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He smirked, his eyes glinting with malicious delight. “Oh, I’m well aware of your exploits. But a high body count doesn’t make you invincible, only more undesirable. A nightmare.”
I lunged again, this time with a swift and precise strike, though his hurtful words were their own kind of weapon against me. My fist collided with his jaw, sending him stumbling back against the dusty dresser, a discarded vase of wilted flowers shattering on the floor. With a surge of adrenaline, I launched myself at him, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks, some landing and some blocked, though considering the poison, the playing field was nearly level. Occasionally, I surprised him, but not often enough.
Orin retaliated, his movements fluid and precise. We clashed and circled each other, locked in a dangerous dance of violence. The room became a battleground, with shattered furniture and scattered debris bearing witness to our shared rage.
“Shall we consider this our wedding night, Wife?”
“You fucking talk too much,” I spat, wiping blood from the corner of my mouth.
I threw a fist into his face. He kicked my thigh. Each blow landed with bone-crushing force, but neither was willing to yield, stubbornness and anger driving us beyond reason.
He’d taken me. He’d fooled me. He’d stood at the back of that temple and ruined everything. He’d made a choice when I had none at all. There was nothing in me that could care anymore. I’d tried that. I’d relented to my father on the mere chance of having someone give a shit about me. Someone forced to remain on this side of the mirror.
He paused as new fury swelled within me. As every single piece of life as I’d known it fell to the floor with my realization that I had nowhere to go. My father had disowned and stripped me of my title in front of the whole court.
“You giving up already, Nightmare?” Orin held a fist in front of his face like a true fighter, ready to block as he bounced on his toes.
I was done. Done with everyone and everything, but especially that smug grin as I stalked forward, hauled back, and threw all my emotions into one solid punch that sent him flying backward and crumpling to the floor.
“Nightmare, huh? Sweet dreams, asshole.”
Setting the edge of my dagger in the hollow of his throat, I let my eyes drink in his brutally handsome face. I should have watched for a breath, the rise and fall of a rib cage, anything that might indicate I hadn’t already killed him, but as strange voices called up the stairs beyond the doorway, there was no time. And despite my fury, I couldn’t find it in me to press the blade home.
I took a second to glance around the room, taking in the destruction we’d wrought before grabbing the damn lamp and sending it through the floor-length windows across from the bed, letting the glass shards scatter.
Securing Chaos to my thigh, I pressed my back against the wall, my breathing ragged, my heart pounding in my chest. I summoned every bit of anger, hurt, and resilience, allowing them to swirl within me, a storm of emotions that fueled my determination. Out of desperation alone, I launched myself toward the broken window, leaped over the threshold, crossed the balcony, and jumped over the railing.
The world blurred around me as I descended through the open air, gravity pulling me mercilessly towards the ground. There was no safety net, no comforting presence to catch my fall. I braced myself for impact, knowing it would be bone-rattling.
As the ground rushed up to meet me, I tucked into a protective roll, instinctively absorbing the force of the fall. Pain reverberated through my body, threatening to incapacitate me. But I gritted my teeth, refusing to surrender to the breathtaking agony.
I could be weak when I was alone and safe, and, though I didn’t know when or where that would be, I limped away from Orin’s prison, wondering if I’d just sealed my husband’s fate, if that final strike had been his ultimate demise.
Chapter 12
Though I was still draped in a tattered black lace wedding gown, injured and seething, I found my way through the thick trees, crossed into Silbath, and sank back into the comfort of the city. The outskirts were a place most didn’t bother traveling. Nothing surrounded the cities’ borders but desolation, and wounded souls craved company.
I kept all thoughts of self-pity away as I pressed more and more weight on my aching leg until I could walk an even stride. I could not be weak, and I would not be prey. The Maestro’s men lurked most heavily in the streets near the Dancing Ghost and his magical theater, Misery’s End.
The elusive sun slipped beneath the horizon, an invitation from the world for me to fall back into the darkness I was so used to. Using the downspouts and worn ornamental ledges, I managed to scale a building I was becoming too familiar with. It took longer than I would have liked, and I stumbled once, barely catching myself, but each movement was a necessary evil, an escape.
The rooftops were a balm. A second realm of solitude I’d played in as a child, the appalling sights within the city raising me. I knew them like a baker knew his recipes, or a dancer, her steps. I could draw a map with my eyes shut, learning first this world above and then the one below. The city’s seedy underbelly was no place for a child. It was hardly a place for a woman with a title, but I’d grown there, too. I’d learned what a man might say to a lady to take her to bed. Or what she might say before stealing his wallet. I’d learned which streets were always violent and what Lady Visha looked for in her prostitutes. I’d learned intimately about the depths of jealousy while watching other people have the freedom to live when I was damned with the charge to kill.
But the one person I’d avoided, above all else, was Drexel Vanhoff, the Lord of the Underworld, if his nefarious position held a proper title. Because at the core of who he was, the Maestro was a collector. Using his magic to bind every poor soul he could, building an army, if ever he decided to turn on the royals.
I’d never challenge for my kingdom title. A small part of me, buried beneath the anger and the sadness, was glad to be rid of the burden. To go to war with this strange new king would be one thing, a guaranteed failure ending in misery for all of Perth. But if history had taught me anything, an unknown king didn’t rise without the heavy hand of someone else. And the only one with that much power was Drexel. But he was as dangerous as they came, and I’d rather gut myself than sit before him, fight against him, or even exchange words.
Still, I was a Hark. And while Death became my master the second my mother died, branding me the harbinger, I could do something, anything, to stop the downfall of this realm. My counterpart had to be out there somewhere, hidden in the underbelly. Someone knew where she was, and now that I had nothing left to lose—no genuine friends, no family, no royal title—perhaps she was the last thing I could give to this diseased world. I might have been born Death’s Maiden, but I could die a savior.
Squatting in the heart of Silbath was not a good idea. I needed to get to Perth, but first, perched above Misery’s end, I watched. And waited. I wanted to know why Orin had broken into the castle. And why, of all things, had he married me when he hated me from his very core?
Though I might have left him there for Death to reap his soul, I knew he must’ve been more than a simple performer, more than an attractive guy with a solid right hook.
But no one came. The building might as well have been abandoned for all the attention it received from the passersby. No one stopped. No lights shone. There was no crowd, no carriages. Nothing.
A single parchment pinned to the door grabbed my attention, but from this vantage point, though it lifted into the wind and a few letters were legible, I couldn’t read the announcement, nor discern the image.
I paced, shooing away the crows that gathered as I debated my next move. Rain fell, as it always did, soaking the frayed wedding gown. It took exactly four seconds for me to slice off the bottom half, but it was still restricting and could get me into more trouble than it was worth. Dropping the lower half of my dress below, confident a vagrant would find some use of it, I lowered myself to the familiar, dark seclusion of the cobblestone alleyway.
