Page 98 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

The scar disappears from view as he drops the overly large tunic back into place. “I should be dead,” he mutters hoarsely. “Carcel tried to kill me.”

“Did he say why?”

Regis scowls. “He didn’t have to.” His eyes darken. “That little shit’s always been jealous of both of us. I figured when he took over Ophelia’s position, he’d boot the two of us, but I never thought he’d do this.” He gestures to his now covered stomach.

I stare at the light cloth as if I can see past the fabric to the puckered and raised scar beyond. Everyone in the Underworld is capable of violence, but the one thing the Underworld drummed into us was that active Guild members were never to be the target.

Carcel, whether he realizes it or not, has broken a cardinal rule and I would bet every goddamn denza in Anatol that Ophelia is in the dark about it. If she’s not … well, then there’s only one other explanation. Carcel might be a lot of things, not the least of which being a backstabbing bitch, but I can’t imagine him killing his own mother.

That is, if he even could.

“There’s more to it than revenge or jealousy,” I say.

Regis blows out a breath. “Of course,” he agrees. “Carcel first came and asked after Madam Brione. When I told him she wasn’t there, he began asking me questions about you and about the men—the Mortal Gods—you’d brought with you last time. He kept asking if you’d responded to any of my communications. He thought I was lying when I told him that you hadn’t.”

I will not feel guilty.

“One of the men he’d brought with him started going through the shop and another even went upstairs and went through the room you’d used when you were staying there.”

“What did they look like?” I ask. “The men he brought?”

Regis’ brows pinch down as if he’s thinking back. “I—it’s hard to remember.” He grits the words out as if they’re shameful. “I do know that they were weird though.”

I tilt my head. “Weird how?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he confesses. “It was like … there wasn’t anything wrong with the way they looked or even anything they said—well, actually, they didn’t say anything.”

“None of them?”

He shakes his head. “They never talked,” he says, tone growing more confident. “Maybe that was it. It was like they were puppets, they followed Carcel’s commands, but their eyes were all…” He frowns and then waves a hand in front of his face. “Like there was no one home, you know? I think one stared straight at me and when I met his eyes, there was just … nothing in them. It almost looked like…” Regis pauses, his words drifting off as he tucks his head down, a deep frown marring his features. “No.” He shakes his head again, harder this time. “There’s no way.”

“What?” I demand, reaching forward and grabbing him by the shoulders. “Regis, if the Underworld is compromised, then so am I. We all are.” Me. The Darkhavens. Him. Carcel knows everything and if he wanted to, he could take all of our secrets straight to the Gods. I’m shocked he hasn’t already. “What did you notice about them?”

When Regis lifts his head again, his eyes are glassy. His nostrils flare and he starts to tremble. “Their eyes…” His voice is barely above a whisper and I lean closer. “They were the eyes of dead men.”

Chapter 41

Ruen

When I was young, there was a horrible epidemic that spanned across the eastern part of Anatol. The infected were locked away in their homes with large red Xs painted over their front doors to warn others away from the affliction. During that time, my mother and I traveled between smaller villages in the back of a wagon along with a poor merchant in exchange for errands and mending. We saw the devastation, witnessed the families of the infected sobbing over burning huts and left in the cold if they were well and their loved ones slowly died of the disease.

My mother had likely paid the merchant in more than simple errands and mending. She’d likely given him more than I’d ever have wanted her to. Despite that, I don’t begrudge her for doing what she did. I simply wish I’d been stronger so that she wouldn’t have been forced to make those choices. Perhaps that’s why I don’t judge Kiera for what she’s had to do for survival even if I can’t and won’t offer the same grace to myself.

Now, as I stare into the eyes of the man who came for me at age ten, I see the same horror as I did then. The only difference is that he is the disease, the devastation wrought upon the land and all of its people—all of the Gods are. They have no loved ones who will mourn them; I certainly won’t.

“Well?” Azai arches a brow, his upper lip curling back as he awaits a response to his demand.

“I can’t give you what I don’t know,” I say coolly.

The snarl he unleashes is a sound that belongs in the throat of an animal and not a man—Divine or not. My back slams against the stone wall in the next instant and his hot breath fans across my face as he holds me off the floor.

“Then. You. Will. Find. Out.” Each word is clipped and full of rage.

I tilt my head down, picking a spot on his forehead to stare at as I angle my chin in just the right way to crack my neck. Then I straighten back up and return his angry glare with a slow, apathetic blink.

“No.”

“No?” His hands slip and my feet touch the floor again.

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