Page 55 of Kissed By the Gods
She laughs again, waving me away as she finds a needle and thread. “I’m a healer who works with warriors,” she says. “Trust me when I tell you I’m very adept with a stitch.” She purses her lips. “Perhaps not fashionable, but adept. I’ll bring them up for you.”
She’s already murmuring to herself as she plays with the fabric when Leif and Kiernan walk in through the open door. Their smiles are wide and welcoming, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
“Hey, sister.” Leif’s tucked his hands in his pockets. I don’t think I’ve seen him unarmed since he was in the infirmary with me. “We’re here to bust you out of this wretched place.”
Elowen, unimpressed, throws a sachet of herbs at his head. Leif catches it midair, laughing.
“My infirmary is anything but wretched, Leif,” she retorts, narrowing her eyes.
He holds the sachet up in surrender. “I meant no offense, oh gifted one.”
Kiernan snorts, arms crossed over his chest, and mutters, “Smooth.”
Leif ignores him and turns to me, clapping me on the shoulder. It stings, but I don’t mention it. His eyes are full of mischief. “Ready to see your new room, or have you grown attached to the smell of vinegar and suffering?”
I smirk, shaking my head as I grab my satchel. It is still light, but then I strap my scythe onto my back.
“Let’s go,” I say, ready to start this new part of my life. I turn back to Elowen at the door, though. I’m surprised to find I’ll miss her—a princess of the kingdom that oppresses mine.
Elowen stands by the table, watching me with a knowing look. There’s warmth in her gaze, a steadiness that’s been a quiet anchor through the long days I’ve spent within these walls dealing with isolation, grief, and fear.
She lifts the too-long trousers, a sweet smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’ll get these to you soon,” she says, but something deeper colors her words. A promise. A thread of connection, however thin, however fleeting, like what she’s saying isshe’llsee me soon. I nod, unsure what to say, unsure if I want to say anything at all.
Then Leif nudges me forward. “Come on, sister, no time for teary goodbyes.” His voice is light, teasing, but also carries a hint of understanding. A recognition of what it means to leave behind one thing for another.
So I follow a confident Leif and an awkward Kiernan down the dark corridors, wondering if I’m never going to find my away around in here. Everything looks and smells the same—of stone and sweat and adamas. At least, until we pass a heavy set ofdouble doors, one of them swung open wide to reveal a long, cavernous room that smells of parchment and dust. I slow my pace to peer in.
Books. Shelves upon shelves of them, reaching from the floor to the ceiling and stretching from wall to wall. Thick tomes with cracked spines, scrolls stacked haphazardly in cubbies, papers yellowed with age. Most of them are covered in dust, untouched and forgotten.
“What is this?” I’m unable to keep the awe from my voice.
Leif glances over his shoulder, barely sparing the room a glance before shrugging. “The Reckoning Hall. It’s where they keep the old records—histories of the Altor, the kingdoms, the wars. That sort of thing.” His voice is thick with disinterest. “Mostly the archons and the Elder use it.”
I step closer. “And we’re allowed in there?”
“Sure. If you want to die of boredom,” Kiernan mumbles.
Leif laughs and leans against the wall. “Most of it’s useless unless you’re interested in treaties and council rulings. But …” He tilts his head. “Some of the old journals from other Altor are fascinating. Faelon is always reading one of those. They talk about the wars, the fights, the training. Some of the first Altor even wrote about the gods.”
I absorb that, my heartbeat quickening.
Histories. Journals. Treaties.
I hate the way the letters blur together when I read, the way the words slip from my grasp when it’s something I can’t make out. But this? This is something I need to make time for. This is something I need topractice. Because this room isn’t only a dusty relic of the past. It’s power.
I have so many questions, most of them revolving around one theme—why me? If I’m the first female Altor in nearly one thousand years, why me? And why am I also the first Altor of Selencia? I’m not special. I’m not unique. I’m a serf.
So why now? Why me?
What does Thayana want from me? And not just Thayana—there are dozens of gods. There’s so much I don’t know.
“Come on, Leina,” Leif calls from ahead of me.
I turn, heavy with reluctance, to follow them.
“How much time do we spend in training?” I double my pace to keep up with the long strides of the men in front of me. I hate being short.
Leif snorts, throwing me a smirk over his shoulder. “All the time.”
