Page 62 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

Though I push my legs into a jog, I don’t afford myself any of the luxury of my extra abilities. Not this out in the open. The south tower comes into view, and unlike the north tower, it appears far more well-kept, with vines growing beneath the ice up the circular stone that appears regularly washed and maintained. There are several more windows on this tower too, not just the massive ones at the top and the slits for the rest of the north tower storage rooms that I’m used to.

I wait and wait for a bit, hovering just out of sight of the doors that lead into the tower and when a few Second Tier females that I don’t recognize come out in a pair, I sneak along the side of the stone walls and dive for the door before it shuts.

Fourth floor. Seventh room to the right. Fourth floor. Seventh room to the right. I chant the words in my mind as I take the stairs two at a time. I pause on the third floor as female voices sound in the hallway around the corner, but there’s nowhere for me to hide.

Shit. I close my eyes and suck in a breath. Sweat collects at the back of my head and the dull aching throb that almost always accompanies me now begins to start its rapid thud thud thud at the base of my skull.

I open my eyes and straighten my back, lifting my head. If there’s nowhere to hide then I won’t hide, I decide. Most people ignore those around them and if you act like you belong then, in their eyes, you do. Keeping my head high, I move up the stairs, one at a time now, slowly and deliberately. Only one more floor to go. I act as if I’ve done this a million times—traveled up these stairs, walked these halls—and as the girls come around the corner, my breath catches.

Neither of them looks my way, though, as they dip their heads closer together. The one on the left is dressed in a cream-colored gown and says something that has the other who’s dressed in a pair of black trousers like my own and a dark green tunic laughing as they pass me without ever lifting their gazes in my direction. I still hold my breath, though, until I make it down the third floor hallway and then to the fourth floor stairwell.

Releasing that breath, I start again taking the steps two at a time and once I’m on the fourth floor, I scan the doors on either side of the hall. Seventh room on the right. I race for it and pause, my hand half raised.

Wait! The voice of logic stops me. What are you doing? You can’t be here. You’re not a Terra for the south tower. You’re not Maeryn’s Terra, Niall is. But … Maeryn would want to know if Niall was being harassed. She’d made it clear how much she values him that day at training and I’d seen the way she looks at him. She doesn’t see him as just another human, as a servant.

I grit my teeth as I argue with my inner voice. Then, before I can think better of it, I knock three times on the seventh door. Footsteps sound on the other side and then the door creeps open and fiery red hair fills my vision a split second before Maeryn’s stunned expression is there as well.

“Kiera?” She looks out into the hall, glancing up one way and then down the other. “What are you doing here?” she asks. Her gaze goes down to my uniform and before I can provide an answer, she asks another question. “Are you hurt?” She steps forward and places the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re flushed, come inside.”

I’m still trying to drag air into my lungs as she pulls me into her bedroom and shuts the door behind us, my throat feeling raw from how fast my breaths are coming. The warmth of her room is vastly different from the chilly air outside or even the slightly dampened version in the corridor. It seeps into my bones and makes me sigh in relief as my muscles relax. I crack my neck to the side and peer around the Second Tier Mortal God’s room.

The walls are stone like the ones in the north tower, but the differences between Maeryn’s bedroom and the Darkhavens’ chambers are vast. Instead of one large shared room and separate bedrooms, Maeryn’s room appears more like the usual Lord bedroom chambers I’ve snuck into plenty of times before. It’s rather large for a room with an arching window—only a single one that’s of average size with a bench in front of it saddled with a stack of books. My gaze moves from it to the four-poster bed and the green tapestry on the only wall that doesn’t boast a window, bed, or fireplace.

“Come in,” Maeryn urges as she moves across the space to a cart near the fireplace, not as large as the Darkhavens’, but not as small as the one in Hael’s office. “Take a seat.” She gestures to the bed, the only other place aside from that reading bench by the window.

I drift further into the room. A crystal chandelier hangs above with little cups for fire lights to illuminate the room after the sun has set. The scent of herbs and sandalwood permeates the space. It’s relaxing. Maeryn pauses in front of the cart and glasses clink as she moves things around, opening bottles that don’t look like liquor and sniffs them before setting them down and reaching for another.

“It should be far too long after your whipping for your wounds to be infected now,” Maeryn murmurs. “Did something happen to them? Did they reopen? I can take a look, let me get you something to ease the pain—I might need to prod the lacerations to see if they—”

“No,” I say quickly, correcting her. “No, I’m not ill. There’s no fever. I’m not here for healing.”

Maeryn lifts her head and slowly turns to face me, wide-eyed. “You’re not?”

I shake my head. “I’m here because of…” Shit, Niall would definitely not like this, but there are very few people I actually like much less care about enough to go this far. I’m already here. It’s too late. I suck in another breath and level Maeryn with a dark look. “I think the other Terra are harassing Niall,” I inform her.

She blinks and then her gaze, too, darkens. “Harassing how?” She enunciates the two words slowly, with retribution in her eyes. There’s no question of whether or not she believes me. Which must mean that I’ve already missed other signs as well.

“You suspected,” I guess.

Maeryn is quiet for a moment, but then she nods. “He hasn’t been sleeping well and he stays…” She bites down on her lip and glances to the side.

“He stays in your rooms for long hours, like he doesn’t wish to return to the Terra dorms.” I’d say it was another guess if I wasn’t positively sure I’m right.

She nods. “I healed his arm a few days ago,” she admits. “He never asks for healing—says it’s not his place, but I could tell he was in pain and I pressed him until he revealed the wound. He swore he’d fallen while carrying a bag of laundry, but it took me longer than a simple bruise to heal. I’m pretty sure his arm was fractured at the very least. I suspected someone had pushed him and he was just too proud to say as much.”

Pride or not, whatever Niall’s reasons for keeping his problems to himself have my insides churning with violence. “I—” I stop talking as I realize the words that are about to come out of my mouth. Fuck. I turn away. Was I about to tell her my plans to leave the academy? I shake my head and smack the side of my temple with my palm. I need to get it together. This isn’t even about the Darkhavens, so I can’t blame it on them and the way they mess with my equilibrium.

“Kiera?” Maeryn’s soft voice is confused when she calls my name.

I bite down on my next breath and turn to face her again. “Sorry,” I say. “I just wanted to let you know my suspicions and ask—since it seems as if you care for him—for you to keep a lookout since … well, I don’t live in the dorms like the other Terra so I can’t—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Maeryn says, holding up a hand to stop my embarrassing spew of explanation. “Of course I’ll look after him. I do care about him, Kiera.” Her brows crease as she slowly lowers her hand back to her side. Half of me wants to simply nod and walk out, but there is a reason I snuck into the female Mortal God’s dorms. A reason I chanced getting caught where I know I’m not supposed to be and the least I can do is listen to whatever she so obviously wants to say if I’m going to ask for a favor anyway.

“You know not all Mortal Gods are like our parents,” she says quietly. I stiffen, for a split second thinking she’s talking about me, but then she keeps going and I relax once more. “I can understand that you’re cautious—I’m surprised there aren’t more humans like you, but I promise … I truly do mean no harm to Niall. He’s good.” Then, below her breath, I hear her mutter, “far too good for someone like me.”

I almost snort in derision. It must be part of a Mortal God’s genetics to either be too pompous for their own good or self-loathing. There never seems to be any in between. Unless you’re me that is because even I can admit that sometimes I’m far too prideful and self-loathing in the same instance. What had she said at her training class? That we’re not all that different? She had no clue how right she truly is.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, not letting on that I’d heard that last part. No doubt, she hadn’t meant to say it aloud as she had and perhaps, if she still thinks I’m human, she didn’t expect my ears to pick up on it.

---