“How can he do that?” I leaned over the edge of the barrier, staring down the short wall as though expecting to see everything stacked up neatly there. Even the monsters.
“What do you mean?” Siret, who had released my hands half a click ago, leaned over the railing to see what I was looking at.
“I mean how can he just materialise stuff like that? And how can you materialise stuff like that? It’s been at the back of my mind for a while, but I usually ignore the back of my mind because I don’t like nasty surprises and that’s what it always gives me—”
“Rambling,” Aros cut in, his eyes flicking from the arena to me. At least this time he looked amused. “You’re rambling again, sweetheart. Get to the point.”
“Point being,” I narrowed my eyes at Aros, trying to tell myself that I was getting to the point of my own volition and not because he was ordering me to. “I thought the whole Trickery thing was about illusion? Like … tricking your brain into thinking something is there when it isn’t. I didn’t think it was about actually creating something. Something real. That’s almost like the Creator power, right?”
Dresses were one thing, but something on the huge scale of the arena. That was proper creation.
“Let’s walk and talk,” Yael answered, spinning on his heel and moving toward the end of our row.
I hurried to follow him, the other two behind me.
“The Trickery power is similar to the Creator power for a reason.” Yael was murmuring to me beneath his breath as we cleared the rows of seats and moved to the walkway along the bottom of the arena, twisting around to the doors that led underground. “After Staviti created Pika, he expected her to love him. He did create her to have the gift of love, after all. But she didn’t love him, and so he tried again. The next time, he tried for something a little more specific. He didn’t want a perfect being of perfect beauty, with perfect emotions and the capacity to love without limit—because when you think about it, that’s a flaw in itself. If you love without limit … how can you possibly devote yourself to just one person? That’s a fucking limit.”
“Ah,” I replied. Only because Yael had glanced sideways at me, and I assumed I needed to provide some kind of response.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with loving more than one person,” Aros interjected. He sounded oddly annoyed.
“But we’re not getting into that debate right now, are we?” Siret seemed to be speaking to his brothers. He was staring at Yael, but his shoulder had bumped into Aros’s, nudging him.
“As I was saying: Staviti tried again.” Yael ignored all of our comments. “He decided that this time, he would make a friend. Someone who was similar to him, but different. Someone who could share in his power, in the power of creating certain things—though it was impossible for him to make another Creator, so he settled for the next best thing. He settled for an echo of creation. An illusion of creation.”
Siret apparently got tired of walking behind us, because he launched over one of the aisles of chairs and then jumped down in front of me and Yael.
He stopped walking as we reached the archway that would take us down to Coen and Rome.
“Abil is able to create the same way Staviti does,” he said, his voice soft. “But on a significantly smaller scale. And he’s not the only one. Every power has an element of creation. An element of the man who started it all. Staviti put a little bit of himself into every Original God. Into every other gift.”
I blinked at Siret, all of us milling beneath the archway. This was clearly an important conversation to them, because they weren’t dragging me down the stairs and they were speaking in hushed tones as though actually afraid someone might overhear them … not to mention the fact that Staviti was the only god that they had spoken about with anything resembling reverence in their tones. Usually, there was a mix of scorn, disgust, and exasperation riding their stories about the gods; but not this god.
I opened my mouth to say something intelligent. To say something to prove that I had understood the importance of what they were saying. I mean … I didn’t understand the importance of what they were saying or anything, but it was clear that it was important. I got that much. I got that it was supposed to mean something, but I wasn’t a part of their world. Whether Staviti was an asshole or an angel simply wasn’t a thought that kept me up at night. When I died and became a Topian serving-robot, I was pretty sure that Staviti’s power wouldn’t matter to me at all. The only thing that would matter to me would be formal titles and chores.
So, I had to fake my ‘wow, I’m fascinated by how amazing Staviti is’ response.
“They did actually teach us about how Staviti put a little bit of himself into all of his gifts, back in the seventh ring.” I glanced up at Yael, who was grinning for some reason. Blinking in confusion, I continued, without really thinking through my words. “He spread himself all over Minatsol. Dropped a little mini Staviti in every second woman he came across—”
“That’s what you came up with?” Siret asked, laughing down at me. “All that internal monologue about how you needed to fake being interested and that is what you eventually say? Seriously?”
“Get out of my head!” I punched him squarely in the stomach, and then howled as though my whole arm had been run over by a wagon full of really fat sols.
All three of them started laughing, so I grumbled and pushed past them, making my way down the stairs.
“All victors of this sun-cycle’s arena games are required to attend the dining hall in exactly four rotations of the sundial,” a voice announced, skittering over the back of my neck and forcing me to pause mid-stride. It was that same cold, sexless voice that always announced the arena matches. “The gods have decided to honour those that survived with a dance,” it continued. “Formal attire is mandatory. Dwellers are not permitted to attend, as several sacred beings will be presiding over the event. That is all.”
“Say what now?” I spun, directing the question at the three Abcurses behind me. “Since when is a dance a good prize for almost-but-not-quite dying?”
“It’s not a reward, Soldier.” Siret moved past me to take the lead again, and I trailed behind. “It’s an opportunity for the gods to show themselves. To interact. To meddle. To manipulate. If they’re venturing outside of that stupid glass box, then they have a very serious personal interest in someone at this school.”
“Six tokens on Willa.” Yael’s voice was dry.
“Nobody’s going to take you up on that bet,” Siret shot back. “We all know it’s Willa. You’d have to be an imbecile not to know that it’s Willa.”
A voice floated up to us from the other end of the corridor. “The dance means that they’re personally invested in one of the sols.” We all went silent as two robed dwellers came into view, hurrying quickly past us with their heads down.
“Which sol do you think it is?” the other dweller asked, almost so softly that I didn’t catch it.
“What were you saying about everyone knowing that it’s Willa?” I asked, quirking a brow at Siret.
“Hush,” he told me, quickly stepping forward into my space. His hands were on my shoulders, and he was ducking down until his eyes were level with mine and I could almost taste his breath. “Nobody else exists, Rocks. It’s you and us. We’re everybody.”
I may have forgotten to breathe. I may have leaned forward a little, until we were so close that his face began to blur and his fingers began to tighten.
But then I was being pulled away.
“Not so soon after …” Aros muttered, capturing my hand in his and encouraging me to continue down the corridor. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. We all knew what he was talking about.
Twelve
Coen and Rome were waiting for us just outside of the arena. Both of them looked their usual giant, unfazed selves. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have suspected that they had just been in the arena. They looked relaxed and fresh. I looked like a bag of cr
ap.
Without a word, the five Abcurses fell into step, and I followed their lead. After we crossed the grassed area, I realised we were heading back toward their rooms, which was … a bit surprising. Finally, when I couldn’t take it any longer, the questions began to burst out of me.
“Are we really going to this stupid dance? With the freaking gods? Surely that doesn’t seem like a good idea to you guys. I mean, I almost die regularly, but I don’t think you’re all as comfortable with dying as I am. Actually, where do gods go when they die? Is there like another Topia … a world beyond the gods? A Level One for Minatsol, a Level Two for Topia, and a Level Three for only the dead immortals?”
I was rambling again, hoping that something I said would penetrate their stubborn, overly thick skulls. We were halfway down the hall now, close to Coen’s room.
“Dead immortals?” Rome asked. He didn’t answer my questions, which had my blood boiling. I hated to be ignored. It made me feel worthless. Useless.
“You’re not worthless or useless,” Aros growled. “We just don’t like to discuss our family business out in the open. The gods have spies everywhere. We’re always being watched, Willa.”
“And we’ve already said too much in public,” Yael added.
My head snapped from side to side as I tried to see everything around me, all at the same time. A few dwellers were scurrying around, pushing their carts. One of two sols lingered further down the hall, leaning against a doorway. But no one seemed to be paying any attention to us.
“Remember the jewelled bug,” Siret said close to my ear. “Spies don’t generally stand right behind you in dark clothing, holding magnifying eye-glasses.”
I let out a huff of air. “Would make life a hell of a lot easier if they did.” I could feel the heat in my cheeks; I was always looking like an idiot in front of the Abcurses.
I was sure that it would eventually start annoying them, but for now at least … they were stuck with me. As we reached Coen’s door, I expected that we would march inside, but instead my arm was captured and then we were moving again—toward the shower room.
“You and I have mud in places that mud should never be,” Siret said, his trademark grin in place. “Gotta look pretty for the gods.”
I knew my face was creased into a deep frown now. I could feel the bunching of my brows and the puffing of my cheeks. “I still don’t understand why we’re going.”
Yael shot me a look, before pushing open the door to the bathing chamber. Stepping inside, my eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly and … I let out a little squeal, before covering my face. There were a bunch of naked sols milling around the front room. I mean, I had no problem with nakedness—that would be a little hypocritical of me if I did, but still … there was so much skin and guy things on show. Which made sense: this was the male wing after all. No one expected good ol’ Will Knight to rock up with boobs.
I had no idea what the Abcurses did in the next half a click, but somehow or other, the room emptied out. I could almost smell the fear pouring off the sols as they rushed from the chamber.
“You can open your eyes now, Rocks.” Coen was the one to speak, but my eyes were drawn to the way the five of them lined up across from me, blocking the doorway.
When they stood together like that, all of them focusing on me, it was almost too much for my poor dweller brain to handle. It started short-circuiting, random words emerging from my mouth.
“So … penises, right? I mean … just wow, so many penises. What would a girl even do with that many penises together in one place?” Shut up Willa. What the hell is wrong with you?
There was a beat of silence and then suddenly the room was filled with laughter. Full bellied, hold-yourself-up-on-your-knees, can’t-breathe-or-talk kind of laughter. Meanwhile, I remained locked down, red-faced, unable to figure out where my very obvious issues stemmed from.
Coen, who had somehow limited himself to a single chuckle, broke away from his brothers and moved across to stand before me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I needed a moment to try and contain my embarrassment. Large hands cupped my face, and I found myself staring into his eyes—eyes still glimmering with humour.
“When a god dies, there’s no other world for them to move on to,” he told me. “Our vessels cease to exist, and our power is transferred to whichever god takes our place.”
His plan to distract me worked, but instead of embarrassment, I was now filled with dread. “You cease to exist? There’s no afterlife for you?” I shook my head a few times as I started muttering. “No, that’s not okay with me. I need to know that even when I’m a Jeffrey, you guys will be somewhere around. You can visit me and stuff.”
He wrapped his hands around my biceps and pulled me closer to him. “We’re very hard to kill, Rocks. You’re worrying for nothing. And you’ll never be a Jeffrey.”
Yael laughed from behind him. “Yeah, that name’s already taken. You might be a John.”
I tilted my body to the side and glared as hard as I could. Yael gave me a wink, and with a sigh I shook myself free from Coen. I needed to stand on my own. Of course, my stupid soul disagreed with this and my heart starting aching in a way that felt like it was trying to burst out of my chest.
Trying not to let the worries drown me, I stepped up to the first room, my hands automatically going for my shirt.
“Whoa, hang on there, Soldier. You know the rule about nudity.” Siret had both hands up in front of him, as though he could actually fend off my nakedness like that.
I levelled my most intense glare on each of them. “Since you all insist on going to this dance, something I have made my own objection to very clear, then I need to be clean. So either wait outside, or deal with the boobs. Okay?”
They chose to avert their eyes as I started to undress, although I could’ve sworn that Siret hadn’t taken his off me at all. I decided to keep my underwear on, mostly because I really didn’t want to create a problem. “You can all look now, I’m still mostly clothed.” If you counted the black underwear-creation of Siret’s.
Aros immediately drew my attention, because his eyes were so dark they almost appeared bronze. The heat from our kiss filled the space between us, and the need to cross over to him flared within me. It felt as though someone had attached a string to my chest and was pulling me closer and closer to him with each breath that rattled through me. With a shake of my head I turned away, somehow managing to stop myself from moving. It was hard though—I had to breathe deeply in and out to stop the torrent of need that was trying to engulf me.
By the time I had myself under control and had turned back around, the only one in the room was Siret. He was wearing tight guy-style underwear.
“You and I are the dirtiest.” His grin was pure wickedness. “The guys are waiting outside to make sure that we don’t get any more naked.”
“We can be quiet.” Wait, what? “I mean … let’s clean ourselves. Because that’s what we’re here to do. Obviously.”
I marched off to the first room, the one with the fine mist of water smelling faintly like a field of flowers. I could feel Siret close by, even though I had my eyes closed. When I finally did look around, I noticed that the water running off me was dark and thick with muck, the dirt felt like it had pretty much been embedded in my skin. Unable to look away any longer, I turned to Siret and was startled to realise how close he was, not to mention the way his eyes were locked onto me. For once, he wore no grin. There was no Trickery evident in his gaze. Instead, his eyes were full of heat, with an underlying gravity that made my chest thump. I sensed that he hadn’t looked away from me since we stepped into the room—which was a bit weird, actually, because it meant that he was watching the dirty water running from my skin.
“What?” I whispered, needing to break the tension. His look was doing funny things to my stomach.
He still didn’t speak, and I found myself watching the way the water dripped down his now clean and bare skin. In the other room I
had tried not to look too hard, but now I couldn’t help myself. He was perfect. His body was defined and well-muscled. He wasn’t as huge as Coen and Rome, but those two were literally giants. Siret’s lines were smoother, not as bulky. His chest was broad, tapering down to narrow hips, and I caught his abdominal muscles shifting as I stared at him.
“You need to stop looking at me like that, Soldier.” His voice was a husky murmur.
“Are all gods so perfect looking?” I found myself stepping closer. There was barely two inches between us now. I finally managed to lift my head from his body to see his face.
“I feel so objectified right now.” He was trying to joke, but I could see the heat flaring in his eyes, lighting the green up so that it almost glowed.
My hands were moving on their own, lifting up to rest against his chest. I had never kissed Siret, even though both of his triplet brothers had kissed me. I wondered how he would taste, how it would feel. Would it be all consuming like Aros, or gut-wrenching like Yael?
“I promise that you will find out.” He then scooped me up into his arms, pressing our bodies together. A moan slipped from my lips, and a pained expression crossed his. “You will definitely find out. But just not this sun-cycle.”
Aching regret filled me, the emotion so strong that for a click I was worried I would cry from the pure frustration of it.
Siret closed his eyes, his arms tightening around me, sliding my slick body closer to him. “Right now I really need to not hear your thoughts. I can’t kiss you just after Aros. Your body is still reacting to his power. I won’t be the one to tip you over the edge; I’ve grown pretty fond of you by now, Rocks.”
I swallowed hard, desperately searching for some moisture in my mouth. It was odd how dry it had become, considering I was soaking wet in a room full of mist. I eyed a droplet which was trailing across Siret’s neck. So clean and clear now, all of the dirt gone.
“Don’t even think about it. I only have so much restraint.” His chest was rumbling, which caused the droplet to move faster.
Persuasion (Curse of the Gods Book 2) Page 16
