Page 31 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

“We were just getting to what brought the Vaguer to Kakos.”

It took Aya a moment to register King Gregor’s words through her shock and dread. There was an irritation lining them, a terseness that had not been present when Aya and Evie had been presented to him in this very room.

Evie seemed entirely unbothered by it, as did the Vaguer. He simply turned his chilling grin on the king and said,

“We are here to pledge our support to the Original Saint.”

Perhaps her time in isolation had rendered her foolish. Because a sound of protest rose up in Aya’s throat, and she only just swallowed it down before she could show her doubt.

The Vaguer had been excommunicated from the Maraciana because of their willingness to study dark magic. And yet, the man had called the Decachiré heresy when Aya had sought him out.

Then again, he had been all too willing to move forward with the Soul Trial, all too willing to see if Aya’s essence was dark or light.

It wasn’t technically forbidden magic, but it certainly hadn’t felt like something any god would approve of.

What was it that Aidon had said when he first explained the ostracized Saj to her?

They are devout worshippers not of the gods, but of the saint.

Aya glanced to Evie, who was considering the group of Saj carefully. “What is your name?” the saint asked.

“We do not take them, Your Holiness,” the Vaguer responded. “We shed our attachment to material belongings when we take the oath of the Vaguer, our old identities turning to dust with our past lives. We focus solely on our studies, so that we might worship you fully.”

Aya watched as a muscle in the king’s jaw twitched.

“We have long since pledged ourselves to you, Your Holiness. We’ve felt the stirrings of late; the changes in the realm.

The people say it is the gods, but we knew there was more.

One of our kind confirmed it. He has the Seer gene, and he had a vision of you returning and joining Kakos.

” The Vaguer spread his arms wide. “So we answered your call. We are your humble servants.”

Evie opened her mouth to respond, but King Gregor cleared his throat. “You do not seem surprised at her change in loyalties,” he observed. His elbow was braced on the arm of his throne, two fingers pressing against his dimpled chin as he stared down at the Vaguer.

“Because,” Evie drawled, her mouth twisting in disdain as she spared the king a glance, “they know true devotion.”

Another frisson of tension pulled taut between the king and the saint, but the Vaguer didn’t seem to notice as he bowed his head in supplication.

“You honor us, Your Holiness.” To the king, he said, a hint of amusement lifting his voice, “I have learned its best not to argue with those who have the Sight.” He cut a glance at Evie. “Besides, it seems we were not misguided, were we?”

The king dropped his hand, his fingers taking up a steady drumming on the arm of his throne. “And what is it that you have to offer us?”

Us. Another subtle reminder of his authority.

Was the king chafing against Evie’s presence here?

It was infuriating to be able to pick up on the subtitles of his tone—to have her training, embedded as deep as instinct, arise and decipher the emphasis in his words—but for her mind to be too trapped and muddled to make sense of why it was there.

Perhaps she never had the ability to do so in the first place.

A spy, but not.

Chosen, but not.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“We offer you our knowledge,” the Vaguer answered easily.

“We have always rejected the norms of our society. The Saj of the Maraciana, who our elders originated from, feared us because of our willingness to study all manner of the affinities. Including the Decachiré. That is, after all, what you are trying to do, is it not? Eliminate the boundaries the gods have set upon us?”

It was Evie who answered, though the question was directed at the king. “Among other objectives.”

The Vaguer bowed his head. “We are at your disposal, Your Holiness.” He straightened and motioned to one of his companions. “We have also brought you a gift.”

The woman stepped forward, her gray robes swishing against the stone floor. She cradled a long, thin parcel wrapped in a beige blanket in her hands. Gregor looked on curiously, but Aya…

Aya knew exactly what that blanket hid. She could feel the smoothness of the blade beneath her fingertips, could feel the heat of the fire that had reflected off of its worn surface.

Evie’s sword glinted in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It had been polished to perfection, and the Vaguer looked pleased with himself as he presented it to the saint with another bow.

Evie stayed stock-still, as if her surprise kept her anchored to her throne as she stared down at the sword.

“Your father’s sword,” Gregor commented. It jarred Evie from her stupor and she rose to accept the blade.

“More mine than his, one might argue,” Evie answered as she angled the sword to inspect it, the blade catching the stream of sunlight. Her eyes dragged across the steel in the same place where Aya’s fingers once brushed.

Aya knew what was carved there.

Pathos , the god Evie had claimed as her patron long before the Visya were bound to a single affinity.

A small furrow formed between Evie’s brows as she took in the name, but it was gone with another flash of sunlight against the sword as she flipped it and placed it back in the blanket at her feet.

“You have my gratitude,” she said to the Vaguer.

Gregor, it seemed, was not as easily mollified. “What of the prisoner?” he pressed.

Perhaps he wanted a gift, too.

The Vaguer glanced over his shoulder, to where Lorna stood, her gaze still fixed on Aya. But Aya avoided her stare, the familiarity of it too painful for her battered soul to bear.

“She is a Seer,” the Vaguer explained. “A descendant of the line who foretold the rise of the Second Saint.”

Gregor looked Lorna over. “A prophecy that has already come to pass,” he dismissed.

“Has it?” the Vaguer pressed. “There is a second part, is there not? About righting the greatest wrong?”

The king and Evie shared a long look, and it had Aya shifting against her shackles. The anchoring of the iron was a strange sort of comfort against her wrists and her rising panic. She did not need the reminder that there was work unfinished.

But Evie’s attention did not drift to Aya. Instead, she fixed on Lorna in a dangerous sort of focus.

“And what of your own visions?” the saint questioned.

Lorna lifted her chin, the picture of stubborn pride. “I have had none.”

“She lies,” the Vaguer hissed, the sound echoing through the ranks of the Saj who stood surrounding him. They closed in around Lorna ever so slightly, and Aya watched as the woman’s shoulders tensed.

What had they done to her? How had they found her?

It is not your burden to bear , she reminded herself. She did not need to take on any more battles.

“She was a refuge from Tala,” the Vaguer continued, “hidden away from their queen.”

“Political differences,” Lorna retorted, her clipped tone transporting Aya back to when she stood on the Saj’s doorstep, her son desperate enough to risk their safety for his mother’s help. She’d been unwilling then, too.

Her own son .

Evie had no idea just how obstinate the Saj could be.

“We’ll see,” Evie said evenly. She pursed her lips in curiosity, her gaze finally flicking to Aya. “And how do you know our dearest Aya?”

Aya couldn’t help the way her muscles tensed, even as she stared resolutely at the saint. But she could feel Lorna’s gaze boring into her, steady and sure, and…Aya knew exactly what was coming.

Lorna had never cared to protect Will. Why would she start now?

“She was involved with my son,” Lorna explained. “The queen’s Enforcer.”

Aya’s eyes fluttered shut.

Let them see the sting of betrayal. What does it matter now?

“Ah, William, isn’t it?” Evie asked. Aya blinked her eyes open to find Evie watching her. “I am well acquainted with the tenor of his screams.”

Of course she was. She had heard them in Aya’s dreams about the Wall when she’d played the healer in those twisted versions in which Will died and Aya, in her grief, killed her, too.

Its own sort of prophecy, perhaps.

“I do so hope I have a chance to meet your beloved,” the saint mused.

Once, the words would have brought Aya’s anger roaring to the surface. But now she simply stared at Evie, a heavy numbness keeping her still.

Broken.

“We should have the woman questioned,” Evie said to the king, her gaze still fixed on Aya. If she was waiting for a reaction from her, she would not get one.

Not anymore.

“You think she has knowledge that will be useful to us?” Gregor asked, curiosity lifting his brow as he scanned Lorna once more. Whatever rivalry rested between them seemed forgotten in the light of a potential new weapon for their cause.

Evie hummed. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”