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“Stand down. She isn’t a threat to you.” He winked at me. “They will not harm you as long as you draw no weapon and I do not command it.”
I wondered if he would lead me beyond the swirling iron gate to the castle and court. I wondered for only a moment if he would keep me here. And worse, I did not loathe the thought. One day, I would return and never leave, embracing eternity in hell. One day, I would stand before my mother and find the words to apologize. I would see my father again and stand or break before him.
“Touch him,” Death commanded, the power in his voice potent.
Though trembling, I did as I was told, burying my fingers into short, coarse hair. When the hound jumped at my contact, a low growl rumbling in his chest, it took every ounce of strength to keep from running.
“She is mine, Aetherius. There is no need to fear her.”
And though I knew Death had gotten it wrong, that it was not the hounds’ but my own dread filling the air, I remained silent, stroking the animal while Death moved away, giving attention to the other beast before turning to study me, to watch the way my hands moved over his beloved pet. I met his eyes without shame, but I couldn’t say it was without fear. There were chords wound tightly within me that Death knew how to strike.
“You are different, my beauty,” he said, inviting me to his side with another gesture. “Why do you not crave the death of your enemies?”
A breath in. A breath out.
“One day, I will break you.” His promise filled the air as he snatched my hand and burned the name into my palm. His handsome face showed every bit of delight as pain overtook me. “I have a good feeling about this one,” he purred, seconds before everything vanished and I opened my eyes.
Though covered with a blanket, I lie on the floor of Orin’s prison room once more, Death’s magic pulsing through me, begging me to claw my way through the walls to hunt my newest target.
Chapter 15
If ever there was a person in this gods-abandoned world whose name I truly might have given to Death, it would have been Orin Faber. And staring at the burn marks in my flesh, though I’d half-expected Death to plant his name there anyway, I felt no sense of relief when I read the name given.
Arabella Grenwich.
My instincts wanted me to lean into the magic and let it give me a sense of direction, but as I stared at the gleaming doorknob, fear crept up my throat, gripping me in a vise. I’d have to resist the manic urge as long as possible. Because every second until I was out of this room was going to drive me to madness. A madness I’d had experience with. A kind of madness that had once broken me to stealing the lives of twenty-three people in a single night.
I refused to look at the name, refused to think about it, or remember the edges of the seared skin on my hand. Refused to think of the weapons I didn’t have or wonder which city she might reside in. Instead, I moved to the center of the hollow room, my abdomen still sore, but better, and I sat with my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, ignoring the way the walls moved in.
“One,” I whispered. “Anika Sariah Hark.”
A breath.
“Two. Garrit Faden.”
Another breath.
“Three. Marian Achlen.”
Face after face, name after name poured through my mind. Starting with my mother and ending now with my father. “A name given; a body delivered. Always the same. Not my fault. Not my choice. Breathe.”
Move.
The magic had its own sort of voice in my mind. A physical command over my body, as if it wrapped itself around every muscle. Every tendon. Every bone.
Now.
“Three hundred forty-six, Sibylla Rikket.” The names came faster, desperately tumbling from my lips as I rocked, digging my nails into my legs until I broke the skin. “Three hundred forty-seven, Ezra Prophet.”
Stand up.
“No,” I said aloud, gripping the sides of my head. “No.”
“Three hundred for… forty-eight. Esb?—”
TOUCH THE DOOR!
I jumped to my feet and ran to the door, needing to be near the handle. Needing to stare at the way the flickering light on the wall shined upon the beautiful curve.
