Chapter 4

Lugging a giant guard through the narrow passageways of Silbath's castle was not how I'd envisioned my day going. In fact, I could think of exactly five hundred and seventy-two other things I'd rather be doing. I'd counted with each fucking step I'd hauled the bastard.

He'd be found too quickly near the council chambers. If not by a nosy servant, then by a courtesan seeking the king or another high-ranking scumbag. I'd have to get him into a space that no one would stumble across, and, unfortunately for me, that meant going all the way around the central meeting rooms, far beyond the kitchens, and toward one of the old bedrooms that were no longer used. The king had no children. Most of the rooms of his castle housed more dust than dignitaries.

When he woke up, he'd be in pain for days. If not for the pounding headache, then from getting the shit beat out of him as I dragged him, unceremoniously, over rocks, through rats' nests, and even into a few walls when his body didn't want to turn the way I needed it to. Even still, it wouldn't be enough to keep him silent.

Once we were far enough away, I slipped the vial of poison from a hidden pocket. Double-checking that my mask was secure to avoid the fumes, I pried his drooling mouth open and deposited three drops on his tongue. But as I surveyed his body one final time, I added one more for good measure.

"You won't die," I promised. "But you're going to hate your life for at least a week. You're welcome."

I ran back through to gather his gear and dropped it with him on the way out. He didn't move an inch when the heavy steel landed on his torso. Maybe four drops were overkill.

Two days later,I forwent the mask, opting for something that would blend in a crowd. Still, dresses weren't for me, but I twisted my dark hair out of my face, donned a simple blonde wig, applied red lipstick, and went for a long brown cloak with a deep hood. A perfect disguise I'd used several times, because no one outside of my father's castle ever looked hard enough. Though children were scarcer now, with no Life Maiden around, there were still a few. And if I weren't disguised, their mothers would clench their shoulders, hiding them away as I passed, teaching them without words that a Death Maiden would always be someone to fear.

They were not wrong. But then the people would talk, giving me away. And the magic was already thrumming within me, pushing me to study the name etched into my palm. To visualize Bram Ellis's death and deliver his body.

I rarely went a full day without stalking my victim. Never two. But these special circumstances had required a different kind of reconnaissance. By the time I set out to fulfill my duty as Maiden, I knew the exit plan for my mark to leave Silbath's castle. I knew which carriage he'd be in and who would ride with him, as well as the names of all of his closest companions, their bonded wives, their whores, and even which bathhouse most of them frequented, though most of that knowledge had come from previous trips to the castle.

Bram Ellis preferred an opium den owned by the Maestro blocks away from the Dancing Ghost, and that would be my backup plan, should tonight go to shit. But the theater would be the better option. He'd travel alone afterward, giving me a ten-minute window.

I'd only need one.

Giant black crows rested on glowing streetlamps, watching the dark, misty world from their posts, as the richest and vilest of Requiem gathered outside of Misery's End, the Maestro's dark burlesque show. Years ago, my father refused his request to open his theater in Perth, but the Silbath king feared him more. Though no one used his given name, Drexel Vanhoff was, at his core, a magic-bearing crime lord anyone would have been hard-pressed to go toe to toe with. Many of our kingdom's people donned the Maestro's blue bands around their arms, proof they'd become magically bound to the repugnant man.

I kept to the back of the building a few blocks down, pacing as I waited for the line of carriages to descend upon the infamous theater, adrenaline racing as I felt the danger to my very core. Like clockwork, the Maestro arrived first. The spokes of his carriage imitated the keys of a grand piano, and the black iron doors were molded to replicate curtains. Polished boots splashed in a puddle as he exited, placing his signature top hat upon his head and flexing his fingers in leather gloves. I couldn't see his face from here, but I knew the scar down his cheek would be there. The mark of a man that even I would rather avoid. A man who had hunted me since I was a child.

Five women wearing just enough fabric and feathers to cover their bits accompanied him as he leaned on the cane he didn't need. He waved to the growing crowd, his coat tails shifting along his calves as he followed his personal guard inside.

The king of Silbath was next. And though he did not don the adoration of those gathered, they still managed to bow and silence themselves as he and his entourage entered Misery's End. Death's magic roared in my veins, urging me to follow, to stalk, to kill.

The patrons would enter through the front of the building instead of the back. I contemplated the rooftop access, but the Maestro's security was infamous and brutal. I didn't need extra roadblocks tonight, knowing what was to come, so I hid the weapons they'd take at the door. Each harbinger carried themselves differently. Most commanded attention and were unapologetically ruthless, killing for Death less than they killed for themselves, but I preferred solitude and respite from people.

Stashing my weapons and circling the building to the main entrance, I managed to slip into the line in front of two women fighting over the man between them. I didn't need to go in, and probably shouldn't, but there were few places in Silbath I'd never been, and knowledge was always power. Anytime I'd hunted a patron obsessed with the scandalous show, I waited until after the curtains fell, content to end them in their sleep. Due to the nature of this kill, I'd need to keep eyes on Bram Ellis at all times. Anything could change in an instant, and if I didn't kill him soon, the magic would completely consume me, driving me to madness until I took him out. And when I was pushed that far, carnage followed. I'd learned the hard way that nothing fed Death's magic like murder. Copious amounts of it, if I lost control. So, I'd stay nearby and keep my wits about me. The ramifications of this night would already be severe without mistakes.

A hulking man at the door, with fists the size of sledgehammers, stood beside a beautiful tanned woman with stunning eyes, one green and one blue, who surveyed the crowd as thoroughly as I had, though she was dressed in a sheer gown. A performer watching the door. Interesting. Her gaze landed on me for mere seconds before she moved on, searching for something, or someone. When I approached to enter, the man held an arm out to stop me.

"You're new."

I narrowed a glare. "You're observant."

The woman cleared her throat but did not speak.

"It's three coins to enter, four if you're looking for work. Did Lady Visha send you?"

I drew an even breath, pulling coins from a small bag in my pocket. "I'm not a whore."

The woman piped up, assessing me with an unamused sneer. "Spoken like a member of high society. Anyone worth their death knows most of the women ensnared are not whores. They're too poor or too indebted to save themselves."

I handed over the coins without responding and slipped inside the theater. She was right, of course. And that was why I didn't begrudge this world its disgusting nature. We were simply a product of our self-inflicted misery.

The entry room was no more than two grand staircases to the left and right. People pressed into me, shoving me toward the group of guards dressed in all black, siphoning us into a single file line.

"If you have any weapons, now's the time to say," the closest said, gesturing for me to turn around.

I had to tilt my head back to look into his mutilated face. "No weapons," I answered, omitting the tiny throwing knives sewn into the hem of my dress.

Rough hands trailed down my spine, making my skin crawl. I gasped, trying to remember the last time anyone other than Ro had touched me. Years. It'd been years. He slipped one hand up the inside of my thigh, the salacious look on his face turning my stomach as he moved down the other side, enjoying his job far too much.

He gripped my ass, and I stumbled forward before rounding on him. "Touch me again, and I promise you'll be eating the rest of your meals through a fucking straw."

"I doubt that, sweetheart, but it sounds like a good night. Come find me after the show."

"Go fuck yourself."

He sniffed the hand he'd groped me with. "Maybe I will."

"Keep it moving," another guard from down the line shouted, pinning me with a stare as if I'd been the one to hold everyone up.

Shuffling forward, I hustled up one side of the grand staircase and stepped into a different world. A world of elegant obsidian finishes and dim lighting focusing down on a stage draped in black velvet curtains. The outside of the building gave nothing away to indicate such finesse lay within. Its decayed edifice fit right in, mere blocks from an opium den. This was why my father hated and feared the Maestro in equal measure. His wealth and power and his ability to bind people into magical contracts made him the uncrowned third king. He had every opportunity to conceal himself in plain sight, and an unofficial army of prisoners to protect him.

I let my fingers trail up the carved railing, trying desperately to keep the awe from my face. Entering Misery's End was like stepping through one of Ro's mirrors and into a different world and time, though paintings of naked people, lost in the throes of passion, adorned the walls. Somehow that vision in dark alleyways sickened me, but here, they were perfectly placed, as if each tousle of a woman's hair, each strain of masculine muscle told a beautiful, passionate story.

The theater, bathed in a palette of black and gold, seemed to pulse as I entered. Opulent chandeliers suspended above dripped with cascades of shimmering crystals, which cast scattered shards of light that danced playfully across the dimly lit space, hinting at a giant birdcage just to the right of the stage, though I couldn't see much of it beyond the darkness.

"First time?"

I whipped around, surprised to find a polished man standing beside me, running his fingers through thick brown hair. I noticed the weapons before anything else. The kick-engaged blade embedded into his left boot, the stiff wrist indicating a hidden knife in his sleeve, the leather whip on his side, and the obvious emerald-encrusted dagger sitting comfortably in his belt.

The lower half of his face remained hidden beneath a mask, but he was neatly draped in a green tailored suit, the richness of the fabric accentuating his broad chest, coattails cascading gracefully behind him.

"It is," I answered, looking back at the drapery, moving the wig so it covered more of my face.

"Don't let the Maestro see you admiring his handy work. He loves to collect pretty girls. If you have a weakness, he'll hunt you down and exploit it."

I gripped the railing in front of me. "I have no weakness."

The smoky tone of his deep voice coiled around me as he chuckled, cinnamon eyes glinting. "Everyone's got a weakness, sweetheart. Some just don't know what it is until it's too late."

"I'll keep that in mind." Pausing, I spun to face him, shocked to see the way he held eye contact with me. If only he knew I was Death's weapon… Even now, a small tendril of magic wove around my heart, begging me to swipe his blade and plunge it into his heart. "What's with the whip?"

He lifted a shoulder, never looking away. "Makes me look tougher."

"You might want to reevaluate that. Maybe try a hammer or a hellhound or something."

An onslaught of wrinkles formed around his charming eyes, giving away his hidden smile. "I'll keep that in mind during the show."

"You're a performer?"

"I am many things," he said, as if it were a promise to himself. "But tonight, I'll be the final act on a new mission to leave you breathless. Gotta see if I can find a dog before then."

I lifted a brow. "If you're doing something sensual, maybe skip the dog."

He smoothed a hand down his lapel, leaning toward me, that hint of a smile peeking through again. "Guess I'll have to reevaluate the whole performance, then."

"Might be for the best."

A single sharp chord of music, a bow across tightly wound strings, echoed through the hall.

"That's my cue. Happy gawking, first-timer."

I glared. "I wasn't gawking."

He answered without looking back. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

A swell of pain burned its way through my veins. I'd denied the magic for longer than it would allow. The second the throbbing started, I nearly ran to get eyes on my victim, just to soothe the growing pain. I searched for a seat with a perfect view of my target. The king and his council sat in a special section high above everyone else, though Bram's dark eyes stared at the stage in wonder.

Rather than moving down into the audience, I found another set of stairs, which were strangely unoccupied. The lights went out, and I took the opportunity to slip into a vacant box directly across from my target, with a perfect view of the stage to satiate my curiosity, while still tracking, still letting the magic thrum.

Barely dressed women with feathers for collars and jewels for undergarments traipsed through the section across from me, delivering drinks and flirting with the handsy king. Some bore red rings around their wrists, but most had blue. Each one was a magically binding debt to Lady Visha or the Maestro.

The sharp click of a cane colliding with the stage floor stole my focus. A foreign sense of anticipation swelled within me, matching the crescendo of murmurs and whispers in the growing audience that was pouring in. Time seemed to slow, as if the world held its breath, waiting for the Maestro to seduce them with his spectacle. Each of my muscles relaxed, one by one, the intoxicating thrill of the unknown baiting me. Drawing me in.

"Welcome," the Maestro shouted, his voice carrying around the full theater in perfect pitch, "to a place where seduction and secrets intertwine, where dreams and desires find their stage and consume your senses to leave you trembling in ecstasy. Every movement, every touch will be carefully choreographed to awaken the depths of your darkest appetites." Drexel Vanhoff commanded his silent audience, enthralling them with his smooth tone. He paced back and forth, promising a show unlike any other, and I fell deeper and deeper into the growl of his words. Until his gaze snapped to me. Until I knew, without a doubt, he saw me hidden in the shadows. Until a serpentine smile crept in, distorting the scar and lifting the curl in his red mustache. He seemed to speak only to me, his enchanting voice curling around my ear until the hair on my arms stood. "Tonight, my dear, I"ll show you a world where pleasure and need intertwine, where submission and dominance create a symphony of lust."

I could feel every inch of my skin. As if he'd somehow touched me with his words. I couldn't stand it, yet I couldn't look away. I forced thoughts of Bram Ellis into my mind, coaxing the magic forward to overpower whatever hold the Maestro seemed to have over me. The second the desire to kill forced my eyes to Bram, I sucked in a sharp breath and considered leaving the theater immediately.

Before I could talk myself into straying from the plan, the lights went out, thrusting the entire theater into pitch black. A minor piano chord played, the dramatic sound the only one heard as a spotlight sprung to life on the ceiling, pinpointing a single diamond. As the light grew, revealing two strings of jewels hanging from the ceiling, a feminine voice as pure as honey encompassed the room, stealing my breath. The light fell onto the singer, and my heart stopped. She hung from the ceiling on a diamond swing, her body bathed in a shimmer with only enough yellow rhinestones to cover her nipples. With her long legs crossed, I couldn't tell if she was naked from the waist down or not.

The audience gasped, collectively moving to the edges of their seats as the woman sang her song, swinging back and forth in tune with the music now seeping from the orchestra pit directly in front of the stage.

No one breathed when her final note was sung. They simply stared in awe as the stunning woman leaned all the way back in her swing until she was parallel to the floor and screamed just as the light flickered out. Seconds later, the stage was lit, and the woman and her diamond swing were nowhere to be seen.

I scanned the shadows, looking for her, refusing to let my mind be tricked by the Maestro and his show. But as if he'd anticipated that, the drums began to beat, and the stage filled with men, completely naked, covering their fronts with varying shades of feathers. My heart thrummed in my chest with every pound of the drums. Each turn the muscled men took awoke something inside of me, their lithe bodies every bit as alluring as their master had promised.

They moved together, faces fierce and forward as women in matching feathers cascaded onto the stage from either side. The audience erupted into cheers, breaking my trance enough to spy on Bram Ellis. His only movement since last I looked was the slackened jaw. I took a step away, but the second I considered leaving, the music took a sharp turn, and a row of spotlights turned red, pouring down onto a giant birdcage.

The men on stage trailed their fingers over the bodies of the women, stretching their muscles and bending as they danced together in a way I'd never seen before. They moved as one pulse, one beat at a time toward the cage until the women were all inside. The men slipped into the darkness at the back of the stage as all eyes were meant to follow the women. Feathers were removed one by one until the cage held fourteen completely bare women, still dancing with the rhythm of the haunted music pouring over us.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to listen and not watch. To focus on reality until I realized the truth behind Drexel Vanhoff's sensual show. Magic. A thick layer crept up the walls and permeated the air, gripping every patron by the throat and holding them in their seat, forcing them to sit, to stay, to drown. And most of the people in this room didn't have enough experience with magic to recognize its talons.

As the night carried on, Death"s magic thrummed below my skin, hunting for violence and begging to be unleashed. My fingers trembled as I fought the madness within me. Distracting myself, I studied the footwork of the dancers, pushing away the compulsion to kill.

I'd trained with my father's guard until I could best ten at once, and it usually came down to footwork. A fighter's tell was either in his feet or his eyes. When I stopped, he'd told me it was because I had nothing more to learn, but years later, I'd heard it was because the men grew scared. That's when the Maestro's henchmen slowly started circling. As if he'd heard I'd stopped training and it would somehow make me weaker.

Drexel used to send lavish gifts to the castle when I was a child. My father would make me sit and watch as he burned every single one. A lesson in self-indulgence he'd said, warning me that the Maestro was the most dangerous person in Requiem, and should I ever be captured by him, I'd never be welcomed home, and if I came back, he'd find a way to seal me in a box. As if I was ever truly welcome in the first place. But still, the lectures had wrapped around my heart like steel until the Maestro became a common enemy between me and my father. And as I grew, I'd learned the reason. If captured and bound to the Maestro, my life, my free will, would be lost forever.

His men had closed in a few times, but it became clear early on that, though the Maestro could have forced them to capture me, and they'd be magically bound in a never-ending pursuit, none were relentless enough. He hadn't used his power. Not yet, though I wasn't sure why.

Eventually, sweat beaded, coating my heated skin.

Look at the name,the internal voice of madness demanded.

I could look if I wanted. I should look. Appease the pressure to move. To get my weapons. To hunt. To kill.

To kill.

Time was nearing for Bram Ellis. I rose, eager to leave, denying the magic that tried to keep my eyes glued to the stage. When the cool night air kissed the back of my neck, I sighed in relief. There was something unsettling about Misery's End and the Maestro's curated world of choreographed lust. It was one thing to witness a tupping in a dark alleyway, but it was quite another to see it dished up for entertainment.

The carriages I needed had been perfectly tucked away right where I'd planned for them to be. And though one of Drexel's guards paced before them, it was nothing at all to sneak past after I'd gotten my hidden blades and helped myself inside the carriage trimmed in gold. I waited in the shadows, wishing I'd brought my mask. I found a modicum of comfort in killing as the Death Maiden, and not as Deyanira Sariah Hark.

Death's magic coiled down and down, the anticipation taking over every last ounce of control I could muster. When the door swung open and the drunk man crawled inside, resting his head across from me with bloodshot eyes, the magic burst. I tried like hell to fight it, even though I'd prepared myself. The monster, Death's weapon, would not be deterred. The slice across his throat was clean. The blood spatter was not. He gasped and gurgled as the cart lurched forward. Somewhere far, far away I heard the sound of a haunting cello pouring over the night as I watched and waited for Bram Ellis to die and Death to steal his soul while I sat in a carriage smothered in blood.

"The name.Give me the name so we can be done with this." My father's cold eyes bore into my soul as I clasped my hands, no longer burdened by a name, behind my back. I hadn't wanted to tell him. Of all the names in the world, not this one. Still, I obeyed. "Bram Ellis."

He shot off his throne faster than I'd seen him move in years. "Surely I've misheard you."

I shook my head.

"You killed the fucking king of Silbath, Deyanira?"