A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“As do I.” The god rose, wiping his hand on his dark breeches.

“You don’t know?” I studied him, understanding dawning. This god hadn’t just happened along. He’d most likely already been in the passageway before I even walked past it, or he’d at least been nearby. “You were watching them, weren’t you?”

“I was following them.” He drew out the word. “Before I decided to not let you get yourself killed—which you still haven’t thanked me for.”

I ignored that last part. “Why were you following them?”

“I saw them moving about in the mortal realm and wanted to see what they were up to.”

I wasn’t sure if he was being honest. It seemed like an awfully big coincidence for him to have chosen to follow them the night they killed a mortal male and a babe.

His head turned to me. “I imagine if I advise you to go home, you will do the exact opposite once more.”

“I imagine you won’t like my response if you advise such a thing once again,” I returned.

A soft chuckle came from inside the shadowy hood. “I don’t know about that. I actually might,” he said. My brows knitted when he started forward. “We might as well investigate together.”

Together.

Such a common word, but it too felt strange.

The god was already at the steps of the townhome. For someone so tall and large to be so silent had to be the result of some godly magic. Avoiding the charred area on the grass, I quickly joined him.

Neither of us spoke as we entered the silent home. There was a door on either side of the small entryway and a set of stairs leading to the second floor. The god went left, into what appeared to be a sitting room, and I headed straight, climbing the stairs. Only the creaks of my steps broke the eerie silence of the home. A gas lamp burned faintly at the top of the stairs, situated on a narrow table. There were two bedchambers, one outfitted with a single bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Upon closer inspection, I found breeches folded and shirts hung, the size that would fit someone of the mortal male’s stature. There was nothing in the small bathing chamber of note. I backed out and made my way to the bedchamber at the end of the hall. I nudged open the door. Another lamp burned beside a tidied bed. The crib sitting at the foot of it turned my stomach.

That veil I imagined wearing wasn’t as in place as I believed it to have been.

Slowly, I entered the room. A tiny blanket lay in the crib. I reached in, feeling the soft fabric. I’d never thought about having children. As the Maiden, it wasn’t even a desire that could take shape as I grew and got older. It was never part of the plan because even if I had been successful and managed to make the Primal of Death fall in love with me, creation of a child wasn’t possible between a mortal and a Primal.

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?”