A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“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.