Page 52 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

"Whatever happened last night stole our memories," I guess aloud, eyes still locked on the last location of the bird's form in the distance. "We woke up with bruises and scratches and soot on our flesh."

"I remember the fire," Ruen agrees. "It was likely ashes and embers from that."

"But the scratches and bite marks?" I turn to face the room.

Theos' lips twitch despite the seriousness of the question. "Well, I suspected we drank too much and had some fun."

"We heal faster than humans, Theos," I point out. "I'm sure we slept for hours." The light curve of his smirk falls away in an instant as my meaning becomes clear. I reach up to the tenderness against my neck and shoulder, eyes flicking to Kalix as he watches me. "Why haven't we healed since last night?"

The question hovers in the air, a swinging axe over our heads. None of us have an answer, but one thing is clear—our memories might not be the only thing we've lost.

Chapter 26

Kiera

The Darkhavens and I spend the rest of the day together recovering from the effects of the night before and I finally withdraw Caedmon's book. Now that I know he's not dead, it seems there's no other reason for the damn thing not to be working. With my back to the wall as I sit next to the window of my bedroom, I flip through empty page after empty page.

I'd already tried to knock on Maeryn's door, but there had been no answer. Whether she's out at the dining hall or going to check up on Niall, I don't know, but I'm grateful now for her resistance to going to the Cleansing. Even if she doesn't wish to be dragged into the main fight, having a healer who hasn't had something stolen from her will be helpful in the long run.

"Come on..." I mutter as I flip yet another empty page. I slap the book closed and shake it as if doing so will help me. Of course, it doesn't, so I fling it across the floor, relishing in the thump of it hitting the stone and sliding until it bumps into one of the sturdy legs of the four-poster bed. I glare at it from my vantage point, debating on going back to the prison below Ortus Academy and demanding answers from the God of Prophecy himself.

The God Council took something from us last night with that ceremony. I don't know how, but if something like that is possible, then surely Caedmon can tell us how to protect ourselves from it in the future. But if I go see him then I'll have to see her too. My mother. A knock sounds on my door and without standing up, I call out for whoever it is to enter.

The door creaks open, rusted-out hinges groaning at the effort. Ruen stands there, a tray in hand and I grimace at the contents. Though it's not the awful concoction that Kalix made us all drink, the food of Ortus has left much to be desired and I'm already feeling myself start to lose what little extra weight I had before coming here.

"I'm not hungry," I say. He comes in anyway, ignoring my words as he closes the door behind him with the back of his boot and then strides over to me.

Slowly lowering himself in front of where I sit, Ruen puts the tray of Ortus' soup and stale bread to the side. The sight of the food brings me back to my thoughts on the prison below us.

Why hadn't I thought about the fact that they're starving down there? That they're without warmth or food or water or anything? They're dirty and starved and shackled by brimstone; only their Divinity—or whatever true power Atlanteans have—is keeping them alive.

I close my eyes as shame swamps me. No matter what she and Caedmon had done, how they had conspired to abandon me to the not-so-tender mercies of the Underworld, I should have at least thought of sending food orsomething.

Ruen reaches for the half loaf of bread and I follow the movement. He sits back on his ass, legs splayed, booted feet planted on the floor as he tosses the hard rock of bread between his palms thoughtfully. Swallowing against the dry lump in my throat, I turn my gaze to the window at my side.

Rain is falling, plopping into the ocean waves beyond the gray walls of Ortus. The garden pathway below is not visible from where I’m sitting, but I can watch the swirl of storm clouds and picture the fall of water into the churning sea and deadened grass and stone, soaking the brimstone mountain with its wetness. Rain is simple like that, it has one purpose. To wash things away. I wish it could wash away this whole island ... even if I were still on it.

“You should send that to the prison,” I say quietly, letting my thoughts out and hoping Ruen doesn’t guess at the guilt beneath the surface.

His movements stop, the ball of bread landing in one hand and staying there. “I arranged for food to go down to Caedmon and your mother the day after we found them,” he says, surprising me.

Jerking my head around, I’m pierced by the cavernous depth of his stare. “You did?”

A curl of dark hair falls over the left side of his forehead as he tilts his head at me. “I did,” he confirms. “Kalix’s snakes can be quite useful in delivering supplies. They can slither into a lot of places others would prefer to remain hidden.”

The burden in my chest eases but only marginally. “I see.” I don’t know what else to say, but thankfully, Ruen doesn’t let me sit in the uncomfortable silence for long.

“I understand a part of why you hate her,” Ruen murmurs, and suddenly I’m wishing very much for the return of uncomfortable silence. Somehow, I think that would be better than the actual discussion of my feelings towards my mother.

“You don’t need to.” The defensive words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. I want to drag them back, kicking and screaming though they might be, and lock them away. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.It’s pointless. Why I feel the way I feel doesn’t erase the actual emotion.

“Kiera.” Pain ripples out from my head in waves, all of them combining into one massive tsunami the likes of which I’ve never even heard of in fairytales. It’s not real. It’s too much. All of it.

I don’t want to talk about this. I stand abruptly, towering over him and though I refuse to look down, I can sense his attention on me. “It shouldn’t matter,” I tell him before rephrasing. “Itdoesn’tmatter.”

I step over his legs and stride across the room to where I’d thrown the book. Bending down, I pick it up and wipe off some of the dust that had collected on its cover due to its slide across the floor.

“If it doesn’t matter, then why did you ask me to make sure they had food?”

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