“You’ll be happy to know that I was able to find some clothing for you,” Aios said as she hung the items inside the wardrobe.

Forcing myself to slow down, I looked over my shoulder at her. I thought of the glow in her eyes. “You’re a goddess, right?”

Aios faced me with a quizzical lift to her brows. “On most days.”

I cracked a grin. “And the young man that was just here. Is he a…a godling?”

She shook her head as she turned back to the wardrobe, hanging what appeared to be a gray sweater. “Have you ever met a godling?”

“Not that I know of,” I admitted, thinking of Andreia. “I don’t know much about them.”

“What would you like to know?” she said, turning from the wardrobe.

“Everything.”

Aios laughed softly, the sound warm and airy. “Finish eating, and I’ll tell you.”

For once, I didn’t mind being told what to do. I broke apart the toasted, buttery biscuit as Aios said, “Most godlings are mortal. They carry no essence of the gods in them. Therefore, they live and die just like any other mortal.”

I thought of how Ash had said that most godlings lived in Iliseeum. “Do they typically reside in the mortal realm?”

“Some do. Others choose to live in Iliseeum. But for those who carry the eather in their blood, it’s usually because their mother or father was a powerful god. That eather is passed down to them.”

Was that the case for the Kazin siblings? One of them, or maybe even the babe, had enough eather in them to make them a godling? The babe with the missing father? Or did they just have a trace? Either way, why would the gods kill them?

“For the first eighteen to twenty years of life, they live relatively mortal lives,” she continued, snapping my attention back to her. “They may not even know that they carry the blood of the gods in them. But they soon will.”

“The Culling?” I guessed, picking up a slice of bacon.

She nodded. “Yes. They will begin to go through the Culling. That is when some learn that they are not completely mortal.”

My brows lifted. “That would be one hell of a way to find out.”

“That it would be.” Her head tilted, sending several long locks of red hair cascading over a shoulder. “But for most, they don’t survive the change. You see, their bodies are still mortal. And as the Culling sets in, and the eather in them begins to multiply and grow, infiltrating every part of them, their bodies can’t facilitate such a process. They die.”

“That…” I shook my head as I dropped the slice of bacon back onto the plate. “The eather sounds like a weed growing out of control in their bodies.”

Aios let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose that is one way to look at it. Or maybe, for some, a beautiful garden. Those who survive the Culling will then age much, much slower than mortals. Basically, for every three or so decades a mortal lives, it is equivalent to one year for a godling.”

What mortal lived to a hundred? Odetta had to have been close. “That sounds like immortality to me.”

“Godlings can live for thousands of years if they’re careful. They are susceptible to very few illnesses. But they’re not as…impervious to injuries as the gods and Primals are,” she explained. “For that reason, most godlings who survive the Culling live in Iliseeum.”

That made sense. A five-hundred-year-old person who looked as if they were twenty would definitely draw attention. That was also probably why we believed that the children of mortals and gods—godlings—were rare. A thought struck me, causing my stomach to twist. “Can Primals and mortals have children?”

She shook her head. “A Primal is an entirely different being in that way.”

I took a drink of the juice to hide my relief. It could take months…or even years to fulfill my duty. I didn’t want to bring a child into this only to leave them orphaned like Ash had been.

Like, in some ways, I had been.

My hand trembled slightly as I placed the glass down. “So how do some survive, while others don’t?”

“It all depends on whether a god assisted the godling,” she said, reaching up to toy with the chain around her neck. “That is the only way a godling survives.”

“And how would a god assist them?”

She grinned, a mischievous sort of look filling her golden eyes. “You may find such information to be quite scandalous.”

“Doubtful,” I murmured.

Aios laughed again. “Well, all right, then.” The hem of her flared sweater swished around her knees as she drifted closer. “They need to feed from a god.”

I leaned forward. “I assume you do not mean the type of food I just consumed?”

“No.” Her grin spread as she lifted a finger to her rosy lips. She tapped a fingernail off one delicate fang. “They do not grow these, but they will need blood. Quite a bit of it at first. And then, every so often once the Culling is complete.”

“Do all gods need to feed?” I asked. “Like that?”

She sat on the chair opposite me. “Yes.”

My stomach tumbled a bit. I’d obviously known that they could…bite, but I hadn’t known it was something they had to do.

A bit of her smile faded. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, the idea of drinking blood makes me a little nauseous.”

“As it would for most who are not like us.”

 But I…I also remembered the scrape of Ash’s fangs against my skin. I felt myself flush. “Do you all feed off mortals?”

Aios arched a brow as she watched me. “We can. It does the same for us as feeding off a god would.”

My gaze flicked back to Aios’s beautiful face. Who did Ash feed from? “Are Primals the same?”

“They do not need to feed unless they’ve experienced some sort of weakening.” Her fingers returned to the chain. “Which isn’t often.”

“Oh,” I murmured, not exactly thrilled with the buzz of relief I felt. Something occurred to me. “Does anything happen to the mortal when a Primal or god feeds off them?”

“No. Not if we’re careful. Obviously, a mortal may feel the effects of the feeding more than any of us would, and if we were to take too much, then…well, it would be a tragedy if they were not third sons or daughters.” Her lips tensed. “It’s forbidden to Ascend them—to save them.”

Curiosity trickled through me. “Why?”

Tension bracketed her mouth. “They would become what we call demis—a being with godlike power that was never meant to carry such a gift…and burden. They are something else.”

I frowned, thinking that wasn’t much of an answer.

“But to answer your original question,” she continued, changing the subject, “the young man who was in here? His name is Paxton, and he’s completely mortal.”

So many more questions flooded me. Surprise flickered through me. “What is a mortal doing here?”

“Many mortals live in Iliseeum,” she told me, and it was clear that she thought that was common knowledge.

“Are they all…lovers?” I fiddled with the sash on the robe, thinking Paxton appeared far too young for that.

“Some have befriended a god or became their lover.” She lifted a shoulder. “Others have talents that appealed to one of the gods. For many of them, coming to Iliseeum was an opportunity to start over. Their paths are all different.”

An opportunity to start over. My heart skipped. Wouldn’t that be nice? I glanced down at my plate. There was no starting over, no other paths. There never had been.

“May I ask you something?” Aios asked, and I looked up, nodding. “Did you know?” She had come closer, her voice lower. “About the deal, before he came for you?”

“I did.”

“Still, that must’ve been a lot to deal with.” Aios clasped her hands together. “To know you had been promised to a Primal.”

“It was, but I learned a while ago that if you can’t deal with something, you find a way to do so,” I said. “You have to.”

A far-off look crept into Aios’s features as she nodded slowly. “Yes, you have to.” She cleared her throat, rising abruptly and making her way to the wardrobe. “By the way, I was able to find two gowns that I believe will fit. But Nyktos mentioned that you preferred pants over gowns.”