AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My heart leaped into my throat. Rolling over, I searched the skyline before realizing that Orin was somewhere below me. I crept like a feline to the very edge of the roof, holding my breath as I peeked over, only far enough to see Orin holding a man pinned against a wall. I might not have recognized him behind the mask, but I knew the shape, and gods help me, I think there was even familiarity in the build of his shoulders and the bulk of his legs.
“Tell me where they are,” he seethed, shifting just enough for me to see a knife held to his victim’s Adam's apple.
The man shook his head, and before I could process what was happening, Orin took his blade, plunged it into his poor victim’s chest, and watched him crumble to the ground. I waited a heartbeat and then another. After ripping off his mask, Orin lifted his head to the sky, spreading his arms wide as if daring the clouds to finally break and pour down on him. With his eyes closed, face cast in the red glow of the nearby lights, he might have been beautiful, if he wasn’t such a bastard.
A voice at the other end of the street broke whatever power had held Orin in place. He lifted his hood and snuck away, never once looking back at the man he’d injured. I waited. Perhaps I could follow his victim and learn more. Learn whatever knowledge he was looking for or find whomever it was that was missing. But the minutes turned into more than an hour and the man hadn’t moved an inch. Not even when the rats came.
He couldn’t be dead, but why had he laid there, not bothering to call for help? When I approached him, I half-expected to smell the alcohol he must have reeked of. A drunk passed out on the streets of the Scarlet District could be found on every corner. But when I rolled the man over with my scuffed boot, trying to wake him, vacant eyes stared up at me.
He was dead. Orin Faber had killed a man… and Death never came to collect his soul.
Chapter 16
Any time I’d seen Death, he’d always appeared in his full, viciously dark form, rattling my nerves with his proximity as if he could sway my stubborn will to his own. The shadows that peeked from the ground had been different. A collection of sorts, but not what I’d experienced with Death.
Orin was a killer. The single thing he’d claimed to hate me for, yet there was darkness in him. A hypocritical, murderous darkness. I’d seen it in his eyes when we’d fought. I’d heard it in the raspy tone of his deep voice when he’d said he hated me.
Erratic thoughts howled in my mind. Since the moment that man had stepped foot into my bedroom, everything had changed, and nothing made sense. Aside from the violent and sometimes disgusting nature of the general population, everything I’d come to know of life and people had been decimated. Iron truth wrapped around my heart. None could kill, apart from the Death Maiden, and there could be only one. Me.
But I couldn’t deny what I’d just seen.
Before I knew where I was going, I hauled my tired body to a rooftop and started moving. Spiraling. Running through everything I knew of life and death. Could Orin somehow be the Life Maiden, and had he twisted that magic? A life lord? On and on I walked, leaping from roof to roof after crossing the Hallowed River. With no destination, only a desire for truth, I found myself standing across from Misery’s End, staring into the crowd of lingering people, eager to step inside the Maestro’s show, if not for the entertainment, then to bathe in the intoxicating magic seeping down the walls.
I crouched on my perch, watching as the crowd dwindled, feeding into Misery’s End. Orin was bound by magic to Drexel. The blue band around his arm had proven that. He’d likely have to be here before the show started if he was indeed a performer, but trusting anything from his mouth would be foolish. Orin was keeping secrets, and I desperately needed to know why. If he couldn’t be of Death, because that role was taken, then maybe a pawn for the God of Life. And that’s why no one could find the missing Maiden. She wasn’t a woman, as she’d always been in the past, but a man. And maybe Drexel had found someone with the power to twist or reverse magic, and he’d used it on Orin. What better skill to give a lackey than murder in an immortal world?
My heart hammered into my throat as all the pieces fell into place. There’d been talk that Drexel had made a deal with Death a long time ago. And though some questioned it, this revelation seemed to prove it. And what a discovery it was.
Curiosity forced me down the building, pushing me to make reckless decisions as I circled Misery’s End, looking for a way in. I couldn’t walk through the front door. I’d made too many enemies to be impetuous. With no idea whose eyes would be searching for me, nor Orin’s influence over the rest of the workers, I had to tread lightly. Especially when the Maestro was still the biggest threat.
I’d known about the window in the back when I’d considered all escape routes while plotting to kill King Ellis. The problem was, I didn’t know how well it was guarded. The warehouse behind Misery’s End was my next option. I’d seen many performers enter and never exit, leading me to believe there must have been a tunnel between the two buildings running beneath the street. But minutes before a show started, it was likely packed with performers. Including a certain dark-haired, brooding husband of mine.
With two options, the theater’s window or crossing the street to the warehouse, I decided to take my chances against the guards and focus on the window. I could get to the top of the building and leap down onto the sill. Then I’d have to decide from there the best route.
I wasn’t expecting the voices coming from the rooftop as I held the drainpipe firmly, steadying myself the second I heard shouting.
“You do not make decisions within or outside of these walls. Am I understood? You are mine.” Though the voice was missing his usual flair, there was no mistaking the Maestro’s tone or his composed fury.
I couldn’t hear the response, only the shuffle of several sets of feet. Discovering what was happening was not worth the risk of being seen by a man who collected people as prisoners, as thralls, as bodies forced to do his bidding. I hunkered down, willing my heart to silence until the voices receded and the cool night air was my only companion. Even then, I waited for my muscles to protest and the music to come alive before climbing the rest of the way up and landing as silently as possible, sidestepping the fresh blood pooled on the roof near a door. It would certainly be guarded, though. I’d have to use the window.
I crept to the sidewall of the massive building, hiding behind the twisted iron railing. I peeked between the spindles to be sure no one was watching before swinging myself over the top, barely missing the sharpened finial across my ribs. Gripping tight, I held on, praying until my boot tips met the ridge of the window without shattering the glass.
But I wasn’t lucky. The ledge was too narrow, and, had the music not been at a crescendo, the sound of the break would have been heard for blocks. As it was, I had no choice but to swing myself into the theater and prepare for damage control. I landed lightly, crouching to cushion the fall with my hood as far forward as possible. The room was so dark, I couldn’t make out a thing, but it smelled of clean leather and maybe a hint of blood. I pressed my back to the wall and quickly felt my way down it, kicking a bookcase before reaching the doorknob. Holding my breath, I pressed an ear to the wood, but there was nothing to be heard beyond the heart-pounding music.
Falling to my stomach, I watched through the crack below the door, seeing two sets of boots standing across the narrow hallway. And a third with feet facing me. I had half a second to roll away before the door swung inward. Using the lack of light to my advantage, with nowhere to go, I jumped to my toes and hid behind the open door.
Somewhere in the room, a light turned on, and I held my breath behind the mask, hoping it was anyone but the Maestro. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an eternity as the music flowed and stopped on a dramatic note, followed by an uproarious applause. The Maestro’s theater voice seeped into his office as he promised the crowd the end of tonight’s show would be something they’d never forget. Likely, a repeated promise from the skilled showman with a golden tongue.
The second round of applause muted as the room’s visitor walked back out, shutting the door. They’d left the light on, though, illuminating the office in a deep, warm glow. Tapestries covered the walls in tightly woven masterpieces of our world’s history before the old gods abandoned us. I glanced over most, having seen similar works before, but an aged map caught my attention.
I studied the intricate details woven into the fabric. Among the familiar streets of our two cities, though they were much larger in these former times, each temple was marked with precision, and the names of the gods and goddesses whispered to me from the ancient threads. In a lower corner of Silbath set the grand temple of Verus, God of Illusions, its golden rays wavering, stretching toward the heavens. Nearby, Serene, the Goddess of Loss and Lust’s temple, stood with its silver adornments glistening in the moonlight.
Further across the map, several blocks away from what I knew to be the Scarlet District, the temple of Eiria, Goddess of Life, Truth, and Reflection, was depicted—a place where prayers were offered for health and fertility. I moved my fingers over the tightly woven threads, wondering if I could find any clues about the Life Maiden in that temple. I pressed on to find another nestled in a secluded grove, hidden from prying eyes: The temple of Irri, God of Broken Things.
There wasn’t a person alive who could tell you which fallen temple belonged to which god or goddess. Perhaps aside from the Maestro, who kept his map displayed like artwork. There were so many temple ruins in the city that most had been forgotten. A space we’d seen but never explored until our minds told us to forget they were there, as the old gods had done to Requiem.
After scanning the otherwise vacant office, I moved back to the door, peeking below to examine the hallway, or what I could see of it in my very limited view. Empty. As if those from before were not guards for the Maestro, but instead, keeping watch for whoever had snuck in. I cursed myself for not paying more attention as I slipped out. A woman’s pure and powerful voice became the ambiance as I crept down the hall, turned into a dark passage deeper into the theater, and found myself sandwiched between two thick, black pieces of fabric.
The heat of the spotlights, the smell of the dusty curtains, the creak of the wood floor...
