Page 81 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

I bite down on my lip to keep from snapping at him, but stand from my seat and move towards the front door. “I’ll go see if Dauphine had my uniform delivered,” I say.

Ruen steps out of the way. As I go to pass him, however, his hand shoots out and sparks light up along my flesh beneath the fabric of my tunic as he grips me by the bicep, halting my forward momentum. “Remember what I said, secret keeper,” he says, his voice dropping. “Running will only make things worse.”

My body goes incredibly still, as if even the vibrations of my beating heart have quieted in the face of Ruen’s low spoken warning and reminder. Each day I live, others' lives are cast into the fires of danger. Each time I open my mouth, I make wrong choices. Again and again. When will I ever learn?

Months ago when I’d first arrived on the steps of the Mortal Gods Academy of Riviere, I’d taken one look at these three brothers—powerful, strong, cruel—and assumed the worst. Since then, I’d learned things I never wanted to know. I’d born witness to Theos breaking under the weight of his loss. Felt the heat of responsibility and guilt that clings to Ruen like a cloak he can never take off. Of the three of them, Kalix seems to be the only one who feels no such mortal emotions. Yet, beneath his ease of life and wicked behavior, he remains with them. He’d agreed to the blood contract without complaint. He’s an enigma, perhaps even more so than Ruen Darkhaven.

I shake off those thoughts and give Ruen a nod of understanding. A moment passes and he releases me. My footsteps lead me from their chambers, out into the hall, and down the stairs until I’m standing in front of my own room.

Aranea taps my neck as I open the door and step inside, letting the wood swing shut. Just as Ruen had predicted, a bundle of new clothes sits at the edge of my bed, the black woolen pattern of my uniform stark against the gray sheets.

Something else pulls my attention away from it, however. Aranea jumps from my shoulder and despite the distance, she seems to glide easily to the floor. I don’t ask her where she’s going as she disappears beneath my bed. Instead, my gaze fixates on the book I’d almost forgotten about. The book that Caedmon had given me.

The dull, worn cover is the same, but … I stride across the room until I’m standing at my nightstand where it lies. Of all the collection of things that have taken up residence on the tiny space—there and gone—this one has remained for quite a while. Yet, something is different.

I pass my fingers over the roughened surface of the leather-bound pages and frown as I read the title. The History that Which You Must Know, it reads. That isn’t the title of the book Caedmon had given me. Is this a new book? It can’t be. The color of the cover is the same sullen brown with black lacing. The book is just as thick and the author's name is still absent.

Despite the bells still ringing in the near distance, calling the entirety of the Academy to the battle arena, I lift the book into my hands and open it to the first page.

Chapter 41

Kiera

Ispread my fingers over the etched-in gold foil title, feeling the dips and ridges for some physical evidence of trickery. The title I took from Caedmon at the library was A History of the Hinterlands. That book had been a dull leather-bound brown tome with rough edges and no author’s name.

Other than the title now glimmering back at me as if telling me to trust it, nothing about the book has changed. I open the page to the last one I’d read, finding the corner of the paper folded over in the same exact way I’d done in order to mark my place. The words inside, however, are just as different as the title on the outside.

The History that Which You Must Know is not a book at all, but a diary. The contents have changed entirely and I would swear that someone has snuck into my room and replaced the older one were it not for the obvious signs of my usage. I scan where the indentations of my nails are left where I’d pressed them beneath certain words. Now, the words are entirely new, different. I read them.

The Gods would have all believe that they came from the skies, blessed beings capable of a great many new things. They, dear reader, are liars. Just like you.

I swallow roughly, casting a look at the door and then the window before I keep reading. For some, unknown reason this book seems to know something. As if the writer is a God themselves. I stiffen at that thought.

“Caedmon…” I breathe the God of Prophecy’s name before shaking my head and continuing to read.

The Gods did not come from the skies, but from a place far out in the ocean of this new world. The Gods as you know them are not Gods at all. Beings of incredible power, yes, but not all-powerful. Not all-seeing.

Somehow, I knew these words to be correct. The Gods were not all-seeing. If they were, then my existence would never have been a question. I would not have been hidden because they would have known. My heart stutters in my breast, my breaths coming in shallow pants. I sink onto the bed and flip the page.

Off the coast of Ortus, within the depths of the ocean, there is a stone capable of withstanding all elements. Fire. Water. Lightning. Divinity. The mountain of Brim. From it, the cursed stone came. From it, the Gods came.

The cursed stone? The mountain of Brim? My thoughts clamber over each other as I reach my own conclusions brought about by the book’s words. I’d never thought to wonder where brimstone came from. I had only ever been grateful that there was some sort of stone in this world capable of wounding or even killing a Divine Being. But if the Gods came from Brimstone and the stone came from a mountain off the coast of Ortus … where the original Mortal Gods Academy still lies…

A hard knock sounds on the door, jolting me from the pages of the book and my thoughts. I jerk my head up, realizing that the sound of the bells has faded.

“Kiera?” Theos’ voice filters through the closed door. “Are you ready? We have to go.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fumbling with the book in my hand, I snap it shut and jump up from the bed. “Hold on!” I yell, stripping out of my tunic and loosening the self-made belt from the loops of my trousers.

As fast as I can manage, I dive for my uniform, ripping the fresh black trousers up my legs and buttoning them as I adjust my dagger holster. The knob turns and I whip towards the window just as Theos steps inside.

“Theos!” I snap.

The door clicks shut behind him. “Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry, though, as I hear him approach, the soft footfalls of his steps bringing him closer to me. I look to the side as his hand appears in my periphery. He lifts the new tunic to go along with my uniform.

Slowly, viscerally aware of my bare flesh, I turn to face him. I’m still wearing the band I keep around my breasts, but with each breath I take—harsh and unbidden—I swear they’re going to spill out. Golden eyes settle on my face for a brief moment, meeting mine before descending to the rounded mounds of my chest.

There are no flushed cheeks. Not from Theos. No, he’s seen far more than enough naked females in his lifetime. Heat, however, is a different matter entirely. His golden gaze catches fire, flaring out like the sun itself is blazing out from beyond his eyes. He lifts my tunic and then drops the top part over my head.

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