My eyes narrowed. “You mean when you failed to announce your presence?”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Come now, do you believe someone who harbored ill will towards you would’ve announced their presence?”
“No. I believe that someone who doesn’t, would,” I replied. “All others would end up with a dagger in their chest.” The corners of my lips turned down. “That is if I had a dagger.”
“Perhaps you would still have a dagger if you didn’t go around stabbing people.”
I actually still had one. Tucked in my boot. Not a shadowstone blade, but a slender iron one. However, that was beside the point. “I don’t go around stabbing people.” Usually. “And you owe me a shadowstone dagger.”
“Do I?”
I nodded. “You do.”
“By the way, how did your stepbrother come upon such a weapon?”
It took me a moment to remember the lie I’d told him. “Someone gave it to him for a birthday. I don’t know who or why. My stepbrother has never expressed interest in weapons.”
“You do realize that it’s forbidden for mortals to hold shadowstone daggers.”
I did, but I lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
One side of his lips tipped up, and then he looked away. “Did you let go of what you saw at the Kazins’ home like I asked?”
My spine stiffened. “I don’t recall that you asked. More like demanded. But, no, I did not.”
“I know.”
“Were you watching?”
Molten silver eyes connected with mine. “Perhaps.”
“That’s…creepy.”
One broad shoulder lifted. “I told you I would. I figured I should keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn’t get into any more trouble.”
“I don’t need you to do that.”
“I didn’t say you did.” He inclined his head as he eyed me.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I wanted to,” he said, and he sounded surprised by the admission.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. How…how was I supposed to respond to that?
“What did you find out?” he asked after a moment.
It took some effort to gather my thoughts. “If you were watching, you should know.”
That faint grin reappeared. “I imagine you discovered that no one had anything bad to say about those mortals.”
“In other words, you already know I didn’t find out much,” I admitted. “Has…have there been any more deaths? Besides this one?”
He shook his head. “Do you know her?”
“I…I know of her. She’s a seamstress. Andreia Joanis.” I inched forward. “She’s very talented. In high demand. Or was.” I cringed a little. “I actually saw her earlier.”
His gaze sharpened on me. “You did?”
I nodded, looking at the body. “Yeah. It was only for a few minutes. She was bringing a gown to my mother,” I told him, thinking that piece of information didn’t matter. “What a strange coincidence, right?”
“Right,” he murmured.
When I looked up at him, I saw he watched me in that intense way that felt as if he could see everything I wasn’t saying. “Did you find anything that could indicate why Madis did this?”
The god shook his head. “Nothing.”
“But you believe that she died for the same reason as the others?”
“I do.” He dragged a hand over his head, shoving his hair out of his face.
I started to speak but stopped.
“Why do I sense you want to ask something?”
The frown returned. “You’re a god. How do you not know what the other gods are up to?”
“Just because someone is a god doesn’t mean they have some sort of inherent knowledge of the comings and goings of other gods, or the reasons behind their actions,” he answered. “Neither would a Primal.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I was suggesting,” I pointed out. “I meant that since you seem pretty—”
“Thank you.”
I shot him a bland look. “Since you seem pretty powerful, couldn’t you demand to know what they’re doing?”
“That’s not how it works.” He leaned forward. “There are things that gods and Primals can and cannot do.
Curiosity sparked through me. “Are you telling me that not even a Primal can do as they please?”
“I didn’t say that.” His head tilted down. “A Primal can do whatever they want.”
I threw up my hands. “If that’s not the most contradictory statement I’ve heard in my entire life, I don’t know what is.”
“What I’m saying is that a Primal or a god can do whatever they please,” he said. “But every cause has an effect. There are always consequences for every action, even if they don’t impact me directly.”
Well, that was an incredibly vague explanation that kind of made sense. I looked at the seamstress. Something occurred to me. When a mortal passed, it was believed that the body must be burned so the soul could be released to enter the Shadowlands. I wasn’t sure that what had happened to the Kazin siblings counted as a burial burning. “Those who die like the Kazins…do their souls make it to the Shadowlands?”
The god was quiet for a long moment. “No. They…they simply cease to exist.”
“Oh, my gods.” I pressed my hand to my mouth.
His eyes lifted to mine. “It is a cruel fate, even one greater than being sentenced to the Abyss. There, at least you are something.”
“I…I can’t even process what it would be like to simply stop being.” I shuddered, hoping he didn’t notice. “That is…”
“Something only the vilest should face,” he finished for me.
I nodded as I took in the sitting room, the bright blue and pale pink throw pillows, the small stone statues of sea creatures rumored to live off the coast of Iliseeum, and all the tiny knick-knacks that were little parts of Andreia Joanis’s life. Pieces of who she was and who she would never be again.
I cleared my throat, desperately searching for something else to think about. “What Court do you belong to?”
He raised a brow again.
“I mean, are you from the Shadowlands?”
The god studied me for a moment and then nodded. I tensed, although I wasn’t surprised. He continued to watch me. “There’s something else you want to ask.”
There was. I wanted to know if he knew who I was. If that was why our paths had crossed twice now in such a strange way. He may not know about the deal but he could know that I was the would-be Consort of the Primal he served. But if he didn’t know, it would be a risk. This god could tell the Primal that I had been in possession of a shadowstone dagger and hadn’t been afraid to use it.
So, I landed on something else I’d always been curious about—something I would’ve asked the Primal himself if I’d had the chance. Being from the Shadowlands, there was a good chance he might know. “Are all souls judged upon death?”
“There isn’t enough time in a day to do that,” he said. “When someone dies and enters the Shadowlands, they are once more given physical form. Most will pass through the Pillars of Asphodel, which will guide them to where the soul must go. Guards there ensure that happens.”
“You said most. What about the others?”
“Some special cases must be judged in person.” His gaze bore into mine. “Those who need to be seen to determine what their fate may be.”
“How?” I crept closer to him.
“After death, the soul is exposed. Raw. No flesh to mask their deeds,” he explained. “The worthiness can be read after death.”
“And…what about a soul now? I mean, when someone is alive.”
He shook his head. “Some may know things just from looking upon a mortal or another god, but the core of one’s soul is not one of them.”
I halted when I caught his faint citrusy scent. “What things?”
A small grin appeared. “So very curious,” he murmured, his gaze coasting o
ver my face, seeming to linger on my mouth. A warmth entered my veins, one that seemed wholly inappropriate since I now knew for sure which Court he served. But he looked at me as if he were fascinated by the shape of my mouth.
As if he might want to taste my lips again.
A shivery wave of anticipation swept through me, and I knew if he did, I wouldn’t stop him. It would be a bad choice on my part. Maybe even on his. But I often made bad decisions.
The god’s gaze cut away, and I didn’t know if I felt disappointment or relief. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. The hint of fangs became apparent. It was definitely disappointment I felt.
An odd feeling pressed against the center of my chest without warning, where the warmth often gathered in response to death. The heaviness unfurled through me, feeling like a coarse, suffocating blanket. I drew in a shallow breath, frowning at the sudden, strange scent of lilacs. Stale lilacs. It reminded me of something I couldn’t place at that moment as I felt myself turn back to the body without consciously willing myself to do so.
Wait.
I took a step closer. “Did you move her legs?”
“Why would I do that?”
Unease slithered through my veins. “When I came in, one of her legs was bent at the knee, pressing against the table. Both are straight now.”
“I didn’t move her,” he replied as my gaze lifted to her face. The charred skin shaped like wings across her cheeks and forehead seemed to have faded a little. “Maybe you—”
The rattle of a breath being drawn and the crackle of lungs expanding silenced the god. My gaze flew to her chest just as the bodice of her gown rose. I froze in disbelief.
“What…?” the god muttered.
Andreia Joanis sat up, that gaping mouth opening even farther, the singed lips peeling back to reveal four long canines—two along the top of her mouth and two along the bottom. Fangs.
“The fuck?” the god finished.
“That’s not…normal, right?” I whispered.
“Which part? The fangs, or the fact that she’s dead and still sitting up?”
Andreia’s head tilted toward the god, seeming to look at him with eyes that were no longer there.
“I don’t think she’s dead,” I said. “Any longer.”
“No,” the god growled, causing my skin to pimple. “She is still dead.”
“You sure—?” I swallowed a gasp as the seamstress’s head snapped in my direction. “She’s staring at me, I think. I can’t be sure. She doesn’t have eyes.” Out of instinct, I reached for my thigh, only to come up empty. I started to turn to the god. “I would really like to have my dagger—”
A hissing sound came from Andreia, the kind of noise no mortal should be able to make. It rose and deepened, turning into a piercing snarl that raised every single hair on my body.
Andreia rocketed to her feet, the movement so inexplicably fast that I jerked back out of reflex. Fingers curled, she launched forward—
The god was just as unbelievably fast, stepping in front of me as he withdrew a short sword. The blade glimmered like polished onyx in the candlelight. Shadowstone. He stepped forward, planting a boot in her midsection. The seamstress flew backward over the tea table.
She fell onto the floor, quickly rolling into a crouch. Popping back up, she came at us again. I started to reach for the blade in my boot when the god met her attack, thrusting the shadowstone sword deep into her chest.
The seamstress’s body spasmed as she reached out, trying to grab hold of the god. Tiny, spiderweb-like fissures appeared along her hands and then raced up her arms, spreading over her throat and then across her cheeks.
Jerking the shadowstone sword free, the god stepped to the side, his focus intent on the seamstress. Those fissures deepened into cracks as her legs collapsed under her. She went down hard, folded into herself.
I stood there, mouth hanging open. Patches of her body seemed to sink in as if she were nothing more than a dried-out husk. “What…what did I just see?”
“I have no idea.” The god tentatively stepped forward, nudging Andreia’s foot. The skin and bone turned to ash, quickly followed by the rest of her body.
Within a span of several heartbeats, nothing remained of the seamstress but her gown and a dusting of ash.
I blinked. “That was…different.”
The god looked at me. “Yeah, it was.”
“And you…you have no idea what just happened? Like that’s never happened before?”
Steel-hued eyes met mine. “I have never heard of something like that happening before.”
Being a god from the Shadowlands, I imagined he would know about mortals coming back from the dead. “What do you think was wrong with her? I mean, why did she act that way?”
“I don’t know.” He sheathed his sword. “But I don’t think Madis simply killed her. He did…something. What, I have no idea.” A muscle ticked along his jaw. “I would not repeat what you’ve seen here.”
I nodded. As if anyone would believe me if I did.
“I must go,” he said, glancing back at the ash-covered gown and then to me. “You should, too, liessa.”
I didn’t want to spend another second in this house, but a hundred different questions exploded in my head. The absolute least important one of all was what came out of my mouth. “What does liessa mean?”
The god didn’t answer for what felt like a small eternity. “It has different meanings to different people.” The eather pulsed in his eyes, swirling once more through the silver. “But all of them mean something beautiful and powerful.”
Chapter 7
A day later, I was yet again squirreled away in the east tower and blindfolded.
Sliding the iron blade between my fingers, I drew in a long, measured breath as I tried not to think about how the god had destroyed my dagger the night before. Luckily, I never practiced with it. I didn’t even want to know how Sir Holland would respond to learning that I’d lost such a weapon.
Or to the news that I’d stabbed a god in the chest with it.
I didn’t think Sir Holland would react all that calmly.
Looking back, I could understand why the god had destroyed the dagger. I had stabbed him. But I was still furious. It was over a century old, and if I had any hope of fulfilling my duty—if I were ever given a chance—I needed a shadowstone blade.
I also tried not to think about what I had seen—what had happened to Andreia. The image of her sitting up and launching herself to her feet like some sort of wild animal had lived in my head, rent-free all night long. I had no idea what could’ve been done to her, but I hoped the god figured it out.
Something beautiful and powerful.
His words still caught me off guard. But in my defense, he had called me a name that meant something beautiful and powerful, even after I’d stabbed him. That seemed even more unexplainable than whatever had happened to the seamstress.
Liessa. I couldn’t believe I asked that instead of a hundred other more important questions. Starting with asking what his name was.
“Now,” Sir Holland ordered.
Spinning, I threw the blade, exhaling at the sound of the smack it made striking the dummy’s chest. This went on for a godsforsaken amount of time until I could no longer not speak about what I had seen the day before.
After throwing the blade, I tugged down the blindfold. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he replied, starting toward the dummy.
“Have you ever heard of a…?” It took me a moment to figure out how to ask what I wanted without giving too much away. “A dead person coming back to life?”
Sir Holland stopped and turned around. “That…that was not the kind of question I was expecting.”
“I know.” I toyed with the hem of my airy cotton shirt.
He frowned. “What would make you even ask something like that?”
I forced a shrug. “I just heard someone talking about it when I was out. They claimed to hav
e seen someone come back to life with fangs like a god but…different. They had fangs on the upper and lower teeth.”
His brows lifted. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. If whoever said that was speaking the truth, then it sounds like an…abomination.”
“Yeah,” I murmured.
He studied me. “Where did you hear this?”
Before I could come up with a believable lie, a knock sounded on the tower door. Sir Holland retrieved the blade from the dummy. He looked over his shoulder at me as he walked toward the door. I shrugged. “Who is it?” he called, slipping the blade behind his back.
“It’s me,” came a hushed voice. “Ezra. I’m looking for Sera.” There was a pause while Sir Holland rested his forehead against the door. “I know she’s in there. And I know that you know that I know she’s in there.”
A grin tugged at my lips, but it faded quickly. There was only one reason I could think of that would’ve drawn Ezra to the tower to find me. My gaze drifted briefly to the many stab wounds that punctured the dummy’s chest, and I thought of all the harmful things I’d done in the last three years.
Sir Holland shot me a scowl. “You never should’ve told her where you train.” He sliced the blade through the air. “She could’ve been followed here.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” I said, wondering who in the castle didn’t already suspect who I was and could’ve followed her.
“Truly?” Sir Holland demanded.
“Just so you know, I can hear you,” Ezra’s muffled voice came through the door. “And Sera speaks the truth. I simply stalked her through the castle one morning. And since I’m not unobservant, I figured out that this is where she spends a decent part of her days.”
“Like you didn’t know you were being followed,” he muttered.
I lifted a shoulder. Of course, I knew she had been following me, but since Ezra had remained kind towards me after I failed, I really hadn’t attempted to throw her off my trail. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know I trained. Sir Holland was just being dramatic.
“I haven’t been followed,” Ezra announced from the other side of the door. “But I can only imagine that the longer I stand here talking to a door, the more attention I will draw.”
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