“Why do I sense you want to ask something?”
The frown returned. “You’re a god. How do you not know what the other gods are up to?”
“Just because someone is a god doesn’t mean they have some sort of inherent knowledge of the comings and goings of other gods, or the reasons behind their actions,” he answered. “Neither would a Primal.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I was suggesting,” I pointed out. “I meant that since you seem pretty—”
“Thank you.”
I shot him a bland look. “Since you seem pretty powerful, couldn’t you demand to know what they’re doing?”
“That’s not how it works.” He leaned forward. “There are things that gods and Primals can and cannot do.
Curiosity sparked through me. “Are you telling me that not even a Primal can do as they please?”
“I didn’t say that.” His head tilted down. “A Primal can do whatever they want.”
I threw up my hands. “If that’s not the most contradictory statement I’ve heard in my entire life, I don’t know what is.”
“What I’m saying is that a Primal or a god can do whatever they please,” he said. “But every cause has an effect. There are always consequences for every action, even if they don’t impact me directly.”
Well, that was an incredibly vague explanation that kind of made sense. I looked at the seamstress. Something occurred to me. When a mortal passed, it was believed that the body must be burned so the soul could be released to enter the Shadowlands. I wasn’t sure that what had happened to the Kazin siblings counted as a burial burning. “Those who die like the Kazins…do their souls make it to the Shadowlands?”
The god was quiet for a long moment. “No. They…they simply cease to exist.”
“Oh, my gods.” I pressed my hand to my mouth.
His eyes lifted to mine. “It is a cruel fate, even one greater than being sentenced to the Abyss. There, at least you are something.”
“I…I can’t even process what it would be like to simply stop being.” I shuddered, hoping he didn’t notice. “That is…”
“Something only the vilest should face,” he finished for me.
I nodded as I took in the sitting room, the bright blue and pale pink throw pillows, the small stone statues of sea creatures rumored to live off the coast of Iliseeum, and all the tiny knick-knacks that were little parts of Andreia Joanis’s life. Pieces of who she was and who she would never be again.
I cleared my throat, desperately searching for something else to think about. “What Court do you belong to?”
He raised a brow again.
“I mean, are you from the Shadowlands?”
The god studied me for a moment and then nodded. I tensed, although I wasn’t surprised. He continued to watch me. “There’s something else you want to ask.”
There was. I wanted to know if he knew who I was. If that was why our paths had crossed twice now in such a strange way. He may not know about the deal but he could know that I was the would-be Consort of the Primal he served. But if he didn’t know, it would be a risk. This god could tell the Primal that I had been in possession of a shadowstone dagger and hadn’t been afraid to use it.
So, I landed on something else I’d always been curious about—something I would’ve asked the Primal himself if I’d had the chance. Being from the Shadowlands, there was a good chance he might know. “Are all souls judged upon death?”
“There isn’t enough time in a day to do that,” he said. “When someone dies and enters the Shadowlands, they are once more given physical form. Most will pass through the Pillars of Asphodel, which will guide them to where the soul must go. Guards there ensure that happens.”
“You said most. What about the others?”
“Some special cases must be judged in person.” His gaze bore into mine. “Those who need to be seen to determine what their fate may be.”
“How?” I crept closer to him.
“After death, the soul is exposed. Raw. No flesh to mask their deeds,” he explained. “The worthiness can be read after death.”
“And…what about a soul now? I mean, when someone is alive.”
He shook his head. “Some may know things just from looking upon a mortal or another god, but the core of one’s soul is not one of them.”
I halted when I caught his faint citrusy scent. “What things?”
A small grin appeared. “So very curious,” he murmured, his gaze coasting over my face, seeming to linger on my mouth. A warmth entered my veins, one that seemed wholly inappropriate since I now knew for sure which Court he served. But he looked at me as if he were fascinated by the shape of my mouth.
As if he might want to taste my lips again.
A shivery wave of anticipation swept through me, and I knew if he did, I wouldn’t stop him. It would be a bad choice on my part. Maybe even on his. But I often made bad decisions.
The god’s gaze cut away, and I didn’t know if I felt disappointment or relief. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. The hint of fangs became apparent. It was definitely disappointment I felt.
An odd feeling pressed against the center of my chest without warning, where the warmth often gathered in response to death. The heaviness unfurled through me, feeling like a coarse, suffocating blanket. I drew in a shallow breath, frowning at the sudden, strange scent of lilacs. Stale lilacs. It reminded me of something I couldn’t place at that moment as I felt myself turn back to the body without consciously willing myself to do so.
Wait.
I took a step closer. “Did you move her legs?”
“Why would I do that?”
Unease slithered through my veins. “When I came in, one of her legs was bent at the knee, pressing against the table. Both are straight now.”
“I didn’t move her,” he replied as my gaze lifted to her face. The charred skin shaped like wings across her cheeks and forehead seemed to have faded a little. “Maybe you—”
The rattle of a breath being drawn and the crackle of lungs expanding silenced the god. My gaze flew to her chest just as the bodice of her gown rose. I froze in disbelief.
“What…?” the god muttered.
Andreia Joanis sat up, that gaping mouth opening even farther, the singed lips peeling back to reveal four long canines—two along the top of her mouth and two along the bottom. Fangs.
“The fuck?” the god finished.
“That’s not…normal, right?” I whispered.
“Which part? The fangs, or the fact that she’s dead and still sitting up?”
Andreia’s head tilted toward the god, seeming to look at him with eyes that were no longer there.
“I don’t think she’s dead,” I said. “Any longer.”
“No,” the god growled, causing my skin to pimple. “She is still dead.”
“You sure—?” I swallowed a gasp as the seamstress’s head snapped in my direction. “She’s staring at me, I think. I can’t be sure. She doesn’t have eyes.” Out of instinct, I reached for my thigh, only to come up empty. I started to turn to the god. “I would really like to have my dagger—”
A hissing sound came from Andreia, the kind of noise no mortal should be able to make. It rose and deepened, turning into a piercing snarl that raised every single hair on my body.
Andreia rocketed to her feet, the movement so inexplicably fast that I jerked back out of reflex. Fingers curled, she launched forward—
The god was just as unbelievably fast, stepping in front of me as he withdrew a short sword. The blade glimmered like polished onyx in the candlelight. Shadowstone. He stepped forward, planting a boot in her midsection. The seamstress flew backward over the tea table.