But a babe was truly innocent and relied on everyone around it, including the gods, to keep it safe. Killing one was unforgivable. The back of my eyes burned. If I had a child, or if any descendant of mine had been harmed, I would burn through both realms just so I could flay the skin from the body of the one who’d hurt them.
Breathe in. I held my breath until the churning in my stomach stopped. Until I felt nothing. Once I did, I exhaled long and slow and turned away from the crib and the tiny blanket inside.
My gaze skipped over a deep green divan. Someone had draped an ivory-hued silk wrapper over the back. I went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. Gowns hung neatly beside brightly colored tunics. Undergarments were folded and placed on the shelves among other garments, but there was more than enough room for the clothing that had been in the wardrobe next door.
Could someone else be in this house? Maybe the mother? Or had she not been home? “Where is the—?”
“Downstairs.”
“Gods,” I gasped, nearly coming out of my skin as I whirled to where the god stood, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his broad chest, the hood of his tunic still up. “How are you so quiet?”
Better yet, how long had he been standing there?
“Skill,” he said.
“Perhaps you should alert someone to your arrival,” I snapped.
“Perhaps.”
I glared at him, even though he couldn’t see my face.
“If you’re looking for the owner of those gowns, I imagine that is who I found downstairs near the entry to the kitchen,” he offered. “Well, I found a charred section of floor and a lone slipper, anyway.”
I turned back to the wardrobe. “I don’t think the man I saw and the woman shared a room here,” I said, gesturing at the wardrobe. An idea formed. “Is there a study?”
“There appeared to be one, to the right of the foyer.”
“Did you find anything?” I brushed past him, wholly aware of how he unfolded his arms and turned, following in that silent way of his.
“I only gave it a cursory glance,” he said as I reached the top of the stairs. “I wanted to make sure the home was empty first.” He paused. “Unlike some. And by some, I mean you.”
I rolled my eyes as the steps groaned under my feet. The god followed, close enough behind me that my back tingled, yet his steps made no noise—while I sounded like a herd of cattle coming down the stairs.
“What would you have done if you’d discovered the home wasn’t empty?” he asked as we reached the first floor.
“I would’ve celebrated, knowing that at least someone survived,” I told him, walking to the study. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting light over the small chamber.
“Would you?”
I glanced over my shoulder as I rounded the desk. The god had gone off to the side, checking out the mostly empty shelving units built into the walls. “Would you not have?” I looked down at the desk. The surface was cleared with the exception of a small lamp.
“I would think surviving while your child and someone you shared your home with are both killed would be a hard life to celebrate,” he said, pulling open the center drawer. Nothing but quills and closed ink jars.
I closed it and moved to the one on the right, a deeper one. “I guess you’re right. She would be in the Vale,” I said, speaking about the territory within the Shadowlands where those who had earned peace upon death spent an eternity in paradise.
“If that is where they went,” he murmured, stopping to pluck a small wooden box off a shelf.
My heart skipped. Did he think they could’ve gone to the Abyss, where all beings with a soul paid for evil deeds they committed while alive—both god and mortal? There was no way the babe had gone there. But the adults? Well, they could’ve done any number of things during their lives to earn themselves several lifetimes of horror.
I thought of the Vodina Isles Lords. A horror I would likely become acquainted with when my time came.
I shook my head, closing the drawer and moving on to the bottom, finding a thick, leather-bound ledger. I pulled it out, placing it on the desk. Quickly untying the cord, I opened the cover to find scribblings on pages and several pieces of loose, folded parchment. What I’d been searching for was the second piece of paper I unfolded.
I turned on the lamp and quickly scanned the document. It was an entailment of the townhome between the Crown and a Miss Galen Kazin, daughter of Hermes and Junia Kazin and Mister Magus Kazin, son of Hermes and Junia Kazin.
“Find something?”
Unsurprisingly, the god had drifted closer without being heard. “It’s an entailment of the property. They were brother and sister. That is if that was who lived here.” Which also meant that if Galen Kazin was the child’s mother, she was also unwed. Among the working classes, that wasn’t exactly rare, nor was it considered shameful. But to afford a home within the Garden District, one had to be descended from nobility or have found wealth through business. It was less common to find unwed mothers here. “I wonder where the father is.”
“Who’s to say the man outside wasn’t the father? Maybe it wasn’t the brother.” He paused. “Or, he could’ve been both.”
My lip curled. Even if that were the case, it was an unlikely reason for why the gods had killed them and the babe. Based on the stories I’d read about the gods and Primals, I doubted they would even bat an eyelash at that.
There was nothing else to be found in the study to give any indication as to why the gods had killed them. Though I wasn’t exactly sure what I could’ve found that would have answered that. A journal chronicling their misdeeds?
“You’re frustrated.”
I lifted my gaze to where the god stood at the window overlooking the courtyard, his back to me. “Is it that obvious?”
“It’s not like this was fruitless. We know that they were likely siblings and that one was an unwed mother. We have the parents’ names.”
“True.” But what did that even tell us? I closed the ledger, retying the cord. “I have a question.”
“Do you?”
I nodded. “It might seem like an offensive thing to ask.”
The god had glided forward. That was exactly how he moved—as if his booted feet didn’t touch the floor. He stopped on the other side of the desk. “I have a feeling that won’t stop you.”
I almost grinned again. “Why are you curious about the gods killing mortals? And I don’t mean to insinuate that you don’t care. Although you did say you weren’t decent—”
“With the exception of the one bone,” he interjected, and it sounded like he smiled.
“Yes, with that exception.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and I could feel his stare, even though I couldn’t see it. “Let me ask you the same question. Why do you care? Did you know them?”
I crossed my arms once more. “Why do I care? Besides the fact that they killed a babe?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t know them.” Blowing out a breath, I looked around the study, seeing books that would likely never be read again, and knick-knacks whose value would no longer be appreciated. “When a god kills a mortal, it’s because of some offense,” I started. That was the tricky thing about the gods. They decided what warranted consequence, what was an offense, what was punishable, and what the punishment would be. “And you all like to make an…example out of such things.”