13. Katrin

Chapter 13

Katrin

I t was nearly dawn when the carriage finally stopped, judging by the soft light gilding the horizon. I'd nodded off once or twice during the ride only to be jostled awake by the rough terrain. Exiting the carriage proved quite the feat as my quaking legs threatened to buckle beneath me at every step. I hadn't known what to expect of the Ferrier's home. He could have dwelled in a dark cave deep under a mountain, and I would have been expected to stay with him. The Between was as much a mystery as the Afterworld. Though I'd prepared for the worst, I couldn't stop my sharp intake of breath as I beheld what was to be my home for the next year.

The very world around me was drained of color—of life, frankly. A dense fog blanketed the area, turning the sky a sickly shade of gray. The bony limbs of skeletal trees jutted up at odd angles. Given where I was, I couldn't help but compare them to the hands of giant beasts clawing their way from the depths of the Earth.

I glanced down, noting the myriad of cracks that spiderwebbed across the landscape. Spinning, I traced the winding pathways. Patches of dead grass sprouted up at random intervals. If this was a web, then I was the fly. The only living thing here beside the spider.

The creature in question was busy tending the horses, and I stepped away to make the most of his distraction.

A foreboding wrought iron fence surrounded us, though the gates stood open for now. I wondered if he would close them while I was here. If this place would be a prison, or if I'd be free to come and go as I pleased. Not that I had anywhere to go.

I heaved a sigh of frustration, and one of the horses echoed my sentiments.

"If you're in such a hurry, you can wait within." The Ferrier gestured to the other side of the horses.

Though he'd mistaken the target of my frustrations, I knew a dismissal when I heard one. Adjusting my satchel over my shoulder, I stepped around the carriage and paused in awe as I finally acknowledged the sprawling manor house.

Three stories tall and at least twice as wide as my family home, the dark behemoth towered above me. It stretched into the fog in both length and height. Spires pierced the low-hanging clouds like needles in a bolt of fabric. Arched windows dotted the crumbling stone facade, the shape echoed in the gables and dormers. Creeping vines snaked over the entire structure, threatening to make it one with the ill-maintained garden.

I hesitated at the black door, my hand hovering over the iron handle. Every etiquette lesson played in repeat at the back of my mind. A lady should always wait to be announced. Always knock before entering. A guest should never let oneself in.

All of it was completely irrelevant to this situation. Still, it felt wrong to enter the Ferrier's home before him, almost like I was intruding upon a sacred space. As far as I knew, no other living person had ever stood here. I had no idea what I would find on the other side of the door, but rather than trepidation, my body thrummed with excitement. I'd already accomplished the hardest part of my plan. All that was left was for me to see where I would be spending the next year of my life.

"If you are waiting for the butler, there isn't one."

Startled, I glanced back to where the Ferrier still cared for the horses. His hood remained up, and though he appeared to be focused on the task at hand, I could have sworn I'd heard a hint of mirth in his words. Had he been watching me this whole time? Of course, he would. He might have claimed to harbor no human emotions, but these small glimpses of his personality said otherwise. It made me all the more curious to find out what lurked beneath the dark cowl.

"Arse," I muttered, pushing open the door.

Though the world outside had been dreary, I had to pause on the threshold as my eyes adapted to the tenebrous interior of the house itself. The stagnant air assaulted my senses with the saccharine scent of rotting flowers. My eyes watered, and I swallowed thickly against the urge to gag, holding my sleeve to my nose like a makeshift mask.

I breathed in the scent of home, of wildflowers and cedar that was already beginning to fade from the fabric. Waving away the depressing notion, I forced my feet forward. The floorboards creaked with each step, the sound echoing in the cavernous foyer. I halted where the murky light from the doorway ended. To my unadjusted eyes, I appeared to stand on a precipice before a plunge of unimaginable depths. Though the logical part of my mind tried to tell me that the likelihood of there being a bottomless pit in the middle of this veritable palace was slim, the louder voice in my head was reminding me of how little I knew about the Ferrier and this place.

Refusing to ignore the more insistent—albeit less sane—voice, I stayed exactly where I was and watched as the objects around me slowly began to take shape.

A threadbare rug stretched before my feet, its pattern indistinguishable in the low light. An upholstered bench and a small table were the extent of the furniture that I could make out. Several doorways branched off from the room and to my left, a sweeping staircase spiraled up and out of sight. A large wrought iron chandelier dangled above it all.

In a flash, I was blinded again. I squinted against the sudden brightness as every candle, sconce, and chandelier sparked to life. A loud bang had me spinning to find the Ferrier standing behind me, the door at his back now firmly closed. Though the room glowed with newfound light, shadows continued to snake around his black-clad form.

For a moment, we only stared at one another. At least, I thought he was staring at me. He remained motionless while facing my direction, and I could only assume his thoughts mirrored my own. This was our new reality. For the next year of our lives, I would be here, invading his space and demanding his protection. And for what? A mere pittance of a reward.

I hoped he wasn't having second thoughts because there was no way I was returning home to wait for Death.

"Neat trick," I said, gesturing to the lights around us. "I wasn't aware you could control light, or is it flame?"

"Darkness is mine to control. I can call it." The Ferrier lifted a hand and darkness fell. "And I can take it away."

My eyes stung at the sudden return of the light. I turned in place, finally able to take in the sheer majesty of the Ferrier's home.

"This is where you live?"

"Allow me to make one thing clear, Miss Fil'Owen. I do not live . I do not age. I merely exist. This manor is where I choose to reside during my time between harvesting the souls of the dead. It is not a life."

I blinked at the dramatic assessment of his situation. I was no expert on social skills, but his were non-existent. "So, this is where you exist ?" There was no hiding the note of teasing in my voice, and I had to question my sanity at the choice to mock the Reaper.

His focus remained fixed on me. I squirmed under his scrutiny and turned my attention to the grandeur around us. Though shrouded in a gloom that matched its master's countenance, the manor boasted an understated opulence that put my family home to shame.

Two enormous windows flanked me, draped in pleated, damask curtains that pooled on the floor. My fingers itched to push them aside, some innate part of me already longing for the sweet caress of daylight. The many flickering candelabra and sconces did little to improve the somber mood of the place.

The Ferrier had not moved when my eyes found him again, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

Did he see a young woman with unruly brown hair and an upturned nose? Did he see someone filled with hope for the future? Did he see a soul worth saving? Or did he—like everyone else—see the shadows that marked my skin and nothing else?

Whereas most people I knew were repulsed by my mark, I could see how they might call to him. Had he seen something of himself in those shadows? Would my shadows be his to control like all others?

I blinked, hoping that realization was as far-fetched as it sounded. Surely, if my shadows fell under his command, he would have already tested that power. Right?

The silence thickened with unanswered questions.

"Well, then…" I trailed off, unsure what the proper social etiquette was for engaging in conversation with the demon you're paying to save your life.

My words hit their mark, breaking the reaper from his trance. He shook his head as though dispelling an errant thought. The human gesture settled my nerves, making me braver than I had any right to be.

"Aren't you going to take that off?" I asked, indicating his cloak.

He tilted his head to the side in a distinctly inhuman motion. "Are you so eager to see what lies beneath?"

"It can't be any worse than this?" Tucking my hair behind my ear felt like being possessed by someone else. I never made a show of revealing my mark, yet I'd done exactly that twice now for the Ferrier. Each time, I grew more amazed at his lack of reaction, even if this time I'd been hoping for some acknowledgment of my attempted levity.

Perhaps I'd offended him. I'd meant it as a joke, but I didn't care what he looked like. I only wished to know the man beneath the faceless demon veneer.

I opened my mouth to apologize for my insensitivity, but it snapped shut as the reaper stepped forward, tugging at the edges of his hood. It was only as he neared that I realized he was keeping the light from penetrating his cover as he stepped closer to the candlelight—closer to me .

"Understand, Miss Fil'Owen—"

"Call me Kat," I interjected, immediately regretting my outburst. "Please," I amended, but the damage was already done.

Disdain rippled off him like the shadows that pooled between our feet. I bit my tongue, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Miss Fil'Owen."

I flinched at the Ferrier's emphasis of my proper name.

"We are not friends. This is not a holiday. It is a business arrangement." His voice was a growl I felt deep in my belly. "As such, there are certain expectations I have for this situation."

He paused, and my head bobbed in agreement. I was at his mercy. Whatever rules he had for this arrangement, I had to accept or face the reality of returning to my cursed life.

Seemingly satisfied with my complacency, he rattled off a series of commands in a clipped tone. "No leaving the grounds. Should you decide to annul our agreement, you may go at any time, but my protection extends only to the gate. Stay out of my way. I have no interest in small talk or braiding each other's hair. You may move about the manor as you wish so long as you do not interfere with my work. You will not accompany me on any other missions."

"I can't come with you? What about Death? What if he comes for me when you're not here?" I looked around as though I could conjure him by name alone.

"You are at best a distraction, at worst a liability. Death has no reason to come here, other than to see me. Since he knows when I am away, he will have no cause for being here when I am not."

"He can't… sense me?"

"He can sense you in the way that he can sense all that are mortal. Your impending demise would call to him like a siren song, but here you are no closer to death than I. Your soul is in stasis."

"But I'm marked by Death. Surely, that means he has some awareness of me."

"To my knowledge, you are the only person Death has ever marked. I don't know what cause he had to single out someone like you."

I heard all the words he didn't say. Someone ordinary. Someone unremarkable. I'd wondered the same thing. Why me?

It would seem the Ferrier was as confused as me.

"Until we know more about his motives for marking you, it is best that you remain at Tyr Anigh ." The foreign words rolled off his tongue. "Do you have any questions?"

"What am I to call you?" I crossed my arms over my chest and stared right into the depths of his hood.

He seemed to hold my gaze, though I could see nothing of the eyes I stared toward. When he spoke, his voice had lost its fire. "I am the Ferrier of Souls, Master of Shadows, Right Hand of Death. You may refer to me by any of those titles."

I cocked a brow. "Truly?"

"Have I given you any indication that I am a jester, Miss Fil'Owen?"

I seethed at his persistent use of my surname but held my tongue. We still had three hundred and sixty-five days to spend together. It seemed pertinent to avoid any unnecessary strain on this tenuous partnership. One wrong move and the Ferrier might decide to renege on our deal and send me packing. I had no idea how binding his promise to me was. For all I knew, he had summoned his shadows to twine our hands together for show.

Until I could trust his word, I would have to be on my best behavior.

"Oh, Mighty Hand of Death! Wouldst thou be so magnanimous as to show this lowly mortal to their room?" So much for my best behavior.

As the Ferrier turned away, I tried to picture him fighting back a smile under all that darkness, but his voice betrayed no hint of amusement.

"Most of the living quarters are on the third floor. You're welcome to choose any that suit your needs."

"And where is your room?" The question was out before I could think better of it, but I didn't dare try to take it back.

"Why? Planning to drop by for a visit?" he purred.

"Of course not," I sputtered, cheeks heating at the insinuation. "I simply wanted to make sure I didn't choose yours by mistake."

"Mine will be the one that is locked." He turned, effectively dismissing me as he strode toward the next room.