Page 19 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“Of course there is something wrong with her,” Ruen mutters, his voice vibrating against my side, letting me know that he’s the one carrying me. My fingers curl into limp fists. I bite down on my tongue, tasting bile. I’m going to be sick. I don’t know how to tell him, how to warn him. “She just had brimstone removed from her—a piece that she had inside her body for years.” The last word hisses from his throat, and in my own mind, fogged over with confusion and pain, I can’t guess why he sounds so angry.

“The redhead is a healer,” I dimly hear Kalix say. “As soon as we return, I’ll send for her.”

Ruen doesn’t reply for the longest time and I sway back and forth in his arms, growing more and more content with the gentle rocking than I ever thought possible with a man I regarded, once, as my enemy. Is he my enemy now, though? Are any of them?

Before my addled mind can supply an answer, Ruen’s low timbre reverberates through me once more. “Fetch her yourself.” His voice is low as air wafts over us, sliding past my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose. We’re moving fast, I realize. Faster than human speeds. “I want her in the North Tower within the hour we arrive.”

My lashes flicker and I glance up. If I still had control of my body’s responses, I would gasp in surprise as the glittering night sky is replaced by a different one—just as dark, but far less speckled with white dots.

Ruen’s gaze bores into me and his lips curl down at the edges. “We’ll have Maeryn check you over, Kiera.” I know he’s aware that I’m still somewhat conscious even if I’m struggling to stay that way. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

He sounds sure, but I can’t tell if that’s hope in his voice or determination. I’m starting to wonder if the two aren’t somehow irrevocably linked. One who is determined to hope is usually the one who sees the fruit of his labor, after all.

I don’t say as much though. I don’t even manage a response at all before the dark midnight of Ruen’s eyes swirl into nothingness and I fall into the depths of oblivion.

When next I wake, my back is pressed into a comfortable mattress and not the rickety and squeaky cot I’ve become accustomed to. I blink my eyes open and spy a mass of circular etchings in the ceiling of a canopy above me. My gaze flickers over the wooden ceiling of the large four poster bed I recognize from the many times I’d cleaned Ruen’s bedroom. Despite how often I’ve been in this room, however, I’ve never lain on his bed. Therefore, I never knew that there were so many images carved above the mattress. Scenes of blossoming flowers and filigree dot the outside edges, but the closer I get to the center, the more the swirls of circles darken and take on more deadly imagery. Skulls and swords. Monsters shaped like hungry wolves with fangs that drip with what I can only think is blood since between their massive jaws, they carry hearts and arms and even a few heads.

It’s wicked and ugly and yet, at the same time, beautiful. The cycle of life and death, of kill or be killed, of survival. The vision of it is so clear, too, that I’m reminded of the events that took place before I passed out.

Slowly, I shift and sit up in the giant bed, turning my head to scan the room and finding it empty. The curtains on either side of the floor to ceiling window several feet away in the corner furthest from the fireplace reveal that day has broken once more and sunlight pours in across the dark wooden floors and wine-red rugs.

The scent of ink and parchment permeates the space. I close my eyes and inhale. Beyond that studious scent is something else, and I reopen my eyes, turning my head back to the window and up when I spot a hanging basket. Inside is a pot, and from it, long thin strands of greenery flow. I inhale again, and the mint is stronger now with this new awareness.

I suppose that explains why there was always a hint of mint mixed in with his natural ink and parchment smell. How had I never noticed the plant hanging there in all the times I’d been in his room? No, maybe I had but had dismissed it.

The brimstone must have been muffling all of my natural senses and now with it gone, everything seems brighter, stronger. Scents. Sights. Everything from the light coming in from the window to the natural scent that I’ve smelled on Ruen Darkhaven crushes against me. A moment later, the click of the door opening has me up and out of bed.

Heart pounding against my ribcage, I shoot to the nightstand where I spy a dagger waiting there. I don’t know if it was left by Ruen or if it’s my own. A cursory glance down reveals that I’ve been stripped of my earlier clothes and redressed in a nightgown. The dagger and holster I usually have on me are gone as well. I bite my tongue. If Ruen or one of the other Darkhavens stripped me, they’ll regret that.

My anxiety eases a split second later as a familiar head of fiery red hair appears around the side of the door. Maeryn’s face lifts as she carries a bowl of what looks like water and a satchel in her arms. Pink lips part and her cheeks fill as she inhales. “You’re awake,” she says. “Oh, thank goodness.”

I nod and slowly set the dagger back down on the nightstand. “How long have I been asleep?” I demand.

Maeryn’s face twists from relief to a slight grimace. Her skirts, a mass of cream-colored fabric, swish around her legs as she moves. The black vest over the peasant-style blouse of the dress cinches tight at her waist, giving her a similar figure to the one I’ve seen when she wears trousers and tunics during her battle training.

“It’s…” She begins, a v forming between her brows. With a sigh, she shakes her head and nods to the bed. “You should probably sit down. I want to check your Divinity.”

I frown at her even as I turn and place my butt against the side of the mattress. Maeryn finishes walking the length of the room and sets the bowl and satchel down on the nightstand next to the dagger. She doesn’t comment about the weapon, doesn’t even seem to notice as she turns to me, and now that her hands are free, lifts them to my face.

“So, how long have I been asleep?” I repeat my earlier question as her light fingers smooth down my forehead, pushing the rat’s nest that is my hair back. Her skin is cool, colder than I expected, but her movements are soothing and calm.

With how close she is, it’s not hard to see the finer details of her expression. Her lashes twitch with my words and beneath the smattering of light freckles over her pale skin, her face blanches before smoothing out.

“Three days,” is her only answer before she hushes me. Her hands fall over my eyes and I’m forced to close them. “The Darkhavens requested that I come and see to you and Ruen informed me that they’d removed a, er, a piece of brimstone that had been in your body.”

“Yes.” I keep my own response light as she moves the pads of her index fingers to my temples and then presses down. A muscle jumps between my brows.

“I’ve never known a Mortal God who has ever had something like that inserted in them, much less for a long period of time,” Maeryn informs me. “There might be some lingering effects. How do you feel?”

“Everything is too bright,” I admit. “Sounds are too loud. Smells are too strong.”

She hums in the back of her throat, not an ugly sound, but instead unintentionally lyrical. As her hands pull back, my lashes lift once more. Maeryn turns towards the satchel she brought.

“What happened while I was asleep?” I ask. “Why am I in here and not in my own room?”

Flipping open the top of the bag, Maeryn rifles inside until she withdraws a glass vial with some sort of dark brown liquid and another with what looks to be crushed spices. Uncapping the first and pouring it into the bowl of water, the smell hits me a moment later and I gag, turning away.

“Fuck, what is that?” I cough out, my eyes already watering. “It smells foul.”

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