Page 16 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“Will you continue to work for me?”

My lips part, but I have no words, only shock. Continue to work for her? I stare past her, over her shoulder, my eyes sinking into the frayed edges of the wallpaper, crinkling and pealing in the upper corner where the wall meets the ceiling. Beneath my booted feet, the floorboards creak. Particles of dirt float through the air, thickening the stale smell in the room that is both rotted wood and old ink.

Ophelia’s attention sears into my cheek, but still, I don’t look at her. If I thought she had massive balls to face Ruen and act unafraid, she has even larger ones to ask me that. I never wanted to be an assassin. I never wanted to be wrapped up in Anatol’s hierarchy of power struggles.

It had been my dream to return to the Hinterlands, to rebuild the cabin that had been burned down all those years ago. A part of me still wants that. Yet, the thought of staying out in the darkness of the forest, with no one around for miles, no lights, no streets, no taverns or coffeehouses, no sounds save for the creatures that inhabit the woods—it leaves me feeling somewhat hollow. As if someone has scooped out my insides, organs and all, and deposited them on the ground before me.

What would be the point of living a solitary life now?

I turn back and glance over my shoulder at the door where, beyond it, three great men wait for me. How many minutes has it been? How many more will they allow? I’m half worried that if we spend much longer in here Ruen will break down the door and demand to know what’s taking so long. Then again, he’s already surprised me so much today—they all have—maybe they’ll allow me this freedom too.

“Those boys,” Ophelia starts, the sound of her footsteps nearing as she rounds the table. I turn to look at her, watching, unmoving, as she strides closer. “They might be kinder than some, more trustworthy than others, but do not forget, Kiera, a sword can cut more than flesh, but death is always its original purpose.”

I stare back at her. “You don’t want me to trust them.” It’s not a question.

Ophelia’s mouth curves, though the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You have sought peace your entire life.” She withdraws a blade from a pocket in her breaches. With a flick, the sharp silver edge unsheathes from the handle, snapping out with a deft twist of her wrist. I don’t flinch as I continue to hold her gaze. “But now, you will need to go to war before you ever find that peace.”

“Did you know that this would happen?”

With firm fingers, Ophelia grabs ahold of my arm and turns me to face the wall and the door. Her fingers are cold as they gather the strands of my hair and hold them out of the way to reveal the back of my neck. The muscles in my shoulders pull taut.

The first bite of the blade’s sharp edge in my skin doesn’t hurt, but it does make all of the muscles in my back tense further. The well of warm blood bubbles up and I feel a bead slide from the opening Ophelia creates as she draws the knife down further. I close my eyes, falling back into that safe place I’ve grown accustomed to—the place she forced me to create for myself.

“No one knows how the future will turn out,” she answers my question as her fingers make swift work of her task. The blade withdraws from my flesh and I hear it clatter onto the table a moment before her fingers—cooler than most—peel the cut open wider. I bite down on my lower lip to keep silent. “No mother knows how her children will turn out either.”

Now, I speak. “You’re not my mother.” The words spew from my lips despite my earlier thoughts. Yes, once, I had thought of her that way. She is, after all, the only adult woman who’d ever remained a constant in my life, but no mother forces her children into the dark for coin. No mother tortures them to keep others safe.

Her fingers dig beneath my flesh. “I won’t apologize for ensuring that you would survive a world intent on killing you.”

“Is that what you would call it?” I demand, hissing out a breath as her fingers brush against the stone in my neck and more blood flows down my back, soaking into the back collar of my tunic.

“Everyone has an evil side, Kiera. You might think that all of my sides are evil, but it was never my wish to hurt you.”

“Yet you did.” The words slice out from between my teeth as I clamp my hands into fists, digging the edges of my dulled nails into my palms until they feel as sharp as any sword.

Ophelia's lips twist into a scowl. Damn her. Harder and harder still, my heart solidifies. Fear. I feared this woman. Some part of me still does. Another part, however, freed somehow by the last few months I’ve experienced within the Academy no longer does. I see her for who she truly is.

A woman. Just a woman.

“It takes a great amount of violence to become gentle,” she whispers even as her fingers push into my neck, pinching that sliver of brimstone. My spine catches on fire and blood fills my mouth, spilling over my tongue and down the back of my throat before I realize I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to tear it open.

Those scorching tears return. The very air in my lungs evaporates, disappearing completely as I become breathless. My body shakes. My legs weaken. The pain … it’s more than I remember. I’m suddenly so viscerally aware of that tiny piece of brimstone inside me that it feels fused to my very skeleton and she is prying it out.

Black dots dance in front of my vision. Colliding into one another, they shake and tremble and waver in and out of sight as the breath held deep within me releases all at once with a great big whoosh. Suddenly, I can’t breathe anymore. Suddenly, the thin light of the sconces on the walls is completely gone, all that lies before me is darkness.

My knees crack as they bow inward, the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the floor. The soft whisper of Ophelia’s voice, talking … talking … what is she saying? I can’t hear her well as the pain overwhelms my other senses. Molten agony spreads from the place in my neck where the brimstone is slowly being pulled free. Vomit threatens to tear a path up my throat. I clench my teeth and hold it at bay with nothing but my desire not to show how fucking much this hurts.

After what feels like an eternity, Ophelia’s voice comes to me once more, halfway through whatever she’d been saying.

“—wished for someone to come for me, always did, and feared that I always would. I never had a daughter, and no, I understand that you don’t wish to consider yourself mine.”

Bile thickens my throat. My tongue swells. Is it over? No. Her fingers are still against the back of my neck, slipping in the blood there. More coats my flesh and the wet feeling of my tunic sticks to my upper back.

“The more time we spend on this land, the more we realize that few things are in our control,” Ophelia continues.

My body sways slightly and I feel more blood drip from my hands where my nails have finally dug past the layers of skin there. I can’t pass out here, I tell myself. Yet, I don’t quite remember how this thing had been put inside me to begin with. I know I hadn’t been standing but lying down.

“Peace is not for ones such as you, Kiera. Caedmon knows this. I know this. With what you can do, with the hand that the world has dealt you, you were always meant to do more than run from responsibility.”

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