There was no answer.
Biting back frustration, I rapped my knuckles off the side.
“What?” came the gravelly reply.
“I just woke up,” I said, plopping down on the ground outside of the wagon.
“Okay.” The tarp muffled Reaver’s voice. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“She had a dream,” Kieran explained, having followed me. He lowered himself far more gracefully onto the cold, packed ground beside me. “About Cas.”
“And?”
Kieran shot me a look that warned he was a second away from toppling the wagon. Which would be funny but not worth the ensuing drama.
“He was able to tell me a little bit about where he’s being kept,” I told Reaver. “He’s underground and thinks it’s some sort of tunnel system—possibly something like what was in Oak Ambler. And he told me what Isbeth is. A demis. A false god. He told me to ask Kieran, but all he could remember was some sort of old wives’ tale.”
There was a gap of silence, and I was half afraid that Reaver had gone back to sleep. “And what is this tale?”
“Do I really need to repeat it?” Kieran asked. “To a wagon? And why are you even sleeping in there anyway? You have a tent you could have set up.”
“I find tents to be…suffocating.”
“But you don’t feel as if sleeping under a tarp is suffocating?”
“No.”
Okay. That didn’t make any sense but was beside the point. “Kieran.”
He sighed. “Whatever. There was this old story my mother used to tell Vonetta and me about a girl who had fallen in love with another who was already mated. She believed that she was far more worthy, and so she prayed every day. Eventually, a god who claimed to be Aios came and promised to grant her what she desired, so long as she gave up something in return—the firstborn of the family. Her eldest brother. So, she had to kill him or something. And she did. But, of course, it wasn’t Aios. It was a demis who had tricked her into killing her sibling.”
“Even after hearing that for the second time, it still makes little sense,” I said. “Like, I get the message. You can’t make someone love you, right? Not even a god could or should do that. But why would a demis do that? Why make the woman kill her brother?”
“I guess because the demis can?” Kieran said with a shrug. “No idea. All of that was never really explained, and again, I didn’t think any of it was rooted in truth.”
I reached for the ring, finding the chain beneath the collar of my coat. “This fable could really use some fleshing out.”
“Well, I’m sure the writer of such a story cares about your opinion,” a rough voice intruded from the recesses of the wagon. “Actually, no, they probably don’t. The demis are real but very rare,” Reaver said. “So rare that I’ve never seen one.”
“But what are they exactly?” I asked.
“A god who was made and not born. A mortal Ascended by a god but not a third-born and considered Chosen. The few who existed were considered false gods,” he explained.
Kieran sent me a quick glance. “Do you know of their weaknesses?”
“As I said, I never knew any. The act of Ascending a mortal not Chosen was forbidden, and few dared to break that law.” There was another pause. “Most didn’t survive the Ascension, but those who did, for all intents and purposes, were gods. I assume their weaknesses would be the same as any god’s.”
“Meaning they could only be killed by another god or a Primal or by shadowstone through the head or heart.” I sat back. “That’s good news.”
“It is.” Kieran’s gaze met mine. “We now know how to kill Isbeth.”
It was good news, but if Isbeth was basically a god, she had far more years of experience when it came to using the eather—and, well, everything else.
“Great. Now you two can go chat elsewhere, and I can go back to sleep,” Reaver said.
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you find someplace else to sleep?”
“Why don’t you go fu—？”
“All right,” I cut in as Kieran emitted a low growl. A dull ache had started in my forehead. There’d been headaches on and off for the last couple of days, but I wasn’t sure if this one was due to speaking with Reaver or something else. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“Thank the gods.” Reaver’s hands suddenly appeared above the wagon. He shook them as if he were in joyous prayer.