Chapter 2

The definition of benevolence had been lost to this godless world ages ago. Stolen with the innocence of a child and captured within the final tendrils of an unanswered prayer. Ripped away upon the capture of one's last hope and buried in the graveyard near Tolliver's Pointe. Duty over morality, though. Death's promise reigned overall.

Leaving the slums of Perth behind, bone-tired, I stepped into my carriage, begrudging the beauty after such an act, and wiggled the reins enough to wake the horse. Black as night, moving like a shadow, he needed no direction from me to carry us through the narrow streets, past the barrage of flickering streetlamps, and on to my father's home, my prison. A constant reminder that, had I not been born with my supreme title as Death's Maiden, princess might've led me through a completely different life. A life with a mother.

An hour later, Regulas stood at my bedroom door with perfect posture, perfectly pressed black clothing, and a perfect sneer on his aged face. "He's waiting."

"He is always waiting."

"For his beloved daughter," he said, eager to emphasize each sarcastic syllable of that word.

This particular member of my father's council used to fear me. As most did. But over the years, his fear changed into smugness. And, while I could reach out and snap his unnaturally thick neck, the baser part of me remembered that I was not like the Maidens and Lords that came before me. I was a weapon by fate, not choice. And a princess, all the same.

Planting my feet, I straightened my spine and ran a finger over the ornate design on Chaos's curved handle, finding comfort in the weapon that never left my thigh. "I am a member of this royal house, Regulas." I narrowed my gaze until he flinched. "You will not forget yourself again."

He bowed, clearing his throat, though his words were laced with annoyance. "Forgive me, Your Royal Highness."

"Just because my father has chosen to forgo formalities with you within the walls of his castle, does not mean I have. Should you wish to see the sun again, don't forget your place. I answer to Death first and my king second."

Holding himself bent at the waist while waiting for my dismissal, his balding head flushed, the lights along the ceiling illuminating the bulging veins. I checked for dirt beneath my nails and the corners for cobwebs before finally dismissing him. Setting my hand on the cold metal knob, I contemplated the escape of my bedroom. Such luxury would have to wait, though. My father was not a patient king.

He'd meet me in the throne room and nowhere else, choosing formality in every moment we shared. My father resented Death and the power he stole by selecting me in the womb as Maiden, the first and only royal to hold the title. A king deserves power over his kingdom but covets control over his family.

Two heavily armed guards, both with expressionless faces and long swords crossing their backs, opened the doors in unison, never bothering to look at me, though I could see the Adam's apple bob in one's throat as I passed. His weapons were for show, good for maiming at best; mine were soul suckers, a guaranteed eternity in Death's court.

The obsidian columns wrapped in iron burst from the floor as if they'd been banished from hell and sent to hold my father's throne room erect. And at the top of fifty towering stairs, he sat on his dais, staring down at the world like he'd summoned them instead.

"Deyanira." His voice echoed off the walls. "Must you always disappoint me?"

Ten years ago, his words might have inspired a reaction, but after so long, I'd become numb to him, confident it was better to hold my tongue than engage. Instead, I silently begged the old gods for reprieve of this torture. Of this life where I'd never know love or kindness or laughter. The closest I would ever have was Ro. And even she was fickle. Still, my eyes flashed to Regulas, who was standing behind him, mumbling something with the same sneer on his face as earlier.

I didn't move, flinch, or breathe as I stood waiting for him to begin. Eventually, he gripped the smooth edges of his throne and descended the steps, one loud booted step at a time. Clasping his hands behind him, he circled me like a vulture, assessing as he always did.

"Report!" he demanded.

I stared straight ahead, unwilling to let my green eyes, the twin to his, fall. "The victim's name was Thomas Vanhutes. He rented a rundown apartment in Beggar's Row, near the Badger Hole. He died in hi?—"

"His sleep. Yes. You are a merciful murderer. And the Maestro? Does he continue to hunt you?"

"Of course, he does, but there were no signs of him or his men."

"Don't you find it odd that you miraculously avoid him? You wouldn't be keeping secrets from me, would you?"

I sighed, drawing the same repetitive explanation forward. "It's not a miracle, Father. It's a skill. I'm always aware of my surroundings and danger."

"How lucky for all of us."

Teeth clenched, I didn't miss the indignation in his tone. He knew I could have tortured them all. He assumed Death's magic begged me to slaughter. But my stubborn will allowed me one grace. Choice.

"And the Life Maiden?"

I gulped. "No news."

"We haven't had a Life Maiden in twenty-six years. More people than ever are sick, with no one to heal them. She must be hiding. It's impossible that you haven't heard a single word, Deyanira," Regulas said from behind my father's throne, his puny voice echoing off the brushed gold walls until it crept down my spine. He'd purposely left my title out.

"I'm not the Huntress. Blame someone else. Blame yourself, councilman," I snapped at him.

He crept down the steps as formidably as my father had, mirroring the king's stately posture, stopping three steps from the bottom to ensure he could still look down on me. "Our guards are training more aggressively than ever before. There's fighting amongst Requiem along the Hallowed River. If you were to use more… persuasive measures to seek answers, perhaps you would have more."

"I am not a spy."

"You are hardly anything," Regulas answered.

I'd barely registered my own movement until his high-pitched scream ripped through the room. One moment, the snide man was standing, the next, his feet flew from beneath him as Chaos collided with his shoulder.

I climbed the steps as slowly as he had descended, pressing my boot into his arm as I ripped the blade from his body and wiped the fresh blood on his pants. Crouching, I glared. "I have trained my entire life to be able to kill you with less than a thought. Should you wish to reach your one-hundredth year, you will never speak to me again."

"M-my king?" he stammered, not daring to rise.

I stood, turning to finally look my father in the face. The kernel of pride might have shocked me, had I never known his love for violence. His intentional distance had only sharpened the edges of everything I was. To raise a child without a single touch, a single soft word, grows a beast in slumber. A person with no knowledge of love or light. A woman with no compassion. Still, as if it'd been planted in my soul before I was born, I cared. I wanted to experience love and kindness more desperately than he could ever fathom. Maybe the yearning was what kept me human.

Years ago, I'd disguised myself and went to the inner city to seduce a man. After several visits and several easily swayed partners, I'd learned that touch was not enough. Forced passion didn't placate the desire for someone to see beyond the mask.

The king moved to my side. "If one continues to play with fire, they will get burned. Especially if that fire is my daughter. Go clean yourself up, Regulas. You're an embarrassment."

A flicker of satisfaction settled in my gut. Upon the click of the great door in the back of the throne room, my father continued his careful assessment, shaking his head as he surveyed my unpolished boots. I stiffened, falling right back in line.

"What have you heard of Silbath?"

"Nothing new."

Again, he tsked. "I demand you be of use to me. And as I cannot marry you off because your poor husband would likely wet the marital bed every night in fear of you, you must have another use, Deyanira. You refuse to kill on my behalf. So, what good are you?"

His rhetorical question echoed through my memories, pinging off each and every time he'd uttered those vicious words until that kernel disintegrated to ash.

"The old gods damned and abandoned us." He spun on a heel and paced behind me, each step in a synchronized rhythm. "War would be so much easier."

I bit my tongue, letting the coppery taste of blood fill my mouth. There would be no use arguing with my father. He didn't understand the finality of murder the same way I did, and thus, war.

Many generations ago, the two kingdoms of this world had nearly killed each other off. Rampaged by war and famine, had Death not stepped in and taken away our ability to die for one hundred years, there would be no one left. A reprieve for everyone but kings seeking land and people to imprison.

He climbed the steps back to his throne and sat heavily, twisting his silver mustache until it curled at the ends. I waited for my dismissal, knowing he would stretch it out, just as I had done to Regulas. Perhaps I was more like my father than I'd realized. Eventually, he cleared his throat and waved me away without another word.

By the time I made it to my room, the exhaustion of my task, of the magic that had compelled me until my free will was gone, forced every muscle and every bone to grow heavy. Death's magic was so potent, it could not have been meant for mere humans. The second my mind had wandered to the hidden vulnerability of Maidens, I pushed those thoughts away, just as Death had warned me to do the first time I'd ever seen him. When he promised me an eternity and warned me of an early end.

Because, though magic was rare, and so powerful it should not have existed in humans, I would always be the exception. Along with the Life Maiden, should she ever be found. The brush of sheer curtains caught by a cool breeze trailed over my skin as I stood on the balcony, staring down at a world hunted, one soul at a time.

The moon was hardly a crescent, and difficult to discern, but still, it provided just enough light to guide me back through the massive bedroom and to a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. I ran tired fingers over the gilded filigree along the top, noting where it'd begun to wear down over the years.

"Ro?" I whispered, shifting toward my reflection.

The glass rippled like an awakened pond in response to my voice.

Holding my breath, I stepped through, into a world that I once believed was only for me, though the years had taught me differently. This world was hers. A sanctuary from the evils of mine.

"Back so soon?" The familiar voice wrapped me in comfort as I strode into Ro's home.

"Unfortunately." I navigated her peculiar hall of mirrors and descended the squeaky steps into the cottage, pushing through the vines of various plants growing from the ceiling until I found her, watering can in hand.

"You are a conundrum, Dey."

"Why?"

"Because you wear your burdens so visibly. There are days it hurts to look at you."

"It hurts more to be me. But those must be the days you deny me entry."

"No." She winked. "I'm usually entertaining someone far more handsome."

The loose wrap of her navy robes showcased her golden-brown skin while still highlighting her piercing dark honey eyes. Though I'd visited her more times than I could ever count, her beauty always stole my breath. Even as a child, I would come through the mirror and stare at her in silent moments, wondering why she hardly aged and seemed to grow more beautiful. But a child never sees the subtle signs, the tiny wrinkles gathering at the eyes or the small strands of gray hair. In truth, I didn't know Ro's age.

I reached for the waxy leaf of a nearby plant to keep my hands busy. "I'm confident he's the one entertaining you."

"You would not judge me if you knew what you were missing."

I snorted. "I'm not innocent, Ro. I know exactly what I'm missing."

"A single dip of a stick by a mere boy does not teach you what you are missing. You need a man to throw you around a little bit."

"If a man ever tried to throw me around, I'd cut his balls off before he had the chance to empty them."

The edges of her mouth curved into a wry smile. "I've tried that. It's not nearly as fun. They scream a lot."

Gesturing to the door along the back wall, I followed her into the main room of her home, slumping onto a velvet couch as she poured two glasses full of amber liquid and passed me the first. Hers was empty before I could take a sip of mine, though I'd never seen her swallow a drop. The alcohol was a ritual at this point, carrying us through the motions on habit alone.

"We don't have to." She carried her words as if in song. "If the tasks are wearing on you, perhaps it's time to embrace this gift."

I narrowed my eyes, sharing a deadly look that would rattle a weaker person. "We have very different opinions on what a gift is."

"Mm-hmm. Just don't let me catch any rumors about how I maim you for fun."

I took another giant swing of the whiskey. "To be fair, this was your idea."

"How was I supposed to know you would keep it going after all these years?" Dainty fingers disappeared within the folds of her navy robes as she took a seat directly across from me, pulling out a small metal box.

My eyes flicked to the ruby embedded into the top. My late mother's. She was my first kill, her soul the path by which I entered this world like a battering ram, and the jewel was my gift to Ro for being here for me when no one else was.

She lifted her chin. "Off with it."

Slamming back the last swallow of the drink, I let the amber liquid burn a familiar path down my throat. I set the glass on the table and stood, removing my shirt to give her easy access to my spine. Sinking onto the colorful rug before her, I clutched my knees to my chest and let myself experience a modicum of vulnerability, remembering the small details I'd learned of Thomas's life, of his friendship with the man who worked the predominantly rotten fruit stand in Silbath's square. Of the neighbor he'd robbed. He wasn't a decent man, but he'd had a life, and if not for me, he would at least have had time for redemption.

Metal scraped metal as Ro opened her precious box, removed the ink and needle, and began to tattoo the three hundred and seventy-fifth flower petal along my back. The vine was sprawling and the dainty flowers unique to her imagination. I'd run out of room one day.

After my mother's untimely murder, Death had given me the mercy of sixteen years to train. But that second kill, when I was still a child, still unsure of why my father's court shied away from me, destroyed something in my soul. Ripped away my ability to feel and think. And when I'd cried, staring at myself in the mirror, wondering what kind of a monster I'd become, Ro saved me. She'd revealed herself, welcoming me into her home, if I were brave enough to step beyond my reflection.

Enamored by her beauty, I followed her into this haven, wondering why she wasn't afraid of me, like the others. She knew who I was, what I was, and still, she did not shy away. When I'd told her of my numbness and the fear that consumed me, that one day I'd take so many lives, I would no longer remember them, she offered this service. And the second that needle pierced my flesh, it was like inflating a punctured lung. Allowing me to feel and breathe, if only for a moment. And I'd needed that desperately, time and time again. Until a single flower became a garden. And a scared girl became a woman—lacking, but a woman, nonetheless.

"Ro," I whispered, lost in my memories.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. "I see where your mind wanders when you come to me. I offer you solace because we are kindred spirits. But must we discuss it every time?"

"Knowledge is power, and magic is a burden. Maybe if I understood it, I could fight it more."

"Magic is a gift and yes, oftentimes, a burden. But as there are so few of us with it, there is nothing to understand. You are the result of a promise from Death. He stood upon a broken realm of two cities, destroyed by war and famine, and took away the ease of mortality among our ancestors, promising a Maiden to remind us of the fragility of life. You are a blessing, even if you cannot see beyond the burden." She'd spoken those words with no emotion behind them. Reminding me that this was the history and the religion of our world. A truth everyone knew and accepted.

"I know." I lowered my head onto my knees. "It doesn't make it any easier."

She stood, circling to sit cross-legged on the floor before me, lifting my chin with a finger. "Last week, I visited the bathhouse in Perth. I watched a woman wrestling her child to simply bathe. She slipped and fell, and that single act would have taken her life because she cracked her head on the tile. She had four children with her. I know it doesn't feel like it means something, but your burden saved her life. You must think of those moments, Dey."

"If I could?—"

"No. These thoughts will rot your mind. We've been doing this for ten years. Ten years of tattoos and sorrows and loathing yourself. When will it be enough?"

"The day you leave me."

"I am far from one hundred. We have so much time left together."

"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.