Page 22 of Corvus and the Broken God

Do you want me to be?

I sat back in my chair and studied him. He faced in my direction but without the tension he had held when meeting the other demigod, Chaac. Despite his fearsome physical features and the stories of blood and death I had read, I felt no fear sitting next to him. In fact, it felt comfortable, as if I had known him a long time. He seemed to know me or at least get me. I sipped my mead. What were we doing here? It was clear he didn’t want to answer some of my questions. Changing me to my original shape was another story.

Will you go meet Chaac in a few weeks?

He wants me to go. It is most likely a trap.

I didn’t like the sound of that. Will you go? Even if it is a trap?

He let out a sigh.

Corvus, we are both tired. Let me show you to your room, and we can talk tomorrow.

He got slowly to his feet, as did I, wondering why he wanted to put off our conversation after getting me to talk to him privately. Then again, I had dropped in unannounced and interrupted whatever he did all day. What did a semi-retired ancient god of death isolated up on a mountaintop do all day anyway? I’d love the answer to that.

I followed him down the hall past Mindy’s room. He pointed out the kitchen, told me to help myself to everything, and we kept walking.

This door leads to the underground pools. You are welcome to bathe there; the spring water is warm. It helps heat this part of the house.

We approached the end of the hallway, coming up on the far corner of the square building. There were only two doors. He pointed to the one on the left.

This is your room.

To the right was the last door at the end of the hall.

That is my room. Good night.

I hesitated a moment too long, taking in everything that had happened. As he walked away, I wished him Good night.

My room was almost modern, updated a few centuries later than the rest of the huge house, and decidedly feminine. The dark wooden bed had four posts, each one elegantly turned. An upholstered settee perched at the foot of the bed, and instead of furs, this bed was piled high with pillows and rich fabrics. A fire burned in a black marble fireplace, and the walls were lined with filled bookcases. Faded brown velvet curtains covered two large windows, and I ran to the nearest one to look outside.

It was hard to see in the darkness, but it looked like it faced part of the mountain. I could make out some trees, but mostly ragged cliffside. I still hadn’t put eyes on the interior courtyard. Why hadn’t I explored it when I had wings?

I turned back to the room. This wasn’t a guest room reserved for the occasional fifty-year guest. This room had been used, lived in. The books looked old but well-read. Located in the back corner of the rambling building, nestled into the mountain, it was the most defended and hardest to access. Maybe it had been a while since it was last inhabited, the fabrics did look a little moth-eaten, but it was comfortable and welcoming. What did his room look like? He slept in a room? Why had I found him turned to stone and pretending to be part of the mountain?

On the wall opposite the bed, there were two doors. The right-hand door led to a spacious closet filled with Victorian-era dresses. Silks, taffeta, satin, and cotton, they had all been dyed in bright, jewel-toned colors, faded by time but still sumptuous. I held one up to my chest. It fell just to my toes. My new height wasn’t an accident. Had he matched me to a woman he had cared for? I shook my head. Get over yourself, Freya.

I hung up the dress and went to the other door, half expecting a room full of bloody heads. It was only a bathroom. One that had been installed a hundred years ago, if the fixtures were all original. A giant claw-foot tub with an old-school, removable faucet head sat under the window. Black and white mosaic tiles covered the floors, the walls lined in old marble. A white porcelain sink with cast-iron pipes running down the wall into the floor stood next to the toilet. A light layer of dust coated every surface, but it was otherwise clean. I struggled with the image of Camazotz bending over the tub with a sponge in his giant, clawed hands and a can of Comet in the other. Did he have someone clean for him? Some sort of fairy creature bound into eternal servitude? So many questions and nothing made sense.

The mirror over the sink looked plain but old. My eyes snagged on my reflection. My freckles were back. I leaned in, looking over the rest of me. He hadn’t changed anything else, but each small spot was in the exact same place it had been my entire life. How had he done that? From just seeing me the one time in the middle of the night. I felt my skin in awe. Or was it like a DNA reset type of magic? Would he ever tell me?

I pulled the knob on the faucet toward me, and fresh mountain water poured into the sink. I used the toilet and thought about taking a bath. But what had he said about the natural caves? That sounded like something worth exploring. And I needed to check on Mindy.

Wrapping myself in the soft wool shawl, burnt-orange plaid that lay draped over the settee, I quietly opened the door. I looked to my left, but his door remained closed. And what would I have done had it been open? I shook my head and turned right.

I found Mindy in the kitchen, cutting up a large loaf of bread, a yeasty smell filling the room.

“Hey, do you think he meant it, that we can eat his food?” she whispered.

“Yes. I think he did.”

She looked me up and down. “Your freckles are back, but otherwise you look the same. Is he not going to change you?”

“We got off on a different conversation.”

“I’ll bet,” she snickered.

“He said there are caves with hot water baths. Want to go look?”