Page 89 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

All heads swivel as a soft, shaking voice filters through the other side. “Um, p-pardon my intrusion?”

Maeryn is out of her seat and across the room in an instant, throwing the door open and pulling Niall inside. She looks him over, hands moving to his face and down his arms. “Niall? Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”

He holds up a piece of parchment and turns shadowed eyes on the rest of us. “I-I got this note,” he says by way of explanation instead of answering his Mistress’ questions.

Maeryn waves her hand and plucks the note from his hand. “Yes, Kiera left it to let you know to come here when you woke.”

He shakes his head. “No, I-I saw that note. I left it behind,” he says before swallowing. Niall straightens his spine and reaches for the paper in Maeryn’s hand. She lets him. “A bird was tapping on the window and it had this tied to its foot.”

Standing, I brush past Ruen and ignore him as he growls for me to sit back down. Maeryn moves to close the door behind Niall, but before she can, Aranea skitters inside and I sigh, bending and holding my hand out for the spider queen. She hops onto my palm and then slides quickly from it to my shoulder as Niall turns widened eyes to the creature he hadn’t even known was following him.

I take the note from Niall’s fingers and scan it. My mouth falls open in shock.

Return to Riviere Meeting House. Your Master summons you. — C

The script that I normally see on these notes is different. The letters are sharper and angled, as if written in a hurry or in irritation at being assigned the task at all. The last letter, the signature, doesn’t carry Regis’ curvy R either.

Carcel. I close my eyes. He’s arrived, and of course he doesn’t care what kind of position it puts me in to respond to his fucking summons. Unfortunately, he can’t have come at a more inopportune time.

Chapter 45

Kalix

9 years old…

Pitiful. That is the word I would use to describe the woman before me. She is beautiful enough for a human. Tall and slender with that tapered waist Azai seems to appreciate. She was once even more beautiful than she appears now, her limbs swinging by the rope wrapped around her neck, stunning enough to entice the God of Strength in spite of her mortality.

The other servants within the manor have whispered of who she had been ten years before, in the year leading up to my conception and then birth. As most other Gods keep servants—both Mortal God and human alike—Azai had chosen only the finest humans to attend to him as if beauty was something needed in order to clean a fireplace or cook a meal.

Azai is Azai though. To him, it is a requirement. For what kind of life must a God live if he must be subject to seeing ugly faces day in and day out? Yet, in spite of all the beauty and wealth surrounding him, this woman—my mother—was, at once, above them all. Enough so that he’d spilled his seed inside her and even allowed her to remain here, acting as a true lady in one of his country mansions that exist well outside of any of the God cities or smaller God Lord territories.

Yet, as the years had waned, so, too, had her youth and beauty and though Olivia Bortello had managed to ensnare Azai’s attentions and affections for nearly a decade, that time was coming to a slow, crawling death.

Considering that this was her reaction—her limp body, soiled upon itself the moment her heart had ceased beating—to Azai’s lack of interest in her now, to the nights and weeks he spent frolicking with other Gods, Mortal Gods, and humans alike, I suppose that a long creeping demise was not one she could have borne.

Pathetic, really, I think absently as I walk across the study and take a seat in one of the wingback chairs before the cold, empty fireplace. Ruen will be quite upset by Olivia’s passing. Despite the fact that she never cared for him since he represents yet another infidelity, he won’t like that she’s died like this. The woman assumed she was owed loyalty by the God of Strength, a laughable thought, yet Ruen always tells me I’m a lucky to still have her. Lucky to live with her when there are many other Mortal Gods who are without any parents at all.

Instead of staying within their Divine parent’s homes—even hidden extras that this one is—they reside within the chambers of the facilities where those who’ve yet to show any sort of Divine ability stay. Those children do not always know who their God parent is, only that they have one. They are kept like animals in small, dank cells until their God parents decide to kill them or release them into the wild—the answer is usually to put them out of their misery.

I never felt that sense of gratitude though. Not to Azai and not to Olivia. And if Ruen is honest with himself, he would rather kill Azai than show any sort of thanks to our sire. Olivia, though, had been different for him. Perhaps Olivia reminded Ruen of his own mother—the human that had refused to bring him to Azai when he learned of his existence. Azai had killed her for the treason, of course, and Ruen had seen the whole thing.

He had nightmares and as annoying as it was to hear his screaming and crying in the middle of the night, it is far more frustrating when he refuses to share them with me. At least knowing how it all happened would be a good bedtime story.

I sigh as the door to my father’s study opens and Brigita, one of Azai’s favorite maids, comes in, startling to a halt when she sees my mother’s body hanging from the chandelier, a chair tipped over beneath her feet with various crates and books scattered around. The chandelier is far too high for most to hang themselves from. If anything, I admire her tenacity to get the job done.

“Oh my Gods!” Brigita’s scream echoes through the room and I flinch, clapping my palms over my ears with a sneer. Is it all human women that shriek with such a shrillness that it threatens to break my eardrums or just the ones Azai employs? I wouldn’t know. Despite Ruen’s claim that I’m lucky to live here and not one of the facilities as we prepare to enter one of the Mortal Gods Academies, I’ve never been allowed to leave this place.

All Mortal Gods need to be documented and kept track of. That is the one rule I have been forced to live by. All else … are mere suggestions in my mind.

Brigita runs from the room, her high-pitched whining echoing into the outside corridor as she calls for help. I look up as Olivia’s body turns, the heavy weight of bones and flesh without a soul to inhabit it twisting against the grain of the rope. The knot she tied loosens and after a beat it snaps, breaking free, and sends the body toppling to the floor with a somewhat satisfying crunch and then thump. Had she been alive, that fall would have most assuredly broken both legs.

The sound of rushing footsteps enter the room as more of Azai’s servants come careening into the space, pausing when they see Olivia’s body hunched over and sprawled on the ground. The eyes of Mandrake—Azai’s least favorite butler—lift to meet mine. Casually, I reach over and pick up one of the books stacked nearby. Just to show him that I actually came in here for something else and wasn’t interested in sitting here, staring at a dead body until someone came to find it.

I mean—to be fair—it had been my intention to sneak into this study and procure some of the liquor Azai kept here—since these books are all merely for show. The God of Strength doesn’t read. Ruen’s lucky I found her before he did. He’s the one who truly prefers to use this study when Azai is away for his long stretches.

“How long have you been there, Master Kalix?” Mandrake demands as he comes further into the room. A sobbing Brigita can be heard from the hallway as the doorway opens a bit more and two other servants—a gardener and a cook come inside, pausing at Olivia’s body before sighing and moving forward.

“A few moments,” I answer.

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