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The air carried a heavy scent, the earthy aroma of decaying leaves mingling with a hint of melancholy. It felt as though I had entered a world caught in the throes of lingering sadness.
Ro, with her mischievous smile subdued, gasped the moment her eyes landed on me. She rushed forward, placing her cool palm on my cheek as she searched my eyes. “You look like shit, Dey. What’s wrong?”
“Have you heard about Bram Ellis?”
She nodded. “I was visiting a friend in the Scarlet District when news arrived of the Silbath king. You cannot possibly think you had a choice. This is the cycle and the way of the magic. We’ve been over this time and time again.”
I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut. I could be hard as nails when I had to be, but I was still a person. “It’s not that I blame myself more than usual. It’s everyone else. Well, the Silbath council, at least. I stand accused of killing on my father’s behalf. And now, to appease the assholes, I have to marry the new king. Whomever that may be.”
“So… what’s the problem?”
My voice shook in disbelief. “The marrying part. The king slayer part. The upheaval of my life part. Take your pick. I’m trapped.”
Her eyes narrowed, shifting between mine for several moments before she answered. “You have more poise and restraint than you give yourself credit for. You could refuse and kill the man who makes these demands, yet you care enough, despite everything, to refrain. You have a moral code that none before you had. But the way you are feeling is how you should be feeling. Change can be a cruel master. It pulls us in unexpected directions, leaving us feeling lost and uncertain. But even in the depths of darkness, there’s a sliver of hope. Maybe this betrothal is an opportunity for transformation, for rediscovering the light within you. You’ve been suffering for such a long time.”
“I’m not suffering. I hate this life, this godsdamn title, but I am happy.” I lifted a leaf from the ground. “In my own way.”
“Maybe becoming a wife means you’ll have more things to find happiness in. Like discovering your bedroom is for more than sleeping and scheming. Come. We’re celebrating.” Yanking my hand, she led me back to the portal, pulling me through and into the hall of mirrors in her home.
“Why should we celebrate?”
She tugged me through her atrium and to the room we always ended up in, though the couches had been pushed toward the outer walls, and none of the dainty tables held their usual teacups and trinkets. “Because it’s time to leave your father’s world behind and become a woman. A queen even. It doesn’t matter who you marry. He has to be better than this existence, and you get to start over. Fall in love.” She held out the final word in her sing-song way.
“No one is going to love the Death Maiden.”
She stopped in the middle of the room, and I nearly collided with her back. She turned, her beautiful face instantly sad. “I love you, Deyanira. You are my only real friend.”
I’d never heard those words spoken to me. I’d never felt the strange warmth they coaxed, nor the way my heart clenched. I’d wanted that devotion so desperately, but what had I done to deserve it? “I’m sorry, Ro. Of course.”
I couldn’t speak the words back, no matter how much I wanted to. They felt foreign on my tongue. A language I understood but did not speak.
“There now. Hold that thought.” She turned to rummage through a tall cabinet in the corner I’d never seen. Standing on her tiptoes, she pulled a bottle of blue liquid with an intricate glass topper from the shelf.
I studied the room to fill the silence, noting all the changes since I’d been here weeks ago. She was never content with her furniture, and the small endearment of a salacious woman felt so intimate to know.
“Stop staring at my couches, Dey.”
“I just don’t understand why you move everything around so much.”
She lifted a shoulder with a smile. “Unlike some people, I appreciate change. Drink.”
“What is it?” I scowled.
“It’s something I’ve saved for a special occasion. Don’t ask questions.”
The sweet, syrupy liquid exploded on my tongue before coating my throat. I coughed, handing her back the glass. “That’s terrible.”
She laughed, the trill bouncing off the walls. “It really is too sweet. Let’s have another.”
“I haven’t eaten in days. If I have another, I might be sick.”
She stilled. “Why haven’t you eaten?”
“My father forbade the cooks, and I had no fight in me.”
She set her glass down, taking mine and doing the same. Leading me to the couch, she tugged until we both sat, still holding her hand. “Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death Maiden, Princess of Perth… you never, ever lose your fight. You never let someone defeat you. You never falter. You stand. You step. You rise. This world will eat you whole if you let it. Even the disease crawling on our streets is thick enough to take you down. We don’t show weakness or cower in the dark. Promise me.”
I nodded, leaning my forehead to hers. “I promise.”
