Page 86 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

She doesn’t seem to notice just how easily I keep up with her pace. Still, I fake a few heaving breaths every once in a while when she bothers to glance back, giving her a strained smile when unease is crawling up my throat. Her eyes had flashed with red and black back there. I suspect, had I not been with her, she would have ripped Rodney and Laria to shreds for putting Niall in danger.

The wider corridors of the Gods’ section of the Academy echo with our footsteps, rising higher and higher above our heads to the arched ceilings. Concern laces each heart beat as I note that, despite the time of day, there are no other Gods here. Perhaps they’re all still at the arena as I’d still seen plenty of them, unconcerned with the rush to leave as I’d slipped free from the Darkhavens and rushed to find Maeryn—and now Niall.

Maeryn slows and I take the lead. “This way,” I tell her, diving to the right. She follows easily, but as we’re about to round another corner, she snakes her hand out. Her fingers curl into the back of my uniform jacket and the neckline chokes me as she pulls me to a sudden halt.

“What—”

Soft murmuring voices reach my ears and Maeryn wastes no time in whipping both of us into a darkened alcove where a standing pedestal rests with a stone bust atop it. The bust trembles as we dive behind the pedestal and I reach out, steadying it and ducking back down as the two voices get louder.

Sweat coats my palms and I reach back, fingering the hilt of my dagger now replaced at my back holster as the footsteps get nearer. Two figures dressed in long black robes pass by, neither of them glancing in our direction.

“—will be most displeased if he learns of this,” says one of the figures—Pachis, a Lower God I recognize as one of the instructors of Mathematics. Despite his Divinity, unlike most Gods, he’s a rather bulbous male with a round countenance that causes him to waddle as he walks. He appears as more of a God of Gluttony than one of study that I know him to be.

“That will be up to Dolos to deal with; it has nothing to do with us.” The thin, reed-like man who replies has a sharp voice and even sharper features. Peeking out from the other side of the pedestal, I frown. I had seen Hatzi, the God of Travel, around campus many times before, and as always, his continued stay within the walls of the Academy confuses me. If Gods gained power from what their powers concerned, why would the God of Travel choose to stay in one place?

Their words, however, sink into my mind a moment later and a whole new question takes the place of the last. What exactly is Dolos having to deal with? Does it have to do with the Council of the Gods?

“Come on.” Maeryn’s grip locks on my wrist as she drags me out of the alcove as soon as the Gods turn a corner and disappear from sight.

Dolos’ office is nearby. So close I can practically taste the triumph of getting there and freeing Niall without any of those Divine fools being the wiser. I stifle the victory singing in my blood though. Too often, I’ve witnessed opponents in sparring rings celebrate before a battle was truly over and it never ended well for them.

I lead Maeryn the rest of the way, our footsteps speeding up and then slowing as we hit the next corridor and I stop before the red-painted door that I’d been in front of weeks ago—right before I’d been dragged to the dungeons and imprisoned and starved for three days. The gold filigree etched into the corners and backing the plaque at the center glimmers in the light.

I try the knob and grit my teeth when I find it locked. It must have been unlocked previously for Laria and her brother to have gotten in and no doubt, they locked it from the inside before leaving Niall here. A muffled sound emerges from inside. Maeryn nudges me out of the way and tries the handle as well. She jerks and slams down on it once before I can stop her. Despite her strength, it doesn’t budge.

“Don’t,” I say quickly. “We can’t leave any trace we were here or else Dolos will think someone broke in to steal something.”

She shoots her green eyes back at me, brows furrowing. “Then what do you suggest we do?” she demands.

I glance at her hair and reach for the black pins I see keeping several strands tight to her scalp. “Let me borrow these,” I say, plucking two from her head. A few wayward curls, too short to reach her ponytail, fall forward.

Maeryn doesn’t jerk back or deny me the pins as I get to my knees and brush her hand aside. Her eyes linger heavy on my back as the hard floor digs past my trousers. Wiping sweat away from my palms, I bend both pins and twist them until I have a makeshift lock pick. It would have been easier to use my spiders, I suspect, but I’d rather not do so in front of Maeryn.

I’ve never been more thankful to Ophelia for teaching me all the ways a human would perform these tasks instead of relying solely on my abilities than I am right now. Sticking first one end of the pin into the lock, I feel for the cylinders inside and once I have them positioned down, I stick the second hair pin into the hole and breathe out. A quick deft twist of my wrists and a fucking prayer, the door unlocks with a snick.

Quickly yanking the pins free, I stuff them into my pockets and race inside, Maeryn following after me. As Maeryn scans the room and spots a figure huddled on the floor near the fireplace, I close and relock the door behind us. It won’t stop the God from entering should Dolos come back while we’re untying Niall, but it would give us some warning and a few precious extra seconds.

Niall lies upon the floor, half of his face a molted purple as if someone had bashed him good. Blood crusts the split skin that mars his upper cheek and a makeshift gag keeps him from speaking as he struggles against the ropes binding him to a metal frame bolted near the fireplace, usually meant for pokers and such.

Maeryn curses as she goes to her knees before him and rips off the gag. “Are you alright?” she asks, voice tight with concern.

I glance from Niall to the door to the desk. Something feels … odd about all this. Niall breathes heavily, the sound rough and struggling as he answers. “I-I’m so sorry, Miss Mae—”

“Don’t apologize, Niall,” Maeryn interrupts him. “Don’t you dare. Let’s just get you out of here and then I’ll heal you.”

My eyes settle on the desk as the sound of Maeryn and Niall’s quiet conversation flows in the background. Papers are strewn about as well as quills. Left haphazardly out for anyone inside to see. Why?

I glance away from the desk to the rest of the office. Nothing else is out of place. It is just as ornate and clean as it had been when I’d last been here. I take a step towards the desk, eyes moving over the words written on those pages. A few strides carry me around the back end of the wooden frame and I bend, scanning the contents.

They’re letters, I realize. I shouldn’t realize it though. Because the language written in careful script on the pages isn’t the one I’ve grown up with. It is not the common language, but that of the ancient tongue. The one Theos often uses to call me Dea—treasure. I lift the first one and read.

Dolos,

Tryphone is growing weary of his daughter’s refusal and Caedmon’s lack of reply to his summons. A Council will be called. Ensure that Caedmon is there or else I worry that his ire will erupt upon us all. I expect he will want a list of the most powerful children ready to be taken after the Council ends. Have them ready for removal and you shall be given your reward.

Your sister,

Danai

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