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She seethed, eerie eyes narrowing. “The Maestro has summoned you, King Slayer.”
“The Maestro can kiss my perky ass.” I left her standing as I walked out of the theater.
A gift.
Chapter 18
The Syndicate house looked far less daunting when I returned of my own accord. The patchwork rooms on the exterior seemed to fit better in the moonlight. The lean silhouette of Orin’s mother could be seen from the tree line. She sipped a drink, staring off at nothing.
I walked toward the home without hiding myself, keeping my hood down and the mask in a cowl around my neck. Maybe I wasn’t truly welcome here, but I had questions. A million of them, and if tonight was any indication, though they were bound to the Maestro, they were not his family. They probably didn’t even like him.
“You came back,” his mother said. Not a question. “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head, playing the part of an innocent woman in need.
“There’s dinner on the table. Help yourself.”
She stepped to the side, and I hesitated, staring at a home that’d been my prison twice.
“If you eat and leave before they come home, I won’t tell them you were here.”
“Why would you do that?”
Smoothing a finger over the rim of her chipped teacup, she said, “We feed who we can and care for those that need it. This home will never know a stranger. But maybe you should ask yourself why you came back instead.”
I considered her question as I walked past her, directly to the kitchen, and picked up two slices of bread on the table to make a sandwich. I knew why I’d come back. Orin had killed a man and shouldn’t have been able to. The old man… had helped me, and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t sure if he lived here, but the child was a link to Paesha, and she was here with Orin. Althea had called this a Syndicate house. And I’d do whatever it took to unwrap the mystery circling my dear, sweet husband. Because that asshole had stabbed me. And apparently, I could have died.
I could have died.
Sighing, I let my shoulders drop. He hadn’t patched me up or washed my hair because there was something good in him. He’d done it because if I died, when his friends knew he was the one who’d stabbed me, they would also know he was a killer. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put it together before the Maestro’s show. He might’ve been the Lord of Life in hiding, but he was still a prick.
“There’s tea,” Orin’s mother said. “I’ll pour you a cup.”
I plastered a smile on my face to hide the sneer. “That’s so kind. Thank you.”
The front door squeaked open, and a man I’d seen once before, the giant Black man with a long tan jacket, weapons on his side, and dirt coating his hair, poked his head into the kitchen. “Orin?”
She answered with a shake of her head, and he gave a curt nod before stepping back out. He hadn’t even knocked.
“Do you see that band on your wrist? You are my child now, like it or not.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed a new parent.” The second the words were out of my mouth, I bit the inside of my cheek, cursing my snarky tongue. I could only push so hard before the welcome wore off, and I needed to be here. Though I was beginning to think they’d take any riffraff off the street to support whatever their cause was.
She set her cup down, gathering her hair in her hands to tie it back. “Where are your parents now? Where is your family? Where are your friends, Deyanira?”
My cheeks flushed, anger surging to life. I stepped toward the door.
“I don’t say those things to hurt you. You’ve already been invited to stay here, and it seems you have no one.”
I wanted to scream at her. To remind her that she didn’t know a single thing about me beyond her own misconceptions. But I could play my part, be the demure daughter of a fallen king and not Death’s Maiden.
“Thank you for the welcome.”
She walked toward me, curtsying as low and refined as anyone I’d ever seen, though she wore no gown. “My name is Elowen Faber, and I give you my name as a peace offering, child. Do with it what you will.”
With her eyes cast down, something about the curtsy felt like an abomination. I had no right to that, and she and I both knew it.
“The knowledge of the name makes no difference to Death’s selection. Prepare your heart all the same, Elowen Faber. Your son won’t enter this house the same way he left.”
