Page 57 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

“Where are our reinforcements?” Gregor demanded as the prisoners rushed toward the heart of the city. Aya watched as the buildings began to eclipse them from view, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Trying to escape the fires, Your Majesty,” the soldier panted. “Several were resting given they weren’t needed for today’s battle—”

“We should retreat,” Dav interjected. “Our reinforcements are compromised, our weapons at risk—”

Another deafening boom cut the general off, and they all ducked below the wall as the citadel trembled with the force of whatever magic had caused such an explosion.

Aya laid a hand against the cement, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to steady herself.

The battle was descending into chaos, the screams deafening as soldiers and civilians and prisoners clashed. Even from this height, she could hardly make out who was who. The careful lines of attack were gone, and in their place, disorder reigned.

What is an ant to a human?

“No,” Evie refused. “We move forward as planned.”

Gregor’s spine straightened, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes as he growled, “You are not the leader of this army.”

Evie’s chin rose in defiance. “Aren’t I? Or is there someone more qualified to kill the gods than I?”

This time, Gregor did not balk at Evie’s subtle reminder of just how much power existed in her veins. He met her toe-to-toe, his teeth flashing as he spat, “And then what? We worship you instead? Our mission is to be free from the gods!”

“A mission that you will not succeed in without me. I do not wish for your worship. Only my vengeance. What you do with a godless world is none of my concern.”

In the light of day, it was easy to see the ghost of shadows on Evie’s skin as she called her dark power to the surface. Gregor’s eyes flicked to them before resettling on the demigod’s face. “We move forward as planned,” Evie repeated, her tone cold and careful and deadly.

“Fine,” Gregor spat through gritted teeth. He turned to the soldier and gave a sharp jerk of his head. “Get to the back lines. Tell as many as you can to get clear of this area.”

Evie opened her mouth to argue, but Gregor held up a hand. “I will indulge your experiments, but I will not risk my army to do it.”

To his guards, he commanded, “I want swords on the Second Saint.”

They unsheathed them without hesitation, as if they’d been waiting for the order. Dav flashed her a wicked grin as he drew his own blade.

“If you betray us, I won’t just kill you,” Gregor threatened as he finally faced Aya. “I’ll kill everyone you ever loved.”

The threat meant nothing.

Everyone Aya had ever loved was already dead.

***

Will had known pandemonium. It looked like arriving on the beaches of Milsaio’s second island to find it burning. It looked like reaching Dunmeaden and hearing the screams of his people dying at the hand of those he had trained beside for years.

He had known pandemonium, but this… Sitya …was worse.

This was hells, and Aya was somewhere in it.

Will’s breath sawed from his chest, his sword arm trembling as he cut down another Kakos soldier. The battle had descended into utter chaos with the arrival of the prisoners—of Cole —who had claimed to have heard talk that the Kakos king was at the citadel.

“If I had to look somewhere, that’s where I’d look,” he’d said.

It was all Will had needed—all his friends had needed—to throw themselves back into the fight that was pressing toward the fortress.

Will ducked around the corner of a building as a Diaforaté sent a bolt of power down the street.

It clipped the brick he hid behind, sending chunks of it scattering across the path.

He watched as Akeeta darted out of the way of the debris, Tyr at her flank.

Will threw himself around the corner, power already jettisoning across the space.

The Diaforaté snarled as it tore at his shield, and it was just the distraction Will needed.

Because there was Azul, his long body uncoiling as he leapt at the Diaforaté.

His powerful jaw clamped around the man’s shoulder, and he hardly had time to scream before Liam’s sword lobbed off his head.

Will’s gaze darted across the street. He couldn’t see Aidon, or Dauphine, and still those Visya fighters were missing, meaning they had either fled or died, and godsdammit, it was becoming impossible to tell friend from foe as they continued to fight their way forward.

They have her. They have her. They have her.

It was a steady refrain that kept his feet moving forward even as his body ached. He forced himself to keep going, to keep moving, his legs buckling as he hit the docks.

The crowd seemed thicker here, trapped between the fortress and the trade center.

They’d begun setting fire to the ships, destroying the vessels Kakos had stolen.

And yet Kakos did not seem to be fighting to protect them, because a Midlandian soldier rallied his troops with a call of, “We have them on the run! Head for the fortress!”

Will lifted his head, tears streaming down his face from the smoke and dust that filled the air. He could just make out the towering gray walls at the far end of the port.

Akeeta nudged between him and a Midlands soldier, her white coat slick with dirt and grime and blood. Her nose brushed his hand, a comforting touch as much as it was encouraging.

Close. He was so close.

His shield buckled as he sent another pulse of power toward an approaching Kakos soldier. The woman stumbled, but she remained upright as she sent a stream of fire straight for him. Someone grabbed the back of his vest and yanked him out of the way just in time.

Aidon.

The king was covered in ash and blood, but he appeared unharmed. Dauphine was at his side.

“We need to get to higher ground,” Aidon barked into his ear, his grip still tight on the leather of his vest. “We won’t be able to see—”

His words were cut off by a piercing howl.

Will’s blood went cold.

He’d heard Tyr make that sound once before—in the throne room.

It was a sound of agony.

He ripped himself out of Aidon’s hold as he searched frantically for the wolf. He found him standing on a crate, his head tossed back as he let loose another vicious howl.

He didn’t seem hurt, but his hackles were raised, his body primed as if he had caught sight of a threat.

Will leapt up on the crate next to him, squinting as he tried to see through the haze. There was nothing but the Midlands soldiers charging forward, and the Kakos fighters running from the attack, and the citadel looming over it all.

Tyr howled again.

“What…?” Will’s question died in his throat as he followed Tyr’s gaze up, up, up.

There, standing on the other wall of the citadel, was a figure dressed in navy.

The sounds of battle faded in a muted hum. He was too far away to see her face, but he knew.

Somehow, he knew .

As if in confirmation, Tyr let out one last hair-raising call. Then he leapt from the crate, straight into the thick of the fighting. Will threw himself after him without a second thought.

***

Aya ignored the swords trained on her back as she used her power to carve out a chunk in the wall, giving her an unobstructed view of the battle below.

She stepped up to the edge, the toes of her boots hanging over into the empty space. The fighting had spilled onto the docks, the Midlands soldiers pushing valiantly forward, burning ships in their wake.

Soon, they’d be at the base of the citadel.

They looked so fragile from this height.

What is an ant to a human?

Aya gave her hands a small shake and tried to settle her raging pulse. The sky had taken on a smokey hue, but she tipped her head back anyway and allowed herself a single moment to look toward the Beyond.

A single moment to reflect on a promise murmured to her in the dark cell of a dungeon.

If these are our last moments, then know I will climb out of the hells and take on the gods if it means finding you again in the Beyond .

She hoped when she and Will found each other again, there would be a Beyond for them. A place to rest, together. A place where she could beg his forgiveness for doing the one thing he had never wanted her to do.

Aya spread her arms wide, sucking in a deep breath as she called her power forward. It rushed to the surface, sure and true and strong, ready after so many months of waiting.

Of control .

Aya closed her eyes as she sent a pulse of lightning into the sky.

And then another.

And another.

Screams erupted from below, but Aya kept her lightning flashing.

She thought of Tova. Of Pa. Of her mother. Of Will.

Always of Will.

You will not sacrifice yourself for this war.

She swore she could hear him calling her name above the echoes of that desperate demand he’d once yelled, as if he knew what she was about to do and was begging her to stop, even from the confines of her mind.

Aya opened her eyes. She could just make out the shimmering of the veil, hidden beneath the pulses of light she continued to send into the sky.

You will not sacrifice yourself for this war.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She took a deep breath and sent one more pulse of furious, blinding light upwards. Enough to hide the veil. And enough to hide her as she turned, her power still churning relentlessly inside her.

Not limitless, but enough. At least for this.

Aya’s hand shot toward Evie, that light still dancing on her skin.

She was not a god. But she was a saint, declared so by the people who did not deserve to die by this monster’s hand. By the people who did not deserve to have their gods meddle and punish because they were bored.

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

Perhaps nothing. But at the very least, Aya would be this god’s reckoning.

The demigod’s eyes went wide, the world slowing as Aya grabbed her arm and wrenched , not with her grip, but with her power.

Wrenched, just as they had wrenched at her own well for months, creating an inside wound so deep that no tonic, imbued in iron or otherwise, could stop her power from trying to heal it.

From breaking free of the grip they thought they’d held her under.

“You were right,” Aya seethed, her nails digging into Evie’s arm as her power tangled with the demigod’s. “There is but one saint.”

Aya’s free hand swept outward toward the guards advancing on her, throwing them back against the fortress wall with a single pulse of power.

Their shouts blended in with the sounds of the battle raging below, but one rose above it. It came not from the guards, but from somewhere on the docks: a hair-raising howl that had Aya stilling, her breath catching as she whipped her head toward the sound.

It was impossible. Tyr was dead—burned in his home on Gianna’s orders. But another howl ripped through the air, as familiar as her own heartbeat.

It was followed by someone screaming her name.

“Aya!”

The desperate cry was not in her head. It was real , because there was Tyr, racing through the Midlandian soldiers, his powerful paws pounding the path that led up to the citadel.

And just behind him, his sword cutting down anyone who dared step in his path, was Will.