Seduction (Curse of the Gods #3)

“I don’t appreciate the tone.” He pointed a finger at my face as I took the shirt. “But it is a special shirt, so try not to burn it.”

“Liar.” My voice was muffled because I had already pulled the shirt through the opening and was tugging it over my head. “You don’t think it’s special at all, you just don’t want to see me naked again.”

“Not the words I would have chosen,” he mumbled.

I shook out the shirt so that it fell comfortably around my legs, and then I pulled the door fully open, leaning against the door jamb and folding my arms over my chest. Rome’s eyes slipped from my face, taking in the sight of his shirt falling to my knees, and then he pulled me from the opening. One hand was planted on my shoulder, steering me back toward the main room. Yael was standing in front of a low table that had two armchairs on either side of it, arranged before the fireplace. The entire surface of the table had been covered in food, and I was too hungry to even question where it had all come from. I rushed over, fell to my knees, and started stuffing grapes into my mouth. There was a lot of fruit on the table … and wine. I paused, pulling back a little as I finished chewing the grapes. There was some sort of cooked bird on a platter, decorated with spikey herbs.

“This is the most stereotypical meal of the gods that I’ve ever seen,” I stated blandly.

“Didn’t know you dwellers had theories on what we eat.” Yael was loading a plate and pouring wine at the same time, his eyes focussed on the task.

“The gods are pretty much the only thing that the dwellers talk about,” I informed him, accepting the plate that he handed me. “They think about what you’re eating while they have hard bread for the seventieth life-cycle in a row. They think about where you’re sleeping while they curl up on the floor. They think about what you’re wearing while they scrape for enough tokens to mend a shirt.”

I started to load my plate up while Rome sat silently in one of the chairs, his eyes flicking between me and Yael. Yael had stopped everything, and was now just kneeling there beside the table, staring at me. Eventually, he reached for the goblet that he had been pouring into, and took a long swig.

“That’s depressing as fuck,” he finally noted.

“You wouldn’t know.” I shrugged, sitting back on the floor and attempting to speak between bites of food. “The gods only watch the sols—and the dwellers around the sols. Nobody watches the dwellers in the outer rings; nobody cares about them. They’re just a living server-farm for Staviti.”

Yael winced, but Rome remained stony-faced, and we finished eating in silence. My thoughts were drifting back to Emmy, wondering where she was and what she was doing. She was tough, and smart—I wasn’t too worried about her safety—but I hated that I wasn’t there for her. She was still trying to deal with Atti’s death and I had disappeared again.

“The Mortal Glass,” I said, breaking out of my thoughts and glancing up to find Yael seated in the chair across from Rome. “Can I use it to see Emmy?”

“Was wondering when you’d ask,” Rome stated, standing from the chair and walking to a small table beside the bed.

I recognised the gilded frame, and the glittery black stone set into the oval. He handed it to me, and I gripped it tightly, closing my eyes and thinking of Emmy with intention, just the same way as I had manifested the fire to burn my dress.

“What the hell?” An all-too-familiar feminine shriek filled the marble room, and I jerked back from the mirror.

The guys moved behind me and we all huddled forward again, watching Emmy’s image manifest into the glass. She was sitting up in her bed, the sheet clutched to her chest, her hair tousled around her shoulders.

Cyrus was standing in the doorway.

“What the hell?” I echoed, only a few decibels quieter than Emmy.

“I didn’t realise you would be sleeping.” Cyrus sounded too formal, and he looked like he wanted to back out of the room and close the door, but he stood his ground.

“Who … who are you?” Emmy was scrambling out of bed, her eyes wide in fright.

She could clearly see that Cyrus—with his striking looks and white robes—wasn’t a dweller. She still reached for the lamp beside her bed and held it out before her like a weapon.

“I am Cyrus,” he replied, eyeing the lamp in almost-amusement. “The current Neutral God.”

“Current?” She hastily set aside the lamp, and then started attempting to straighten up her sleep clothes. “I thought gods couldn’t die?”

“A conversation for another time. I am here to inform you that Willa is with Abil’s sons in … a secure location.”

Emmy dropped all pretences of trying to be presentable and polite in front of the god that had stepped into her bedroom. She slumped down to sit on the side of the bed and let out a groan, her head falling into her hands.

“She snuck back into Topia again, didn’t she?”

Behind me, Yael chuckled.

“A secure location,” Cyrus repeated.

Emmy recovered some of her poise then, rising again to her feet. For someone who was a proud, card-carrying member of the dweller-club, I don’t think she realised how much she acted like a sol at times. She was strong, smart, and capable. If she had been born a sol, she would have made it to Topia. I had no doubt at all of that.

“When will I be able to see her again?”

Cyrus took a step closer, towering above her. “Tomorrow. She’ll be at the Sacred Sands arena.”

Emmy opened her mouth again, but Cyrus did his disappearing act and she was alone. She blinked a few times in rapid succession, and I could see that her hands were tightly clenched at her sides. In a move I totally did not expect, she turned back, grabbed the lamp again, and threw it with all of her strength at the wall. It shattered, crashing with a racket to the floor.

“Fuck!” she cursed, and I almost jumped. Emmy didn’t curse a lot, and I was torn between amusement and worry.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from her as she continued to stare at the wall, until finally, with a sigh, the physical anger deflated out of her and she crossed over to the broken lamp. There was no way she would have been able to sleep with that mess on the floor, so it came as no surprise to me when she dropped down and started gathering up the pieces.

Before she could put them into the rubbish bin, though, there was a distinct whirling sound, and she let out a low shout, falling back onto her butt. I practically had my face pressed into the glass now, trying to figure out what just happened.

Emmy reached out again, and lifted the lamp up off the floor.

Holy gods.

It was perfect: not a scratch or mark on it. Considering that it had been in fifty pieces not a click ago …

I’d seen someone repair a lamp like that before. A lamp I had broken. Cyrus. It was the only possible explanation. I jerked my head up, clipping the side of Yael’s jaw. He’d clearly been closer than I thought.