Page 41 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

When Aya was little and her emotions overwhelmed her, she would lie on the floor and let the wood anchor her. Her mother had found her there once, tear tracks dried down the sides of her face, her hair splayed out around her like a dark halo.

Eliza had lain down beside her, her arm warm as it fell around Aya and tucked her into her side.

“Let it out, mi couera ,” she’d said. “It can only hurt you if you keep it all inside.”

Aya’s eyes were dry as she lay on the dirty floor of her cell now. But inside of her was a tempest, raging and roiling and screaming, unable to break free.

I have the power of the gods in me.

No wonder Gregor seemed unwilling to defy the saint. She was no saint at all. She wondered when Evie had told him the full truth.

“So you see, Aya,” Evie had finished her tale, that vengeful light still dancing in the blue of her irises, “you are not the only one betrayed by your gods.”

But it hadn’t been just Evie’s gods— it had been her family. Her grandparents, Pathos and Saudra, had stood by and watched as Sage, the very goddess who had sought to protect her mother, struck her down.

Evie woke in the veil, her last memory the faces of her family watching as she suffered, all because she deigned to ask for their help.

What is an ant to a human? Nothing, if it remains unnoticed.

The door of the cell opened, light spilling in with it. Aya couldn’t remember when the torches had extinguished. She didn’t care.

Lorna shuffled in, her movements stiff as the guards helped her to the bench. She lay down as soon as their hands left her. The door shut behind the guards, and they were plunged into a heavy silence, interrupted only by the Saj’s labored breathing.

Aya pressed a hand into the cold floor, her nails digging into the dirt.

“She’s a demigod,” she confessed into the darkness, her voice broken, as if the screams in her head had ravaged her throat. “Killed by her own grandparents.”

Lorna didn’t acknowledge her. Perhaps the Saj already knew. Or perhaps the beatings were finally taking their toll.

It would be a mercy for Lorna to die here, now.

Aya closed her eyes, but there was no relief in the confines of her mind. Evie’s words taunted her, a steady refrain plucked from the horrors she’d shared.

What has abiding by your gods ever done for you?

Aya thought of a young girl, standing in the thick of the woods of the Malas, crying for her dead mother.

Aya thought of a young warrior, blood-slick hands clasped in front of her as she bowed her head before her queen.

Aya thought of a spy, watching as a sword arced for her best friend’s neck.

Aya thought of a false saint, begging her gods for help as she stood in a throne room while war waged on her kingdom below.

What had abiding by her gods ever done for her?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

A tear slipped free, and she let it drip down her cheek and into the dirt.

“I do not think I can hold out any longer,” Lorna rasped, her broken confession shattering the silence, quiet though it was. She took a shuddering breath, the rattle of it aching across the space.

Aya pressed her fingers deeper into the dirt.

It had been easier, when she’d been in her own cell. When the darkness was the only thing she had to face.

It was better to be alone.

“I’m sorry,” Lorna whispered.

Aya blinked away the burning in her eyes.

“As am I.”