The Goddess Test (Goddess Test #1)(30)
Author: Aimee Carter

And to stop whoever it was from killing me. I cautiously perched on the edge of my bed. There was still enough distance between us that I felt safe, but even the air that separated us seemed to crackle. “What about love? Don’t you—you know, want someone? Want a family and stuff?”

“I have a family,” he said, but before I could correct myself, he continued. “If you mean children, then no, I have never believed that to be in my future.”

“But is that what you want?”

He smiled faintly. “I have been alone for a very long time. To expect anything else in the years to come would be foolish.”

Despite the fact that he looked only a few years older than me, I couldn’t imagine how old Henry might actually be—wasn’t sure I wanted to know, really. But how could someone live for so long and be alone? I could barely handle the few nights I’d spent at home without my mother. Multiply that by eternity…I couldn’t fathom it.

“Henry?”

“Yes?”

“What happens to you if I don’t pass?”

He was silent for a long moment, his fingers idly running across the silk lining of his robe. “I will fade,” he said quietly. “Someone else will take over my realm, and therefore I will have no reason to exist any longer.”

“So you die.” The gravity of the situation hit me hard, and I stared off to the side, unable to look at him. It wasn’t just my mother’s life that was riding on my ability to pass these tests.

“I fade,” he corrected. “The living die, and their souls remain in the Underworld for eternity. However, my kind do not have souls. We cease to exist completely, without a shred of our former selves remaining. One cannot die if one was never alive to begin with.”

I clenched my fist around the blanket. It was even worse than dying then. “Who?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “Who what?”

“Who gets your job if you give it up?”

“Ah.” He smiled sadly. “My nephew.”

“Who is he? What’s his name? Is he on the council?”

“Yes, he is on the council,” said Henry, “but I am afraid I cannot tell you his name.”

“Why not?” It seemed no one was willing to trust me with the truth in this place, and while I could understand Calliope not giving me the whole story, Henry knew. Henry should’ve told me.

He cleared his throat and at least had the decency to look me in the eye. “Because I fear it would upset you, and you are unhappy enough as it is. I do not wish to make it any worse.”

I fell silent as I tried to think of who it could possibly be that would upset me. No one came to mind. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

There was nothing I could say to that, and he must’ve known it, because instead of looking at me expectantly, he returned to his book. I watched him, searching for any sign that he wasn’t human. The angles of his face were too symmetrical to be normal, his smooth skin devoid of even a hint of stubble, the thick, jet-black hair that hung an inch above his shoulders, and the unnerving color of his eyes—it was his eyes that did it, swirling pools of silver that seemed to constantly be moving. In the low light, they almost glowed.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that I realized I was staring. Even though I was still annoyed that he wouldn’t trust me with the truth, I wanted to break the tension, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “What do you do during the day? When you’re not here, I mean. Or are you always here?”

“I’m not always here.” He slid a bookmark between the pages again and set his novel aside. “My brothers and sisters and I all have duties we attend to. I rule the dead, so most of my time is spent in the Underworld, overseeing decisions and making sure everything runs smoothly. It’s far more complicated than that, of course, but if you pass, you will learn the ins and outs of what I do.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “What’s the Underworld like?”

“All in good time,” he said, reaching over to briefly set his hand over mine. His palm was warm, and I fought the urge to shiver at his touch. “What about you? What do you enjoy doing with your time?”

I shrugged. “I like reading. And drawing, though I’m not very good at it. Mom and I used to garden together, and she taught me how to play cards.” I eyed him. “Do you know how to play?”

“I’m adequate at a few games, though I do not know if they are still popular.”

“Maybe we could play something sometime,” I said. “If you’re going to be in here every night, I mean.”

He nodded. “That would be pleasant.”

We fell into silence again. He looked comfortable, lounging on the bed as if he’d done it a hundred times before. For all I knew, he had, but I didn’t want to think about that. I wasn’t the first, but I would be the last. Rejecting him wouldn’t do either of us any good—my heart thudded loudly in protest at the thought—and since I was stuck here for six months, I had no intention of getting on his bad side. I was, however, exhausted.

I grappled with myself for several seconds, going back and forth between what was right and what I wanted. I should’ve talked to him, asked him more questions, gotten to know him, but all I wanted to do was to sleep—which I would never get to do if he stayed, even if he didn’t make a sound. No matter what he said about duties and expectations, that kind of anxiety wasn’t going to go away overnight.

“Henry,” I said softly. He’d gone back to reading his book, but in an instant his eyes were on me. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m really tired.”

He stood, taking his book with him. Instead of looking angry or hurt, however, his expression was as neutral as always. “It has been a long day for both of us.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a grateful smile, hoping that’d smooth over any wrinkles I wasn’t sensing.

“Of course.” He walked to the door. “Good night, Kate.”

It was such a small thing, but the hint of affection in his voice made my cheeks warm. “’Night,” I said, hoping he couldn’t see my blush from across the room.

“So you like him.” It wasn’t a question, and I glared at my grinning mother as we sat on a bench, watching joggers and people walking their dogs pass.

“I didn’t say that,” I said, slouching. Beside me my mother sat poised, as if she were dining with royalty instead of spending the morning in Central Park. “I just—don’t want him to die, that’s all. No one else should have to die because of me.”