Page 82 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

In another life, Will might have found researching in the Synastysi soothing.

His role as Gianna’s Second and overseer of the Merchant Council had afforded him many privileges, but time around ancient texts was not one of them.

It was a marvel, holding the cracked leather-bound books in his hands, their spines worn and pages so thin, he was afraid to turn them too quickly lest they rip.

The only person who seemed more fascinated by them than he was, was Callias.

“And look here,” Aya’s father was saying, his pointer finger running across a line of text in the book they had spread between them.

“There’s no translation for this word in our language.

In any language that we know of.” His kind eyes gleamed with excitement as he met Will’s gaze.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? The Divine had language— things —that we simply cannot describe in our own tongue. ”

“I hope it doesn’t mean veil .”

It didn’t. The Old Language word for veil was voipio and they’d both seen it enough to make their eyes bleed. But the caustic remark slipped out all the same, Will’s shoulders tensing as he realized he’d said it aloud.

Callias merely tilted his head back and laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners in the same way Aya’s did in those rare moments she let herself smile wide and uninhibited.

His hand was warm as he clapped Will on the shoulder. “I nearly wish it did .” His smile faded as he frowned down at the book in front of them. “If I have to read another utterly useless passage about the Voipio , I might destroy the book its in.”

“I think that’s considered desecration,” Will mused as he flipped the page. Not that he would stop him. Callias laughed again, the sound rich and full, and it was amazing, really, how the man still managed to find pockets of joy despite all they were facing.

Then again, hope looked different depending on the person.

“Who’s desecrating what?” Will turned to find Aya leaning against one of the bookshelves. And though there was an amused grin tugging at her lips, there was something heavy about the way her body leaned on the stacks, as if she needed the support to keep her upright.

“Nothing for you to worry about, mi couera ,” Callias replied easily as Nyra rounded the corner, her arms full of books. She dumped them onto the table with a heavy sigh.

“Anything?” she asked Callias.

“Not yet,” Callias replied, his voice still soft and genial. But there was an edge to it, as if he were warning Nyra off.

Aya pushed off the wall, her motions slow. “Can I talk to you?” she asked Will.

“Of course.”

He followed her through the narrow rows of bookshelves. Aya paused at the base of the staircase, her gaze darting between the stairs and the side hall, before she seemed to come to a decision. She veered down the side hall, leading him into a small unlocked office.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he closed the door behind him. Aya was a flurry of micro-movements, her weight shifting between her feet as she crossed her arms. She brought her fist to her mouth, her teeth digging into the skin of her thumb.

Will loved to lose himself in a book, but Aya…Aya was by far his favorite thing to read. He never grew tired of learning her expressions, of studying the minuscule movements on her face and cataloging them in his mind, mapping them to the emotions she’d begun to trust him with.

Will closed the distance between them, his touch gentle as he slid his hands from her shoulders to her biceps, squeezing lightly. She dropped her fist, her other hand coming to cup it as her fingers tangled together.

“I have to tell you something,” she finally murmured, her gaze fixed on her hands. Will covered them with his own to stop her picking.

“You can tell me anything,” he assured her. “You know that.”

Aya began toying with his hand instead, her fingers, calloused from years of wielding a sword and knives, warm against his own as she traced his skin.

“When I was a prisoner of Kakos, they put me in a cell with your mother. The Vaguer thought it would be beneficial for me to not be alone.” Her lips twisted into a grimace as she deepened her voice and said, “ A neglected ox yields tough meat and bland taste. ”

Will’s fingers stilled where they’d begun to weave with Aya’s. Her eyes darted up to his, wide and blue and nervous.

They’re already dead , he reminded himself. It was a far quicker ending than they deserved, but they were gone. Ruminating would get him nowhere, especially when Aya was looking at him like that.

“They’d questioned Lorna severely,” she continued unsteadily. “And she had…lingering effects.”

Will frowned as he tried to make sense of what Aya was saying. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she glanced away from him.

“She had an issue with her shield,” she finally said as she met his gaze once more. “Just like yours.”

It took a moment for Will to make sense of her words, as if so many hours spent reading the Old Language had slowed his understanding of the common tongue.

“She said that it happens when she uses a great deal of her power,” Aya continued. “Her protection against other affinities…wanes.”

Waned , his mind corrected automatically.

Because his mother was…

Will shook his head, his hands pulling from Aya’s slowly as he took a small step back. This didn’t make any sense. He’d never noticed Lorna experiencing any of the same issues he’d lived with since he was a child.

And it wasn’t as if his broken shield was a secret to his parents. She had been here when Gale had berated him for it. He remembered the blank look on her face, the way she’d merely sat there and let her husband tear him down.

You are weak.

“Will.”

He blinked. Aya was watching him carefully, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention.

“She…” He cleared his throat. “She never told me.”

Aya’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

Why didn’t she tell me?

Will dragged a hand through his hair as he let out a harsh exhale. It did him no favors to ask questions he would never have the answer to. “So, what?” he asked as he paced the small length of the office. “It’s hereditary?”

Aya perched on the end of the small desk, her hands curling around the edge of the worn wood. “That seems the most likely of explanations.”

How many nights had he lain awake, wondering why he was broken in a way that could not be fixed?

How many times had he prayed to gods who had never listened and asked them to take this problem from him?

How many tears had he shed as a child because he was weak, and he did not know why, but he knew it was his fault that his parents did not love him.

Who would love a son who crumbled beneath the weight of others’ emotions?

And yet his mother had known—she had known he wasn’t alone in this, and she had been content to let him think he was.

Will stopped abruptly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he gritted out. He didn’t know who he was talking to—Aya or himself. But Aya moved from the desk so she could cup his face.

“Yes, it does.”

He bit back the urge to snap a bitter retort. This wasn’t her fault. Yet he couldn’t quite separate the hurt from her. Not while it was still settling in a wound that had never quite healed.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His hands found her wrists, but he didn’t pull her touch away. Instead he let that hold anchor him.

He wasn’t angry. He was just…confused. Why keep this secret? Why tell him now?

Aya wet her lips. “Because there was something I needed to confirm first.” She must have read the bewilderment on his face, because she continued before he could question her. “I…I think I might know why your shield reacts this way.”

There was something pained in her expression, something devastated , and it had a weight sinking in his stomach. Her throat bobbed as her hands slid from his face, pressing against his chest instead.

“I went to Gale’s today. He has a copy of your mother’s lineage.”

Will’s frown deepened. He knew Aya well enough to know that she would not approach his father unless she was truly desperate. “Why would you need that?”

It seemed a great effort for Aya to even speak her next words. “Because the second forgotten goddess…Evie’s aunt…she was a Seer. The first Seer.”

For a long moment, there wasn’t a single sound in the room—not even their breaths could pierce the silence that had settled between them. Will stilled, his grip on Aya’s hand going slack as his mind slowly slotted the pieces together.

“My mother was a descendant of the second forgotten goddess,” he breathed. His own voice sounded far away, as if he were submerged deep underwater.

“Yes,” Aya murmured.

Numbness spread through Will’s arms, and he gripped Aya’s wrists again if only to keep himself tethered to something real.

“So…” he tried, but his words tangled on his tongue, his gaze unseeing as he stared down at Aya. “That means…”

“It means you have godsblood, too.”

Will tried to speak, but he couldn’t manage a single sound. He suddenly felt dizzy, as if the room were tilting. He released his grip on Aya as he took a step backward, his trembling hand finding the wall behind him as he tried to catch his bearings.

“You told me once that the gods demand balance,” Aya explained carefully. “That this is how Pathos gets his. I think…I think you were right .”

Will frowned as he racked his memory. He had said that, hadn’t he? When they were in the barn in the Athatis compound, and Aya had unexpectedly learned exactly how vulnerable his shield could be.

“That was a joke,” he argued weakly. He cleared his throat against the roughness in his voice. “You don’t actually think…”

“I do,” Aya insisted. “I think it’s a consequence of the goddess having children with a mortal. A consequence that has been passed down for centuries.”

Will pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard. This was too much. Goddesses and mortals and lineages and Seers and…

“Fucking hells,” he cursed, his hand falling to his side. “I’m related to that bitch .”

Evie. He loathed to think it. But Aya…

Aya breathed a laugh as she stepped into his space, her arms winding around his neck. “Very, very distantly,” she reassured him, her lips quirking in the corners. “I won’t hold it against you.”

She was using his own trick—goading him to bring him out of whatever place he was tucking himself into. No wonder it made her furious. But Will let his arms wrap around her waist, let the familiar weight of her against him settle his raging heart.

It was not weak to feel too much. It was not weak to need people.

Aya tilted her chin up so she could hold his gaze. “If I’m right,” she began slowly, “that means—”

“Evie could have the same issue,” Will filled in for her, his brow furrowing.

Aya nodded. “It would explain why she refuses to open the veil herself. She kept insisting it was because it would drain her before she battled the gods, but what if it’s more than that? What if it’s because doing so would make her more vulnerable?”

It was entirely possible, but…

Something Aya had just said had jarred another thought to the front of his mind.

“Wait a moment,” he murmured. “The veil.”

Aya had said she was the only one who could interact with it. But if he had godsblood…

“Will.” There was a plea woven in the single syllable of his name, and gods, it made so much sense. This was the grief he’d seen lingering in her eyes. This was the dread that had dragged her shoulders down.

“I can help you heal the veil. Can’t I?”

Aya bit her lip, her gaze flitting toward her boots before finding his face again. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Lorna believed it had something to do with gods-given power, so…perhaps. But if that were the case, I imagine she would have said something.”

“Yes, because my mother was renowned for her forthcoming nature,” Will scoffed. He stepped out of the safety of Aya’s hold, his body demanding he move. He resumed his pacing, his fingers drumming on the side of his leg as he considered the possibility.

“The godsblood in you has been diluted for centuries,” Aya reasoned. “That could very well mean there’s not enough of it—”

“But it’s possible,” Will interrupted as he cut back toward her. “Right?”

Aya closed her eyes for a brief moment, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath. “Yes,” she whispered. “It could be possible.”

Will stilled, some of that anger and fear and frustration with the world fading as he took her in.

It could be possible, and she loathed it. And yet…

She’d come to him anyway.

He moved to her, his hands sliding over the curves of her waist as he pulled her against him.

“I made you a promise,” she explained, as if she could hear every thought in his head.

She had. And she’d kept it, knowing exactly what he’d ask of her.

Will cupped her cheek as he kissed her softly, pouring every ounce of gratitude and devotion into the gentle caress of his lips against hers.

“I cannot ask this of you,” Aya whispered when they separated.

“You’re not asking,” Will reasoned. “And I made you a promise, too, remember? No matter how far the fall.”

Aya’s mouth set in a firm line, her fingers trailing across a stitch in his leathers. Something hardened in her gaze, a light flickering in her irises, bright and defiant and lovely.

“And if I refuse?”

There she was—headstrong and stubborn and his .

He took the vehemence head on, held it in his hands and in his heart, because now he saw it for what it was. If Callias’s hope manifested as a gentle spring breeze, Aya’s was a burst of hoarfrost. It was how she protected the things closest to her.

The things she loved.

“Then, Aya love, we’re at an impasse,” he breathed, leaning in to press his lips to hers once more. “Because I refuse to let you go through this alone.”

He could feel her frustration in the grip she kept on his fighting leathers and the nip of her teeth against his lip. It was a relief to have it shared with him instead of watching her tuck it away.

“We still don’t know if it’s possible,” she reminded him as she pulled away.

“But it’s an option. One we should tell them.”

Aya’s jaw twitched, another argument surely behind her lips, but a knock at the door interrupted them.

Mathias Denier poked his head into the room, his signature smirk fixed on his face as he took in their position.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said airily, “but we have visitors.” He opened the door wider to beckon them back into the hall. “The Trahir King has arrived. And he’s brought what looks like his entire damned country with him.”