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“At least you can appreciate the finer things,” Death says. “Makes me want to do this every night. We still have the other swan.”
“Only on the nights I’m here,” Lovia tells us. “I don’t want to feel like I’m missing anything when I’m working.”
“Wouldn’t your brother get mad?” I ask, cutting off a piece of swan.
“Father, would Tuonen get mad?” Lovia asks him.
“He’d appreciate the food, but not the company,” Death says with a hint of disappointment. I’m guessing that the father-son relationship isn’t as strong as the father-daughter one.
“He’d eat it all and leave without saying a word,” Lovia jokes. “You can’t even get him to stay for movie night.”
“I’m sorry, movie night?” I ask. “You guys have movies here?”
Lovia nods. “My father loves movies. Old ones though. I mean, figuratively speaking. He likes what you would call the classics. I think because he hates color and loves black and white.”
“It’s because movies these days don’t know how to tell a real story,” Death says, pointing at her with his fork. “The movies you watch have no heart, no intelligence. All violence and action, not character.”
My brows raise, surprised to hear him say that. “And how do you watch these movies? Don’t tell me you rip the dead actors out of the City of Death.”
He chuckles. “No. But that’s not a bad idea. Why stop at Deadhands and Deadmaidens? I could have my own actor’s studio, filled with all the deceased legends.”
“Don’t give him ideas,” Lovia hisses at me. “He’ll do it, you know.”
“Death often brings things back from your world,” Kalma explains to me patiently. “Oftentimes he’ll bring back computer devices where you can watch the movies. The battery doesn’t last long here, but it’s enough for a night or two of entertainment.”
Surma suddenly makes a growling sound. “I don’t think any of you know how to truly treat a prisoner,” Surma snivels, teeth clacking. “You don’t give them grand rooms and pretty dresses, and you certainly don’t wine and dine them. Tuoni, you really should leave the matter of Hanna Heikkinen to me.”
There’s a weighty pause in the room as everyone looks at Death for his remark. A blast of wind hits, rattles the thin, tall windows, swoops down the chimney over the fire, fanning the flames.
“Hanna is my matter and mine alone,” Death says tightly. “I treat her as I see fit. She is a prisoner here in every sense of the word, she is bound between the walls and wards of the castle, she does not have an ounce of freedom to her name. She can’t leave this place, nor this world, she can’t be reunited with her family, nor her past life. She has truly lost all that she has gained in her meager twenty-four years, and she must comply with my orders or face the consequences of my bare hand.”
His skull tilts down as he reaches for his chalice. “With all that being said, I don’t know why I should make her suffer further while she’s stuck in my grasp, at least not for my own pleasure. You may have once been the one who delivered suffering, but that’s never been my role. I rule. I lord over. I am a God. I am the one in control, and control her life from here on out.”
Well, fuck. When he puts it that way.
I lower my fork, the swan meat never quite making it to my mouth. Now I’ve lost my appetite.
Quiet grips the room once again, the flames dying down. The windows stop rattling.
“Father,” Lovia chides him, breaking the silence. She gestures to me with her head. “You don’t have to be so harsh.”
I put the fork down and put my hands in my lap, staring down at the food. I know I should eat as much as I can, because I don’t know when my next meal will be. After all that, I’m certain that these dinners will be out of the question, especially with Surma’s constant objections to my existence.
“Don’t mistake harshness for cruelty,” Death tells his daughter. “The truth often hurts, but it is still the truth.”
More silence follows as everyone goes back to eating, the clink of cutlery on iron plates filling the space.
Kalma leans in close. “Have some more wine,” he says softly. He smells like mothballs. “It will help you.”
I nod and reach for my glass, downing the rest in one gulp. Then I raise the chalice, looking around for the Deadmaiden in red. She glides on over to me in a ghostly way and fills my cup. Well, if I’m going to keep being reminded of how shitty my life is going to be for eternity, I guess I can always stay drunk for eternity.
While I drink, Lovia talks to Death about something, but I’m not really listening, and I don’t think he is either. I can feel him watching me, his eyes never leaving my face. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I don’t care to, he’s already an extremely confusing person. Being. God. Whatever.
