A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  “Most haven’t.”

  I thought about the scent of stale lilacs. “Is that what happened to Andreia? Did she become a…Gyrm?”

  “No,” he answered. “I still don’t know what happened to her.”

  “But they were once mortal, right?” I had so many questions. “How did they end up like that? Why the serpents? Why were their mouths stitched like the Priests?”

  “There are two types of Gyrms. These were mortals who had summoned a god. In exchange for whatever need or desire they had, they offered themselves for eternal servitude. Once they died, that was what they became.”

  I swallowed, my stomach churning. Would a mortal still have offered themselves if they knew that the end result would be that? I supposed it all depended on how desperately they sought whatever they needed. “Why the stitched mouths? The eyes?”

  “Supposedly, it’s done so they are loyal to only the god or Primal they are in service to.”

  “Are the Priests Gyrms, then?” I asked. If they were no longer truly alive, it explained how they survived with their mouths sewn closed. It also explained their innate creepiness.

  He nodded.

  “The Primals stitch the Priests lips shut?”

  The skin around his mouth tightened. “What happens to them when they die was established a very, very long time ago. It has become an expected act.”

  Expected or not, it seemed unnaturally cruel to do such a thing.

  “And the serpents…” he spoke again, drawing me from my thoughts. “That is what replaced their insides.”

  I honestly couldn’t speak for several moments. “I have no idea what to even say to that.”

  “There is nothing to be said.” Ash relaxed against the rock as he stared beyond me to the lake.

  My eyes widened. “I don’t even know if I want to know this, but do the Priests in the Temples have snakes in them?”

  His lips twitched as if he were fighting a grin. “I have to agree with you probably not wanting to know the answer to that.”

  “Oh, gods.” I groaned, shuddering. “You said there are two types of Gyrms?”

  “Those who offered eternal servitude in return are typically known as Hunters and Seekers. Their purpose is usually to locate and retrieve things. There are other classes of Gyrms, dozens really, but those are the main ones.” Ash’s fingers moved over my collarbone in a slow, idle circle, startling me. “Then there are those who enter servitude as a way to atone for their sins in lieu of being sentenced to the Abyss.”

  “So, for them, it is not eternal?” I asked as my focus shifted to his touch. The pad of his thumb was rough, and I imagined it was callused from years of handling a sword, as mine were already becoming. Though, as a god, I wondered how often he had to wield a sword. He could’ve used eather earlier to end whatever had become of Andreia, but he’d opted for a blade.

  “No. For them it is for a set amount of time. They are usually known as Sentinels, who are, in a way, soldiers. The Priests fall into that group. They are more…mortal than the first group in the sense that they have their own thoughts.”

  “What happens if they turn to ash like the Hunters did?”

  “For those who are atoning for their sins, it depends on how long they’ve been in service. They may return to the Primal or god they serve, or choose to go to the Abyss. The Hunters? They return to the Abyss.”

  My gaze lifted to his face. He was still staring out at the lake. Was he aware of what he was doing? Touching me so casually?

  I couldn’t even think of when I was last touched in such a way. Those I spent time with at The Luxe didn’t touch like this, and they wanted me. Maybe he was unaware of it, but I wasn’t, and if even a single flicker of hope resided inside me regarding fulfillment of my duty, I needed to put some distance between us.

  But I didn’t move.

  I remained there with my head on his thigh, letting his thumb trace the lazy circle. The touch utterly transfixed me. I enjoyed it.

  And why couldn’t I? I was no longer the Maiden. I’d decided already in the last three years that I was allowed to enjoy everything I had been forbidden.

  I cleared my throat. “You…you said the Hunters were most likely looking for something?”

  “That is the only reason Hunters would be in the mortal realm.” He was quiet for a moment. “They could be looking for me.”

  I thought that over. “Why would they be looking for you?”

  His gaze touched mine. “I have plenty of enemies.”

  My pulse kicked. “What have you done?”

  “Why must I have done something?” he countered. “Maybe I’ve drawn the ire of others for refusing their demands or because I involved myself in their business. It’s a bit judgmental to assume that I did something wrong.”

  My brows knitted, and I thought of what those gods he’d been following did. “I hate to admit this, but you do have a point.”

  “Did it pain you greatly to admit that?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. His gaze left mine, but his thumb still moved. How could he not realize what he was doing? He had to know, right? The digit was attached to his body. I opened my mouth—

  “You’re about to ask if it has something to do with those gods I was following.” A wry humor filled his tone.

  I frowned. “No.”

  He glanced down at me again, raising a brow.

  I rolled my eyes with a sigh. “Okay. I was. Is it because you are trying to find out why they are killing mortals?”

  His laugh was soft. “It could be, but it’s not often that I’m in the mortal realm for any length of time, liessa,” he said, and my heart skipped in my chest in response to the nickname. “That alone would provoke the interest of others, and their interest is something I find greatly annoying. But I have refused and not allowed many things. I’m not sure I could pick just one. When the Hunters don’t immediately return to them, they will know that they did, indeed, find me.”

  “It would seem rather reckless for the gods to spend their time seeking to provoke one another.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he muttered.

  I was.

  His gaze flicked back to mine. “You do realize that you’re not a god, and you’ve risked doing more than just irritating me.”

  My lips pursed as I looked across the lake. “Well,”—I drew out the word—“I have a bad habit of making poor decisions.”

  Ash laughed, and it was a deep one—one that taunted the corners of my lips. I ignored it.

  “Does it bother you?” Ash asked.

  “What?” I inquired, unsure of what he was referencing.

  His eyes met mine. “Me touching you.”

  Well, that answered my unasked question. He knew exactly what his fingers were doing. “I…” I didn’t mind it at all. The touch felt wonderfully grounding, as if I were a part of something or someone. I didn’t realize that I was smiling until I noticed that Ash’s lips had parted, and he was staring at me again in that heavy way that centered in my stomach. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s a…novel feeling.”

  “Novel feeling?” The half-grin returned. “A touch like this?” His fingers moved then, not just his thumb. He drew them up over my arm, curling them toward his palm, and a soft wake of shivers followed. “Is different to you?”

  “It is.”

  His stare changed, a slightly perplexed pinch to his brow forming. It occurred to me that someone casually touching one’s arm probably wasn’t a unique feeling to most.

  The burn of embarrassment increased as my gaze flicked to the sky. “I mean, it’s all right. I don’t mind it.”

  Ash didn’t respond, but his thumb continued, this time slowly sweeping up and down. The feel of his skin against mine was different, and it had nothing to do with him being a god.

  As I lay there, trying to forget the awkwardness, I couldn’t help but wonder how old he was. From what I understood, Primals and gods aged like mortals until they reached eighteen to twenty years, a
nd then their aging slowed to a crawl. Ash looked no older than Ezra or Tavius, the latter having just turned twenty-two. Gods tended to be on the younger side compared to Primals. “How old are you?”

  He had returned to staring at the lake. “Older than I look, and probably younger than you think.”

  My brows furrowed. “That’s not much of an answer.”

  “I know.”

  “And?”

  “Does it matter?” Ash countered. “Whether I’m a century old or a thousand years? I’ve still outlived anyone you know. My lifespan would still be incomprehensible to you or any mortal.”

  Well, I guessed he was, in a way, right again. How many years he’d lived didn’t really matter when he would still appear only a few years older than me a hundred or more years from now.

  I didn’t know what would’ve happened if I had become the Primal’s Consort. Would my aging have stopped thanks to some sort of Primal magic? I’d never really considered it because it hadn’t mattered when I would’ve died. It only mattered whether or not I succeeded at my duty.

  I shifted my thoughts, not wanting to think about any of that. Not right now.

  He looked down at me with eyes a swirling shade of quicksilver as his chin lowered. “What if I told you a secret?”

  “A secret?”

  He nodded. “The kind you could never repeat.”

  “The kind you’d have to kill me if I did?”

  One side of his lips curved up. “The kind I would be very, very disappointed if you repeated.”

  The slowly churning wisps of eather in his eyes held my gaze. “Even though common sense tells me it’s best that I don’t know what this secret is, I am far too curious now.”

  A low chuckle rumbled from him as his thumb swept over the curve of my shoulder. “What is written in your histories about the gods, Primals, and Iliseeum is not always accurate. Some Primals’ age would shock you.”

  “Because they’re so old?”

  “Because they’re so young in comparison,” he corrected. “The Primals you know of now didn’t always hold those positions of power.”

  “They didn’t?” I whispered.

  Ash shook his head. “Some gods have even walked both realms far longer than the Primals.”

  If I weren’t already lying down, I would’ve fallen over. What he said sounded unbelievable. And he was right. I had no idea how old the Primal of Death was. He, like Kolis, the Primal of Life, had never been depicted in paintings.

  “I have so many questions,” I admitted.

  “I can only imagine.” His gaze flickered over my face. “But I’m sure the questions you have cannot be answered now.”

  Not now? As in there’d be a later? A rush of anticipation surged through me before I could stop it.

  There was never a later to look forward to.

  The pleasant warmth his touch had created cooled, and I suddenly needed space. I sat up, and this time, he didn’t stop me. His hand slipped from my arm, leaving a wake of awareness behind. I reached around, gingerly prodding at the back of my head. I didn’t feel any cuts, so that was good, and it wasn’t exactly sore either.

  I glanced down at myself and nearly choked on my breath. Where the pale ivory slip had met my damp skin, the already near-translucent material had become even sheerer. I could see the halo of the rosier skin of my breasts, and the cold-water-hardened…

  “You sure you’re fine?”

  “Yes.” Hoping he couldn’t see the blush I could feel spreading over my cheeks, I glanced at him. He was leaning against the rock that had taken me out, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed loosely at the ankles. Still shirtless. Did he not have a shirt with him?

  Ash’s eyes were shadowed as he watched me. “Did killing the creature bother you?”

  “It didn’t.” I had no idea how we were even having this discussion. What made him think that it had bothered me?

  “Just in case it did bother you,” he said, “they weren’t mortal.”

  “I know that.” I tugged on the edge of my slip—it had ridden up my thigh as I moved. “But just because something isn’t mortal doesn’t make it okay to kill,” I added, realizing how rich that was coming from my mouth.

  “As admirable as that proclamation is, you misunderstand.” He cocked an arm back on the boulder, and the roll and stretch of lean muscle was…well, distracting. “Or you’ve forgotten what I said. The Hunters were no longer alive.”

  “I remember what you said, but they were something. They walked, and they breathed—”

  “They do not breathe,” he interrupted, gaze flashing to mine. His eyes looked like pools of moonlight. “They do not eat or drink. They do not sleep or dream. They are the dead given form to serve whatever need the god has.”

  I shuddered a little at that description. “Maybe you simply have little regard for killing,” I said, acknowledging to myself the hypocrisy of what I was saying, considering how many lives I’d ended in the last three years.

  “Killing is not something one should have little regard for,” he replied. “It should always affect you, no matter how many times you do it. It should always leave a mark. And if it doesn’t, then I would have grave concerns about that individual.”

  I wanted to be relieved to hear that. Someone—mortal, god, or Primal—who could kill with hardly any thought was terrifying.

  Which was why Ezra was a little afraid of me.

  But I did give it thought…after the fact. Sometimes.

  “So, you’ve killed a lot?” I asked.

  He arched a brow. “That seems like an incredibly personal and somewhat inappropriate assumption and question.”

  “Yeah, well, spying on my unmentionables is an incredibly personal and inappropriate act, so my question or assumption can’t be of greater offense.”

  That softer curve returned to his lips. “I was not spying on you, and I’m willing to bet that you know that by now. However, you were staring at me. Quite openly, I might add, as I walked out of the lake.”

  The skin of my throat flamed. “I was not.”

  “You lie so prettily,” he murmured, and gods help me, it was a lie.

  I sat back, crossing my arms. “Why are you even here? You could’ve left once you realized I was okay.”

  “I could’ve left, but like I said before, it would be incredibly rude to leave someone unconscious on the ground,” he returned.

  “Well, aren’t I lucky that you’re a polite pervert?”

  Ash laughed, low and smoky. “Why haven’t you left, liessa?”

  Chapter 12

  Well.

  Dammit.

  I exhaled noisily. “Good question.”

  “Or a pointless question.”

  “How so?”

  He tipped closer, and that scent of his—the fresh, citrusy one, wrapped its way around me. “Because we both know why we remained right where we are. I interest you. You interest me. So, here we remain.”

  Denials rose, but even I had the foresight to know how weak they would sound if I attempted to give voice to them.

  What was I doing here? With him?

  My stomach tumbled as my gaze dropped to his mouth, and I quickly looked away. Staying here had nothing to do with his mouth for godssake. My heart skipped anyway. I was here because when would I ever get to speak so openly with a god who was rather mild-tempered? When did I get to talk so openly with anyone? Any other conversation was always shadowed by how I’d failed the kingdom.

  But he was a god. And even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t say I knew him all that well. I was barely dressed, and Ash made me wary. Because right now, I could easily see myself doing something incredibly impulsive and reckless enough to blow up in my face.

  I peeked at Ash. He’d drawn that bottom lip of his between his teeth as he watched me. My heart started thumping, and all I could think was that today had been so very…weird.

  “Why are you interested enough to stay?” I asked.

  Dark eyebrows r
ose. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Why would a mortal be of interest to someone from Iliseeum?”

  He tilted his head. “I am beginning to think you don’t know much about us.”

  I shrugged.

  A breeze picked up a strand of his hair, tossing it across his face. “We find mortals to be very interesting beings—the way you all choose to live, the rules you create to govern and sometimes limit yourselves. How fiercely you all live—love and hate. Mortals are uniquely interesting to us.” He lifted a shoulder. “And you? You interest me because there seems to be little time between what occurs in your head and what comes out of your mouth. And there seems to be little regard for the consequences.”

  My brows knitted. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

  He chuckled. “It is.”

  “I’m going to have to take your word for that.”

  That soft half-smile made another appearance, and that was all he said for a little while. “You asked earlier if I killed a lot,” he said, surprising me. “Only when I had to. Has it been a lot? I’m sure to some it has been. To others? Probably not something they’d blink an eye at, but I haven’t enjoyed any.” His voice was heavy. “Not a single one.”

  Even though his answer caught me off guard, it was clear this was something he didn’t like to talk about. I shifted, pressing my knees together. “I’m sorry.”

  “An apology?”

  “I…I shouldn’t have asked that question in the first place. It’s not any of my business.”

  Ash stared at me.

  “What?”

  “You are entirely contradictory,” he said. His gaze met mine and then flicked away. Several long moments passed. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, and maybe that was because I was used to the quiet. “I remember the first time I had to kill someone. I remember how the sword felt in my hand—how it felt as if it weighed double. I can still see the look on his face. I will never forget what he said. ‘Do it.’ Those were his words. Do it.”

  I squeezed my knees together even tighter.

  “No death has been easy, but that one?” His hand opened and closed as if he were trying to work feeling back into his fingers. “That one will always leave the deepest mark. He was a friend.”