Page 14 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

The light was blinding. It was the first thing Aya noticed when they ripped the burlap sack from her head, her eyes searing as she struggled to adjust to seeing something other than the tan fabric for the first time in…

Days? She wasn’t sure.

They’d shackled her wrists behind her back in Sitya before throwing her into the back of a prisoner wagon.

A guard with a leering smile had shoved the bag over her head before slamming the door, and Aya had been left alone with nothing but her thoughts and the muted sounds of their journey for company.

And yet that vise grip on her power had remained, closer and more suffocating than before.

She wasn’t sure how Evie managed it—how she was able to smother Aya’s power without being confined in the wagon with her.

She’d tried to leverage the distance, had scraped and clawed and thrashed against that inner barrier until she felt dizzy with exhaustion.

It hadn’t made any difference.

So she’d turned her focus instead to trying to sort through the noises outside the wagon. Were those rocks they were traversing? Did she imagine the bellow of an ox? How many guards’ voices could she make out?

But the darkness of the hood was suffocating, and her fear was mounting, and her grief…

Her grief was going to kill her yet.

Perhaps it was no surprise that she eventually succumbed to the numbness begging for her surrender.

By the time they’d arrived wherever it was they were, she couldn’t bring herself to take any particular note of it except that it seemed to be at the base of a steep decline, if the way Aya had slammed against the front wall of the wagon was any indication.

She’d cracked her head hard enough that the guards had heard it.

Their laughter had broken through the buzzing in her mind, but wasn’t enough to spur anything more.

They’d laughed again at the state of her when they’d yanked her from the wagon a few short moments ago and steered her roughly inside, where they’d finally removed her hood.

She blinked hard, her shoulders aching from the position of her arms, and forced herself to take in her surroundings.

She stood in the center of a large cavernous room, its stone walls stretching stories above her head. Evie and Andras were beside her, their necks craning so they could take in the gray light that filtered into the room from thin, rectangular windows that lined the left wall.

They were far too high for Aya to make out what stood beyond them.

Aya fought against the wave of cold that swept over her as her gaze scanned the space once more.

The room reminded her of the worship area in the Synastysi, except instead of a pulpit, there was a dais, each of its three steps marked with towering iron candelabras that cast the stone throne at the top in a tangle of shadows and light.

A man stood before the throne, and though he wore no sign of royalty, no sigil or crown atop his golden hair, the guards strategically placed around him told Aya exactly who he was.

Someone cleared their throat, and it took Aya a moment to realize General Dav stood at the base of the dais. He must have escorted them personally, then.

“You stand in the presence of King Gregor, ruler of Kakos and liberator from the tyranny of the gods,” Dav remarked, motioning to the man standing before the throne.

Andras dropped to a knee, his body hunched in deference. But Evie remained standing, the only respect she paid the king a simple dip of her chin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” she greeted. “I am—”

“Saint Evie, if the missives are to be believed,” Gregor interrupted.

His voice was deep and smooth, the smile on his face as curious as it was amused as he took in the saint.

“The messengers who rode ahead had plenty to report regarding your…abilities.” He paused, his gaze flicking to Andras. “Rise, Kiloner.”

The Diaforaté staggered to his feet.

“I hear we have you to thank for bringing Evie to our forces,” the king observed. It was impossible to parse through his measured tone, to tell if it was gratitude or something far more dangerous for Andras that lay there. But Andras dipped his head in admission all the same.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

Gregor’s gaze roved over Evie once more.

His eyes held a strange gleam to them, one that tugged at the edges of Aya’s memory for a reason she couldn’t place.

She was too distracted by trying to understand what that look meant: the firm set of his stubble-covered jaw, the slight arch of his scarred blond brow.

The silence in the room felt thick and tense, but Evie broke it gently as she said, “I am all too happy to prove I am who I say I am if you have concerns, Your Majesty.”

Dav cut a nervous glance to the king and his guards, but Gregor merely shook his head.

For a moment, Aya thought the king might rebuke them. But then Gregor was taking a step forward, his knee bending as he bowed his head and said, “It is an honor to meet you, Your Holiness.”

If his soldiers were surprised to see their king show deference to another, they did not show it. Instead they stood unmoving, their focus sharp while they tracked the king’s movements as he rose and walked down the dais.

“I was a born a Saj,” he explained over the click of his boots on the stone floor. “And while I find the label rather… confining …it does come with the ability to sense one’s power, if honed properly.”

He stopped in front of Evie, a curious smile on his face. “And I have never sensed the likes of you, Your Holiness.”

He took one of Evie’s hands in both of his.

“I hear you have quite the tale to tell. Killed not by your efforts, but by the gods themselves?” Aya watched as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her.

“And yet here you are. Alive. And ready to pledge yourself to our crusade. A rather drastic change in allegiance, if you do pardon my saying so.”

Gregor’s tone was deceptively light, but Aya could sense the edge to his words—a subtle prodding masked in polite curiosity. She expected Evie to bristle at it. How many had the saint killed because General Dav dared to question her? Perhaps she would make an example of Gregor’s guards.

Yet Evie merely smiled, closed-lipped and passive, and said, “Being trapped in the veil for over five hundred years gave me plenty of time to rethink my allegiances.”

Gregor’s brows rose. “The veil?”

“Some of the gods thought it more merciful than the hells.” Evie’s smile turned sharp; tight. “They will be the first of the Nine I kill.”

Aya had once considered herself an expert at sorting truth from lie. She didn’t know what to think of her abilities now; not after learning her place by Gianna’s side had not been due to her talents, but instead because of Evie’s manipulation.

But in this moment, there was no doubt in Aya regarding the veracity of Evie’s words. It was written in the lift of her chin, in the set of her shoulders, in the steadiness of her gaze as it stayed fixed on the king of Kakos.

“And how is it that you are here?” Gregor asked slowly.

“You are the Saj, Your Majesty,” Evie replied, “Perhaps you will be able to solve some of the mysteries that have plagued me for five centuries. What I know is that when the gods trapped me in that infernal place, I was preserved as I was. And I lived that way, trapped between life and death, unable to reach either…” Evie paused, and Aya marked the way her mouth pulled tight in a grimace as she added, “Despite how I tried.”

She rolled her neck, as if shaking off a memory, before she continued. “But I tore their beloved veil. And in an effort to destroy the barrier from within, a piece of my power escaped and was imparted to a young Visya.”

Evie met Aya’s gaze, a slow smile creeping across the saint’s face. Aya hated the way it had fear snaking down her spine.

Nothing good ever came from Evie’s joy.

“The realm’s Second Saint ,” Evie crooned. Aya had always hated the title, but it sounded even worse on Evie’s tongue—foolish and mocking and a lie .

“I do owe her a debt of gratitude. She pulled me from the veil during the Battle of Dunmeaden.” Evie turned her attention back to the king, who was watching Aya curiously.

She met his gaze unflinchingly, willing her weakened limbs to stand strong beneath his scrutiny.

“I think you will find her useful to our cause, Your Majesty.”

“ Our cause,” Gregor repeated, a small smile on his lips.

“Do not tell me you have revived the movement only to settle for control of this mortal realm. The objective of the Decachiré was always to garner enough power to kill the gods who demand Visya remain their servants. They are, after all, the ones who are intent on keeping true power all to themselves, are they not?” Evie replied evenly.

“One would argue you cannot defeat one without defeating the other,” Gregor mused. “This realm will not allow us to challenge the gods without their interference.”

“I do not disagree. As long as your end objective is abolishing the gods, then I shall help in your crusade against the mortals and the Divine. Hence my offering,” Evie finished with a wave of her hand to Aya.

“Yes,” the king hummed as he strolled toward Aya. “I had heard you were bringing me a gift.” He stepped into Aya’s space, his nose wrinkling at her stench. Yet the green of his irises still shimmered with that gleam that felt familiar and strange all at once as he raked his gaze down her body.

“Gianna’s spymaster,” he observed. There was a hint of humor in the quirk of his brow as he met her gaze once more, a thinly veiled derision at her current state that added to the indescribable weight already pressing down on Aya’s shoulders.

“I believe we have a friend in common,” the king mused. “I was so disappointed to hear of Dominic’s passing. He had been such a loyal friend to Kakos all these years.”