Page 42 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

Her head comes up slightly and this time, instead of peering at me openly with gaping curiosity, she’s a bit more discreet. Her gaze moves over me through the veil of her lashes and the dishwater blonde of her hair before she bobs her head and turns to go first.

The change in my status—and more specifically, in the way I’m being treated—leaves my insides rioting in annoyance. There is nothing about me that has changed. I look the same. I sound the same. I even act the same, though a little less polite than I’d been previously, especially with the Darkhavens. Yet, somehow, I am different from those around me now that my heritage is no longer hidden.

As I consider that, though, I’m reminded of Niall. I should talk to him soon, I decide. Tell him that nothing has changed between him and me. No matter that he knows my secrets, I am always and still just Kiera, the ex-servant who never quite fit and the girl he befriended when she had no one else.

My heart aches at that. Yes, Niall is my friend … just as Regis is … was.

The female Terra in front of me leads me down the stairs of the North Tower, out and through several outdoor corridors before surprising me and leading me down a different set of stairs I don’t recall ever having traveled before. I know it from the blueprints Regis had given me what now feels like a millennia ago. Even in those details, though, there had been nothing more than short notes and lines to draw out the walls and exit routes.

In person, this section of the Academy is much brighter than I expected. Wall sconces light up the curving staircase, illuminating the path without any windows, but when we get to the bottom, the walls disappear entirely and reveal glass all around. Unlike the darkness that had been outside the windows on the way here, the windows here are full of light. Someone with Divinity must be in charge of taking care of this place, but it’s the only excuse for the bright, almost sunny, interior. Unnatural warmth permeates the air, sliding over my face and shoulders, seeping past the clothes I’m wearing as a sweet scent lingers. I sniff and frown. There’s a hint of floral but also something deeper and richer.

“Miss?”

I hear the Terra, but my focus is on the man standing several paces in front of me. Shrouded in a light golden long coat that folds lopsided over one half of his chest, Caedmon stands like a King of old surrounded by leafy trees and sprouts of colorful blooms. The foliage shivers as if there’s an invisible wind only they can sense. Somehow, it pulls them toward him before fluttering back as Caedmon lifts his head and meets my gaze.

“That will be all, Desireé. Thank you for bringing her to me.”

The girl—Desireé—bobs her head, bowing slightly before she scuttles away, back towards the stairwell, and out of sight. Caedmon and I are left alone in silence. I wait for him to begin, to explain why I’m here even if it’s for the tutoring I was informed I would be subject to, but he doesn’t speak. Not even when I chance several more paces into the … well, room would seem an odd thing to call it now that I realize what it truly is. A greenhouse. Or rather a green corridor.

On the map, this section of the academy appeared like a long-forgotten hallway with no end. Seeing it in person makes me realize that it had always been built for this—to house great palms and miniature trees and buds of a floral nature. I pass around where Caedmon stands in front of a stone table with two seats set out. If he expects me to sit before him without ever saying a word to me, he’ll have to think again.

I keep my side facing him even as I bend over a particularly fat bush and lift one of the leafy stalks that protrude from its top. Little dots of red line the stalk and when I touch one gently it unfurls, going from what once looked like a berry to a full-blown bloom in a matter of seconds. That rich, heady scent gets stronger.

“I would be careful around that one,” Caedmon murmurs quietly. “She can become a bit testy when touched without permission.”

I straighten and face him fully. The God of Prophecy is dressed like he’s attending some party later. The gold stitching on his coat edges all the way to his knees and the billowy white pants that cover the rest of his legs only serve to make his skin even darker. When I look into his face, it’s like looking into the night sky.

“Why did you call me here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my displeasure with him.

Not because he called me here. Not even because he was Ophelia’s client which means he—along with practically everyone I’ve trusted for the last few months—has been lying to me. I don’t trust him and I’m certainly not happy to be in his presence when I don’t know what to do with him. Yet, he still holds a lot of power over me.

Caedmon closes his eyes with a sigh and when he reopens and fixes them on me, it’s with a creased brow. “You don’t need to act so defensive around me, Kiera,” he says. “I don’t wish you any harm.”

“You’ve lied to me once already; what’s to say that’s not a lie as well,” I shoot back.

Ebony eyes glitter dangerously, and I get the distinct impression that the face Caedmon has shown me up until this point is not all there is to him. I believe that feeling; it’s an instinctual reaction that has saved my life more times than I care to count. Right now those instincts are roaring at me with a good dose of apprehension. I might be an assassin—or I suppose was an assassin—but I’m still mortal. God blood or not, I’ve always been and always will be mortal. To stay alive as I have, relying on my senses and my intuition, isn’t just an option. It’s a necessity.

With soft, but deliberate movements, Caedmon moves around the stone table at his side and takes a seat. When he lifts his hands to the box perched in the center there, gold rings glint across three of his fingers, two on one hand and one on the other.

“Come.” The word is an order. “Take a seat.”

Biting down on my lip, I leave behind the leafy bush and take the five or so steps to the table. I sit down gingerly in the seat across from him. Caedmon lifts the lid of the wooden box and then begins to withdraw small objects.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks as he lays out a flat checkered mat and then sets the smaller objects atop it.

“Chess.” I haven’t seen a board in a long time, not since the early days of Ophelia’s training. Even then, it was a rarity. Ophelia didn’t love chess the way those of the gaming persuasion did, but she did find its value in teaching strategy. Regis and I had played many times that first and second year in the Underworld.

Is he still in Riviere? The question pops into my mind before I can stop it and I close my eyes, hating the wave of pain that assails me. I’m angry with Regis, and though I know that anger is rooted in hurt, that doesn’t make it any less volatile.

“That’s correct.” Caedmon’s voice pulls me back and I lift my gaze to collide with his as he finishes setting up the board.

“I thought I was here for the tutoring I was told I needed,” I say as he flips the lid of the wooden box shut again and sets it to the side.

“You are.”

The rings on his hands glitter again as he lifts one hand, hovering it over a pawn on his side of the board. I frown at his words. “Then what is this?” I gesture to the game set in front of me.

Caedmon doesn’t answer right away because of course he doesn’t. Why would anyone want to give me an answer to a question when I ask it? Instead, he takes his time, glancing over the pieces from the pawns to the rooks and bishops. Finally, he settles on one pawn and moves it barely an inch from its original position.

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