He laughs. “You’re smart, Valkyrie.”
“Just observant.”
“Well, that’s more than a lot of people in this place. They’re more concerned with parties and getting laid, than the fact we’re knocking on the door of the apocalypse.”
I can relate, unfortunately, on both sides.
“Want to know where I was really going?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye.
“If you want to show me.”
He jerks his head, indicating I should follow. We head back up the stairs, past the dormitory and down a hallway I’d never seen before.
“How much do you know about Victorine?” he asks.
“Not much.” I don’t want to reveal the few facts Armin had told me. “What about you?”
“I doubt you know this, but there’s nothing my uncle loves to do more than trash-talk the gods. As you know, over the years he’d done plenty of work with Camulus.”
He’s bought the Immortals' contract from him. I nod.
“Victorine was Camulus’ muse. Although he was the God of War, she was the fuel that sparked his tyranny. She was the puppet master; the whisper in a King’s ear, the motivation behind a knight, the powder in general’s bomb. She spent her days encouraging powerful men to do damaging things.”
I think of her standing behind Roland, whispering in his ear.
“She feeds on destruction,” he says, “and I have no doubt that the gods sent her here with a purpose.”
“What would that be?”
“If my uncle’s stories are true, and there’s always reason to suspect he’s exaggerating for his own amusement, she’s here to sow chaos, but most of all, she’s here to ensure the apocalypse happens.”
“And you don’t want that?” I ask carefully. We’re on a curving staircase, one that clearly climbs to one of the towers that peaks over the Academy. We’re alone. Far from any other students. Far from the Immortals.
“The Shaman do not pick sides, and we certainly do not play the games of a petty, vengeful goddess.” His pale eyes are deep with determination. “We’ve always been independent and rulers of our own fate. I don’t want to be under her thumb.”
He hasn’t exactly answered my question about the apocalypse. The door at the top is closed. Darius presses his ear against the wood, listening, before opening the door. It’s a small, dark room. No, more like a nest. Scraps of fabric, paper, and wood line the walls. On the floor is a matted down part. Dark embers glow in the fireplace.
“What the hell is this?” I ask.
“This is where she sleeps.”
I stare at the room and think of Victorine. She’s beautiful. Like a queen. She lives here? I shift my gaze to Darius, searching for answers on his face. He looks as disturbed as I feel.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because like the winged monster in the challenge, Victorine is an illusion, but like the real monsters surrounding the school, she is also very, very real.”
I’m not sure if it’s his purpose for bringing me to her room, but I say, “We have to kill her.”
“Or her host.” Roland. “But that’s easier said than done.”
He shuts the door, separating us from the horrors of the room.
“How do we do it?”
“I don’t know. Killing gods isn’t something I’ve done before. It’s not something any of us have done. We’re brats. Royals. Silver spoons, wiped asses, all of that stuff, but…” he holds my eye. He knows about the Morrigan. About who I am.
“But I have.”