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."

I walked out to the sound of her falling the rest of the way to the floor.

The sandwich in my stomach churned as I sank into the darkness on the side of the house opposite the moon, seeking the comfort of my lonely shadows. Hours passed. Elowen returned to her stoop, her breathing normal, but I could see the subtle way she fidgeted. I wondered if she'd waited for him every night there was a show. If she'd worried, as I'd heard mothers did, every second until he was under the safety of this ramshackle roof. I wondered most of all if she knew he was a murderer. And how he came to have such power.

After some time, she sat on the first step, bathing in the moonlight. Watching stoically. And though I debated it, preferring the solitude, eventually I gave up and joined her, sitting vigilant as we both stared at that tree line. Waiting. Her for comfort and me for answers. It would have been the perfect time to search the house, had she not been there.

"When Orin was a boy, he would race up and down those trees, fighting imaginary villains," she said, likely to fill the growing silence. "He swore to always protect me, and he's never backed down on that promise."

I said nothing, though I didn't think she wanted me to, anyway.

"When he was a teen, barely a man at all, he made a deal with the devil and followed through on his boyish promise. Freeing me from the Maestro and giving his life instead. I'd spent so many years tied to that man. Freedom was the only thing I'd ever wished for my son, and he'd given it away."

My head snapped to her. "He bargained his whole life?"

"Not quite all, but most. Before the show, before the theatrics of it all, Drexel was just a man. He'd have moments that made him a monster, but I think we all do. Things turned dark, and he began collecting people. Turning to crime to get what he wanted. Your father threatened to imprison him, and because that wasn't a war Drexel wanted, he created his godsdamned show instead. Slowly seeping money away from this kingdom and your father's."

"And building his own."

She nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised to see a blue band around the wrist of Icharius Fern. Drexel has never been one for the politics of it all, but he's loved every coin that has ever fallen into his hands. Every person, to a degree. He loves to flaunt his power and the things he collects. Sometimes I think he wants to conquer Requiem. But other times, I realize he just likes the chase. I don't think he's ever cared to be worth his death. He's always wanted the spotlight, instead."

I wanted to ask how she knew so much about him, but the answer was obvious. And likely one she wouldn't openly share. She must have loved him. Any and all information was a tool, a weapon to be collected, though. So, I considered how I might broach the question.

We heard the ruckus before we ever saw them. Althea screamed for Elowen to clear off the table. Two small horses burst from the tree line, dragging a reluctant cart behind them. A parade of people ran for the house.

"Oh, gods," she cried, leaping to her feet and dashing inside.

I moved to the far end of the porch, gripping the railing as the cart came to a halt, and the giant man lifted Orin's limp body, carrying him inside. Paesha was next, then sobbing Althea and the child. I didn't notice the little white dog with long brown ears until a cold nose pressed into my hand. Several more somber faces followed.

"Come on, Boo," the old man said, slapping his thigh until the dog turned, darting into the home.

The second everyone crossed the threshold to the house, I flung myself over the railing and climbed until I stood on the balcony I'd jumped from on our wedding night. The window was still broken, the sheer curtains tumbling in the wind. I took a step before seeing a cello in the corner. Far more worn than the one he'd played so beautifully on that stage.

I crept inside Orin's room, but without being able to turn on a lamp, there was hardly anything more to discern than what my memory held. Sliding a hand between the mattress and the bed frame, I sought Chaos but came out empty-handed. I found a blade beneath the pillow, but it wasn't mine. There was nothing behind the mirror or any of the dusty art on the wall.

The creak of worn steps was my only warning before the knob turned. I dashed under the bed, confident if anyone had been paying close enough attention, they would have seen me. But Althea had come and gone within minutes.

Orin's bedroom held no answers. And Chaos was still missing. With nowhere else to go, I climbed to the roof of the Syndicate home. Three chairs sat gathered in the corner of the flattened portion of the rooftop, surrounded by more black railings. Lying on my back, just above the open balcony, I watched the stars in the sky, wondering how my life had gotten to this point. As the mist grew thicker, the clouds covered the clear night, rain threatening to pour down. Voices trailed up from Orin's bedroom.

"Careful," Althea hissed.

"Back off, buttercup. He's got to lay him down." The sharp edge of Paesha's tone was unmistakable.

"I still don't understand why." Althea's voice was quieter than before.

"Don't be ridiculous, Thea. He married the Death Maiden. He stole the king's bride. Then refused to turn her over. We had a godsdamned plan, and he fucked it all up."

"Paesha." The old man's soft voice was hardly audible. "Whatever your plan, it was reckless. And speaking ill of the Death Maiden as she lurks around this house is dangerous. Even for you, Huntress."

Huntress?

"Well, I don't really care if she hears me, Hollis. Do you hear that, Maiden? Come down from your fucking perch."

I could almost picture those mismatched eyes glaring at me from the window.

But if Paesha was the famed Huntress… if she could use her magic to locate things and people… she could find the Life Maiden. Maybe she already had. Maybe she'd been the one to tell the Maestro about Orin. If I could crack this, convince him to help the people, then I'd finally contribute to this world. Something stirred within me, confirming this was my purpose. I needed to be here. Requiem needed balance.

The distraction of his injuries might have been a good time to slip inside and look around the house, but if I were caught on the first night, I'd never get back in, and, more than anything, I needed to tread carefully around Paesha. There was no way she hadn't used her magic to seek out the Life Maiden. I desperately needed whatever information she had. Surely, if it were my husband, she would know.

"We can do this later." The gruff voice of that large man felt weak compared to Paesha's fierceness.

"Jarek is right," Elowen said, ripping me from my thoughts. "This isn't the time. Orin needs peace."

Minutes of silence passed. Eventually, the door clicked shut. He lived, then. That was a mercy. Though I wasn't sure whose.

Orin began moaning. The guttural sound so wretched, I wondered if the hellhound actually did hold the power of Death's harbingers. Maybe he hadn't escaped fate quite yet. I thrummed my fingers against the rooftop in time with the raindrops, wondering if I was listening to my bonded husband die. The gash in my abdomen had sealed once more, thanks to his attention, but it hadn't healed as much as I would have thought, had he truly been born of life with the power opposite of mine. The ache remained.

I stood, staring up at the small patches of moon peeking out from behind the weeping clouds until I was soaked through. Even then, I waited several moments more before climbing down to the balcony and sneaking back into Orin's room.

His face had only been scratched. Nothing new plagued him beyond the bruising and gash he'd had when he walked onto that stage. Standing here, listening to the moans plague him, the pain audible, my thoughts mimicked his friends. Why had he married me knowing he would piss off his master and equally destroy his own life?

The bandages around his chest might have started white, but the patch of blood was growing. I stared at the hands of a killer, remembering the way they felt on my throat only feet away from where I stood. Orin killed because he could, not because he had to, and that was the difference between him and me. Likely, every life he'd taken had been pinned on me, and I hadn't known about a single one.

The gold band on his wrist, a twin to my own, sat just below the blue one, intersecting a vine tattoo creeping up his bare arm and covering his shoulder. The sharp turn of his jaw and the way he held his eyes tightly shut, even while sleeping, called to me. This was the man who'd stood in my castle bedroom and promised me the world. But this was also that man'd who buried a blade in my gut and locked me in a room.

"I hate you," he mumbled, an eye peeking open. "You're the worst mistake of my life."

I positioned myself over him, our faces inches apart as his blood dripped onto the floor in a perfect rhythm.

"Hate is such a cruel word, Husband."

He shifted. His movement wasn't fast, but I waited, letting him pull the blade from beneath his pillow and press it into my ribs.

I leaned closer, the sharp tip ripping my shirt. "Do it. I dare you."