Page 93 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Will didn’t know at first how they had made it to the palace infirmary. He’d simply awoken in a bed, the first word out of his mouth Aya’s name. Suja had been there, pouring some sort of tonic down his throat, but he’d thrashed against her hold, a mantra falling from his lips.

Aya. Aya. Aya.

It wasn’t until Aidon had appeared at his side that he’d finally calmed.

He was more conscious the next time he awoke, his mind clearer. Aidon was still there, Dauphine leaning against his shoulder, her eyes haunted as Aidon explained how they’d come for him and Aya.

“Aster led us to you,” Aidon explained with a nod toward the wolf. She was curled up at his feet, as if she was content to stay there forever. “We saw the veil shatter and thought you could use some backup. But by the time we got there…” Aidon swallowed roughly. “I thought you both were dead.”

“I want to see her,” Will said, his voice a broken rasp in his throat. “I need to see her.”

Aidon didn’t argue. He merely nodded and helped Will from the bed, his grip firm as he led him to Aya’s room. Galda was already in there, standing guard at Aya’s bed. Akeeta and Tyr lay at the base of it, their heads intertwined as they slept.

Will lowered himself into a chair with Aidon’s help, taking up Aya’s hand immediately. Her skin was scratched and bruised, and there was blood streaked in her hair, but she was breathing, and that’s all Will cared about.

“What has Suja said?” Will asked Galda without taking his eyes off the rise and fall of Aya’s chest.

The trainer sighed heavily. “She said we simply must wait.” Galda placed a hand on Will’s shoulder and squeezed. “Perhaps say a prayer to the gods.”

Will shook his head, his jaw tight. “My god doesn’t exist,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

There would be time to tell them all what had transpired. But for now, he pressed his lips to Aya’s hand.

And he waited.

***

The end of the world felt more like the beginning: blinding light and warmth and the steady stroke of a thumb against the back of her hand.

Aya blinked against the harsh light, her gaze focusing on the way it haloed the figure above her.

“Aya?”

She blinked again, her eyes watering as her vision tried to focus. The blurred outline of a man sharpened into something familiar, his raven hair disheveled and his sun-kissed skin wan.

“Will,” Aya croaked. The sound of his relieved laugh had her relaxing against the bed she’d just realized was beneath her.

“Here, mi couera ,” Will said, bringing a cup of water to her lips. “Drink.”

Aya’s hand trembled as she reached for the cup, her head heavy as she lifted it to sip the water. It soothed the dryness of her throat, removing some of the rasp from her voice as she asked, “Are we dead?”

“If this is what you picture as the Beyond,” a voice growled, “then I pity you.” Aya blinked as Galda stepped up to the edge of the bed. The trainer flashed her a sharp grin. “This feels familiar, does it not?”

It certainly did. Visions danced through Aya’s mind: a cot and ash on her tongue and Galda crouched before her, explaining how she’d been overcome by her power.

Aya settled back against the pillows, Will’s worried gaze tracking her movements. “How do you feel?” he asked, his hand pushing her hair out of her face.

“Tired,” Aya confessed. “But…okay?” She wasn’t sure how it was possible. How had she touched Sage’s power and survived?

“Natali has theories,” Will murmured with a wry smile, as if he could read her mind. “They came by earlier to see you. They think that when they healed the veil, Pathos and Saudra might have healed us, too.”

Aya’s eyes shuttered, something twisting in her chest as she remembered the way her goddess and Pathos had sacrificed themselves—and Sage—to remake the veil. She did not know how to mourn them, or if she even should. But grief lingered in her regardless.

“What happened during the battle?” Aya asked Galda, her hand gripping Will’s tight. She assumed, since she was in the palace infirmary, they’d been victorious. But what of her friends? Her father?

“Once the veil began to fall, it all went to shit,” Galda said as she dragged a chair to Aya’s bedside. She leaned back against it, her arms folding across her chest. “But Liam managed to regain control of the lines. He led an impressive assault.”

“Careful,” a voice drawled from the doorway. “I might think you finally approve of me, Galda.” Liam leaned against the frame, his long legs crossed at the ankle as he smiled at Aya. “Good to see you awake.”

“Galda’s always liked you,” Will interjected with a frown. “You were so favored it made the rest of us look bad.”

Galda rolled her eyes. “Children, the pair of you.”

Liam huffed a laugh, but his eyes were tired as he pushed into the room.

“We were lucky to have newcomers from Trahir,” he admitted.

“With them at Kakos’s back, we were able to pin the Southern Kingdom in the middle, and they were forced to surrender.

” He grinned at Aya. “That, and I think you put the fear of the gods in them. Quite literally, from what Will has told us.”

Cool relief swept through Aya as she realized she would not have to be the one to tell this story. She gave Will’s hand a grateful squeeze before she frowned at Liam.

“Newcomers?” she asked.

“Zuri and Enzo,” Will filled in. “They arrived with a secondary force of citizens.”

Aya struggled to sit up further, her body aching. “And everyone is alright?” Aya pressed. “Josie and Aidon and Aleissande and—”

Pain flickered across Liam’s face, cutting Aya short.

Galda wordlessly stood, giving Liam her chair.

“Who?” Aya murmured as Liam sat down with a heavy sigh. Agony swirled in the dark brown of his irises.

“Cole,” Liam answered. Aya’s chest splintered as she thought of Josie. But there was a graveness to Liam’s face that spoke of more, and it had dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“And your father,” he added softly.

For a moment, Aya could do nothing but stare at Liam as his words set in. The entire world seemed to still with her, the gentle hum of the infirmary fading into a heavy silence that swept every thought from Aya’s mind.

There was no peace in this sort of quiet.

Finally, Liam broke it with a gentle clearing of his throat. His voice was soft as he explained how Pa had come to him just as the veil was falling—how he’d urged him to continue on. How he’d hid the extent of his injuries, knowing that Liam would not have proceeded if he’d known.

“I called for a healer,” Liam croaked, his voice thick with emotion. “But it was too late.” His throat bobbed as he scrubbed a hand across his face. “He asked me to tell you that he loved you.”

Aya tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the words. Grief climbed up her throat instead, strangling her breath and forcing tears from her eyes as Will stroked her hand.

“I’m sorry, Aya,” Liam whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Aya shook her head. It wasn’t his fault. She reached for Liam with her free hand, Will keeping a steady hold on the other, and she let her grip on Liam’s fingers convey what she could not speak.

This swell of emotion…it was so large she was afraid she might drown in it. But for once, she did not try to bury it.

Instead, she let it come. Grief, anger, sadness, guilt. Each one slammed into her, a tidal wave of feeling that tangled in her chest and raked her shoulders with sobs.

She let them come, let them batter her until, finally, those waves settled into something gentler. Something more manageable. Something not deep enough to hide what had been waiting below…

Relief.