Chapter 41

"This feels like a violation because I know how my power makes you feel, Paesha."

"Gresidia Fischer is bonded to Alec Fischer, who used to run deals with my father ages ago. Think about it, Dey. What happens if the Maestro finds out you've got a name? What if he already knows what happens if you're locked up with one? Do you think he won't use that against you to bind you to him? Besides, there are posters everywhere across Requiem. If you get captured by Icharius, you can't show up to perform, and again, we're fucked."

"Okay, you're right."

"I'm not saying I love this," she said, pushing a final pin into her hair. "But this isn't your choice either, and that has to count for something."

I swallowed the guilt of accepting her help as her power rippled. We sat in a room I'd hardly ventured to, the one where the meetings had once been held, before Orin called everything off that day he'd been furious with me. She smoothed her hands over the intricate map of Requiem, far more updated than the tapestry hanging in Drexel's office.

I held my breath, listening to her fingernails slide over the grooves of the fabric, while I waited.

Within minutes, she'd tapped the icon for the Gambler's Quarter in Silbath. "At least it's not too far from Misery's End. If it takes a while, you can go directly to the theater. There's an opium den right around here, and I'd bet my death she's headed that way."

I didn't want to admit that I knew exactly the one she'd spoken of. That I'd been in that hell hole once or twice.

"I hate rushing this."

She ignored my hesitation and jutted her chin toward the parchment in my hand. "Problem number two, now. Let's hear it."

I let the paper unroll across the map as Hollis and Althea stepped in to get a better look.

Maiden,

Whispers of fate, a deadly embrace,

Destiny bound in a dangerous chase.

He stands by your side, a phantom so near,

Near a god, a shadow to revere.

With weapons in hand, a dance they partake,

A tango of souls, eternity and pain at stake.

The stage is their battlefield, passion their cry,

Entangled in a waltz where truths and lies vie.

Ever yours,

DV

"Do you think he's found a way to make you kill someone?" Thea asked, pointing to the word deadly.

"The deal was clear," I said, beginning to pace. "He cannot ask me to do anything more than the rest of his performers do, nor can he ask me to kill anyone."

"Maybe he's done something wild and invited Death to the stage," Paesha said, pointing to the third and fourth line.

"That could be. Near a god might indicate Death, and he is revered." Hollis pulled a chair from the table and sat down heavily. "Imagine."

I shook my head. "He can't do anything to keep people from coming or clapping or standing. And the last line doesn't really make sense. But if Death shows up, no one will be brave enough to move."

"Technically, he's not stopping them, though," Thea whispered. "They could stand; they just won't."

"Then that's his loophole. But what's the solution?" Paesha took the opposite side of the table to pace, biting at a nail. "There's no true way for you to fight Death; the weapons would be pointless."

"That's it," Hollis said, banging a hand on the table as he stood. "You don't have to fight him. You have to make him leave before the timer is up. The crowd would cheer for that alone."

"Easy enough. I'll just ask him to kindly fuck off."

Thea snorted. "Great plan, team."

"No, seriously," Paesha said, freezing. "Can you ask him to leave?"

"I can ask him, but I don't think he'll listen."

"What could you offer him in exchange?"

Sucking in a sharp breath, I realized. "Words. I've never spoken to him in the Death Court, and he hates it."

"Never?" Thea drew backward, surprised.

I lifted a shoulder. "I bellowed in pain once, and he loved it so much I vowed to never make another sound in his court."

"I think it's time to break that vow, Maiden."

She hadn't screamed.Hadn't even acknowledged my presence as I stood before Gresidia Fischer, with Chaos in one hand and Serenity in the other. I'd felt sorry for her as she'd crumpled to the stained floor of the vacant opium den. But then I always did, to some degree.

Death had come and gone with little more than a sinister grin. Perhaps a promise to see me later. I wondered if I should have made the deal with him then, twisting the Maestro's plans. But I was not a fool. Not entirely. If I gave away that I knew anything at all, it would give him far more time to consider a bargain with me upon that stage. And the one thing the message had been clear about was the fact that we were meant to dance with weapons. I'd need every upper hand I could muster.

"And the weapons?"I asked, standing before a mirror in the warehouse with Althea and Hollis behind me.

Thea shifted her apron to the side, sliding a hammer into a loop on her belt. The dress was stunning, only revealing in the short length of the skirt and the plunge between my breasts. When I twisted, each golden tassel on the shimmering costume glistened and swayed, drawing my eyes to the motion and shape of my hips. Still, I was tired. Death's power always left its trace on the weight of my bones.

"I made this for you," Thea said, holding out a thin belt made of chain mail. "You can't cut the metal links, so you're less likely to lose your weapons if someone tries to slice it off, but you can still move in this without it being restrictive."

"It's beautiful."

"Thanks." She beamed. "Took a little bit to make the gold strong enough, but I think I've worked out the kinks."

"Maiden?" Genevieve's voice crept over my shoulder. "The Maestro has asked to see you in his office."

"Why?" Hollis, Thea, and I asked in unison.

She shrugged, taking a tentative step backward. "Only the messenger, I'm afraid."

"You'll be okay," Thea said, gripping my hand as she always did.

After all these months, the connection no longer jarred me.

"Of course, I will. Any word on Paesha?"

"She's in three numbers tonight, but she's meeting with some others," she said, glancing around, "to tell them of the name change. Just in case anyone has any ideas. She said, ‘Respectfully, don't forget to move your hips.'"

"Somehow, I'm doubting the respectfully bit. Does Orin know yet?"

"He and I got into a fight earlier when I was trying to tell him, and he stormed out. Something's…" Her eyes began to water.

Squeezing those fingers back, I leaned in. "He's got a lot on his plate right now. The Maestro isn't making his life easy, and I'm afraid I'm not either. Try not to take it too personally."

She forced a smile, a tear falling anyway. "We better go, Hollis."

I decided not to run through the tunnel in case the plan was to try to delay everything by indirectly imprisoning me. It only took me a few minutes to jog across the street, wind my way through the crowd, and force the guards at the back door to let me in.

Approaching the office, I lifted a fist to knock, but before I could connect, it swung open to reveal Orin, red-faced and furious, dressed in the most perfectly tailored black suit I'd ever seen him wear. I stumbled back, searching his eyes for whatever might've happened, but he brushed past me without so much as a second glance. And I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge the sting. To hate me when it was only him and I was one thing, but to do it so publicly was another.

"Maiden, please come in." The purr of Drexel's theatrical voice raked down my spine, causing my flesh to rise, begging me to shake away the disgusting sound. "Close the door behind you."

I did no such thing, choosing to stand in the doorway with my arms crossed. "What do you want, Drexel?"

He clicked his tongue behind his teeth, shaking his head. "It will always be a battle of wits with you, I see."

"No. It would take two competent parties to form a battle, and from where I'm standing, your side of the room is lacking the requirements. What do you want?"

His smile was nauseating. "Only to wish you good luck this evening. Your first night was a surprise for both of us, I believe."

"No. No. I'm quite sure watching your stage burn was a shock to you, but your little act of darkness was no surprise to me at all."

"Not one teensy bit?"

"If that's all, I really have to get back. I was busy being busy."

He thrummed thick fingers over his desk. "Sounds awful."

Rolling my eyes, I pushed off the door and walked away, calling over my shoulder. "I can assure you there are worse things."

"Break a leg, Maiden. Or two, if you feel so inclined."

I couldn't help my smile. There was no doubt in my mind he'd genuinely meant that. I'd won that little battle.

"Stay close?"I asked Paesha as she panted from the side of the stage.

She'd just performed the most erotic dance I'd ever seen, removing layers of clothing only to reveal smaller layers beneath. She'd hung from the ceiling by a strap on her wrist and spun until the stage seemed to swallow her whole. She was a dream, and there was just no way I could follow such a talent.

"Promise," she managed. "Quill's all set. I've asked her not to watch, though."

"Good plan. Death is beautiful but terrifying, and she's easily manipulated."

"Tell me about it," Thea said, joining Paesha's side.

"Don't forget your goal here. It'll be a tango. Flip that dress around, twirls, touching, keep your feet moving until the music is still. You have to pull a blade. The audience is most likely to respond to you if you're giving deadly lust. Don't hold back, Dey."

Watching every prop dragged from the pitch-black floor forced my pulse to quicken. Nothing smelled of smoke from the fire; no signs of damage plagued the dark burlesque. Quill's golden cage had even been polished. She swung from her perch with a giant rainbow sucker, watching the audience with an innocent smile.

The lights finally fell, indicating Misery's End was ready for her final act, though I was confident the onlookers were not. Steeped in lush magic, holding them to their seats, keeping their hearts surging, the end would surely leave them aching for more.

My heart pounded in rhythm with the bass drum that echoed through the theater, beckoning me from the side of the stage. I gazed out into the darkness opposite of me, the shadows concealing the identity of my partner, though the hourglass had been turned. I didn't want to bargain with Death any more than I had with the Maestro, but I'd have to accept it and trade one brand of evil for another.

A surge of shock raced through me like lightning as the spotlight sliced through the darkness, revealing an unexpected figure. It wasn't Death shrouded in the fearful depths of shadows he relished, but Orin, his anger radiating from him like an aura, his eyes darker than I had ever witnessed. Despite his presence, the audience's focus barely shifted. Their attention remained steadfast on center stage, their gazes captivated by Death's Maiden. By me.

The low bellow of a masculine voice ripped across the theater in a growl as another light ignited, rimming the singer standing in the center of the orchestra pit in a vibrant red hue.

Orin stalked forward. I matched the cadence of his steps as the music built, closing the distance between us, swaying, each step firm and deliberate, with Chaos and Serenity beaming in the spotlights. Black eyes stared into my soul as he reached for my waist, forcing me against him. He would lead this dance of seduction.

"Arm up," he ordered so only I could hear him.

I raised my hand, and he snatched it, his massive fingers engulfing mine.

"Move with me, Deyanira." Orin's commanding voice was a purr and growl, and I melted a touch in his embrace.

But there was no time for swooning over a dangerous man when the angry music roared to life, and he whipped me around, tassels flying, and locked my arm behind his neck, my back colliding with his broad chest. The way his calloused fingers, rough from playing his cello, slid down the bare skin on my arm, sent a rush of heat directly through me. Orin's warm breath trickled along the sensitive curve of my neck.

The passion laced with anger was unending when he spoke. "This is the price we both pay for your careless bargain."

"Is it so painful to be seen in public with me?"

"Painful? No."

His hand creeping across my stomach, splayed wide to hold me firm to his chest, he stomped and swayed, and before I could catch a breath, he spun me again.

"Foolish. Yes."

Quill's magic felt different, pounding through the room in a thick coating of lust. More than intrigue, more than awe. It was suffocating.

We glided across the floor in a rhythm that was charged with tension, gazes locked on each other. Every moment between us to this point, every fiery argument, and every lingering touch raced through my mind.

He dipped me, holding me by the small of my back while trailing a single finger down the exposed skin between my breasts so very slowly. I gasped, nearly slipping, praying he would go lower, crowd be damned.

"Focus," he demanded.

Jerking me upward, Orin stopped mid-turn, yanking me in, staring directly into my soul as he lifted my thigh, until those thick fingers pressed firmly into flesh, stretching every muscle, testing just how limber I could be.

"Does it feel good? To show them you're my weakness, Wife?"

His confession shocked me, but he must have known it would. The mischievous grin that inched across his beautiful face gave him away and heated me thoroughly. He danced with perfect grace and posture, and though each powerful grip was met with stone-cold eyes at the beginning of the song, somewhere in the middle, the thin line of his pouty lips had faded. He'd softened. Whipping me around, yanking us together over and over. Immersed in the power that held us both writhing with desire.

I wanted him to touch me. To slide his fingers over a body that thrummed for him alone until he could feel just how much I needed him. But when I circled him, fingers splayed across his broad chest, I could see the same in his eyes. I could feel the reaction to my touch in the way he pulsed, leaned toward me, and responded to only me. And gods, did I love the command of him. The weakness we'd shared as his gaze burned into mine. All eyes were glued to us, watching as that handsome creature seduced me on a stage of lies, just as the poem had said.

Instead of removing Quill, as had been my fear, the Maestro had likely asked to use her magic more powerfully at this moment because he had planned to use it against me to create a distraction. Probably she'd agreed because, to an innocent child, that might've been helpful, if not for the fiery passion that already held the space between us charged with tension. This was a place Orin and I were intimately familiar with.

Drexel's plan might have worked, had Orin not been so perfectly clever and wholly aware of the games his boss played. He had never let me falter. Never once loosened his grip. Perhaps his confession of weakness was a lie, but I could see the desperation on his face. Could feel the small gasp and smaller exhale every time I touched him.

The music slowed, still a genuine spice to the sharp notes, but a challenge, nonetheless, forcing our bodies together as our feet stilled. That grip of his was unwavering. He reached between my legs. I had no clue what he was doing, what our next move would be, but at that moment, I didn't care. When he lifted, spinning me as I stretched, the only thing I could think of was how close he was to parts of me that could've been his.

I landed soundlessly, and again, the music took off, carrying us across the stage, locked in each other"s arms.

"Your blades, Nightmare," he rumbled into my ear as soon as he'd pressed me up against the icy exterior of the giant, golden hourglass. "Focus."

I'd nearly forgotten, so swept up in him and the way he'd consumed me flawlessly. Removing the latch that held Chaos in place, I waited until we were nose-to-nose again. The next dramatic note, I whirled away, pausing at the final graze of our fingertips before slicing the knife through the air with another spin, fully in control as the crowd gasped the second my dagger landed upon his throat without so much as nicking him.

He hadn't flinched. He'd trusted me so fully, so uncomfortably, I nearly stumbled on the heel of my gold stilettos. Completely unphased, in one sudden motion, he struck, stepping forward, weapon be damned, and grabbed my throat.

The music grew into a glorious escalation, drums, strings, even the singer dragged my anxious nerves to an absolute peak as I managed a glance at the fading grains of sand seeping through the funnel of the hourglass, swallowing around his grip.

"Forgive me," he whispered seconds before I dropped the blade, and his lips captured mine with an intensity that ignited an inferno within me. It was a kiss born of passion and aggression; a collision of conflicting emotions that melded into something all-consuming. His mouth was demanding yet tender, his grip on me unyielding yet gentle. Our lips moved with a desperation that spoke of months of tension, of battles waged and unexplored desires.

The world fell away as the kiss deepened, becoming a whirlwind of sensations that left me dizzy and yearning for more. In that stolen breath of time, the winds had changed, our hostility transformed into a fusion of need, a realization that the lines between lust and conflict were blurred beyond recognition. When we finally pulled away, our foreheads touching, I knew that this kiss had rewritten the rules of our dance, setting us on an unknown path.

The theater was quiet. Absolutely, deathly still. And then, as if a dam had burst, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause and cheers that reverberated through the theater. The sound was deafening, a tidal wave of approval crashing over us. It wasn't just our dance they celebrated; it was the raw intensity, the palpable connection that had ignited between us and blazed to life in that unforgettable kiss. And my husband had absolutely conducted that.

He bowed quickly once before walking off the stage as if nothing had happened. I watched him go, feeling every gaping inch he placed between us as fast as he could. But when I turned back, the crowd who'd stood so boldly faded into darkness as the back of the theater burst to life, every guard, every man at Icharius Fern's disposal pouring in, weapons drawn, all eyes on me.