Page 9 of At The End There Was You

“Have you not at least once intentionally spoken your mind?”

“No.”

“Then I pity you, Azriel.”

Pity was not what anyone had ever felt for him. “You’re a strange woman.”

She smiled and Azriel faltered at the gesture, caught off guard by the casualty of it. “Maybe I do not pity you after all,” she said quietly, returning to her duties. And then added, “How do you intend to figure out how to fight off the annihilation of all kind if you keep staring at me and not your precious books?”

“Is that what you think I am searching for?” His eyes roamed over her, over her pale bare neck and down to the lithe fingers that had stained with ink at the tips from touching word after word.

She gazed up at him, confused. “Are you not?”

“I know how to fight off death,” he said, rising from his seat and pushing his specks back with a finger. “What I am looking for is a reason as to why I should do so.” When her chest began rising faster and unsteady, he strode to her and watched as she followed each of his steps, not with fright but anticipation. Her neck craned to look up and him as he grasped the edges of the table and bent down a little to her. “Are you always this easily frightened?”

“I wasn’t frightened. Wary, perhaps.”

He liked how those words vibrated over his skin. “Wary,” he repeated. “Why?”

“Because you are a Mage.”

She didn’t take issue with Death, but why with his human servants? “Because I am a Mage,” he again repeated, not understanding the young priestess with the oddest thoughts and who reminded him of a…daisy. “Do you take issue with all Mages, or just me?”

She’d bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. “I wouldn’t say all. Some, perhaps. A few. Surely, not all. I hope they are not all spineless crooks who do not care for anything other than gold, power and exalt.”

“Surely,” Azriel added, attempting not to smile. He sat back down next to her despite the work he had yet to complete. “And you’ve come to that conclusion, how? Met many Mages in your lifetime, Winter?”

“A fair share.”

“A fair share of spineless crooks and all.”

Her nose scrunched and she looked away. “Yes.”

“A first love, perhaps? Someone who broke your heart?”

Winter’s attention snapped back to Azriel; her eyes just slightly wider than usual. “Nothing of the sort. But they were part of why someone close to me died.” Her eyes jumped here and there before landing on the books that Azriel had left forgotten on the other side of the table. “Aren’t you going to continue to search for what you’re looking for?”

He drummed his fingers on the table. Thinking whether it was worth even bothering with his quest any longer than he had. “How were they part of someone close to you dying?”

“Does it matter?”

Azriel crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “I shall conclude that myself, Winter.”

“That someone I was close to was a Mage. A great one. Powerful as they come. Richer than rich. He was in love. The greatest love he could find. He was in love with power. So much so that he was willing to sacrifice his own life for it. Not caring who he left behind. Not that he knew what he was leaving behind because he didn’t pay much attention anyway—craving, acknowledging and wanting power was all he was taught. Not only did he drown because of it, but he took someone else with him.”

“Another someone who was close to you.”

“Yes. Did it matter, then?”

“To you, it did, and it still does.”

She sucked in a long breath and faced him again. “Do you think this will help us? Me telling Death a sob story. There are others with much sadder stories.”

“Just because things can be worse than they are, does not mean they are not already bad enough. And no, I doubt Death would enjoy a sob story.”

“Why not? You did. And he can’t be so much worse than you.” As if catching herself, she pressed her lips tightly together. “Don’t turn me into a cockroach.”

He leaned forward. “I’ve heard he’s more of a gore indulging sort of man. Unless that sob story involves blood and guts, I doubt it would interest him.”