. That’s the whole reason I’m here—to inform him of my fuck up. Unless … Ophelia can’t have a spy in the Academy, can she?

Was I right and this has all been nothing more than another of her ridiculous tests?

My heart begins to race within my chest as Regis busies himself by setting up a tray with bumbling fingers and too-hurried movements. I’ve rarely seen this side of him. He’s an exceptional assassin who leaves little to no evidence of his kills; in every other aspect of his personality and life, he is the same. Clean and methodical.

Right now, he’s anything but.

Once he’s done, though, Regis practically races from the kitchen and up the steps and I follow just as quickly. He doesn’t speak again until the two of us are alone in his room. The curtain is drawn shut and no doubt the window has been latched. We are, for all intents and purposes, safe from anyone looking to peer into the building. If that person is human, of course. If they’re a God, then … we might as well give up this pretense, but if they were a God, then … Regis and I likely wouldn’t even be here.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Regis sets down the tray he’d brought up onto the desk pressed against the wall. Then, he steps over to his bag and withdraws a long slender piece of stone. I can’t withhold my flinch when I see it. The stone is a deep smokey gray color, but I know it well enough that if I stepped closer and settled my eyes upon its surface, I’d find little glittering particles in it. Like stardust on an earthen rock.

Brimstone.

Regis moves to the window sill and lays it flat on the edge. A second later, the stone begins to vibrate, shaking against the wood it’s laid upon. The sound is quiet but noticeable. Spelled brimstone. I swallow my surprise even as the noise stabs through my eardrums. I flinch and breathe slowly through my teeth. After a few moments, the sound eases—not necessarily getting quieter so much as I’m getting used to it. I’ve experienced it enough before that it’s not hard, but still unpleasant.

There are few items in the world spelled and sold to humans, but spelled brimstone is the rarest of them all. I’d seen it before because Ophelia is nothing if not willing to spend any amount of coin for things she finds useful. She must have lent it to him.

Once the curtains fall back over the spelled brimstone, the noise is light but there enough that if anyone is listening outside, they’ll find it hard to hear. Divinity or not, that spelled brimstone will be like a beacon of white noise that will make eavesdropping on our conversation incredibly difficult. We’re in as much privacy as we can manage.

“What’s happened?” I demand the second I’m sure we’re alright to speak freely.

Regis sighs, the sound long and drawn out. “I received a mission request last week,” he says before turning and sitting on the bed to his side. The mattress sags under his weight, springs squeaking. He doesn’t seem to notice. “At first, I thought it normal—but then I … found that it was not.”

I frown and march forward. Now that the pretenses have been dropped, Regis appears much more haggard than before. The fake smile hid just how worn his face actually is. His skin is pale and almost sallow, as if he’s been sick. The shadows I’d spotted before are darker, deeper, and more prevalent without the feigned cheerfulness.

“What made it different?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

Regis doesn’t move his head from where it hangs, chin tucked into his chest. He looks up at me through his lashes and brows, his lips thin and bloodless. His sandy blond hair is scooped back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck, but the roots dark and unkempt.

“It was a routine job,” he says, almost as if he wants to convince me of that before he continues. I nod and gesture for him to go on. “I was to terminate a servant of a God that lives a day’s ride from here.” He lifts a hand to his head, not noticing how it disrupts the tie at the base of his skull as he scrubs at the top of his hair. “Nothing about the mission was unusual. I found the servant. He seemed fine, a pompous asshole. At first I thought he was a human—he looked fucking human, Kiera.”

Dread coils in the pit in my stomach. No. I take a step closer to him as Regis lifts his dull blue eyes to mine. “He wasn’t human?”

Regis’ face crumples and he ducks his head once more, shaking it. “When I was keeping track of him during his duties for the God he was serving, I had my suspicions, but I’d never get a job to kill anyone with Divinity—I can’t kill the Divine! I’m fucking human!” Both hands spear through his hair, shaking the knot free.

If Regis had thought the man human, then he must have been a Mortal God. Perhaps one whose bloodline was long removed. Not half-blood like me, but someone with a grandparent who had been a God. Still, the Divinity would have made it impossible for Regis to complete his task. No one with Divine Blood can be killed by those of Mortal origins.

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