Chapter 44

One hundred seventy-six, Lysander Claude.

One hundred seventy-seven, Elara Vossen.

Names.

People.

Faces.

Souls.

Those that I'd reaped danced through my mind like a severed string of pearls dropping to the marble floor of my father's throne room. With my back against the wall of Thea's tunnel hours later, alone and wary, seconds melded into minutes, into hours recklessly. Once Orin had convinced his mother and the three Syndicate members who were not linked to the Maestro to go back to the apartment, I'd been left alone with my thoughts.

The hall beyond was abuzz with excitement, performers whispering of the gathered crowds and the unforgettable show that was promised. My name had never been uttered on so many lips. Drexel's plan, in full swing.

One hundred seventy-eight, Matthijs Rademaker.

One hundred seventy-nine, Seraphina Klaase.

The others had gone hours ago, slipping into the line of performers one by one to prepare for whatever tonight's show would bring without friction. And while I imagined they'd dressed in their finest, keeping Hollis on his toes, I also pictured Orin, sitting before his polished cello on a dark stage, a single spotlight on him as he poured every worry, every truth, and every lie into those notes he'd so carefully crafted.

His kiss lingered on my lips even now, alone and hidden in a hallway, letting the nerves the Maestro had conducted so flawlessly build to a crescendo, reminding me that the anticipated fear was far more potent than unexpected fear. A well-crafted plan.

"Deyanira?" Thea's whispered voice surged through me. She pressed the door open to peek around the corner, eyes sinking as she took me in. "It's clear, but we have to hurry. The show's about to start."

I jerked back in surprise. "It is? Is it late already?"

"Orin wanted to wait so you couldn't be locked in anywhere else. Genevieve has your performance orders, and Hollis is ready to dress you backstage."

We slipped out of the secret space, and I hurried through the mass of performers, most dressed in little more than lace and strategically placed feathers. Tentative eyes landed on me as we rushed. Each one of them held their breath as if I'd pluck them from their spot in line and kill them without a thought.

I turned my face to stone, cool calm pouring over me. I used to think the shadows protected me from other's fear of my presence, but the reality was, they only kept me from seeing it. There would be no hiding today, not as I was put on display, ready to perform whatever dance or fight or song the Maestro demanded. He couldn't ask me to do anything more than the other performers, and in this moment, when all eyes would be on me, I was grateful for the forethought of that contingency.

"Quickly now," Hollis said, pulling the black leather outfit he'd given me for my birthday from a rack of sequined gowns and elaborate masks and jewels.

"How did this get here?" I asked, heart thundering as all the pieces fell into place.

His eyes were as sad as my own as I slipped into the outfit I'd loved so thoroughly.

"He doesn't want me hiding who I am. He wants to parade me before everyone like a puppeteer."

"I've been his puppet for many years, Little Dove. I promise you'll still open your eyes tomorrow, and sometimes that's the only silver lining of a day conducted by Drexel Vanhoff."

I took a steadying breath, gripping his hand as Quill's magic filled the arena, and the music from the orchestra pit sprung to life. Hollis handed me each of my blades, and after I'd strapped them on, he held a small leather box with a golden skull embedded into the top toward me.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

I flipped open the lid and gasped. Lifting the necklace from within, I studied the intricate little flower, embedded with a ruby stone that matched the ones in Chaos and Serenity's hilts.

"The flower was Orin's idea. The stone was Paesha's. The chain was from Thea, and I stitched the box. Whatever happens tonight, Deyanira, we are with you. Bargaining for our freedom in place of your own will probably be the greatest feat of your life. But regardless of the crowd's final moment, you are ours now as much as we are yours." The old man cleared the lump in his throat, his voice turning hoarse. "I never had a daughter, but if I did, I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have her be more like."

My eyes shifted between the cerulean blue of his, taking in every wrinkle, every age mark, every sign of kindness on his weathered face. I could hardly manage a breath. "I'm scared."

He took the necklace from my hands and circled me to clasp it before spinning me around. "You are brave, and you are strong. There's a light in you. Being scared only makes you human, Deyanira. Not flawed."

"Maiden?" Genevieve held the final scroll out to me.

The crowd roared to life, filling the air backstage with so much applause and screaming, I nearly dropped the rolled parchment.

"They're in a mood tonight," she warned tentatively before hustling away.

"Of course they are. He's promised them the show of a lifetime." Orin's voice was like a balm. An anchor in a tumultuous sea of trepidation.

"I didn't think I'd see you," I admitted, taking a second to admire the pressed coattails and top hat as he shifted firmly to my side.

Each time I'd encountered Orin, up until this moment, kindness was a chore. A battle to wage before there was light. But, as if something had twisted, as if our kiss had changed the game, he'd come without a storm. Without fury and madness. Only him. A semblance of the man I'd married on that rooftop with dreams of a peaceful world and a wife that'd chosen him, even when he hadn't truly had the same choice.

"He would have had to cut my arms and legs off to keep me away," he purred into my ear. "What's the performance?"

Hollis moved to my other side as I gripped the silk ribbon bow and tugged. The theater fell silent beyond the rush of my thudding heartbeat.

Maiden,

Good Luck.

DV

"What is that supposed to mean?" Orin asked, ripping the scroll away to read over the words before flipping the page back and forth. "Didn't the other ones have more information?"

"Yes," I said numbly as the lights flickered on and off.

He squeezed my hand before placing it into Hollis's. "I'm up. You'll figure it out. Okay? Just be careful. There are guards in the crowd, and I think the king is in the box with the boss."

"He's here?"

The lights flickered again.

He nodded, taking two steps away before coming back to kiss me soundly. "Be so careful," he whispered.

The reflection of worry on his face and the crease in his brow conjured the same feelings in me. I'd never been able to figure out the Maestro ahead of time before, but I wasn't sure I could worry about that. Not with the king present, his men close by, and Quill on full display.

"Deyanira," Hollis said as I tugged him through the performers packing the sides of the stage when the music began. "Perhaps we should stay away from the stage until it's time for you to go out."

"Why would we?—"

My words were clipped short by the reflection of a sequin bouncing across his face. I whipped around, expecting the stage to hold Orin and his cello, only to find him dancing with four completely naked women, save the glittering high heels. He slung a hand out to the side, taking the waist of one woman while he spun another, and the crowd was eating it up. His movements were slow. As slow as they had been with me. Jealousy raged through me like a storm before I was even prepared for the emotion.

His eyes. They would betray his conviction, I was sure of it. For whatever he might've been forced by his uncle to do, I'd know and feel the truth there. I'd only needed him to spin my way. But he held his back to me, falling to his knees before one of the women, grabbing her thigh as she flung a bare leg onto his shoulder. He could have tasted her. Right there in front of the entire crowd. My stomach turned. My whole body became numb.

"Little Dove," Hollis said.

But I couldn't respond. I couldn't move at all when I watched the woman dance away, and he crawled across the floor on his knees for her.

Look at me,I pleaded. Look at me, godsdamnit.

I needed to see it in his eyes. The repulsion. The anger.

Another woman danced forward, using a giant handheld fan of feathers to block her naked body as she twirled around him, chin low, eyes seductive as fingers trailed across his heaving chest. His head fell, and the performer flashed a wicked smile, lifting his chin and shaking a finger at him.

The crowd turned feral, laughing and clapping with the rapid tempo of the music.

I knew it wasn't his fault. I knew this show was meant to rattle me, break me, but still, I couldn't help the envy that seeped through my mind like wildfire. Orin was not mine. As much as the bands on our wrists linked us, and though he'd kissed me until the world became obsolete, neither of us had earned the right to lay claim over the other.

A hand slipped into mine, though I barely registered the way it felt, and I wasn't sure who it was. Then another hand. Soft and gentle. Thea and Paesha. My friends. Truly the greatest women I'd ever known.

Family.

The crowd knew, of course. Who he was. Who we were together. They'd come to see the Death Maiden, and now they watched her bonded husband fawn over other women because I was not and would never be truly worthy of a man's loyalty. That was what they would say. The story the Maestro spun to eviscerate me before I'd ever take the stage.

"It's not real," Thea said into my ear before her hand fell free of mine and she slipped away.

I nodded. I was far more than this envy. More than arbitrary control in a battle of wits. I didn't need to see his face to know this wasn't what Orin wanted. I needed to learn to trust. To let go of my father's voice in my ear reminding me that I was and would always be alone.

They'd removed his jacket as he danced, and I wondered how far they would go. Would they take him down to his bare skin? Would I be able to stand on the side of the stage and watch it happen? Just as my nerves vibrated, locking down my muscles, coiling deeper and deeper within me, until I didn't think I could bear to watch a single second more, his gaze finally lifted to mine.

A broken man stared into my soul, so distant from the acts performed on stage, my feet shuffled forward. The woman at my side anchored me.

"If you step on stage, you might start your timer. Or break the deal," Paesha hissed, still as stone beside me.

She was right, of course. Still, that glorious golden band, inches below the blue, throbbed on my wrist.

I am with you.

He couldn't hear me or read my mind. But the unspoken words lingered, just as he grabbed one of the women, twisted her away, and kissed her, half a second before the lights fell.

With the roar of the crowd, the stage was cleared, and each of the performers, including my husband, was ushered off the opposite side. I didn't have time to process anything that'd happened before a drum roll sounded and the hourglass was wheeled onto the stage. Every light in the theater burst to life, just as the final stagehand made fearful eye contact with me and turned the hourglass.

The crowd fell deathly silent. My breaths, short. I'd forgotten everything about my performance, so caught in my own damn jealousy. A small push from Paesha and I was thrust onto an empty stage in the middle of a silent theater, with no instruction and now less than ten minutes to win the freedom of almost everyone in the world who mattered to me.

I looked back once, but she was already gone. Everyone was. Not a single friendly face greeted me, and you could have heard a pin drop in that theater. Something prickled beneath my skin. Something screaming at me to focus, to think, to do something other than stand here like a fool.

Under the glaring lights that left no shadow for comfort, I stood alone, facing a sea of impassive faces, the lack of amusement a palpable force. There was no grand display, no one to share the stage with. Just me, the audience, and the ticking of time.

My only saving grace was Quill.

Quill.

Pivoting to that golden birdcage, I nearly fell to my knees when I realized the swing was empty. Her power, gone…

Orin's dance was a godsdamned distraction.

I spun, running off the edge of the stage, but inches before I got there, I froze. If I fled, he'd own me. All of us. I moved back to the center of the space. With no choice left and time slipping away, I drew my blades.

The hourglass continued its unrelenting countdown, each grain a blaring reminder of our fate. Doubt began to creep in, but I pushed it aside as I stretched my muscles outward and moved, slicing silent daggers through the air in a dance of my own design.

The audience remained unmoved, a collective wall of detachment. A lone voice in the center of the crowd booed. And then another and another. Heart cracking, I glanced up to see the gleeful faces of Icharius Fern and Drexel Vanhoff on a sickening display. Blood rushed to my ears as the Maestro gestured behind me.

Hollis stepped onto the stage, his age and frailty hidden beneath the finest suit he'd worn, each golden button, each feather tucked into his hat pristine. The audience erupted. They'd come for one reason only. The greatest show they'd ever witness, just as they'd been promised. Because they might have feared me in an alley, but here, I was nothing more than a spectacle.

"What are… why are you out here? You can't be."

So much love poured from his kind eyes as he looked only at me. I couldn't stand the agony.

"Deyanira," he began.

I shook my head, stumbling away. "No. No. He cannot force me. That was the agreement. We made a deal. I won't do it."

He followed, reaching for me, but again I moved, each of my limbs growing heavy as I turned cold with fear. "Stay back, Hollis."

"The posters," he whispered. "They promised Death's Maiden."

"I am Death's Maiden," I roared, not at him, not for the audience, not for the honor or recognition. As a punishment to myself. For the monster I was. "They've already got me."

"Kill him! Kill him!"

The growing chant from the audience was like standing in a cell and watching the prison door slide shut, damning my eternity. I truly thought the people of Requiem were better than this. But in the end, they only wanted bloodshed. They wanted the show. And Drexel had known that. I tried to swallow my panic. To force a breath as the clock counted down.

How could I have been so damn foolish?

"Kill him! Kill him!"

Every word from the audience deepened the hue of red over my vision.

"He cannot force me, Hollis. That was the deal."

The old man stepped closer, plucking Serenity from my hand as if it were the easiest thing he'd ever done. "He found the loophole, Little Dove. He hasn't asked you."

Each step away was an effort. A chore. The world around me seemed distant, blurred, the bright lights and the sea of faces reduced to mere background noise. My hands trembled slightly, and I clutched the remaining dagger, seeking an anchor in the midst of the storm.

Trying desperately to swallow the lump in my throat, I thought of the first time I'd seen Hollis's smile. I thought of his kindness and belief in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. The Maestro might as well have sealed my fate because there was no way in this life or the next that I could or would perform the task implied but never requested.

I turned my back to the old man, clenching my teeth as I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain thrashing through my heart. A drum in the orchestra pit began a steady rhythm in time with the audience's demand for murder. This was agony. This was the greatest form of torture I would ever know.

"You must," he said, standing before me, though I hadn't heard him move. "Do you know what happens to a harbinger if they kill too many? If the bloodlust consumes them?"

I nodded, swallowing again. "I'll die for you, Hollis. I don't care. Send me to Death's court if that's the cost of your freedom."

He shook his head, his own tears glistening in the lights. "What is one life in exchange for the masses? He'll make you kill more than your soul can handle. More than an simple old man, if he gets the chance."

I could hardly see past the tears to take in every wrinkle. To admire the sharp green suit he wore. The crowd's chanting became its only entity, a life form taking shape as they demanded, not just blood, but a soul reaped by Death.

"That one soul is the purest love I've ever known," I whispered, tears falling freely.

His eyes lingered on the hourglass. "Me, too, Little Dove." He brought his shaking hands to my cheeks, forcing the theater to disappear. "Don't let this world break the goodness buried within you. Hold on to it."

"Stop it, Hollis. Don't." I began to pace. "Let me think."

I had to get away. I needed space. Time. I needed a plan. But no matter where I went, he followed. Standing too close, insisting I do the unthinkable. The stage was too small. The crowd, too loud. Every sound became an echo, a thunderstorm in my addled mind. Every move I made caused my stomach to roll until I was sure I'd be sick.

The sand.

The time.

The sadness… the devastation.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breathe.

"You must give them what they demand, or it could be anyone up here tomorrow, and you will have no choice at all."

"This is not a choice."

He turned the hilt of Serenity toward me, lifted my shaking hand and forcing her into my trembling palm.

"Kill him!"

"Let me save you," he said, stepping forward until the tip pierced that beautiful suit. "I've lived the better part of my one hundred years. It's time for you to live yours."

I tried to back away again but was met with the cool wall of the hourglass.

"Kill him!"

"Deyanira," he said again as my ears rang.

"No. Send someone else out. I don't care who. Go find someone else."

"It will be me. Don't ask me to condemn another."

My chest tightened at his plea. He'd been everything a father should have been to me, and I hadn't had long enough with him. Words caught in my throat as I tried to speak, a knot of grief gripping my voice.

"I love you," he mouthed. "Do it now."

Each breath I took felt constricted, as if my chest had been clenched in a vise. His hand rested on my hand holding the blade as I stared into his unwavering eyes. And though his fingers trembled, the smile on his face was steady. Calm. Just as he had been.

The choice was no choice at all. Take twenty years from Hollis or an immeasurable amount of lives later. It could be Paesha standing here next time, and then Thea and Elowen. Even Orin. Faces of a thousand strangers floated through my vision as I pictured the mass of people Drexel would have me kill.

"I'm ready, Little Dove."

"Forgive me."

Somehow, I managed to pull back and send that blade home. Right into the heart of the best man I'd ever have the pleasure of knowing.

The crowd stilled as everything halted. When Hollis gasped, my world became ensnared in that fleeting exhalation, accompanied by the macabre dance of blood that stained my hand when he gracefully crumbled upon the stage.

Locking eyes with the Maestro over the top of the roaring audience bursting to their feet, I made him a silent promise of death, just as the curtains fell.