Like, in some ways, I had been.
My hand trembled slightly as I placed the glass down. “So how do some survive, while others don’t?”
“It all depends on whether a god assisted the godling,” she said, reaching up to toy with the chain around her neck. “That is the only way a godling survives.”
“And how would a god assist them?”
She grinned, a mischievous sort of look filling her golden eyes. “You may find such information to be quite scandalous.”
“Doubtful,” I murmured.
Aios laughed again. “Well, all right, then.” The hem of her flared sweater swished around her knees as she drifted closer. “They need to feed from a god.”
I leaned forward. “I assume you do not mean the type of food I just consumed?”
“No.” Her grin spread as she lifted a finger to her rosy lips. She tapped a fingernail off one delicate fang. “They do not grow these, but they will need blood. Quite a bit of it at first. And then, every so often once the Culling is complete.”
“Do all gods need to feed?” I asked. “Like that?”
She sat on the chair opposite me. “Yes.”
My stomach tumbled a bit. I’d obviously known that they could…bite, but I hadn’t known it was something they had to do.
A bit of her smile faded. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, the idea of drinking blood makes me a little nauseous.”
“As it would for most who are not like us.”
But I…I also remembered the scrape of Ash’s fangs against my skin. I felt myself flush. “Do you all feed off mortals?”
Aios arched a brow as she watched me. “We can. It does the same for us as feeding off a god would.”
My gaze flicked back to Aios’s beautiful face. Who did Ash feed from? “Are Primals the same?”
“They do not need to feed unless they’ve experienced some sort of weakening.” Her fingers returned to the chain. “Which isn’t often.”
“Oh,” I murmured, not exactly thrilled with the buzz of relief I felt. Something occurred to me. “Does anything happen to the mortal when a Primal or god feeds off them?”
“No. Not if we’re careful. Obviously, a mortal may feel the effects of the feeding more than any of us would, and if we were to take too much, then…well, it would be a tragedy if they were not third sons or daughters.” Her lips tensed. “It’s forbidden to Ascend them—to save them.”
Curiosity trickled through me. “Why?”
Tension bracketed her mouth. “They would become what we call demis—a being with godlike power that was never meant to carry such a gift…and burden. They are something else.”
I frowned, thinking that wasn’t much of an answer.
“But to answer your original question,” she continued, changing the subject, “the young man who was in here? His name is Paxton, and he’s completely mortal.”
So many more questions flooded me. Surprise flickered through me. “What is a mortal doing here?”
“Many mortals live in Iliseeum,” she told me, and it was clear that she thought that was common knowledge.
“Are they all…lovers?” I fiddled with the sash on the robe, thinking Paxton appeared far too young for that.
“Some have befriended a god or became their lover.” She lifted a shoulder. “Others have talents that appealed to one of the gods. For many of them, coming to Iliseeum was an opportunity to start over. Their paths are all different.”
An opportunity to start over. My heart skipped. Wouldn’t that be nice? I glanced down at my plate. There was no starting over, no other paths. There never had been.
“May I ask you something?” Aios asked, and I looked up, nodding. “Did you know?” She had come closer, her voice lower. “About the deal, before he came for you?”
“I did.”
“Still, that must’ve been a lot to deal with.” Aios clasped her hands together. “To know you had been promised to a Primal.”
“It was, but I learned a while ago that if you can’t deal with something, you find a way to do so,” I said. “You have to.”
A far-off look crept into Aios’s features as she nodded slowly. “Yes, you have to.” She cleared her throat, rising abruptly and making her way to the wardrobe. “By the way, I was able to find two gowns that I believe will fit. But Nyktos mentioned that you preferred pants over gowns.”
I rose slowly and tentatively walked forward. He’d thought enough to mention that to Aios?
“I couldn’t get my hands on any tights, but these breeches should fit you.” Aios tugged on a pair of fawn-colored pants and then on a black pair she’d hung. “I hope these are sufficient.”
“Actually, I prefer them over tights. They’re thicker and have pockets.”
She nodded, flipping through the items she’d hung. “You have some long-sleeved blouses, vests, and sweaters. They’re a bit plain,” she said, running a hand over something silky and pale. “There are two nightgowns here for you and some basic undergarments. I imagine you’ll soon have many more items to choose from.” Turning to me, she once again folded her hands. “Is there anything else you need?”
I opened my mouth, reluctant to let her leave. I’d spent the vast majority of my life alone and left to my own devices. But this room was huge, and nothing about it was familiar. I shook my head.
Aios had just started for the door when I stopped her. “I do have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“Are you from the Shadowlands Court?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I once belonged to the Court of Kithreia.”
It took me a moment to recall what I had been taught about the different Courts. “Maia,” I said, surprising myself that I remembered the name of the Primal of Love, Beauty, and Fertility’s Court. “You served the Primal Maia?”
“At one time.”
Curiosity hummed through me. I had not known of any gods leaving the Primal they had been born to serve. “How did you end up here?”
Her shoulders tightened. “As I said before, it was the only place I knew would be safe.”
Left unsettled, I didn’t stop her as she left. While I found relief in the knowledge that she felt safe here, how secure could it be when those who liked to push the Primal of Death had strung those gods to the wall?
That was roughly about the time I realized that Ash hadn’t told me who had done that to the gods.
I turned back to the wardrobe. The undergarments were nothing more than scraps of lace I imagined most would find indecent. I flipped past the gowns, finding a narrow leather strap beside the remaining clothing. I grabbed a sweater and breeches, changing into them.
After I found a comb and spent an ungodly amount of time working out the numerous knots in my hair, I braided it, remembering what Ash had said. Hair that looked like spun moonlight.
That was such a silly thing to say.
Returning to the bedchamber, I found myself staring at the chamber door.
Was I locked in my room?
Oh, gods, if they’d imprisoned me, I would—I didn’t even know what I would do, but it would probably involve finding the closest blunt object and knocking Ash over the head with it.
My heart hammered as I went to the door, bare feet whispering over the cool stone. I placed my hand on the brass knob. I took a deep breath and turned.
It wasn’t locked.
Relief shuddered through me, and I opened the door—
I gasped. A light-haired and fair-skinned god stood in the middle of the hall, facing my room. He was dressed as before, in black adorned with silver scrollwork across the chest, a short sword strapped to his side.