Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) by Kathryn Kingsley (great novels to read txt) 📕

the alcoves. Eight in all, watching over the sanctuary of the cathedral. She walked up the carpet slowly, taking each one in.

Seven statues were tucked in niches that lined the walls, including one that sat in dedication to what she suspected might be her Dread God. The eighth and largest statue, the one with the white cloth altar, sat at the head of the sanctuary. It was clear that the Ancient that Lyon served wished to be billed first in its own home.

Makes sense, I guess.

She couldn’t help but walk up to the statue in yellow and gaze at the deathly, rotted face whose smile seemed to mock her and all that she had been through. She finally had an image to put to all the hate and anger she had felt over her life.

It was to blame for all the death.

It was to blame for when she lost Ash.

She sighed and shook her head. Now she was just lying to herself. Ash died because of the wrath of humans, not drengil. I have enough to pin on the Dread God without making up excuses.

Sipping from the wine bottle, she turned away from the god in yellow. She wasn’t here to talk to it, after all. She was here to talk to someone else.

Walking to the largest statue at the head of the sanctuary, she climbed the stairs to the altar and gazed up at the multi-armed, skull-faced Ancient.

“I don’t know you,” she said quietly, keeping her voice barely more than a whisper. It carried well enough in the large, silent chamber. “And you do not owe me. You aren’t my gods, and I’m not your follower. But I find myself here all the same…and I don’t know why. But I’m not here to pray for myself.”

Silence.

“I pray for those who have come with me. I pray for those who are frightened and alone. I pray for those in this world who will die to the plague my world brought with it.” She cringed. “The woman who died today from the drengil did not deserve it. My world’s troubles should not be hers. But it was, all the same. I pray for her.”

Silence.

“And most of all, I pray for—” She choked, and her voice cracked. Grasping the necklace she wore, she let the edges of the metal bite into her palm. She sipped the wine and took a moment to breathe. “I pray for the old gods. I don’t know what has come of them. Maybe they’re dead…maybe they’re not. Maybe you consumed them. Maybe the Dread God killed them, and that’s why we’re here now. I don’t know. But they rose to fight the plague that threatened to destroy us all. They fought valiantly. I lived my life in service to them, and now…I don’t know what’s become of them.”

She let go of her necklace. “I can only pray that they died with honor. And if you can hear me…I can only ask that if you can, you give them the rest they deserve.”

“They won’t listen.”

She jolted, nearly dropping the bottle of wine, and whirled toward the voice. She couldn’t see anyone. She pulled her knife and held it in front of her. “Hello?”

“They never listen.” A figure moved. They were sitting in a pew. They must have been there the whole time. Whoever it was sounded male. He leaned forward on his arms which were on the back of the pew in front of him. But other than that, she couldn’t see anything. “Don’t blame you, I suppose, praying to gods and all. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I used to think it worked. I don’t anymore.”

“Then…why are you here?”

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“Revenge.”

Ember frowned. “Against?”

“Everyone.” The man’s voice dropped to a furious whisper. “And everything.”

Something about it made Ember laugh. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. That’s just…one fuck of a list. You’d better get started.”

The man chuckled. “I suppose I should. Mind if I have some of that wine? I’ve had an absolutely shit day.”

“Me, too.” She walked down the stairs of the altar toward the man in the darkness. Now that she was closer to him, she could see a little more detail. His head was lowered, and long blond hair fell down his shoulders and over his face, obscuring it. He was dressed in what looked like a white shirt with holes in it, but she couldn’t see clearly in the extremely dim light. She walked into the pew ahead of him and sat on the back of it, facing him. She offered them the bottle. “I think for different reasons, maybe.”

“I hope so, for your sake.” He reached for the bottle. His hand was thin, and it trembled as he took it. With his other hand, he removed something from his face—a mask, and placed it on the pew next to him. He took a swig from the bottle.

She looked away before she saw him.

“Am I that revolting?”

“I was told you only show your faces to people you trust.”

“I suppose.”

“Besides, it’s too dark to know if you’re revolting.”

He laughed. It sounded raspy and painful. He coughed, growled, and spat on the ground next to him. Something nudged her leg.

Looking down, she saw him holding the bottle back to her. Grasping it by the neck, she took a sip. “Hope you don’t have a disease.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“I’m teasing. I can’t get sick from things like that.”

He put his head down on his arms. He coughed again, wheezing painfully. He spat onto the ground again. “Oh? I thought human mortals were always sick. I thought that was the point of being a human mortal.”

“You can tell?”

“It’s the smell.”

She laughed. “Okay, well, I have been teasing you this whole time. I guess that’s fair.”

“No, no.” He sounded like he was smiling. “It’s the smell of your blood. It’s…like fresh rain.”

“Now, that’s just disturbing.” She nudged his elbow with the bottle of wine.

“Welcome to Under.” He swigged