Page 52 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Aya could smell the smoke. It stung her nose, even from a distance, and if she weren’t looking at the gently sloping hills that sprawled into Sitya, she might think she was caught in a nightmare, her mind trapping her in Dunmeaden while it burned.

Their approach from the east had brought them to the camp the first wave of Kakos soldiers had established. Tents littered the long stretch of land, a smattering of worn canvas that reached toward the city like some hells-crafted path.

Aya walked through those rows of tents now, her back aching from the long ride. Curious stares followed her, her awareness of them prickling the hair on the back of her neck as she trailed behind Evie and Gregor.

They’d dressed her in a robe similar to Evie’s—navy without the silver thread—and left her iron cuffs on her wrists. The chain between them, however, had been removed.

“Consider it a show of good faith,” Evie had noted as she undid the fastenings. “A taste of how you will continue to be rewarded should you remain obedient.”

Aya ran a thumb over one of the iron cuffs, her hands hidden in the depths of her sleeves. She was not naive enough to think this was any true sort of reward for her. She could steal a sword whether her hands were shackled together or not.

Evie had a love of symbolism and theatrics.

Aya’s concealed irons were no more than a show for the prisoners and the soldiers throughout the camp. It would not do to present Aya as a captive. Not if Evie wanted proof of Aya’s darkness to spread throughout the kingdom.

If she were going to fight for Kakos, she could not look like a prisoner they’d broken down into desperation. She wondered how Evie planned to twist the tale. Would she paint Aya as an acolyte? Surely she would not want to truly distinguish Aya—not if it risked devotion being taken from her.

What is an ant to a human? What is a human to a god?

“The first wave of soldiers you sent, along with those already stationed here, have been able to hold off the attackers,” the colonel leading them through the camp explained to Gregor.

“Though the Midlands soldiers have yet to retreat. It seems they are intent on taking back the citadel, but the fighting has remained in the outreaches of the city,” he continued.

His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders thrown back with importance as he walked between Evie and Gregor.

The din of the camp made it difficult to make out Gregor’s murmured response, but luckily the soldier’s self-importance kept his voice strong.

“We’ve apprehended all ships within a five-mile radius of the port. None have been Midlands troops, but we have taken those aboard as prisoners as an added precaution.”

“They can join our cause or die,” Evie remarked.

Aya’s thumb swiped over the iron again, her boots squelching as they sank into the muddied path.

It must have rained recently. The makeshift prison pens at the back of the camp were no more than mud pits, the prisoners within them caked with dirt and grime, their clothes stiff, as if they’d been wet not too long ago.

Aya kept her gaze fixed ahead as they walked past a particularly large pen, the smell rancid enough that she had to fight against the way her nose wanted to scrunch.

“How is the path to the citadel?” Gregor was saying. “We’ll want to—”

“Aya!”

Aya’s blood went cold at the sound of her name. She stilled, the king and Evie and the colonel halting as well as they turned curiously toward the prison pen.

“Aya! Aya!”

She turned to see a prisoner with wiry black hair, his skin dirt-slicked and pale under the dim light of the gray afternoon. He was pushing past the others, and they all leaned away from him, as if they wanted no part of the attention he attracted.

“I am a friend of Josie’s!” he shouted. “Please, Aya—”

“Silence!” One of the guards rammed the man in the stomach with the butt of his sword. The prisoner made a choked sound as he doubled over in pain.

I made a new friend. His name is Cole. Josie’s words came floating into her mind, murmured on the balcony of the third island of Milsaio.

Of course you did. Friendship is as natural to you as hostility is to me.

Josie had laughed, hadn’t she? Yes…Aya could hear the tinkle of it echoing in her ears.

You are not nearly as hostile as you pretend to be. You befriended me easily.

That’s because you are easy to love , Aya had said, and Josie’s smile had been soft and tinged with a sadness that spoke of her lingering grief over Viviane.

I do not feel easy to love. But— she’d shrugged— Cole is helping.

“Please,” the man—Cole—rasped, his eyes water-lined as he looked up at Aya from where he cradled his stomach.

“Do you know this man?” Evie wondered as she took a step toward Aya.

Aya stared at Cole for another long moment before she shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Cole’s eyes went wide, bright spots of anger appearing on his cheeks. Aya turned her back on him, her hands clasping in front of her as she looked readily at Evie and asked, “Shall we continue, Your Holiness?”

***

The war tent was spacious, with a large circular table that held a detailed map of Sitya—the same type of map that Aya had once seen pin in Gianna’s map room, the trade depot and businesses of importance marked with pins.

This map, however, was not keeping track of trade. There were clusters of pins throughout the city, marking the path of the Midlands forces and the Kakos defense.

Another map sat on a side table, with figurines dotted across the continent. The colonel strode over and cleared it with a brush of his hand before rolling it up with a snap and setting it aside.

General Dav ducked into the tent a moment later. He resolutely ignored Aya as he took his place behind the circular table and nodded at the colonel.

“All seems accounted for,” Dav observed as he scanned the map of Sitya. “How many do you estimate?”

“Two thousand, sir,” the colonel responded.

Aya frowned. Where did the Midlands even get the troops? Nyra’s army had never been strong in numbers, and those she did have had been decimated after the first attack in Sitya.

Dav pursed his lips, his brow furrowed in contemplation as he seemed to mull over the very same question.

“So Nyra has been recruiting,” he mused. He looked across the table to Evie. “It seems vengeance is a powerful motivator.”

“One easily stamped out by forces better trained than citizens turned soldiers,” Evie replied, her distraction evident in her voice as she scanned the map. She pointed a finger at the citadel. “Here. This is where Aya should lead her attack.”

The colonel frowned, his eyes traveling from the map to Aya. “Pardon me, Your Holiness, but do you mean to say that the prisoner will be aiding in our attack?”

“She has pledged herself to our cause,” Evie explained. “This is her test.”

Dav cleared his throat. “As I’ve said before, Your Holiness, I do feel this is quite the risk—”

“Your opinion on the matter has not been requested, Dav,” Gregor cut in.

He looked older here in the war tent, Aya realized.

Perhaps it was the firelight, or perhaps the weight of war was already tugging at the lines on his face.

But his gaze was steely as he met Aya’s.

“She knows the risk should she betray us.”

Evie was still staring at the map, her head cocked in contemplation. “How far can we let the Midlands advance without jeopardizing our forces?”

The colonel pursed his lips. “We have the numbers to decimate them tomorrow. Our forces are not in jeopardy, Your Holiness. We have just yet to unleash our true attack.”

Aya took a step closer to the table and studied the fortress that Evie’s finger still marked.

“You misunderstand her,” she remarked softly. Her eyes traced the streets of the city before she shifted her attention to Evie. “You wish to lure them toward the citadel, don’t you?”

Evie grinned. “I had forgotten in your captivity that you have a mind for battle.”

Aya had not. She had seen the plan as soon as Evie had pointed at the fortress. It was, after all, the very one she’d tried to enact in Dunmeaden herself.

Kill Gianna. Get to the Wall. Save her city.

Who would have thought her failure would bring her here?

“Let the Midlands advance toward the fortress,” Evie commanded, moving her finger to the area just below the walled cliff.

“Let them think they are making progress. And then, when Aya takes to the battlements, let our additional forces line the hills.” She traced the hillside just beyond the camp.

It would paint a horrifying picture to anyone on the ground—rows and rows of Kakos soldiers.

And that was assuming they did not have a spy who had already brought news of their arrival.

“And if this strategic retreat of ours works in their favor?” the colonel pushed. “If the Midlands retake the fortress—”

“Then we destroy the fortress,” Gregor answered sharply. “Our Diaforaté are stronger than ever before.”

The colonel’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes darting to Aya and back to the king. Evie chuckled softly.

“You do not have faith in her,” she observed. She braced her hands on the table, leaning toward the man. “That is to be expected. But do you have so little faith in me ?”

“N-no, Your Holiness,” the colonel stammered, his face paling. “I have heard whispers of your abilities, and of your pledge to annihilate the gods. You are not just the First Saint—you are our salvation.”

What would the sycophantic fool do if he knew it was not a saint he gushed to, but a demigod, Aya wondered. When would Evie let that word spread beyond the confines of Gregor’s court?

Perhaps it was her intention to let Aya be her weapon until the end. It was safer that way. After all, glory could wait until the gods were dead.

“I am glad to hear your faith is in the correct place,” Evie murmured in response, her body still angled toward the man. “I would hate to have to show you the cost of disloyalty.”

“Of course not,” the colonel choked out. “I will give the orders to retreat immediately. It will take time. Perhaps it’s best to wait until the fighting renews in the morning.”

A pulse of surprise rippled through Aya. She hadn’t expected Kakos to honor the organized rigidity of battle. But that was war, she supposed, designed with structured fighting and organized murder. As if killing in a systematic manner was somehow morally superior.

“Can we make it to the fortress unharmed?” Gregor asked.

General Dav cleared his throat. “I will escort you there myself, Your Majesty.”

Gregor sucked his teeth. “Bring the Seer Lorna, as well.” A muscle in his jaw ticked as he looked to Aya. “She’ll be the first body over the wall should you not do exactly as we say.”

Ah. So that’s why they’d brought Lorna. Aya doubted she would live much longer either way, regardless of how tomorrow ended; the Saj had already shared her hypothesis of the veil. What more use could she be?

But Aya nodded her understanding all the same.

It felt like second nature to straighten her spine and fix her level gaze on Evie—like stepping into a skin she’d forgotten she had in the weeks they’d kept her in the dark. But it came back easily, that cool focus and clear mind and steady pulse.

And with it came a question she’d uttered a hundred times in another room before another monarch who knew that she was nothing more than power to be used. A blade to be sharpened and honed and thrust in the hearts of others, until her own was unrecognizable.

A weapon to be wielded.

“What do you need me to do?”

***

The plan was simple, in the end. Aya would take to one of the high walls of the fortress that stretched between the battlements—the one that lorded over the city like a damning shadow—and destroy the Midlands forces.

The method, Evie assured her, was up to her choosing. As long as the outcome was total destruction, neither she nor Gregor cared what power she unleashed on the unsuspecting Midlandian troops.

What was a human to a god, after all?

“And you’re sure in your decision?” Lorna asked as Aya lay on a cot, her gaze fixed on the worn canvas above her head. They had shoved them in the same tent, one near Evie and Gregor’s, with two guards stationed outside.

There was a time when the mere idea of Aya was a threat. She thought of the increased guard that had awaited her in Dominic’s palace—that green livery standing sentinel for no other reason than her reputation preceded her.

Now, two measly soldiers: the Anima who had been her personal guard for two months, and a Zeluus Aya had not had the misfortune of meeting until today.

“Yes,” she finally answered Lorna. She tried to count the threads in the canvas, but there were far too many for her tired eyes to pick apart.

So she pushed herself up instead, ignoring the ache in her tender muscles as she shoved her feet into her boots. Lorna’s attention fell heavily on her, but Aya ignored it as she pushed through the tent flaps.

She would not find sleep tonight.

“I’d like to take a walk,” she told the Anima. The woman stared at her for a beat, her mouth pinched in the corner. Then she shrugged.

“Watch the other one,” the guard commanded the Zeluus. She took a step away from the tent and waved Aya on with a mocking bow. “Lead the way.”