Page 61 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

Kiera

The soft tinkling sounds of water dripping in a series ofplop plop plopsslowly rocks me back into the waking world. I repress a groan as my eyes flutter open, taking a moment to admire the carved-out stone of the ceiling above me.

Unlike the bedchamber I’ve been sleeping in for the last several nights, this one is arched as if the room itself is one large grotto that’s been carved from the mountain of brimstone that is Ortus Island. There’s no doubt either that I’m still on Ortus.

“You overdid it,” the soft voice from my last memory says, alerting me to the fact that I’m not alone.

I turn my head and feel my heart try to jump right out of my chest. Makeda stands before a rather large cypress that takes up a large portion of the room in a shimmering gown made of gold thread. Delicate ribbons of the same color tie the dress up around her throat, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. The light tone highlights the deep russet skin that appears smooth and unblemished as all Gods’ flesh are.

Makeda strokes a small branch of the tree before curling her fingers around a watering canister at her feet and lifting it to the tree’s roots which appear to disappear into the ground beneath it. Ground. Dirt. Not stone. I sit up in bed.

“Where am I?”

The Goddess of Knowledge finishes watering the roots before setting the pot back in place. “You are in a safe place,” she informs me, offering no elaboration.

Glancing down, I note that I’m no longer dressed in my tunic and trousers as I had been when I was following Nubo and Zalika. Instead, I’ve been dressed in a thin white nightshift. I gather the blankets in my hands, tightening my fists in frustration. There’s no point in seeing if my daggers are still in place. If she undressed me, then surely she’d taken them.

Makeda moves away from the cypress to another plant—this one hanging from a chained pot bolted into the stone. She takes the watering can and tips it into the top of the plant holder. Water leaks out of small holes at the bottom, dripping down the stone wall to the side and plopping into the ground. Had that been the sound that woke me?

“I’m sure you’re quite confused as to why I’ve brought you here,” Makeda says. Her words capture my attention and I drag my gaze back to her, away from the rivulets of water running over the stone.

“You could say that,” I hedge, examining both her and the rest of the room as I quietly shift to the edge of the mattress.

It’s a bedroom, that much is clear from the bed underneath me, but more than that, this chamber appears to be designed to replicate a dark garden. There are holes carved into the arched stone ceiling with dull gray light illuminating the space. It reveals the various flora that decorates the area. Plain trees like the cypress take up different areas, but so too do different versions of floral bushes. Pink and white and red blooms peer out from behind the trees and solid wood furniture that take up the space.

Despite the stone walls and ceiling that give it a cave-like image, this place feels warmer than any other in Ortus thatI’ve seen. Rich green ivy crawls up one side of the room and water runs down the other. There are perches of candles in tall bronze holders that illuminate what the skylights above don’t. It’s beautiful.

“I didn’t want to take you away like this,” Makeda murmurs, her voice carrying across the great room.

My bare feet touch soft earth and the warmth of it vibrates up through my legs into my bones. When was the last time I actually felt like I touched something living? All of Ortus is cold stone and icy danger. This place, though, this room is everything I’ve missed.

“Take me away?” I repeat Makeda’s words, not hiding the question in my tone.

Makeda’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. She sets the watering pot on a table also laden with various plants, flowers in pots, and sticks of weeds growing out of the floor, curling around the legs of the stand. Turning towards me, Makeda drifts over the floor on silent feet until she’s standing at the end of the bed. Our eyes meet and lock.

Can you hear me now, Neptis?

Her question, spoken in her voice, doesn’t come from her lips which remain pressed together and unmoving, but inside my head.

My eyes widen.

Yes,she says, before I can reply.I can speak to you this way but worry not. I cannot see into your mind and thoughts. It’s a gift that many Gods have and our children would have as well—her eyes break the contact and look to the floor—had we not allowed Tryphone to steal them.

“You talked to me in the arena,”I say.

Makeda’s head rises again and she smiles. “Yes,” she says, aloud this time. “Along with your otherAvia.”

“My what?”

Makeda’s full lips part with a quiet laugh. Reaching up, she covers her mouth as her shoulders shake with amusement. I wait as I watch her, both curious and confused as to why I don’t feel endangered here—alone with one of the God Council. I know I should.

When the Goddess calms, her hand drops back to her side. “There is much left to tell you,Neptis,” she says before holding out her arm and gesturing for me to stand. “Come.”

Left with little in the way of choices, I get off the bed and trail Makeda as she leads me further into her chambers—and that’s what I’m guessing this place is. It must be a private chamber for one of the Gods. It doesn’t feel like a prison, and no doubt the Gods that have had to remain on this island for their ceremonies wish to be reminded of their reward for this war—freedom, life, and their reign over all of Anatol.

Around a bend of more cypress trees, there is a small alcove with an opening for a large window. The glass is thick and strong—it must be to hold back the amount of water against its surface—and though it might make a half-decent escape, it’s clear that’s an unattainable goal because ocean waves crash into the outside of its frame. Algae covers the lower half of the window from the floor to above two feet off the ground and then there’s nothing but water. As the water ripples and flows, brief moments of the sky are revealed in the final foot from the ceiling, but overall, it’s merely a window into the great ocean beneath the surface of the waves.

“Please, sit.” Makeda gestures to the table set in front of the window. A plate of rounded cakes rests there along with several smaller plates and a steaming tea kettle. I’d seen kettles like this—the ones where a fireplace is unnecessary to use them—in many a God's home back when I was a working assassin. Set over a second plate, this one made of a special metal, the kettle is held over a fat, shallow candle meant to burn for long periods.

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