Page 81 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Pa had always said the Phanmata, the ghosts of Aya’s nightmares, could do her no harm. They were mere spirits lingering in between waking and sleep, contained in that in-between.

But as Aya walked through the streets of Dunmeaden, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head for some measure of anonymity, she wondered if perhaps, like Evie, the Phanmata had escaped their prison and lived instead in these very streets.

It wasn’t just that the town, with its burnt husks of buildings, looked nothing like the place Aya had grown up—the place she’d tried to conjure in her mind in her darkest hours in Kakos.

But the people had changed, too. Talans had always had a hardness to them, but the grief carved in these faces was something only war could birth.

Her people were suffering, and she was afraid it would only get worse.

Aya clenched her teeth against the stiffness of the new fighting leathers Galda had given her and pulled the hood of her cloak further over her head, her stride quick as she cut through the Relija.

She’d spent hours the night of her and Will’s rescue recounting all that had transpired in Kakos. And when her throat had gone sore, her voice fading from all her talking, Will and Liam filled in the pieces, until Mathias and Pa and Nyra and Sarhash and Galda knew exactly what they were facing.

Her father had insisted there must be another way to mend the veil—one that didn’t require Aya to sacrifice herself in the process.

He’d spent the last few days deep in the Synastysi, him and Will and Nyra, all working to find some information that might help them both fix the veil and defeat a demigod.

There were far more ancient religious texts than what Aya had gone through in her brief stint studying under Hyacinth, and yet she did not hold much hope at the prospect of them finding something with regards to the first endeavor. Her own research had turned up frustratingly empty.

Galda, however, had chosen a more direct approach. She was questioning Hyacinth at this very moment.

Aya quickened her pace. Suja had insisted on tending to her for the last several days, confining her to a bedroom in the palace, but now …

Aya had her own research to do, her own dreaded theory to confirm. And yet, there was a stop she needed to make first.

Her shoulders loosened once she reached the forest. This, at least, still felt familiar, even if her own skin didn’t. Aya tried to push the thought from her mind as she hiked up to the Athatis compound.

She swallowed against the thickness in her throat as she pushed the gate open.

The barn looked just as it always did, its white wood worn in a welcoming sort of way.

Aya’s complicated feelings about the Divine aside, there was still a reverence here, and it slowed Aya’s steps as she approached the barn.

It was empty save for a few wolves who were lounging in straw-covered stalls.

Aya stopped when she reached the middle one, her eyes burning as she caught sight of the jet-black wolf.

Aster always did love to be the center of attention. Just like her bonded, Tova.

“Hi,” Aya murmured as she stepped into the stall.

Aster let out a heavy sigh as she pushed herself up from her lounging position, as if the smallest of movements were impossibly difficult.

Aya dropped to her knees beside the wolf, her hand stroking the space between her eyes, just as she’d seen Tova do more times than she could count.

Aster’s eyes closed slowly, her shoulder leaning into Aya as she let out a weary huff.

“I miss her too, girl,” Aya assured her. She let her tears fall as she pressed her face into Aster’s fur.

The bond between an Athatis and their Visya was for life. Aster would remain part of the pack, but she would never take another bonded.

But that did not mean she was alone.

“I’ve got you,” Aya promised the wolf. “I’ve got you.”

***

Something in Aya had settled after her visit with Aster.

It was as if she took a bit of Tova’s spirit with her, a small lick of flame that warmed the center of her chest. She was glad for it, especially as she took in the stately town house in front of her, its paint pristine and flower boxes perfectly kept.

The rich always did seem to escape the worst of war.

Aya pushed open the wrought iron gate, tugging off her hood as she made her way up the stairs and knocked on the door.

A part of her hoped Gale Castell was dead. It would make everything so much easier.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with blue eyes and a permanent scowl.

Clearly, good fortune was not on her side.

“Well, well,” Gale drawled as he stepped back from the door. “Isn’t this a surprise? The savior of our realm deigning to knock on my door. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It was difficult to tell if Gale was trying to be demeaning or if his voice was just truly that grating. Either way, Aya stepped inside without an invitation, her gaze tracing the ornate crown molding in the entryway.

“I see you avoided the worst of the damage,” Aya remarked as she turned to face Gale.

“By the grace of the gods,” he chuckled. Aya had never heard such a joyless sound. “It would have cost me a fortune to rebuild.”

Aya forced her hands to stay unclenched at her sides, even as she said, “I know how much you value your gold.”

It had, after all, cost her mother her life. She wondered if he would admit to it, if the realization would take hold. Would he show a single ounce of remorse?

She highly doubted it.

Gale eyed her for a long moment before something like amusement flickered across his face. “My son whines like a dog in heat, does he?”

Aya blinked. So he knew Aya and Will were together. Interesting. And yet he’d missed her meaning entirely.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Gale cocked his head. “I believe they call you the Second Saint, don’t they?” he mused. “Our salvation from the Decachiré.”

This time, the mockery was clear. Intentional.

Not just his voice, then.

“I am Aya Veliri. Eliza Veliri’s daughter.”

She waited for some sign of recognition to flicker across his face, but she only found confusion in the furrow of his brow.

“Who?”

Gods, Aya wished he was dead. It would tame the urge she had to kill him. Her fingers longed to wrap around the smooth handle of her knife. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back, if only to quell the itch.

“My mother was a Caeli,” Aya said, willing her voice to stay calm. She would be damned if she gave Gale the satisfaction of knowing he riled her. “She died on a trade assignment for you. A storm was brewing, and you sent your crew across the Anath anyway.”

Gale gave a dismissive jerk of his chin. “The dangers of trade work are not my responsibility.”

“Of course not,” Aya growled. “As long as you get your gold, right?”

Gale sighed. He leaned an arm against the swirled banister of the staircase, his brows flicking toward his hairline. “What is it that you want, Miss Veliri?”

Right. She had come here for a reason, and berating Gale for his past sins, though tempting, was not it. Aya folded her arms across her chest, her back resting against the door behind her.

“I had the pleasure of getting to know your wife Lorna.”

Gale stilling was barely noticeable to the naked eye, but Aya caught it all the same. She saw the tiny hitch of his chest, the evidence that his breath had caught in his lungs. But his voice remained impressively calm as he said, “My wife is dead.”

“Let’s not waste our breath with lies, Master Castell,” Aya replied. She shoved off the door as she took a step toward him. “I met Lorna in Rinnia. A courtesy of your son, actually. But it wasn’t until we were both prisoners in Kakos that I truly got acquainted with her.”

Gale’s throat bobbed. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was,” Aya admitted. “Are you familiar with the Vaguer? They are— were —the most devout worshippers of the Original Saint. You can imagine how interested they would be in a Seer who was a descendant of the one who foretold the rising of the second of her kind.”

Gale’s face flushed, his relaxed stance forgotten as he pointed a finger in Aya’s face. “You—”

Aya grabbed his wrist. “The only pleasure I find in telling you this is your own pain, and even that is muted,” she bit out. “Your wife saved my life by sacrificing her own. I owe her a depth of gratitude that will never be repaid.”

She shoved Gale’s hand away from her.

“And yet still, you use her death for your own gain. What is this, retribution for your mother?”

He spat his words like a curse. Aya forced down her rage, her breath sharp as she inhaled through her nose.

“As difficult as it may be for you to imagine, this isn’t about you, Gale. I came here because I need confirmation.”

“Confirmation. Of what?”

You could forget about this , a voice whispered in the back of her mind. You could leave and no one will ever know.

She couldn’t.

“Do you have Lorna’s lineage records?”

Gale frowned. Clearly, whatever he’d been anticipating she’d ask, it was not that.

“My wife had me burn them years ago,” he finally said, his tone careful. “Surely you’d understand why.”

Aya’s weight shifted between her feet. She’d expected this answer, and yet there was something about it that did not sit right within her.

“I already know her secrets,” Aya reminded him. “Her connection to the prophecy, her fake death, all of it. If there are any additional ledgers, any copies you might have kept…I need to know.”

“Why?”

Aya didn’t answer him.

Gale huffed as he dragged a hand through his hair—the first similarity she’d seen between him and his son. She wondered if it was the only one that still existed.

“You understand,” Gale began, “that I have a family to protect—”

It should have been no surprise that those were the words that snapped the leash Aya had been successfully keeping on her temper.

“Do not ,” Aya snarled, “utter his name. You have never deigned to protect him, not once. You have no family, and he is better off for it.”

Aya’s fists clenched so tightly she could feel the strain on her knuckles. Better that than to reach for her knife. She did not think she would be able to stop herself from slitting Gale’s throat.

She let her power uncoil from where it was resting inside of her, let it brush against Gale’s shield, cold and sinister and dark. “I could force you to show me that register, you know,” Aya threatened softly. “I might even find joy in it.”

Gale, to his credit, did not show his fear, but Aya felt it all the same against her affinity.

“I kept a single copy. It is hidden in my office,” Gale finally confessed, his mouth twisted in disgust. His shield shoved against her power, but she did not budge. “Take your wretched magic back and I will get it for you.”

Aya smiled darkly as she let her affinity drop. “I knew you’d be amenable.”

She followed Gale into his office, her eyes wandering the space curiously as he searched for the ledger.

“You cannot take it from here,” Gale informed her as he spread the long, antiquated roll of parchment on his gilded desk.

“That won’t be a problem.” Aya braced her hands on the wood, her pulse fluttering as she scanned the long list of names. There were markings by certain ones, including Lorna’s.

Aya pointed to the symbol. “I take it this indicates the Seer ability?”

“Yes.”

Aya’s finger dug into the side of her thumb, the skin there already raw. But the pain sharpened her focus, keeping her mind from drifting too far into the future.

Some of the names had faded over time, and one was gone entirely thanks to a water stain that had smudged the ink. But it didn’t matter. Because there, at the top of the list, clearly written, was the name she’d expected.

Wrena.

The bitter taste of dread flooded her mouth. She straightened, her palms tingling as she stepped away from the desk.

“Well?” Gale prompted. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Aya turned on her heel, her steps heavy as she walked toward the door. “No,” she muttered as she tugged up her hood. “I did not.”