Chapter 28

He was beautiful. Fueled by anger and frustration, he sat against the door, with his head tilted back and eyes closed. I wanted to hate every last thing about him, but that was one thing I couldn't do. Still, I knew there had to be good in there. I'd felt a shred of kindness when we'd stood before that mirror, and he'd stared into my eyes. His words were lies, though. And maybe he truly was nothing more than a performer.

The chill from the evening settled into my bones. The dark tunnel didn't provide an ounce of warmth as I clutched my knees to my chest, avoiding the damp wall. The tall ceiling had been an obvious choice to move their contraptions back and forth, but trapped in the bowels of the cold earth, I loathed them all the same, knowing the heat, what little might reside down here, was likely lingering along the stone ceiling.

I turned my face away from Orin, staring instead down the long prison, wondering when the sun would rise, replaying all the moments that led us to this point. The second I'd laid eyes on that prick, my entire world had spiraled out of control. Now, essentially homeless, as poor as a drifter on Beggar's Row, perhaps eventually he'd push me so far that I'd become the villain he believed I was.

"Here."

It took every bit of self-control not to flinch at his proximity when I hadn't heard him move. I couldn't look at him. His suit jacket plopped down over me, and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see him planting his feet, as if waiting for the battle of wits to recommence.

"It is customary for a gesture of kindness to be followed by a thank-you. No rush, Deyanira. I'll wait for you to discover manners."

The sharp tang of metal filled my mouth as I bit my cheek to save him the tongue lashing. But when that fucking boot began to tap, when that cheerful whistle left those pouty lips, I leapt to my feet and shoved his jacket back at him. "I don't want your pity."

The coat fell unceremoniously to the damp floor.

He didn't move an inch. "I preferred you more when you thought I was groveling at your feet, promising love and an eternity of affection. You should smile more."

Rage—unbridled, cold, feminine rage exploded from me. I planted a palm into his chest, shoving him away. "You are the most selfish, infuriating, hypocritical, misogynistic pig I've ever laid eyes on. And that's saying something, considering I've prowled Requiem, stood in the grime of Beggar's Alley, hunted the Silk Road, and spent too many long nights in an opium den when I was younger. You're worse than the Maestro. I hope you know that. Gods. You're worse than the king."

"Which one? Alive or dead?" he asked with a smirk, as if he'd taken so much pleasure in my anger.

"You'd be worse than all of them if they crawled back from their graves as fucking monsters."

He shifted forward, right back into my comfort zone, resting a hand on the wall beside me, his body so warm against mine, I had to remind myself I hated him as he smirked. "Feeling warmer, Wife?"

I faltered for a second, realizing I'd played right into his hands. Baring my teeth, I snapped. "I hate you."

He leaned forward, his cheek pressed against my temple as the deep timbre of his voice raced down my spine. "I hate you, too."

I pushed him away again. "I don't think you do. I think you enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Every conversation is a battle, and every interaction is infuriating. You could try being nice, for once."

"I just handed you my jacket. I let you stay at my house."

I snorted. "The house you try to force me to stay inside?"

"The house that keeps you away from everyone that would rather see you dismembered than lurking on the streets."

"Because everyone thinks I'm out here murdering people because I want to."

His jaw tightened. "And why is that?"

"You're wrong." My hands shook. From the anger or the cold, I wasn't sure. "I've never killed a single person because I wanted to. I didn't ask for this. And the worst thing you can do is lock me away. If that were the answer, I'd still be rotting in my father's dungeon."

He faltered, but only for a second.

"You don't understand, and you never will. I can't stop it. If the power takes over, I will claw my way out of a prison. I'll tear the skin from my bones without a coherent thought in my mind to get to Death's victim. I will rip off my own arms. I'll fade into madness and kill everyone I can find until the name I'm given is dead. This magic is a burden. It's devastation. It's cruelty. And if I could stop it, I would. But Death's will trumps everything…" I paused, debating the vulnerability I didn't want to show. But I was weak. "And your hatred of me makes it ten times worse. I know it means nothing to you, but we are bound. And everyone else in my life is dead. It doesn't have to be this way." My voice broke on that final word. "I'm tired, okay? Just leave me alone."

I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm, forcing me to look at him. "I didn't know."

Breaking free of his grip, my shoulders fell. "Of course, you didn't. You never asked. You just assumed. Like everyone else. Just because Paesha and Althea had a choice with their magic before Drexel trapped them doesn't mean I do."

"Tell me why you came here. Why did I chase you all the way from Perth?"

I thought maybe a little truth would make him hate me less. Casting my eyes to the ground, I dug a toe into a groove between two carefully placed bricks that made up the tunnel floor. "I'm searching for the Life Maiden."

He barked a laugh, but when my head snapped up and I glared, he covered his mouth. "I'm sorry. It's not funny. Sorry."

Tiny wrinkles around his eyes betrayed his hidden smile. If he carried any guilt about hoarding secrets, about the missing power, they didn't show on his face at all. In fact, the surprise had cast further doubt on my initial assumption about him. The idea was so far-fetched. How could harboring life power make him a killer? How would the Maestro possibly have the sway to change magic? I was wrong. I'd have to start over, which made me bitter.

"What good are you doing for the world, Orin Faber? Tied to a man who collects people as servants and trades away children who trust him? And don't tell me that's not what happened with Quill. There's no way she was taken under everyone's nose without Drexel having something to do with it."

He stopped for a moment; the wrinkles vanished as his hand dropped from his face. Amber eyes searched mine for something I didn't think he'd find.

Eventually, he spoke, softer, more genuine, peeling away a layer of his mask. "I never claimed him to be a hero. If I could be free of him, I would be."

He rolled the sleeves of his collared shirt as if he'd needed a distraction. Those two bands, one that belonged to me and one to Drexel, sat like weights around his wrist. He rubbed them as if it would make them go away. But, of course, it didn't. I searched the muscles of his forearm, wondering if I'd see those black veins again or if it was a tattoo, and my mind had only played tricks on me, but nothing else marked his arms.

"I know you gave your freedom for your mother's. That's the only thing that allows me to close my eyes at night, knowing I sleep near a monster."

Bending down, he picked up the jacket from the floor and swiped a hand down it to clean the mud. "She told you?"

"She did," I said, leaning back against the wall for only a second before I remembered it was freezing cold.

"She's never been good with orders." A genuine smile lit his face, and it was the most handsome thing I'd ever seen. A moment of amenability before his gaze cut to mine, and he turned, brushing away the moment. "You might as well give up searching for the Life Maiden and focus on the missing people instead. If Paesha can't find her, there's no way you will. And the Maestro has commanded it, so it's not like she's giving a halfhearted effort. She has no choice."

"But why wouldn't she be able to find her?"

"Because she's never seen her, she doesn't have a name to hunt. She has no connection to her. You could tell her to find a red bootlace and she'd have it in less than three minutes. But with no point of reference, there's nothing for the magic to cling to."

"Wait. Missing people?"

"You don't know?"

I shook my head. "No clue what you're talking about."

"Perhaps we'll leave that for another time, then."

He held the jacket out toward me once more and lifted a brow. Letting my stubbornness falter, I took it, burying my arms into the sleeves that were far too big. It smelled like him. Of the perfumed oils he'd used to clean my hair and the soap he'd bathed in the river with. Of something masculine laced with something softer.

A moment became a lifetime as we stared at each other. I understood the toxicity with this man. The fighting and the anger. The hatred and the violence. I understood the desire even, living in the tension he'd curated the moment he'd stepped into my palace bedroom. But I didn't understand this moment. And I wasn't sure I could trust myself to work it out, given my jaded history. I knew sword fights. I didn't know people. Or genuine feelings.

"Thank you," I whispered. "For this."

His eyes darkened. "So civilized, Nightmare."

"Must you ruin every moment of peace?"

He stepped back into my space, and this time I didn't move away. "Every one." He curled an index finger under my chin, lifting my gaze, staring at me so closely that the golden flecks in his eyes shimmered. He was obsessed with touching me, it seemed.

"Are you waving your white flag, Husband?" I managed.

"Let's call it gray."

I smiled. "I don't think you understand the terms of war. People don't walk around with various shades of flags in their pockets, depending on their mood."

"I don't believe you know war either, Maiden," he whispered, long lashes kissing his cheeks as he blinked. "People don't just walk around threatening every single person they come into contact with when they feel uncomfortable."

"Oh, that's not war. That's self-preservation."

A thousand volts of lightning could have struck the ground around us, and I wouldn't have felt more charged than I did standing here before him, without the veils of anger. He was no more than a breath from me, staring down, and, though I didn't realize I'd been moving, my back collided with the wall. But he'd followed effortlessly. As if it were a dance, and I was the lead.

The cool embrace of the stones pressing against my back was not enough to break the trance. Though judging by the lazy gaze, perhaps I was the one beguiling him. But just as soon as that intoxicating moment passed, he pushed off the wall and stepped away.

"You should try to sleep."

I looked anywhere but at him, knowing I'd see the mask again. "It's too cold to sleep down here."

"Floor's dry by the door. It sits on an incline to help angle the props. You could use the jacket as a blanket if you want."

I didn't want to. I wouldn't fall asleep here. If I woke up in Death's court, I couldn't control what would happen when I came back to this reality. But I'd always preferred my own company, so I walked away.

The space was dry but still freezing, and though I'd put the jacket over my head so I could pretend I was alone, I just couldn't let myself trust him, even with Chaos gripped tightly in my hands. I held my breath, listening for him until my teeth chattered. A few times he puffed hot air into his hands, rubbing them to keep warm.

"Do you want your jacket back?" I peeked down the dark blue tunnel, through the small mercy of lights that'd remained on.

He smoothed his hands down his thighs but shook his head. "You keep it."

I lay my head back down, shivering, the cold so gripping I felt as if I'd bathed in an icy river and then rolled in a snowbank. My toes had long since gone numb. He paced and jumped around, and if I were sleeping, I'd probably have been woken and annoyed.

Sitting up again, I locked eyes with him. "We both know the solution here."

"We do," he said, blowing into his fingers again.

"Come on, then."

He stalked up the tunnel, his figure growing until he towered over me. "You sure, Maiden?"

"I'm going to start calling you Icky again if you don't call me Dey. I don't want to be the Maiden, and every time you say it, I want to slice your tongue from your mouth."

"You are so dramatic," he said, plopping down beside me.

"Dey," I followed.

He nudged me with a shoulder. "You are so dramatic, Dey… No… I think I like Nightmare the best. You're so dramatic, Nightmare."

"I hate you." I yawned.

We sat pressed together for hours. Until the cold waned and the conversation ran dry. Until my eyes grew heavy and his stories of performing grew slower.

"You can't let me fall asleep," I said for the third time.

"I'm not." He sighed. "Stay awake."

He wrapped his arm around me, and I listened to his heartbeat until it'd nearly lulled me to sleep.

The second my head nodded, he jammed a finger into my ribs. "Stay awake."

"How many hours do you think it's been?" I asked, forcing my sleepy eyes open.

"Three weeks."

His joke was the last thing I heard before the exhaustion took me.