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“No.” She winked. “I’m usually entertaining someone far more handsome.”
The loose wrap of her navy robes showcased her golden-brown skin while still highlighting her piercing dark honey eyes. Though I’d visited her more times than I could ever count, her beauty always stole my breath. Even as a child, I would come through the mirror and stare at her in silent moments, wondering why she hardly aged and seemed to grow more beautiful. But a child never sees the subtle signs, the tiny wrinkles gathering at the eyes or the small strands of gray hair. In truth, I didn’t know Ro’s age.
I reached for the waxy leaf of a nearby plant to keep my hands busy. “I’m confident he’s the one entertaining you.”
“You would not judge me if you knew what you were missing.”
I snorted. “I’m not innocent, Ro. I know exactly what I’m missing.”
“A single dip of a stick by a mere boy does not teach you what you are missing. You need a man to throw you around a little bit.”
“If a man ever tried to throw me around, I’d cut his balls off before he had the chance to empty them.”
The edges of her mouth curved into a wry smile. “I’ve tried that. It’s not nearly as fun. They scream a lot.”
Gesturing to the door along the back wall, I followed her into the main room of her home, slumping onto a velvet couch as she poured two glasses full of amber liquid and passed me the first. Hers was empty before I could take a sip of mine, though I’d never seen her swallow a drop. The alcohol was a ritual at this point, carrying us through the motions on habit alone.
“We don’t have to.” She carried her words as if in song. “If the tasks are wearing on you, perhaps it’s time to embrace this gift.”
I narrowed my eyes, sharing a deadly look that would rattle a weaker person. “We have very different opinions on what a gift is.”
“Mm-hmm. Just don’t let me catch any rumors about how I maim you for fun.”
I took another giant swing of the whiskey. “To be fair, this was your idea.”
“How was I supposed to know you would keep it going after all these years?” Dainty fingers disappeared within the folds of her navy robes as she took a seat directly across from me, pulling out a small metal box.
My eyes flicked to the ruby embedded into the top. My late mother’s. She was my first kill, her soul the path by which I entered this world like a battering ram, and the jewel was my gift to Ro for being here for me when no one else was.
She lifted her chin. “Off with it.”
Slamming back the last swallow of the drink, I let the amber liquid burn a familiar path down my throat. I set the glass on the table and stood, removing my shirt to give her easy access to my spine. Sinking onto the colorful rug before her, I clutched my knees to my chest and let myself experience a modicum of vulnerability, remembering the small details I’d learned of Thomas’s life, of his friendship with the man who worked the predominantly rotten fruit stand in Silbath’s square. Of the neighbor he’d robbed. He wasn’t a decent man, but he’d had a life, and if not for me, he would at least have had time for redemption.
Metal scraped metal as Ro opened her precious box, removed the ink and needle, and began to tattoo the three hundred and seventy-fifth flower petal along my back. The vine was sprawling and the dainty flowers unique to her imagination. I’d run out of room one day.
After my mother’s untimely murder, Death had given me the mercy of sixteen years to train. But that second kill, when I was still a child, still unsure of why my father’s court shied away from me, destroyed something in my soul. Ripped away my ability to feel and think. And when I’d cried, staring at myself in the mirror, wondering what kind of a monster I’d become, Ro saved me. She’d revealed herself, welcoming me into her home, if I were brave enough to step beyond my reflection.
Enamored by her beauty, I followed her into this haven, wondering why she wasn’t afraid of me, like the others. She knew who I was, what I was, and still, she did not shy away. When I’d told her of my numbness and the fear that consumed me, that one day I’d take so many lives, I would no longer remember them, she offered this service. And the second that needle pierced my flesh, it was like inflating a punctured lung. Allowing me to feel and breathe, if only for a moment. And I’d needed that desperately, time and time again. Until a single flower became a garden. And a scared girl became a woman—lacking, but a woman, nonetheless.
“Ro,” I whispered, lost in my memories.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I see where your mind wanders when you come to me. I offer you solace because we are kindred spirits. But must we discuss it every time?”
“Knowledge is power, and magic is a burden. Maybe if I understood it, I could fight it more.”
“Magic is a gift and yes, oftentimes, a burden. But as there are so few of us with it, there is nothing to understand. You are the result of a promise from Death. He stood upon a broken realm of two cities, destroyed by war and famine, and took away the ease of mortality among our ancestors, promising a Maiden to remind us of the fragility of life. You are a blessing, even if you cannot see beyond the burden.” She’d spoken those words with no emotion behind them. Reminding me that this was the history and the religion of our world. A truth everyone knew and accepted.
“I know.” I lowered my head onto my knees. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”
She stood, circling to sit cross-legged on the floor before me, lifting my chin with a finger. “Last week, I visited the bathhouse in Perth. I watched a woman wrestling her child to simply bathe. She slipped and fell, and that single act would have taken her life because she cracked her head on the tile. She had four children with her. I know it doesn’t feel like it means something, but your burden saved her life. You must think of those moments, Dey.”
“If I could?—”
“No. These thoughts will rot your mind. We’ve been doing this for ten years. Ten years of tattoos and sorrows and loathing yourself. When will it be enough?”
“The day you leave me.”
“I am far from one hundred. We have so much time left together.”
