Page 11 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

I sit up as the sun’s morning rays hit the barrier between the floor and wall across the room and stretch my tired and achy muscles. My back still twinges, but I’m definitely stronger than I had been throughout the week. Even if I’d been allowed to eat food dropped off outside my door by a quiet and nervous Niall, I look forward to actually leaving this tower. I make a mental note to thank Niall as I suspect he was the only one brave enough to deliver that much needed food.

Discomfort twinges through my spine and, using a small compact mirror that I’d stowed away in my bag when I’d first arrived at the Academy, I check the whip marks now staining my spine. They’re red and still slightly swollen. Since the whip itself wasn’t coated in a dusting of brimstone, there’s a good chance these won’t even scar, but I’ll keep my back covered regardless as the markings finish mending.

I marvel at my own healing ability. The Belladonna had often made me dizzy or tired for most of the week, even after I’d started feeling better. I’d assumed that it would have worked even harder against closing the marks Axlan had left on me. Thankfully, not only are they closed and scabbed over—I’d taken the edge of a nail and pricked at the end of one lower on my back where I could actually reach—but the marks had seemed healed even beneath the scabs. Not that I’ll be telling anyone that.

Wrapping an extra set of bindings I’d kept in my small pack around my chest and tucking the end of them between my breasts, I release a sigh of relief at feeling fully covered for the first time in days. I would have thought having them encircled around my back might cause the scarred flesh to ache further, but it’s just the opposite. I feel as if I’m shedding a skin rather than putting a new one on, as if this horrible experience is behind me and I can simply move on—lingering pain or no.

Leaning over the bed, I lift the cream-colored tunic that I’d been wearing for the last few days and frown at it. I sniff the fabric, noting that it smells faintly of oakwood. It’s definitely not mine. Unfortunately, however, as I scour the rest of the room, I can’t find another tunic. I glance at the single dress that Regis had managed to stuff into my bag before I’d left. It’s a dull, brown thing. Thick for the winter months with a bodice that laces up the front, easy for someone without help to do themselves. I contemplate it but decide against it. A tunic will be looser against my skin and far less painful.

“I should have brought more clothes,” I mutter to myself as I slip back into the unfamiliar tunic and tuck it into the top of my trousers.

A knock sounds on my door just as I finish dressing, sans cloak since it had never been returned to me. My body goes stiff all over. I scan the thin wooden frame of the door for a moment before I dive towards the bed, ripping up the mattress and yanking one of the daggers from its hiding place. With careful, fast maneuvers, I slip it beneath my clothes at the small of my back, keeping the handle against my spine for quick reach if needed.

“Yes?” I call hesitantly, glancing at my pack and the various other hiding places where I’ve snuck my weapons in the room. I hate only having one blade on me, especially after my punishment and the threat of being found out, but it’s not like I can just walk out of here covered in knives and expect no one to notice.

“Can I come in?” The muffled voice on the other side sounds light, almost breathy, and … familiar, but not at all masculine.

I stride towards the door instead of answering and turn the knob in my fist, letting the wood swing inward to reveal the person standing in the short, darkened corridor. Surprise fills me. Maeryn stands there, her bright red hair pulled back impossibly tight and high, giving her features a sharper appearance. Little braids line the sides of her head as the rest of her mass of curly hair falls over her back.

She’s dressed for the cold in a long-sleeved cream-colored dress with a brown, fur-lined cloak that only reaches halfway down her legs and cuts open to allow the sleeves of her dress to poke through where one arm is raised to knock again. Unlike Terra, Mortal Gods are not expected to wear uniforms, so it’s no surprise to see her dressed as such. No, it’s her presence that is the surprise.

My gaze roves over her in cautious interest and suspicion until I notice the figure standing behind her. Niall’s cheeks are slightly flushed, his own hair brushed back and tucked behind his ears. There are slight dips beneath his eyes, shadows of purple, I realize. Despite that, he brightens when he sees me standing and offers me a smile.

Like his Mortal God, he is dressed for the cold. His dark gray uniform trousers and matching tunic peeking out from beneath the woolen cloak covering his shoulders. I spot my own cloak folded nice and pretty in his arms.

Maeryn steps forward and I immediately back up. “Your confinement is over,” she says. “Niall informed me that you hadn’t been allowed any visitors through the week or the attention of a healer, so I thought I’d stop by since he intended to bring your cloak back to you now that you’re free to move around the grounds today.”

No visitors? I think. Well, that explains why Niall had merely slipped the food next to my door before disappearing rather than try to talk to me as he normally would. It comes as no surprise that the Darkhavens had completely ignored that edict too.

My attention falls back to the Second Tier Mortal God before me. I vaguely recall Niall mentioning her parentage and the fact that her healing ability had stemmed from her God uncle. When her hand reaches out, obviously intent on touching me, I sidestep her, moving out of reach.

“Thank you for the offer,” I say, “but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her lips dip. “What do you mean?” she asks, confusion clouding her pretty green eyes. “You’re hurt. You can’t be completely healed.”

She reaches for me again, and again, I move away, holding up a hand. “I’m not,” I say honestly, though I am faring better than would be natural for any human, and I don’t want her finding that out. “But I wouldn’t want either of you to get into trouble on my behalf.”

“Kiera,” Niall says, capturing my attention as I shift my head and look over Maeryn’s shoulder at him. “Please, just let her check your wounds … there’s no way you’re healed enough by—”

“What do we have here?”

Niall’s face pales and he releases a startled noise as he jerks back and accidentally slams himself into the wall on the other side of the corridor. His eyes widen as he turns his head, slowly, to face the newcomer. Maeryn’s open expression closes in an instant. She, too, pivots to face the man who steps into view.

“Kalix.” Maeryn’s once gentle tone is now completely hardened. Interesting.

With his slightly shaggy hair, normally hanging around his ears and chin, pulled up and held into a messy bundle on the back of his head with a leather band, Kalix steps into view and grins down at Maeryn. “Mary,” he says in response to her greeting.

Her hands clench into fists at her side as she glares at him. “My. Name. Is. Maeryn,” she growls.

I glance from her face to Kalix’s. Whatever strange conversation is going on within the air between the two of them, it’s clear that Maeryn does not like this Darkhaven brother. I can’t blame her. He’s not exactly the easiest person to like. I still remember the odd feeling of Kalix sitting on his haunches over me and my shredded back and the way he’d poured what felt like acid over my open flesh. I shudder at the memory and shove it down. That’s something we will have to discuss later.

“I-I brought Kiera’s cloak!” Niall rushes to explain, half stepping in front of Maeryn as if she isn’t ten times more durable than he is. “I a-apologize for the rudeness, Master Kalix.” He bows his head, prostrating himself before Kalix Darkhaven as if he half expects even speaking to the Mortal God to be the final nail in his coffin.

I roll my eyes and step around Maeryn into the hall. Ignoring Kalix, I reach for the cloak still held in Niall’s grip. When he feels my hands on his, Niall’s head jerks up, eyes widening in fear a moment before he realizes it’s just me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, meaning the words. His grip on the fabric releases and I snap it out, regretting the way it makes him flinch back ever so slightly, before encircling it around myself and then tying it at my throat. “I appreciate you bringing this to me.”

I turn back to Maeryn. “And I appreciate the offer for healing,” I say to her, “but I wouldn’t want you to earn the ire of Sir Dolos. I think it’s best if your Terra avoids me for the time being.” The sharp inhalation from Niall is the only sound he makes in protest. He knows I’m right, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll have to force the issue. Because with this latest stunt from the Darkhavens and the newfound attention the Academy faculty and staff will no doubt be eyeing me with, I don’t have much of a choice but to curb any potential collateral. And if he sticks near me, Niall will be such collateral.

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