Page 57 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“If it’s not in my room by the end of the day, I will personally rip apart yours until I find every single one of them,” I grit out.

Dark eyes that appear even darker in the sunken features of his face meet mine. “There’s only one,” he says.

But he can always get more. It’s dangerous but possible. After all, the mere fact that Ruen has yet another brimstone blade in his possession when I took and disposed of his last one should be evidence enough that if he wants to retrieve another, he will.

I jerk my chin to the end of the field. “Go,” I snap. “You’re likely in no fucking position to be training today. Contact Maeryn and see if?—”

“No.” Ruen stops me.

I arch a brow and wait.

“I don’t want anyone to know,” he says. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

My upper lip curls back and I turn, grabbing ahold of him once more. The two of us spin until I slam his spine into the nearest wall surrounding the arena. I sense several eyes upon us, but I ignore them as I get up in his face.

“Your ‘taking care of it’ has left you like this,” I snarl at him. I grab ahold of one of his arms and lift it, reaching with my other hand to yank back the sleeve of his nearly skin tight tunic. Freshly scabbed over cuts greet me on top of old ones.

Bile threatens to come up my throat. “Kalix and I rely on you,” I snap as he yanks his arm away and jerks the tunic sleeve back into place. “We listen to you. You owe me the same Gods damned courtesy when you’re being a fucking idiot.”

Ruen’s expression goes blank. He stares back at me and my stomach rolls.

I have to force the next words out without puking. “Go. To. Maeryn.” The order is an angry, pain-filled plea. “You don’t even have to tell her to heal you herself. She’ll have herbs that will expedite the process.” I release him and step back. He still doesn’t move. His eyes are empty, devoid of life, of anything but shame and resignation.

“You can’t break on us, Ruen,” I tell him. “Not now.”

Not ever.

Chapter 24

Kiera

Nothing. There is absolutely nothing in the records of the library that is even marginally useful. With frustration, I slam closed the book in front of me, sending a waft of dust out from between the pages. I cough and swipe a hand in front of my face to clear away the last vestiges of the particles that have become airborne. The cover itself hadn’t been covered in dust, which is more of a testament to the work of the Terra and caretakers of the books than its time off its shelf. Even now, a subtle glance around the stacks of shelves and the darkened corners of the quiet space reveals that I’m one of the few Mortal Gods here.

When I was forced to work here, it had felt more like a retreat away from the Mortal Gods than the actual punishment it was meant to be. Few students venture into this space. If they need the volumes within, they usually send Terra with notes on which ones to pull and deliver to them.

A familiar figure appears around the corner of one of the shelves, her pallid face half hidden by the wash of brown and gray hair over her shoulder. Sylvis moves quickly and quietly through the arching shelves like a ghost and I wonder at how much longer she has. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been, in essence, one of my prison guards when I was forced to work here. She had never been unkind though.

Absently, I find myself scratching the inside of my wrist as I watch her go. The memory of her secretive discussion with Caedmon prickles at the back of my mind. She looks more tired than she had before and I know it’s not all because of age. Mortals don’t age that quickly in the span of a few short months. Whatever Caedmon had given her is obviously not helping her as much as either of them had hoped.

My eyes fall to my wrist again. For a moment, I contemplate slicing open a vein and finding a vial to fill it with my blood. It would help her, I know. It would be a kindness for her lack of cruelty when to the rest of the Academy I’d been nobody, just another mortal Terra whose life was subject to the whims of the Mortal Gods and their sires.

Almost as soon as the thought takes over, I shake it away. Even if I could afford to risk giving my blood to her, there’s no telling if she would accidentally reveal the gift to another Terra, someone who might go tattling to the Gods. A Mortal God who’d lived her life as an unknowing human wouldn’t have the idea of sharing their blood to heal a lowly servant.

I push the volume in front of me away, standing up from the table and wincing as my back throbs in protest. Stretching up on my toes, I start to gather the books I’d taken down from the shelves of past graduates of the Academy, pausing when I spot a book beneath the others that I’ve already reviewed.

Sitting back down, I flip it open and scan the index. This is last year’s list of Riviere attendees and graduates—whereas the others were older. This is the one I’d been looking for to begin with. I scan back to where it had been—why hadn’t I placed it on top? Why hadn’t it been the first one I’d looked at?

Frowning, I return my focus to the tome and then start to go through it. Minutes later, my pulse begins to race. Excitement pours through me and my hands hover over the names with a fine, barely there tremble. I hurriedly flip the page and start scanning the next. Then the next and the next, until I find them all.

Demetria Gyllmare—transferred.

Atticus Varlane—transferred.

Philomena Deveras—transferred.

Cecil Marr—transferred.

Seline Xarxis—transferred.

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