Page 43 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

“What?” I gape at his back.

Without turning back, Caedmon doesn’t halt his departing footsteps even as he calls back to me over his shoulder. “The library will always be open to you for research,” he says, “but your requirements have been fulfilled. You may use it to your content, but you’re no longer under forced duties. Use your time wisely, young one. I will be available if you need me.”

With that, he disappears, leaving me standing in front of a curved wall and a row of strange God-like statues that I don’t understand with words I also don’t understand echoing in my head.

Chapter 25

Kiera

Caedmon’s words linger in my head, making the ache present there pound ever greater as I enter the small bedroom below the Darkhaven chambers later that day. I’m so absorbed in the God of Prophecy’s words that it takes me a moment longer to realize that I am not alone.

A small figure steps out of the corner of the room just as my head lifts and the scent of something wet and familiar hits my nose. The attack comes a split second later, and I react purely on the instinct that I’ve been repressing since the moment I set foot on Academy grounds.

Hands close over my arms and lift me from the ground. I let them. Dropping my weight and throwing them off. They stumble, meeting not just feeble resistance, but no resistance at all. My heartbeat, which under normal circumstances would soar, evens out. I blow out a long breath and count down from ten.

Ten. My attacker’s leg collapses as my weight shifts. They grind their teeth—the sound like rocks clanking together as it’s right next to my ears—and attempt to adjust their hold.

Nine. I rear back and slam the soles of my feet into their legs, kicking off and catapulting myself out of their arms.

Eight. Whirling back to face my opponent, the world fades away as I finally see who they are. My vision narrows. There’s no mask or even masking spell to hide their identity—as if she knew no one would care if she got caught.

Seven. Rahela’s face twists into a veil of rage and disgust. She’s red with fury. Fuck. I should have known better than to think she would let things be after all, but it’s too late now for regrets.

Six. I take another breath as I slide into position, feet apart, hands raised, fists at the ready. Two more breaths. Three. They come faster and faster. That’s not right. They should slow down. I should be calm. I’ve done this many times before.

Five. Rahela dives for more, lifting her fingers as the water sitting on my nightstand shoots up, coming to her call and she throws it at me. It freezes in the air, turning into shards of sharp ice. With a muffled curse, I duck and weave out of the way of the onslaught. Her face grows more and more angry every time I glance at her.

Four. Rahela cracks her neck to the side and sneers at me. Her fingers twist into the air, recalling the water droplets and shattered ice all around the room, its chill sinking in past my clothes. A puff of white air snags in my throat and then rushes out. She lifts her hand and the water reforms into a giant ice spear, which she then takes and slings at me with all her might.

Three. My eyes widen, but my grin grows. It’s been too long since I’ve trained and I’ve gotten rusty in the months I’ve been in the Mortal Gods Academy of Riviere. Turning as it rushes towards me, I lift my elbow and bring it down hard just as the spear moves past me. The ice shatters mid-air, falling at my feet. I stomp my boot on a particularly large piece of it.

“Is this really necessary?” I grit out the question, frustrated as my back bumps into the wall opposite my bed. This room is far too small for close combat.

Two. I dart to the side, my calf slamming into the side of the bed, as the ice under my boot shivers and the particles still left lying across the wooden planked floor begin to tremble in what I assume is a response to Rahela’s rage as she lifts her hand once more, drawing the ice and water around the room to form a ball next to her head. Spinning and spinning, it lingers like a weighty threat. I hiss out a curse. Fucking bitch. She really is trying to kill me.

“You should have just fucking died, you stupid human whore,” Rahela snarls, teeth bared so much like an animal that I blink twice, wondering if I missed something.

“Died when?” I ask. “I don’t remember almost dying any time in recent events.” I pause and reach up, tapping my chin as I pretend to think about it.

Her upper lip curls back, exposing more of her teeth as bright blue flashes in her eyes, glowing with that Divine power within her. Then, just as suddenly, her expression evens out and she begins to move. I drop my hands back to my side, balling them back into fists.

Rahela slowly circles me and I—skirting around the thin bed frame of my cot—do the same. I can’t fucking kill her, but if she’s intent on trying to kill me, what choice do I have? I’m not about to let myself fall to someone like her, a barely trained Mortal God who knows nothing of the plight of the world outside these walls, nothing save for what she’s been taught by the very beings that have kept her trapped here.

If anything, I pity Rahela. She makes me seem so much freer than I’ve ever felt outside of this damn contract that keeps me prisoner to the Underworld.

“Axlan’s whip should have killed you.” Rahela’s words start to make sense.

Ah, so that’s what she meant. Almost as soon as that realization comes to me, she sends the spinning ball of water towards my face. I dodge it, ducking and rolling across the floor only to pop back onto my feet and crash into the wall facing out towards the hallway. Seeing how close I am, I dive for the door only for the water in Rahela’s power to collide with the handle and frame, turning to ice in an instant and freezing it shut.

“Fucking cunt,” I mutter, annoyed as I rip my hands away from the burning ice that’s far colder than it naturally should be. Otherwise, I’d be able to rip the door open with my extra strength, but just touching that shit makes my skin feel like it’s been sliced off. I can handle pain, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

“There’s the real you—disrespectful little human whore,” Rahela spits at me.

I roll my eyes and face her again. “Respect is earned,” I say, “and you certainly haven’t earned anything but ire from me.”

I crack my neck to the side and slide a hand toward the small of my back. She’s made it clear that if I’m going to make it out of the room, it’ll be at bloodied hands.

“You’re a greedy little thing,” Rahela tells me as the ball of water spins and spins above her palm, streams of the leftover liquid not freezing the door shut are gathered and sucked back into its orb. I don’t know what she’s waiting for—perhaps my speedy reaction to her initial attack has thrown her off. “You just couldn’t have one, you had to have all of them.”

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