Page 39 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

It seemed that along with company, the Vaguer had convinced Evie a bath was warranted. What cleaning her was supposed to do for Aya’s power, she wasn’t sure, but she could hardly complain. Not when she’d gone so long without.

She hardly remembered the look of her feet without a layer of filth.

She let the Anima guard scrub her ruthlessly, savoring the rough scrape of the brush against her skin. She didn’t even wince when the Anima roughly tugged a comb through her sopping wet strands, her hair snarled from what had to be weeks without a brush.

All the while, her irons stayed locked on her wrists, the heavy chain dripping a trail of water as the Anima dragged her from the tub and thrust a towel into her hands.

The shackles clanked as Aya dried herself off to the best of her ability, the Anima unfastening the chain only to tug a fresh slip over her head.

It clung to her damp skin, the beige fabric worn and thin.

It was almost a relief when the Anima fastened the chain to her other wrist again. The thick iron felt like a protective barrier of sorts, a shield between a dress thin enough to be a second skin and the rest of the world, who only ever wanted to cause her harm.

Her hair remained wet, sending trails of water dripping down her shoulders and spine as she followed the Anima back to her and Lorna’s cell.

But it wasn’t Lorna who waited for her on the bench.

“You almost look human,” Evie remarked as the Anima closed the door behind Aya. “She’s not here,” she added as she watched Aya scan the space for Lorna.

“Where is she?”

“Otherwise occupied,” Evie answered simply.

“I didn’t realize you were fond of your beloved’s mother.

My understanding is she hasn’t been very present in his life.

” She glanced around the cell, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Though I suppose certain circumstances might drive anyone to companionship.”

Another droplet of water slid down Aya’s bare arm, her skin beneath it pricking with the cold. She fought against a shiver as she watched the saint carefully.

Evie hadn’t visited her once without cause. It was an effort to not wrap her fingers around the chain between her cuffs, to not let Evie see the nerves that had her pulse fluttering beneath her skin.

Had Lorna shared one of her theories of the veil with her? Or had the saint discovered something else?

Control. Galda’s graveled voice was as clear in her mind as if she stood right beside her.

Evie stood, her hands brushing down the front of her robes. “You know of our troubles with the veil.”

It wasn’t a question, yet Aya kept her face passive. Answers, she’d long since learned, were found everywhere, even to things unasked.

Evie flashed a chiding smile. “You think I suspected she would not tell you? Again, you underestimate me, Aya.”

Aya remained still as the saint began to pace, a labored sigh leaving her lips. “The Vaguer,” Evie began, tucking her thick black hair behind her ear, “think I should simply force you to open the veil alongside me.”

She paused as she considered the torches high on the wall. The fire cast her face in sharp shadows, making her look more ethereal than human. “But I must save my power for what is to come.”

“Is that why you refuse to build your own army with your power?”

Evie tossed a smirk over her shoulder, her gaze raking down Aya, as if she could see each and every wound tearing her power from her had caused. “It doesn’t seem particularly pleasant,” she remarked. “Perhaps it would be more so if you simply cooperated.”

Aya crossed her arms over her chest to hide the way she could no longer stop her shivering. “Did the Vaguer tell you that as well?”

“No,” Evie admitted. She turned to face Aya fully, her head cocking as she peered at her as if she was something inexplicable. Aya’s arms tightened across her chest, the iron of her chain rattling as it twisted together.

“Who do you seek to protect in your resistance?” Evie wondered aloud. “You saw how quickly the humans betrayed you in Sitya. You’ve heard how little regard the gods have for those who worship them. Would it not be easier to seek revenge for all you’ve lost? For all they’ve taken from you?”

Evie’s brow furrowed. “What has abiding by your gods ever done for you?”

The question was soft.

Genuine.

But then Evie blinked, and that haughtiness returned as she straightened and said, “I suppose I could force you in other ways.”

It was comforting to get back to the familiar. This, Aya knew—threats, pain.

She braced herself for Evie to strike, to turn her blood to fire or to flood her lungs with water as violent as the waves of Anath.

But it didn’t come.

Instead Evie strolled across the cell, stopping just before her. She reached out, her finger lifting a clump of Aya’s wet hair and draping it behind her shoulder. She stroked Aya’s skin from temple to chin, her touch light, lips pursed in contemplation.

“What a shame it would be to lose the memories of such a great love.”

It took Aya a moment to realize what, exactly, Evie was threatening.

Her stomach plunged, her own threats turning to ash on her tongue as her blood went cold.

Perhaps Evie was right. Perhaps after everything, Aya had still underestimated her.

“You can’t steal someone’s memories.” She was no better than a child, scared and rasping in the face of an obvious truth in which they did not want to abide.

Already, Evie had persuaded Aya to do horrific things.

“Saudra’s gift runs in my very veins,” Evie murmured.

She cupped Aya’s chin, her grip tight where her thumb pressed in.

“You have no idea what I can do. What you could do, under my guidance.” She tilted Aya’s face up, forcing her to hold her gaze as her eyes narrowed.

“I wonder…would it make you more amenable?”

The edges of the room grew dark until all Aya could see was the blue of Evie’s eyes. And then that was gone too, and all that was left was darkness.

Darkness, and Will.

There he was, pulled to the front of her mind as if answering a siren’s call. She could see him so clearly, could reach out and touch him if she could move. She tried to blink him away, but he stayed, forced there by whatever Evie’s wicked power was wielding in her mind.

Or was it happening before her? Because there was Will, cocking his head, his hair sweeping across his brow as he stared at her with a sad smile.

“It’s useless to fight,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice just as warm as she remembered. It was just like her dreams.

No, it was better.

Not real.

The image before her flickered around the edges, and Aya bit back a cry. She did not want him to go.

Don’t leave me.

She’d said those words once before, her knees covered in desert sand and his blood soaking her hands.

Not real.

“You can’t defeat her, Aya love,” Will confessed. “You’re too weak.” Grief flashed in the gray of his irises. “Just like you were too weak to save me.”

The image flickered again, and Aya’s heart lurched.

“I could take him from you so easily,” Evie’s voice echoed in her head. “I made Gianna believe many things. What could I make you believe, Aya love ? Could I convince you your love never existed?”

Memories of Will swirled around Aya as if brought forth from her mind. Perhaps that’s where she was—stuck somewhere in her own consciousness, dreaming, but awake, and all around her was Will.

Will standing on her father’s doorstep, a frown furrowing his brow.

Will pinning her in training, his body warm and firm against hers.

Will bumping into her at the Squal, his mouth twisting in a smirk as she shoved past him.

Will and the dangerous glint in his eyes as they stood in the destruction of the Artist Market, his blade on the hand of the Royal Guard.

She’s mine.

Pain grew behind Aya’s eyes, sharpening and spreading through her head until she was certain her skull would cleave in two.

Evie could take them all. She could wipe him away, the one thing that she held fast to.

She could make Aya a mere shadow of herself.

Perhaps I should let her.

It would be…a relief.

Aya closed her eyes, that vise grip over her heart easing just so.

But Evie’s power vanished as quickly as it had descended, leaving Aya bereft and trembling, even as the pain in her head receded, the light of the torches flickering beyond her eyelids.

“Something to consider, I suppose, should the Vaguer not have any other theories,” Evie mused as she stepped away.

Aya bit hard on the inside of her cheek, the iron of her blood flooding her tongue as she tried to keep her legs from giving out beneath her. She felt unmoored, and yet she forced herself to focus as the firelight caught the sword sheathed at Evie’s hip.

“The Vaguer unsettle you,” Aya forced out. She hated the tremor that lingered in her voice.

Evie’s brows flicked up in amusement. “Do they?”

Aya allowed her fingers to seek the familiar ridges of the chain between her cuffs. “I thought you’d relish being worshipped like a god.”

Evie laughed, the sound bitter as she tossed back her head. “Perhaps,” she allowed. “Or perhaps I resent the comparison to swine.”

Aya glanced at the sword, the memory of the saint’s frozen expression when it was presented to her rising to the front of Aya’s mind, as clear as the images she’d just seen of Will.

Answers were everywhere.

“And yet you carry a sword with Pathos’s name carved in the blade,” Aya remarked. She cocked her head at the saint. “You didn’t want it when the Vaguer offered it to you in the throne room. Why?”

Evie unsheathed the blade, a wry smile on her lips as she held it between the point and pommel. She flipped it in her hands so that the carving was facing the torchlight.

“It reminds me of how naive I truly was,” she murmured.

“For hoping the gods would come to your aid?”