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“I’ve never known Lord Thieran to keep a mortal pet before. Especially not one who can read.” Her eyes drop to the books in my hand, scanning the spines. “Or one so interested in power and the gods.”
“He’s just full of surprises. And I’m not a pet.”
Her laugh makes me bristle, but I manage to bite my tongue before I really get myself in trouble.
“A prize. An oddity.” She approaches me, studying me like a bug under glass. “What other use could Lord Thieran have for a mortal in the realm if not for his amusement?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“Oh, I intend to.” She turns to go, pausing and spinning slowly around to face me. “Mortal, be sure to stay out of my way while I’m here. The smell is unbearable,” she adds, wrinkling her nose.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, and when the air shimmers again, she disappears from view, leaving only the scent of her power behind.
I am still trying to understand why Thieran insists on keeping me here or what he plans on doing with me. But I do know I’m not anyone’s pet or plaything. And that Iluna is the perfect reminder of why the gods aren’t worth worshipping.
Shifting the weight of the books in my hands, I make my way out of the library and down the wide hall. With a note of concern in her voice, Kaia assured me when I asked who the strange woman had been at dinner last night that Iluna doesn’t tend to stay long when she visits the Shadow Realm. I can only hope Kaia’s right, because everything about the Goddess of Night makes me deeply uncomfortable.
From the way she looks at me to the way she looks at Thieran and everything in between. She hates mortals; that much is obvious. But she especially seems to hate my presence in the Shadow Realm. Maybe even my proximity to Thieran. Unfortunately for both of us, I have no control over that.
Huffing my way up the stairs to my rooms, I barely manage to open the door without dumping the books on the floor and sag back against it. I refuse to let Iluna force me into hiding, but staying out of her way as much as possible until she leaves might be the smartest thing I can do.
Crossing to the sitting area in front of the fireplace, I line up the books I brought back from the library in a row. Selecting the one with the page marked for the shielding ritual, I grab a piece of parchment and quickly copy it down.
I’ll go see Meera tomorrow for a ride and a visit and then take a trip further into Videva for some of these supplies. I’ll spread them out over a few days so as not to draw suspicion. Then I’ll set to work combining everything and letting it cure.
Rising, I cross to where I flung my cloak the night before and slip my list into the inside pocket. A figure catches my eye through the window. Thieran.
His black hair, normally swinging to his shoulders, is tied back, sharpening the square set of his jaw and aristocratic slope of his nose even more. His robes are open, billowing behind him in the breeze, and I trace the long, lean lines of him as he stalks through the high grass toward the palace.
He mounts the stairs to the balcony, and from this distance, I can make out something smeared across his cheek and forehead. Blood. It’s sprayed across his face and glistens on his clothes.
There’s something primal about seeing the God of Death covered in someone’s lifeblood, and it threads desire through me in a way it probably shouldn’t. As if he can sense me watching him, he glances up at my window. His mouth ticks up at the corner, and he spreads his arms wide, giving a little mock bow.
Heart thundering in my chest, I grip the edges of the curtains and yank them closed, blocking out the God of Death and the memory of his lips and teeth and tongue on my skin.
Though I can no longer see him, I turn pointedly from the window and cross back to the sitting area, stoking the fire and claiming a seat on the soft brocade couch. Picking up the next book about wards, I flip to the first page.
I can only hope a fortnight is the longest part of this new plan. Because the longer I stay in the Shadow Realm, the more likely I am to fall prey to the God of Death. In more ways than one.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The curtains sway back and forth on Elora’s window, and I grin. She can pretend all she likes that she isn’t intrigued by me. But I’m through pretending. I know the taste of her skin and the feel of her clenched around me and the sound she makes when she comes.
And I want to know more. I intend to know more. She’ll submit to me again. She’ll beg me to fuck her. Because the wanting between us is mutual. Even if she isn’t ready to admit it to herself yet.
I debate shifting to my rooms to save myself the time, but I need to work off the heady rush of my latest torture session. I only went to Síra to sentence more souls and check the boundaries after Garrick’s latest report left me wondering.
All was well until a soul being sentenced forgot his place. He’d learned it before I finished carrying out his first of many punishments. There’s something centering about hearing the screams of the damned, tearing into the flesh of those who deserve it.
And this man did. He was only reaping what he sowed, the maiming and torture he’d inflicted on dozens of others turned back on him. Every day. For the rest of eternity.
Some souls aren’t worth redemption. They don’t deserve the second chance Meren provides. And I enjoy reminding them of such whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Climbing the wide stairs to the balcony off this wing of the palace, I see Railan waiting for me at the top, hands clasped behind his back. His eyebrows shoot up at my appearance, and he shakes his head at the blood smearing my face and clothes.
“I was wondering where you’d gone when you didn’t shift back with me after sentencing.”
I lift a shoulder. “The last one spoke out of turn. And I had to remind him of his place.”
