Page 59 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

Bowing my head, I contemplate what the pain could mean. Was Makeda attempting to do the same thing Tryphone had? Was she trying to get into my head? If so, why had it hurt so much? Why hadn’t I been able to hear her voice as I had at the arena back in Riviere? Or had that been Danai?

I drag my bottom lip between my teeth as I raise my head once more and open my eyes, acting for all of the world as if I didn’t just have some sort of connection with one of the members of the God Council trying to eradicate us all. Makeda has stepped back now, her head downcast and a new expression on what features I can make out.

Loss. Sorrow. Frustration.

Why? It would be so much easier if I could demand truths from the Gods. Everything would be so much easier if everyone simply said and did what they actually meant. Kill us slow or kill us fast, at the crux of it all, the Gods want us dead either way.

Gygaea’s been continuing to talk openly to the assembly hall while my attention was otherwise distracted, so when I come back to her, it’s midsentence.

“—ready bright and early, my children,” she’s saying, that ridiculously fake smile that’s more autocratic than anything else plastered to her mouth. “For you will find that we Gods have a few more things in store for the celebrations.”

Her arms lower and the previously quiet and nervous crowd seems to gain power from her words. Chatter rises from the rows upon rows of students. Knowing what I know, I look at them all with new eyes. A few of the seats that had been filled to the brim the other day are now comfortably full, rather than stuffed.

People are missing. Mortal Gods are missing.Maerynis missing.

I don’t know if I should be comforted by the fact that she’s not the only one, but the constriction in my chest doesn’t relax. When Gygaea releases the Mortal Gods, I watch her turn to Makeda. The smile falters slightly when she takes in the other Goddess, especially when Makeda’s expression hardens and the emotions that had been so evident to me before disappear completely.

The woman who’d looked back at me, who had seemed so disappointed by her inability to speak to me, she’d been almost … real. The woman that faces Gygaea is a Divine Being through and through. Her shoulders thrust back and her chin lifts. She arches a brow silently at her companion and Gygaea nods back with … is it deference?

Leaning to the side, I whisper to Ruen. “Who is more powerful between the Goddess of Strategy and the Goddess of Knowledge?” If anyone would know, certainly he would, right?

Ruen’s forehead pinches, his brows drawing together to form a v between them as he considers my question. “I suppose it would depend,” he finally says.

“On what?” I frown at him.

Midnight eyes meet mine. “On the battlefield.”

Strategy versus Knowledge. One might think that they were one and the same, but they’re not. No strategy can overcome a fight if they have the wrong information. Therefore, surely … knowledge is the highest power of them all.

The Darkhavens and I go back to our rooms to try and create our own strategy that will allow us to not only find Maeryn but to survive the rest of these rites without losing more of our powers. If only we had Makeda’s power of knowledge. If only we could find out all that we needed to ensure that we’d succeed.

If only we knew who we could trust.

Chapter 29

Kiera

There are wars that no one sees. Battles that no one knows anything about. Battles of the mind and wars of the soul. Ophelia used to tell me that only those who fight know what it means to be truly peaceful. Pacifism is a beautiful ideal, but it is a death sentence in a world where few would hesitate to cleave your head from your body to get what they desire.

I lie awake well into the night thinking of this even as the shadows of Ortus dance around me. Spiders creep through the walls, the sounds of their little feet like soothing music to lull me into a sense of safety. I don’t let them.

When the moon is high in the night sky, the thin beams shining in through my bedroom window, I toss back the covers and get up. It’s late, but there’s no use in sleeping when there is much to be done.

I put on my boots, tying the laces tight to my ankles and calves as I gather every weapon I’d managed to bring with me. Two daggers at my back, a vial of poison on a string around my neck, and little else. The door to my room creaks open and then shuts on rusty hinges. I pause for a moment with my back to the wall as I wait to see if the Darkhavens will wake to follow me. When nothing happens, no doors open, I start walking. Downthe hall and across the next. I vaguely remember the direction that Niall had been taken before, where all of the Terra seem to disappear to at the end of the days, and I follow it.

The further I get from the dorm residences for Mortal Gods, the worse the upkeep of Ortus seems. More cobwebs, long claw marks dragged down the sides of stone walls—as if great beasts had once been dragged through these corridors. I reach behind me and check to make sure my daggers are still in place as I blend into the shadows.

They become me and I become them. Letting my mind drift into the dark, I gather them to my body and wrap myself in their cool embrace. The sense of allowing the darkness to sink into my skin is something else entirely. My hands shake, though, with the effort it takes. Over the last few weeks, it’s been easier to sense the underlying buzz of power I’ve always held, but now it feels as if I’m back in my childhood. As if the brimstone in my nape is forcing down all of my abilities and after being freed for such a limited time, they are chafing at the constraints.

Sweat beads upon my brow. My breaths come in soft but silent pants. Still, I walk on, moving with wraith-like efficiency through corridor after corridor until finally, I hear a disruption to the unnatural silence. Stopping, I turn and let my body meld into the wall, the shadows swirling around me concealing me from view as two sets of booted feet echo in the near distance. The possessors of said feet come into my line of sight a moment later.

Zalika and Nubo. I narrow my gaze on them as they walk together, side by side, their heads tilted towards each other as they speak in low voices.

“—Gods are expecting a great celebration following the hunt,” Zalika says, her tone sharper than I remember. Gone is the imitation of devotion and kindness in her voice. It’s been replaced by what I suspect is her actual self. Cold. Authoritative.

When they pass me, neither glance in my direction and I can’t hold back the stretch of a smile across my lips. Pivoting, I trail after them, listening to the strings of their conversation as the shadows move under me, smoothing my way and silencing any sound my footfalls might make in their wake.

“The God King will desire a throne,” Zalika continues.

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