Chapter 16

Any time I'd seen Death, he'd always appeared in his full, viciously dark form, rattling my nerves with his proximity as if he could sway my stubborn will to his own. The shadows that peeked from the ground had been different. A collection of sorts, but not what I'd experienced with Death.

Orin was a killer. The single thing he'd claimed to hate me for, yet there was darkness in him. A hypocritical, murderous darkness. I'd seen it in his eyes when we'd fought. I'd heard it in the raspy tone of his deep voice when he'd said he hated me.

Erratic thoughts howled in my mind. Since the moment that man had stepped foot into my bedroom, everything had changed, and nothing made sense. Aside from the violent and sometimes disgusting nature of the general population, everything I'd come to know of life and people had been decimated. Iron truth wrapped around my heart. None could kill, apart from the Death Maiden, and there could be only one. Me.

But I couldn't deny what I'd just seen.

Before I knew where I was going, I hauled my tired body to a rooftop and started moving. Spiraling. Running through everything I knew of life and death. Could Orin somehow be the Life Maiden, and had he twisted that magic? A life lord? On and on I walked, leaping from roof to roof after crossing the Hallowed River. With no destination, only a desire for truth, I found myself standing across from Misery's End, staring into the crowd of lingering people, eager to step inside the Maestro's show, if not for the entertainment, then to bathe in the intoxicating magic seeping down the walls.

I crouched on my perch, watching as the crowd dwindled, feeding into Misery's End. Orin was bound by magic to Drexel. The blue band around his arm had proven that. He'd likely have to be here before the show started if he was indeed a performer, but trusting anything from his mouth would be foolish. Orin was keeping secrets, and I desperately needed to know why. If he couldn't be of Death, because that role was taken, then maybe a pawn for the God of Life. And that's why no one could find the missing Maiden. She wasn't a woman, as she'd always been in the past, but a man. And maybe Drexel had found someone with the power to twist or reverse magic, and he'd used it on Orin. What better skill to give a lackey than murder in an immortal world?

My heart hammered into my throat as all the pieces fell into place. There'd been talk that Drexel had made a deal with Death a long time ago. And though some questioned it, this revelation seemed to prove it. And what a discovery it was.

Curiosity forced me down the building, pushing me to make reckless decisions as I circled Misery's End, looking for a way in. I couldn't walk through the front door. I'd made too many enemies to be impetuous. With no idea whose eyes would be searching for me, nor Orin's influence over the rest of the workers, I had to tread lightly. Especially when the Maestro was still the biggest threat.

I'd known about the window in the back when I'd considered all escape routes while plotting to kill King Ellis. The problem was, I didn't know how well it was guarded. The warehouse behind Misery's End was my next option. I'd seen many performers enter and never exit, leading me to believe there must have been a tunnel between the two buildings running beneath the street. But minutes before a show started, it was likely packed with performers. Including a certain dark-haired, brooding husband of mine.

With two options, the theater's window or crossing the street to the warehouse, I decided to take my chances against the guards and focus on the window. I could get to the top of the building and leap down onto the sill. Then I'd have to decide from there the best route.

I wasn't expecting the voices coming from the rooftop as I held the drainpipe firmly, steadying myself the second I heard shouting.

"You do not make decisions within or outside of these walls. Am I understood? You are mine." Though the voice was missing his usual flair, there was no mistaking the Maestro's tone or his composed fury.

I couldn't hear the response, only the shuffle of several sets of feet. Discovering what was happening was not worth the risk of being seen by a man who collected people as prisoners, as thralls, as bodies forced to do his bidding. I hunkered down, willing my heart to silence until the voices receded and the cool night air was my only companion. Even then, I waited for my muscles to protest and the music to come alive before climbing the rest of the way up and landing as silently as possible, sidestepping the fresh blood pooled on the roof near a door. It would certainly be guarded, though. I'd have to use the window.

I crept to the sidewall of the massive building, hiding behind the twisted iron railing. I peeked between the spindles to be sure no one was watching before swinging myself over the top, barely missing the sharpened finial across my ribs. Gripping tight, I held on, praying until my boot tips met the ridge of the window without shattering the glass.

But I wasn't lucky. The ledge was too narrow, and, had the music not been at a crescendo, the sound of the break would have been heard for blocks. As it was, I had no choice but to swing myself into the theater and prepare for damage control. I landed lightly, crouching to cushion the fall with my hood as far forward as possible. The room was so dark, I couldn't make out a thing, but it smelled of clean leather and maybe a hint of blood. I pressed my back to the wall and quickly felt my way down it, kicking a bookcase before reaching the doorknob. Holding my breath, I pressed an ear to the wood, but there was nothing to be heard beyond the heart-pounding music.

Falling to my stomach, I watched through the crack below the door, seeing two sets of boots standing across the narrow hallway. And a third with feet facing me. I had half a second to roll away before the door swung inward. Using the lack of light to my advantage, with nowhere to go, I jumped to my toes and hid behind the open door.

Somewhere in the room, a light turned on, and I held my breath behind the mask, hoping it was anyone but the Maestro. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an eternity as the music flowed and stopped on a dramatic note, followed by an uproarious applause. The Maestro's theater voice seeped into his office as he promised the crowd the end of tonight's show would be something they'd never forget. Likely, a repeated promise from the skilled showman with a golden tongue.

The second round of applause muted as the room's visitor walked back out, shutting the door. They'd left the light on, though, illuminating the office in a deep, warm glow. Tapestries covered the walls in tightly woven masterpieces of our world's history before the old gods abandoned us. I glanced over most, having seen similar works before, but an aged map caught my attention.

I studied the intricate details woven into the fabric. Among the familiar streets of our two cities, though they were much larger in these former times, each temple was marked with precision, and the names of the gods and goddesses whispered to me from the ancient threads. In a lower corner of Silbath set the grand temple of Verus, God of Illusions, its golden rays wavering, stretching toward the heavens. Nearby, Serene, the Goddess of Loss and Lust's temple, stood with its silver adornments glistening in the moonlight.

Further across the map, several blocks away from what I knew to be the Scarlet District, the temple of Eiria, Goddess of Life, Truth, and Reflection, was depicted—a place where prayers were offered for health and fertility. I moved my fingers over the tightly woven threads, wondering if I could find any clues about the Life Maiden in that temple. I pressed on to find another nestled in a secluded grove, hidden from prying eyes: The temple of Irri, God of Broken Things.

There wasn't a person alive who could tell you which fallen temple belonged to which god or goddess. Perhaps aside from the Maestro, who kept his map displayed like artwork. There were so many temple ruins in the city that most had been forgotten. A space we'd seen but never explored until our minds told us to forget they were there, as the old gods had done to Requiem.

After scanning the otherwise vacant office, I moved back to the door, peeking below to examine the hallway, or what I could see of it in my very limited view. Empty. As if those from before were not guards for the Maestro, but instead, keeping watch for whoever had snuck in. I cursed myself for not paying more attention as I slipped out. A woman's pure and powerful voice became the ambiance as I crept down the hall, turned into a dark passage deeper into the theater, and found myself sandwiched between two thick, black pieces of fabric.

The heat of the spotlights, the smell of the dusty curtains, the creak of the wood floor...

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I'd accidentally stumbled backstage. Moving as the reticent killer of this world, careful not to touch either curtain, I inched down and around until I came to the side stage. If I stepped into the light, those working would see me. If I stayed here and the curtains were pulled for any reason, I'd be seen by everyone else.

I quickly ripped the mask from my face, shoved my hood back, and hopped into a small gathering of women, all dressed in high heels and corsets with feathers in their hair and deep red lipstick, watching whatever was happening on stage more intently than they were their own surroundings. Using that to my advantage, I swiped a hand fan and feather boa from a cart nearby, and walked with a purpose, as if I had all the right in the world to be there.

The power that seeped through the Maestro's theater was palpable. I could feel it in every step I took away from the stage, drawing me back as if I were somehow linked. Could he have two forms of magic? He was most notoriously known for his contractual binding, the blue bands around the wrists of those indebted to him, but could he have a second power? Magic was so rare. Why would that be?

There were, of course, the Life and Death Maidens, and Lady Visha and her binding, which was also odd. Why would there be two with that power? And then Ro with her mirrors, and certain people had been rumored to have other forms. Strength and speed and skills in cooking and building. One woman claimed to speak to the birds, but she'd lost her mind and had been locked away long ago, the second she started claiming Death was not the savior we'd made him out to be. Those were dangerous words when this world was his domain. Though now, I wondered just how wrong she really was.

No one paid much attention to me as I hustled through. A familiar voice caught my ear, but I didn't look at Althea. If she knew I was here, she might tell Orin, and I wasn't ready for him just yet. I needed more answers.

"Are you lost, Little Dove?" An old man's soft voice halted me.

Keeping my face down, I shook my head and tried to shuffle away.

He called again. "You're headed straight toward the boss. Come this way."

The most impeccably dressed old man I'd ever seen in my life clasped his hands together, eyes beseeching. Though his hair was hidden beneath the firm brim of a violet top hat, his bushy white eyebrows gave away the color. He held a respectful hand over the heart of his finely pressed green suit, the trim detailing done in a beautiful golden hue.

"Not to worry, Little Dove, I'll get you the best seat in the house." He lowered his voice. "Come now. Before you're caught somewhere you ought not to be."

I opened my mouth to say something rude, but the pink in his cheeks and genuine smile halted me. I could trust no one. Least of all, a man who likely had a blue band on his arm, but he hadn't sounded an alarm or called for backup yet, and that was enough for me. I wasn't afraid to face the Maestro if it came to it. But I was cautious.

"Thank you," I answered, my voice unsteady as he gestured down a small hall to the right.

He tugged on a long golden chain, revealing a finely etched pocket watch he clicked open. "You'll want to hurry. The lights will turn off for fifteen seconds at the conclusion of this song. Take the third seat in the fourth row and don't sit down until everyone else around you does."

I hustled, following his directions exactly until I reached the door at the end of the hall.

The old man threw his hand out. "Wait for the song to end."

"Why would you help me?" I asked.

He pulled the hat from his head and placed it over his heart. "Because my younger sister was your predecessor, Maiden. Your burdens are heavy."

The lights fell with my jaw.

"Go," he barked from the dark. "Fifteen seconds."

There could have been a team of guards waiting for me on the other side of that door. There could have been a magical menace, or even a scorned king, but instead, it was simply the audience, bathed in shadow, breaths held for whatever dramatic event the Maestro might have been concocting. I slipped into the exact seat I was directed, standing with the crowd until purple lights flooded the black stage, and everyone roared in applause as two women stood, back-to-back, with chests heaving and swords raised high.

I sat when the crowd did, expecting my view to be obstructed this close to the stage, but this particular spot sat at just the right height and angle to have a clear, glorious view. The orchestra crept to life, starting their melody as a single note, then growing until my heart was racing in tune with the show, timed with each dangerous step of the women sword fighting on the stage in the most beautifully choreographed dance. They traced their fingers up each other's bodies, having undressed until they were nearly bare. They'd wiggled and laughed and put on an alluring, erotic show. And I loved it. I'd felt my fingers twitching, wishing I could meet them. Touch them.

It took me three more songs, including one with the woman falling from the ceiling again before I noticed the little girl in the birdcage, watching as a patron and not a part of it, licking a sucker, her legs swaying back and forth from the swing dangling in the middle of her tiny prison.

Her wild brown hair was a calling card. A halo of perfect curls that might have swallowed her whole one day. She was dressed in a fine gown, emphasizing her light blue eyes against olive skin, even from this distance. She would have fit right into my father's court. I studied the audience more than the performers now, but no one seemed to notice the child. The woman next to me glanced over to see what I was watching. It was as if her eyes had passed right over her.

The theater fell into darkness again. If not for the ominous boots crossing the stage, then the sharp clack of the cane gave away the Maestro seconds before a single crimson spotlight poured over him. His eyes scanned the audience as he plastered a sinister smile across his face, twisting his red mustache at the tip with a pristine, white-gloved hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons of Misery's End, gather around. For tonight, we are about to embark on a journey like no other. Let me regale you with a tale of old gods and legends, a story of how they once graced our world, only to turn away, leaving us to fend for ourselves when we were ravished by war and dying.

"But fear not, for when the gods abandoned us to bloodshed, Death himself appeared with a grand proposition. He bestowed upon us a gift, a boon of immortality for a hundred years, ensuring that we may revel in the splendors of life without the fear of its inevitable end. Death is our savior, our mighty god. But, my dear audience, even he is indebted to me." A deep chuckle left his throat as he let the gasps fill the space, relishing in every second of his theatrics. "Did I promise you a spectacle unlike anything you've ever witnessed? Did I promise you violence?"

The crowd began to cheer, and as those vicious eyes swept toward me, I clapped, though I kept my face cast as far down as possible, heart thundering as he spoke of Death's debt, confirming my theory of Orin's twisted power, or so it seemed.

"Is my audience not interested?" He pretended to pout, turning away. The crowd tripled in volume, stomping and clapping and screaming for the Maestro. Just as he'd wanted. A master manipulator.

"Oh, there you are." He tossed his head back and laughed so loud, so guttural, it must have shaken the rafters. "You seek disorder tonight, and I shall deliver. Behold, a show that will set your hearts ablaze and stir your souls to dance in the dangerous embrace of fear. We shall summon forth the very essence of the Death Court, and from the depths, a hellhound, a creature of myth and terror, a manifestation of our deepest desires and darkest fears, shall appear. They say you should never look him in the eyes. But can you resist?"

My heart did not beat. My breaths did not come. He could not really mean that Death's hound would appear. The beast of nightmares would devour this entire theater. I gripped the edges of my seat, dread turning my skin ice cold as the Maestro's gaze finally landed upon me, and absolute delight filled his dark eyes. As if he spoke to me alone, as if he walked down that platform, stood before me, and shoved his hand into my chest, just to be sure I knew he had seen me.

"Orin Faber, bonded husband to Death's precious Maiden, please join me on stage."