Page 15 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

I want to laugh at her statement. My life hasn’t been my own for a long damn time. It’s nothing I’m not used to. However, this new burden feels far heavier than before. Unlike those of the Underworld, the Terra here at the Academy are innocents. They are not trained assassins or thieves. They are not killers. By comparison, these mortals are all as innocent as babes. And now their lives are resting on me appeasing the Gods.

My stomach sinks lower. Bile touches the back of my throat. I swallow it down.

“Understood,” I say in response. My fingers close over the paper in her hand and Dauphine releases it after a moment more of staring me down—as if doing so can further punctuate the severity of this situation.

I wish for nothing more than to cut my losses, send a messenger to Ophelia, and retract my agreement to perform this mission. Now, however, as the invisible shackles of Dauphine’s words wrap around my wrists and throat, I know that I won’t.

I can’t run. I can’t leave. If I disappear without warning, they all die. I have no doubt this threat includes Niall’s life. I close my eyes as the parchment in my hand falls against my side. I don’t even bother to look at it. I already know that I’ll do whatever it says, regardless of the tasks assigned to me.

Enough blood stains my hands; adding more would be gluttonous of me.

Damn fucking Dolos.

Chapter 10

Ruen

The strain of hunger and interest permeates the classroom. It sets my teeth on edge as the feeling of it crawls over my limbs and down my spine. My own power rises from a core of steel that resides within me. Despite the pangs of my ravaged back, the skin covering my spine tightening with each shift in my seat, I clench my hands into fists and a waft of darkness spreads out from beneath my palm. It drops to the desk, sliding over the grain of the flat polished wooden slats, squirming and wiggling like live worms. I close my eyes, briefly trying to call the power back to me, but it denies my internal request.

Theos’ eyes shoot down as he spots its release. I turn my head and glare down at one of the Second Tiers a few seats lower than my own at the back of Narelle’s class. His dark head of hair is turned as he eyes the Terra where she stands against the wall along with the others. He’s not at all the normal type of Mortal God to go after claimed Terra. I only dimly recognize him from a battle two years prior when he’d advanced from Third Tier to Second. His name, however, escapes me. He must not have been memorable even if he’d made it out of the battles alive.

Try as I might, I cannot deny the urge to follow his gaze to where it’s focused solely on my Terra. Her face still maintains the lines of sharpness that have yet to fill out after her days of starvation and then minimalistic eating during the healing process. Her shoulders are proud and thrown back, as if she’s aware of the eyes on her and doesn’t care. The only other servant who even bothers to stand nearby is the skinny brunette boy that Maeryn is so protective of.

A fist squeezes around my heart before lances of remembered pain from my own lashing skitter down my back. I reach back, my fingers gripping my shoulder as I casually try to work out some of the stiffness in the muscles there. It doesn’t work. My hands fall back to the desk and more darkness wafts from my grip.

They’re looking at her like she’s a feast for their eyes, all of them. The students. The other Terra. Even Narelle, I notice, is decidedly working not to look her way. The black clothes she wears are a stark contrast to the gray stone behind her. The gray uniforms of the other Terra do their job, making them blend into the background, but unfortunately for Kiera, she’s like a wickedly dark beacon now. Drawing everyone’s attention far more than before.

I can’t tell if it’s bravery that keeps her chin lifted or if it’s pure stubbornness. Probably a bit of both.

I inhale sharply through my nostrils, trying to convince myself not to react. As if my ability has a mind of its own, though, and it no longer accepts my control, the tendrils of darkness flow over the desk in front of me and slip along the floor. Curling around the chair legs, it reaches for the Second Tier—whose name I won’t even bother learning—and zaps up his back.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, my lips spread into a smile as he stiffens. The illusion I send him is violent. Disgusting. He turns away from the sight, his face paling as sweat dots his forehead. Theos’ steady golden gaze remains on my face. I don’t look back at him as I unclench my fists and twist my fingers through the air, commanding the illusion now that it’s slipped free. It’s too late now.

The Second Tier immediately doubles over, his head slamming into his desk as he gags and then turns away from the friend at his side to retch into the aisle. Narelle, our instructor for this class and the Lower Goddess of Scribes, from where she stands at the front of the classroom, grimaces in disgust. The nosy asshole’s body heaves with effort as he dispels his breakfast over the steps. It smells of eggs and putrid sourness.

Flicking her bony fingers at the boy, she grumbles. “Someone get him out of here,” she snaps, revulsion clear on her face and in her voice as she curls her upper lip back at the sight of him heaving once more, a fresh wave of bile and puke spewing from his lips. “Now!” she barks with more intensity.

One of the Terra against the wall—the one furthest from Kiera, I note—jumps away from the stone and hurries towards the Second Tier. Hooking an arm beneath the Second Tier’s arm and helping him up, the Terra, a pinch-lipped boy with a scar lining the side of his neck, hefts his Master against his side and hurriedly leads him from the room.

Narelle flicks her own fingers and the vomit that had decorated the steps ceases to exist, evaporating into nothingness as if it had never been. I sit back in my seat, my shoulders sagging with a modicum of relief I haven’t felt in days.

She quickly goes back to the map on the wall and begins talking once more. “The first of the Great Gods descended into this realm, born of the Brimstone Mountain off the coast of Ortus,” she states. “Tryphone, our King, and then his wife, Danai, Goddess of Motherhood. Many others followed, blessing the land of Anatol with their powers and gifts.”

“And spreading their seed far and wide,” Kalix says.

Several heads turn, lips twitching as others laugh. Narelle pauses, narrowing her eyes on my brother. He merely shrugs at the heinous glare she sends his way. Unbothered. I’m thankful for the comment, though, as the few students who’d noticed my actions with the Second Tier have retracted their interest and chuckle at Kalix’s coarseness.

“You are part of that seed, Kalix Darkhaven,” Narelle sniffs primly. “Your gifts stem from one of our Greatest of Upper Gods, the God of Strength himself.”

“If he’s so fucking strong,” Kalix replies, “then why can’t he ever seem to hold himself back from impregnating as many mortal women as he lays his eyes on?” Kalix arches a brow and there’s a distinctive wrinkle upon Narelle’s beak-like nose at his words.

“As the God of Strength, Azai is also the God of Virility,” she snaps. “Were it not for him, you would not exist, boy.”

“Oh, Madam Narelle,” Kalix replies, leaning back and kicking his legs out as he runs a hand down the length of his tunic, right towards his fucking crotch like the damned idiot he is, “I am no boy.” I grit my teeth and resist the urge to slam his head into the table to get him to stop. What gratitude I’d had dries up.

Narelle lifts one brow, arching it at him even as her amusement gets the better of her. “Only boys consider themselves men before they truly are,” she states, “but if you’re so intent on disrupting my class, perhaps you can finish the lesson for me?”

Kalix groans and drops his hand away from his trousers. “What’s the fucking point?” he grouses. “Everyone knows that the Gods came from the Brimstone Mountain in the South. We know that it’s the site of the first Academy and that it’s regarded as the holiest place on our continent. I have no interest in teaching such a subject. I’d prefer swordplay.”

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