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“And if I am given your name?”
She grabbed my hands, the human connection still stunning me after all these years. “Then we will hold the blade together, you will close your eyes, and we will have our final moments in peace before I am sent to Death’s court.”
The ringing in my ears and the weight on my heart did not leave me that night. Not as I climbed those steps and walked back through the mirror, or when I closed my eyes, begging for sleep. I think I could stomach the loss of just about anyone else. Even my father. But never Ro.
Chapter 3
Thick fingers gripped the sides of my face as Death hovered above me, cunning, dark eyes inches from mine as his hot breath melted down my cheeks. “You are so beautiful, my Deyanira.”
Fighting the urge to cringe in my dream, mere weeks after Thomas’s murder, I turned my face away, and he vanished, appearing even closer than he was before. He reached for my forearm, his grip like talons as he studied my palm, nearly salivating.
The first time he’d seared my skin with a name, I’d screamed, and a wretched smile unfurled across his beautiful face, stopping my heart. He relished in misery and fear, and it ruined something within me that had hoped he truly was the savior our history had made him out to be. I’d never made a sound again. Never spoken a word.
“What do you dream of when you are not here?” he asked, knowing I wouldn’t answer. “Is it the final scream of your victims? Do they wet themselves in your dreams, Deyanira, or do you leave that part out?”
Toying with me, he waited until I looked at him. When I was seventeen, I’d refused, and he’d held me in sleep for three days, his eternal patience everlasting. I broke then, and it remained a challenge for him each time. A game I had no desire to play. So, I succumbed.
I hated how beautiful his smile was when he approved, seconds before burning the name of the next victim into my palm, skin sizzling as the smell of my burning flesh filled my nostrils. White-hot pain raced up my arm. Every part of me wanted to buckle, but I remained steady, unflinching as he stared at me, hunting for my breaking point.
“I will see you in a few days, my beauty. I have a good feeling about this one.”
He’d spoken those words to me every single time. As if he hoped this kill would deliver him a worthwhile soul. Each name given was a charge, an invisible line of magic binding them to me for the rest of their short lives, but only I was aware of the string.
Death’s court, also accurately known as hell, was permanently lit by two moons in eternal night, a realm unlike mine. To stand before his haunted castle, the silhouette of colossal black spires stretching across the hazy ground was not intimidating. But the hellhounds that sat before the gates that seemed to reach the heavens, ruby eyes stone cold and unmoving, certainly were.
The soul of every person I’d ever killed lived in this realm. Those who reached their one-hundredth year without the touch of a harbinger were said to be saved by the old gods and rested for an eternity in peace or reincarnated to repeat their miserable life cycle. But there was only one of us in every generation. One dead, another born. My mother was trapped here simply because she’d seen a Life Maiden after marrying my father, and that simple visit increased her fertility. A mistake I would never have the chance to make if she could not be found. Curing those with debilitating injuries and disease while inspiring fertility, the Life Maiden was always welcomed with gifts and smiles, the stories said. Perhaps I’d never know.
Brazen curiosity burned as stoutly as my palm, though I did not peek at the name, choosing to close my eyes instead until I woke. Death’s low chuckle and his cold kiss on my cheek were my fading goodbye as I woke in my bedroom.
Bram Ellis.
The second I read the name, Death’s magic pulsed. Pushed. Urged me out of bed as my toxic world spun with recognition. I moved my fingers over the burnt edges of the name, convinced it could not be real. What was Death playing at? I loathed being given the name of someone I recognized. That was rare. But not as rare as this.
I stepped into black full-body leathers, buckling the straps across my thighs, and slipped a mask across my face. With a full head of black hair, I didn’t need a hood, but there was comfort in shadows. I used to wear a cape, as well, but it took one strong man to grip the edges and yank before I sliced it off, freeing myself. Never again. I’d need every advantage I could get for this hunt. And every weapon, should things go wrong.
I’d never asked my father for a single piece of lace or string of pearls. Not one frilly dress or stallion. Instead, I’d arranged a secret room to be built on my own. The Death Maidens that came before me killed for Death and themselves, instilling a fear that resided in so many hearts that people rarely told me no. With three walls of weapons, I studied my options pointedly, feeding the magic that begged me to use them all. I’d never go without Chaos, but I’d already strapped her onto my thigh. Throwing knives would definitely be needed. I skipped a whip but snagged an iron-tooth chain. Dainty enough to wear and dangerous enough to sever an arm, she’d saved me on several occasions. With poison, a change of clothes, and perfume for good measure, I couldn’t have been more prepared without hauling the entire arsenal.
My position was revered by many. Terrified glances and wide berths greeted me in royal halls and among busy streets. But those that lurked within the damp alleys typically carried vendettas, and though they could not kill me, they could easily incapacitate me for the rest of my life. And I was partial to my arms and legs. If I could not kill for Death, I’d fall to madness, the magic poisoning my mind.
Many hours later, I’d left Perth behind, using rooftops to cross to the border of Silbath. Only the Hallowed River separated the realm of two cities. Our long and sordid history, that of a single kingdom split in two, always flashed across my mind when I passed the opposing guards. But even they would not stop me. I was Death’s tool. His promise to our people that should we sink so low again, and reach a boiling point of hatred, he would remove the mortality restriction and let us burn this world to the ground. Though hated, the Death Maiden was still respected on both sides of that pointless border.
The talk was cheap amongst the guards, who stood vigilant as they faced off, weapons drawn. The numbers here had tripled in size over the past couple of months, and though I knew the people would be the ones who would suffer a war, there was nothing anyone could do to make peace. Hatred was bred along kingdom borders and within the minds of aggressive soldiers and sniveling councilmen with far too much time on their hands and no true vision of the people who suffered below their massive boots. The tension had grown so strong you could taste it in the misty air.
Riddled with slums, buildings with iron bars, and rodent infestations, our kingdoms were nearly identical. Silbath was larger, but Perth was slightly richer, and something within those negligible differences held a waning border. The only thing that flourished in this world was misery. And the godsdamned crows.
Traveling the Silk Road, I avoided the hustle of the market, winding myself through damp alleys past the Dancing Ghost, thanking the old gods for yet another overcast sky until my target appeared in the southern distance. Some would say the Silk Road was safe, but anyone with eyes could see the disease-riddled market for what it was: a haven for thieves and the Maestro’s lackeys, who fed on the unfortunate.
Magic kept me focused, concentrating on light and movements and sounds and smells as I developed a viable plan of action before I reached Silbath’s great stone castle. Confidence would only carry me so far. Bram Ellis held a position of rank, and that fact alone would mean evading guards. My favorite fucking pastime.
It was not a day for murder. As long as I could fight the magic, I would, buying my prey as much time as possible. The weapons were only a safeguard. A failsafe should this go horribly wrong. Today, I only needed to be near enough to appease the pressure. Stalking and learning while my veins throbbed but acquiesced.
I’d killed a mark here three summers ago and knew exactly how to get into the castle. As there would be no foot traffic within the bailey, a fact well-known, I had to watch the king’s guard on the parapet while changing into something waterproof. Then I’d wait for the opening to cross the stockade and leap into the putrid moat.
The murky water, green and mossy, was nearly impossible to swim through. Still, I managed, taking careful breaths as needed to keep an eye on the guard patrolling the wall. This castle, once a stronghold for all of Silbath, had become nothing more than a symbol of hierarchy and wealth among riffraff.
The shallow water of the half-empty moat circled the castle, allowing me to enter through a grate and climb into a great stone room that once housed boats, but now only held decayed wood tied to a sunken dock.
I quickly changed, discarding the noxious clothing I’d have to slip back on to leave, scaring the rats away before dotting perfume on my neck. It’d take hours for the smell of that cesspool to leave me if I didn’t change, and if I meant to hide within the walls, I had no intention of raising a single warning bell in Silbath’s castle today.
