Page 42 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

This time, when they led Aya into the throne room, they had the decency to give her a robe.

The material felt heavy on her shoulders, the thick sleeves draping over her wrists and hiding her shackles.

Even the thick chain between her irons was lost to the folds, the dark gray of it blending in with the navy of the fabric.

Aya had no misconceptions about why they were bringing her here. Lorna had given her a long look when the guards had fetched her this morning.

And yet the Saj hadn’t said goodbye. She’d merely pressed her lips together in a thin line and allowed the guards to tug her toward agony.

It had taken less than an hour for Lorna to break. Less than an hour for the guards to return for Aya, and force her into a robe, and drag her into the throne room, its gray walls lit with the soft rays of the sun streaming through the high windows.

Lorna stood bathed in one of those rays, and perhaps it was the natural light, but she looked far worse than Aya had been able to make out in the cell.

Her face was gaunt, the gray in her black hair more prominent than it had been in the low torchlight in their cell had illuminated. There were bruises dotted across her neck, her usually tanned skin pale and lined.

Gregor and Evie waited just before the dais, a contingent of the Vaguer at their backs.

Aya’s gaze flicked to the thrones. It was a wonder Evie hadn’t demanded something more ornate.

A wooden chair for a demigod. It was almost laughable.

Gregor cleared his throat as Aya stopped before their congregation, his narrowed gaze belying his impatience as he addressed Lorna.

“Now that the Second Saint has joined us,” he began, disdain dripping from his voice, “perhaps you will share your theories?”

So it hadn’t been Evie who had sent for her.

Aya tucked that away as Lorna bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gregor gave a wave of his hand. “Get on with it then.”

Lorna’s shoulders rose as she forced a deep breath.

Her spine straightened, her chin lifting as she began.

“As we know, the veil was created by the gods using their own power. It is said they did so to prevent their own interference in this realm, as tearing into the veil is like tearing into a part of themselves.”

Aya suppressed a shudder at the memory of her own pain when she’d opened the veil for Evie. That is exactly how it had felt—like ripping herself apart from the inside out.

“We do not need a history lesson,” Gregor bit out.

Aya could tell his irritation was unusually close to the surface. What had rankled him so?

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Lorna murmured with a bow of her head. “I simply wish to ensure no part of my theory is…misunderstood.” She paused, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, before she looked to Evie.

“As you have already surmised, your power enables you to summon the veil because you are a direct descendant of the gods. What is in you is in the veil.”

“All Visya have kernels of godlike power,” Gregor interrupted.

“God like is not the same as gods-born,” Lorna corrected. “The potency of Evie’s power is unlike that of the Visya.”

Gregor frowned. “So one must have god blood to summon the veil without wasting away.”

Lorna shook her head.

“Not necessarily.” She motioned to Aya. “The Second Saint was able to summon the veil twice. Once, in the desert during the Soul Trail of the Vaguer, and once in Tala, when she brought the Original Saint into this world. Yet the blood of the gods does not run through her veins.”

The Vaguer peered at Aya curiously, but she was too focused on Lorna to pay them much mind.

“I believe,” the Saj continued, “the issue lies in power taken versus power given. The Diaforaté have struggled with the veil because their power is stolen. While Aya’s raw power soothes the irritation the mixing of the affinities causes, it does not retain the same potency as it does for her.

There are consequences for reaching for power that is not bestowed upon us. ”

Lorna looked between Aya and Evie, her lips pulling tight in a look of grim concession.

“Accidental or not, Evie’s power was given to Aya of her own accord. It does not matter that it was intended for the veil and not Aya. It parted from her willingly. Hence the likeness in them.”

Aya’s heart had begun to race, a quick, frantic beat that made it difficult to focus on Gregor as he said, “So the girl must willingly give her power to the Diaforaté.”

“Or open the veil herself,” Evie interjected, her brows furrowed as she stared at Aya.

“Your Holiness,” one of the Vaguer interjected as she stepped forward, her gray robes swishing against the stone floor. “Surely the Saj seeks to misinform you. We are working with the Diaforaté on achieving the full extent of the Decachiré—”

“A feat that bestowed powers to humans, but never once aided in destroying the veil,” Evie interrupted, her gaze still locked on Aya. “They are not the same.”

“I agree with the Vaguer,” Gregor asserted. “I have studied alongside you, Your Holiness, and not once did I form such a baseless hypothesis.”

Evie’s lips pursed, irritation flicking across her features as she finally broke her stare. “A fact that speaks more to your abilities than it does to this Saj, I’m afraid.”

Gregor’s face flushed in the wake of the insult. Aya watched as his jaw twitched. “So the girl is a waste if she doesn’t give her power willingly,” he gritted out. “We are better off killing her now and using you to open the veil.”

The room went deathly still, and Aya couldn’t be sure if the cold that snaked down her spine was an effect of her own instincts registering a threat, or Evie sending the temperature plummeting.

Either way, the demigod’s eyes flashed as she turned to face Gregor fully. “Be careful how you speak to me, Gregor,” she advised cooly. “I am not a weapon to be used by mortals.”

“No,” Gregor agreed. “You claim to be a demigod, and yet you refuse to use your godly power to challenge those who killed you.” The king took a step toward Evie, anger contorting his features, the source of his irritation finally brought to light.

“Tell me,” he rumbled, “what type of god cowers before—”

The king’s words cut off with a gargle as Evie’s hand shot out, her power extending from her fingers like a dark shadow. It wrapped around the king’s throat, sending him gasping as his fingers clawed at the shadow.

It was no better than clawing at smoke.

His guards yelled and drew their weapons, but Evie held out a hand in their direction. “Take another step and he dies,” she warned.

Slowly, she eased her power back, the shadows dissipating into the rays of light filtering through the throne room.

“You forget yourself, Your Majesty,” Evie chided, her voice gentle once more. But there was a flush to her cheeks, and Aya watched as it spread down the saint’s neck.

Evie, ever imperturbable, had finally ceded to her emotions.

Aya swallowed hard as she stared at where those shadows had been. Aya had thought she had seen an example of Evie’s anger at the port in Sitya. But this…was the rage of a god.

And it was only a mere taste .

Gregor gulped down lungfuls of air, his eyes wide and laced with fear as he stared at her. He was no better than the rest of them, Aya realized. They were all puppets on her string, waiting to be jerked in whatever direction she chose.

Evie smoothed her hands down her robes. “Now,” she said levelly, “as for the Second Saint—”

The door at the back of the hall boomed as it opened, cutting her off. Aya turned with the rest of the onlookers to see a contingent of Kakos soldiers enter, all dressed in navy livery. Between them, chained in irons not unlike Aya’s, was a group of four prisoners.

“Pardon the interruption,” General Dav remarked. Aya hadn’t even noticed him among the soldiers, too busy as she was scanning the faces of the captives.

She didn’t recognize any of them.

“Soldiers from the Midlands, Your Majesty,” he explained with a bow. “We captured them near the Kakos border. We have reason to believe they have knowledge of future activities by the Midlands armies. They plan on retaking Sitya.”

Aya stilled. Sitya had been Kakos’s first victory. It gave them access to ships and a stronghold on the continent. If the Midlands were to attempt to retake the city…

It would be a massive blow to Kakos, and a boon to the continent’s morale.

Gregor straightened. “What an interesting development,” he noted. He flashed the prisoners a mocking smile. “Welcome, guests. I look forward to becoming further acquainted.”

He motioned for one of the guards to step forward, likely to take the prisoners away, but Dav cleared his throat.

“There’s more, Your Majesty,” the general remarked. His gaze flitted to Aya, and Gregor followed it with a curious arch of his brow.

“Oh?” he prompted.

Aya knew dread. It had sat heavy on her since the first time she awoke on the skiff on the Anath and remembered where she was, and who was with her, and what her actions had caused:

Tova’s death. The realm’s likely destruction.

And yet she still hadn’t grown used to the way dread soured her tongue and slowed her heart to a sluggish sort of rhythm that dragged like a weight in her chest.

She felt it now, that crushing heaviness and bitter tang, brought on by a simple glance in her direction.

Whatever news Dav had, it brought dread with it.

“Queen Gianna’s Enforcer was captured in the Midlands by Talan forces,” the general said. “The new Talan queen, Hyacinth, had called for his arrest. She claims he was working with Kakos.”

Aya’s fingers went numb.

Hyacinth had taken the throne. Hyacinth , and she had…

Aya forced herself to swallow, forced herself to breathe as Galda’s voice echoed in the depths of her mind.

Control. Control. Control.

Gregor’s brows rose in subtle amusement. “An interesting accusation.”