Page 38 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

Kill the God King, Caedmon had said. That is my mission, my purpose. It is the reason my mother stayed away when I needed someone to save me. Of all the things I've done, the people I've killed and denza I've collected, I've never even once considered that I would cross this line. Familicide. My destiny is wrought with twisted vines and grotesque expectations, but only I can make this choice. Do I let the last part of my soul be consumed by the taint of murder once more? Or is there a way to convince the God King to stop?

"Well, this is unexpected." Theos' words repeat the necessity of dragging me out of my internal reverie as he turns, holding up a long strip of fabric that's embroidered with fine etchings of gold along the seams and hems. "It's just fabric." Theos turns it, shaking the long black fabric out. "There's no holes for the legs."

I'd be amused by the confused expression on his face were it not for the fact that I'm still trapped in my thoughts and the fear of what I might have to do. The answer, however, comes from a soft feminine voice beyond the doorway. I look up to find Maeryn standing there, a long strip of fabric that's equally black, but nearly translucent in one hand and a paper much like the one I'm clutching in my fist in the other. Her normally paleface has taken on a waxy hue, the dark circles beneath her eyes causing her face to appear more sunken and almost skeletal like all of those who reside on Ortus.

"It's amors pallium,” she says. "It's a garment of ancient times." Her words don't explain the dawning dread that's converted her normally serene features into that of a terrified child.

Ruen's hands fall away from my shoulders as he rounds the group of us and moves towards the door. "How do you know?" he asks, pausing an arm's length from where she stands.

Maeryn's throat works as she swallows, glancing down at the fabric in her hand as if it's a snake coiled and ready to strike, before her eyes return to his. "I studied the ancient ones at Riviere," she croaks.

Theos lowers the fabric back into the box and frowns at her, but Ruen is the one to speak.

"What do these garments mean, Maeryn?" Ruen asks, his voice impossibly soft.

Maeryn releases a noise unlike any I've ever heard from her, like a wounded animal as her fingers tighten on the fabric in her grip. The paper in her hand flutters to the floor, forgotten, as she clutches at the thin cloth. Her fingers tighten, knuckles going bone white as she directs her eyes down at the thing almost accusingly.

“It was erased in history books.” Her words are practically a whisper, they're so light. “They were a shame brought to those who had committed the utmost betrayal of the high ancestors of Anatol. Before even the Gods came, they were a sign of evil. Caedmon…”

When she looks up once more, her gaze moves past Ruen and Theos and even Kalix as he drifts closer to the open doorway. Tears fill her gaze, fear evident in their porcelain green depths,before cascading down her hollow cheeks. “Do you think he knew?” she asks. “Is that why he taught me about them?”

Ruen is infinitely gentle as he steps into the hallway and cups her shoulders, turning her to face him. Even though her body goes, her eyes stay on mine. I don’t know why, but the image of her standing there with her normally vibrant features so dull and lifeless, I feel as if I’m looking into a horrible vision of the future.

Death all around us. Her eyes unseeing, staring out from a mass of staked bodies. Naked limbs intertwined with bones. Bile crawls up my throat.

“What do they mean?” Ruen asks again, shaking her slightly.

Her mouth forms the words, but the rushing of blood in my ears makes hearing them futile. It doesn’t matter, though, I can still read her lips and know the curse she speaks.

“Death comes for you.”

Chapter 19

Kiera

Death comes for me in the form of a practically transparent robe-like garment. The cups of the brassiere are soft leather straps that crisscross over the front of my chest as I stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror of my bed chamber. An Ortus Terra, who’d introduced herself as Iysa, scurries back and forth across the room behind me, a slender woman with dark eyes and a willowy figure. Her dark hair is laced with streaks of gray and the mass of it is twisted up into a crown atop her head, leaving her thin, fragile-looking throat bare.

She, along with a Terra for each door in the corridor, had arrived at twilight, informing us that they were to help prepare us for the ceremony. If I’d hoped to gain any more information from her, however, she’s made it her mission to disappoint me. Since informing me of the reason for her presence, she’s remained mute other than the occasional request for me to shift or move or bend to allow her to arrange my hair to some specification it’s clear she’s been tasked with.

Now, I stand facing my mirrored image in little more than a mockery of a gown. The crossing silken top of it is the only piece that’s not utterly and offensively translucent. The outlineof my body, from my ribs to my stomach and hips is clearly visible through the dark shadowy fabric, the paleness of my flesh turning it into something gray.Death comes for you.

I wonder, absently, if the meaning of this mors pallium is due to the fact that a pale person wearing one makes their skin appear like that of a corpse.

The long strips of fabric that drape down my stomach and over my hips are cinched closer with gold diamond-shaped brooches. After carting in a portable, though rudimentary, wash tub and actually giving me an opportunity to clean myself more thoroughly than I had in days, my skin glimmers beneath the dress. Every so often, when I twist or turn or move, the slits of the fabric separate and reveal the true color of the flesh beyond.

Iysa comes forward and I lift my arms as she wraps several long lengths of thin golden ropes around my waist. I jump as the heaviness settles firmly on my hips and I realize, it’s not ropes at all, but metal. Lifting the dangling length of one, I raise it to my face and examine it.

The metal is so thin and fragile that it bends easily when I twist an end and then it quickly falls back into its original formation. “How is such a thing created?” I murmur absently.

To my shock, Iysa replies. “The Gods have all manner of magic,” she says quietly, continuing the work of weaving the ropes of metal around me and then braiding them down so that the front part sags forward.

I scowl when I realize what the adornment actually does. The rope seems to gather the folds of the dress and drag them forward, between my legs so that nothing covers me from ankle to thigh, the dress having fallen under the weight.

I lift it. “Is this really necessary?” I demand. Before giving Iysa a chance to respond, I start to undo her work, unbraiding one end and yanking at the ropes.

“No, you mustn’t!” Showing, perhaps for the first time in her life, some defiance, she snatches my hands back and readjusts the adornment. “It is meant to be like this.” She tuts and fixes it. “Oh, the Gods will be most displeased if all is not as they wish.”

I eye her speculatively, arms half lifted as I give in and allow her to do as she wishes—I’ll just rip it off once she’s gone. “What is it, exactly, that the Gods wish for?” I inquire, keeping my tone light as if it’s just mere curiosity that drives me to ask the question.

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