Page 79 of Eternal Ruin

Kidan readAseractialone before the dead fireplace. Without the fire, everything about the house felt like a husk, including herself. The philosophy of Aseracti had stripped her of all emotion and it was blissfully quiet. The only warmth to be found was in the instruction of the pages, every line was an answer to a problem she faced, every phrase a mantra that would help bind everything to her.

With Samson arrested, there was no threat in the house. No one demanding she feed them blood.

This is how it should have always been, she thought.In control of everything around me.

Etete eventually came, a blur of a long dress and shawl, and left a plate of injera and wot on the table.

“You’ve been reading that book for a while,” she said now. “You should rest.”

“I’m fine.” Kidan didn’t look up.

“It’s cold in here. Light the fire.”

“I don’t feel cold.”

With house armor, her flesh couldn’t even feel the turning of the pages. It was disconcerting, but she would learn to wield the strength the house lent her. When Kidan said nothing, Etete sighed and faded into the darkness.

Kidan read on: a new revelation.

Bones serve as a gate between the living and the dead. To historians, they are prized artifacts. To the devout, they are reminders of faith. To the house, they are remnants of its master. To inherit or sever, you must know the master’s mind well. Kill them and retrieve their bones and their bones will reveal all truths. This process is called Resurption.

Kidan glanced up, a small part of her locked inside but stirring at the words. Aseracti instructed on how to kill house masters. But her parents were already dead. This made things a lot easier.

She tried to smile but her face couldn’t quite express the emotion.

The house shuddered in warning when the front door opened. Kidan had just enough time to slideAseractiunder another book and straighten up as Susenyos appeared at the entryway.

It was the first time she’d seen him since he left her alone in the broom closet. And she was worried of the room softening with desire or anger.

But there was nothing.

She relaxed.

He studied her for a while, eyes flicking to the unlit wood. “It’s cold in here.”

“It’s fine.”

“Why can’t I feel you anymore?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head.

Susenyos must have sensed the change immediately. The way the house had become withdrawn, cleaved their connection in half. Her emotions were no longer visible, and neither were his.

“I’m beginning to master the house,” she said.

His eyes didn’t shine, filled with questions.

Aseracti instructed in secrecy and she understood why. If everyone knew a shortcut to mastering a house, how many would kill for it? Susenyos himself could take it off her hands. Finally seize the house after fourteen years.

His eyes snagged on the fanged lion statue perched on the mantel. Kidan had placed it there this morning. The Demasus religion valued strength and leadership, and every patron had a lion statue they rubbed for strength. It felt wrong drawing faith from Demasus, a vampire, but she’d always been impressed by his war strategies.

Similarly, the Mot Zebeyas, followers of the Last Sage, decorated their monastery with the lithe antelope that produced the impala horn. Like her mother, they believed in protection and sacrifice.

If Kidan were to sever, she had to make sure she praised a different entity. It didn’t take much to follow the religion. Every seventh day, Demasus accepted a drop of blood from his worshippers. There was a gathering in the community hall every Saturday, the day of feasting, and only one thing was blasphemous.

An impala statue, said to burn the skin of Demasus.

“Strength doesn’t come from statues, little bird.” Susenyos traced the lion’s mane. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”

“You worship a mask, twin blades, and a ring. Should I look there, then?”