Page 56 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

“That old fucking fool.” I blink as Caedmon practically spits the words, holding the book.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse,” I mutter, still surprised.

He raises his eyes to me. “I rarely do,” he replies, “but in this instance, it’s warranted.”

“Is it worse than what he’s already doing?” I ask. “Kiera said that when she took a look into his mind that she saw the taboo—that he and the others on the God Council have been sucking the Divinity from Mortal Gods to extend their lives and keep up the facade.”

“Kiera saw into Tryphone’s mind?” Ariadne asks, reaching out and gripping the bars.

My gaze flicks to her as I nod my answer before returning to look at Caedmon.

“It’s not worse,” Caedmon speaks slowly as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s the same thing, simply on a much larger scale.”

“How large?”

“She’s seen into the God King’s mind and he hasn’t killed her?” Ariadne interrupts before Caedmon can answer me.

I scowl her way. “No, he hasn’t killed her. He probably doesn’t want to admit that he wasn’t able to steal into her mind. That’s the only reason she was able to get into his.”

Ariadne shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

“What?” Distracted by her words, I turn my attention from her to Caedmon and back again. “What do you mean?”

Her knuckles whiten as she tightens her hold on the bars to just the point of breaking her own skin. “You know that not all Mortal Gods inherit their abilities,” she says, pausing to ensure that I nod my agreement. When I do, she continues. “Despite that, a certain percentagedoinherit their abilities, small though it is. Kiera has already proven that she has some of my abilities, but if she was able to slip into Tryphone’s mind, perhaps she’s inherited some of my parents’ abilities as well.”

“Mortal Gods usually only have one ability though,” I say.

“Usually,” she agrees with a sharp jerk of her chin. “But not always. If Tryphone hasn’t killed her for countering his attempt to get into her head, then he must already suspect that she is my daughter—his granddaughter.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter to him,” I tell her. “She was at the Cleansing—” I shake my head. “Or theTraiectusceremony as well. She’s experiencing the same thing we all are.”

Ariadne’s shoulders slump at that information. “Oh, I see.” It’s clear to me then, that perhaps Ariadne had hoped that in spite of her own circumstances, her daughter would be safe if the God King accepted her. Despite knowing how Kiera feels about the woman, I can’t help but pity the Goddess. I wish I couldsay something to comfort her, but there are no words for our situation. There is no amount of comfort I could give that would eradicate the fact that she is down here and we are up there. That we could all die at any given moment at the will of the cruel race of beings that enslaves us all with illusions of peace.

“You must be careful of the next ceremony to take place,” Caedmon says, interrupting our quiet thoughts.

I turn back to him. “Do you know what it will be?” I ask, trying to think back to what had been announced by Azai.

“Venatus,” Caedmon replies. “They may ask you to kill something. To show your power still.” He presses into the bars. “Do not fall victim to it.”

“So we shouldn’t kill anything?”What about the Gods themselves?

“Not before the first quarter moon that will occur on the Equinox,” Caedmon says. “And certainly not at their behest.”

“Okay.” I nod my understanding. “I’ll warn the others. We’ll be wary.”

“For the third ceremony, they’ll host a celebration of sorts—or so it will seem,” he continues. “It’s not. It isSollemnitas, the consumption of your kill. It is the final piece to what they need.”

“Power,” I guess aloud.

He dips his chin. “All of it,” he says. “The more who participate, the more power they will yield. They are harvesting the abilities of the students.”

“So that’s why they had Perditia come too.” I glance down to the floor and back again. “But … why aren’t there any Ortus students?” I ask. “I haven’t seen any?—”

“Oh, dear boy,” Ariadne says, cutting me off. A bitterness steals into her words.

I pivot to face her, frowning at the waif-like position she’s taken. Her body sways behind the bars of her cage. “Don’t you get it? Ortus has never been an Academy. No Atlantean ... orGod”—she pauses just long enough to chuckle at the reminder of what they are, and what they are not—"would ever want to come here if they weren’t forced to. This place is and always has been a prison.”

There’s no surprise in me just as there’s no hint of optimism in her.

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