Chapter 60

"We need to find Orin," Paesha whispered to Ezra as we followed the collection of Death's harbingers through the gnarled gardens. Icharius Fern held a position in the middle, but he'd kept his face down and his mouth shut. I'd almost forgotten he was there at all, as it seemed he wished everyone to. What level of madness had he waged war with through his own life? Hiding his power so flawlessly had to come with a price.

Ezra pressed his lips together, shaking his head, still staring into the shadows. Whatever he was afraid of, it held him invisibly by the throat, as if he'd learned a hard lesson we hadn't yet.

The harbingers were insufferably slow, taking their time, likely to let our fear build as we climbed the steps. The grand, marbled corridors of Death's castle were exactly as I'd imagined they would be from beyond the court's gates. The opulence of the surroundings clashed with the underlying darkness that permeated every stone and every inch of the fortress. A twisted sort of beauty, but then so was Death.

The walls rose high, adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of suffering and despair. Flickering torches cast eerie shadows, dancing along the cold, polished floors. The air was heavy with a suffocating stillness, broken only by the echoing footsteps of our group, shuffling forward.

When Ezra reached for Paesha's hand, her shoulders relaxed, and though a ping of jealousy rattled through me, unsure of the state I'd find Orin in, I was so happy for her. She'd loved as desperately as I had; she'd danced with his memories on the rooftop countless times until she'd cried herself to sleep. She'd never let go of him for a day. Had come to hell, following her love of him, her soul be damned, and she'd made it through. Come what may, she deserved the smile that tugged at her lips, even as fear held us both firmly on the ground.

Little by little, they inched away from us, Ezra holding her further and further back, until it was clear that whatever my summons would hold, he would protect her, keeping her far away from Death, and for that, I was grateful.

The former harbingers and I walked the center aisle, our steps measured and resolute. I refused to look ahead, to see those hard eyes watching me. The seats lining the aisle drew my attention instead, and as my gaze swept over them, a chill gripped my heart. Each seat was occupied by a familiar face, those whom I had condemned to Death's court. An audience of my victims. How fucking poetic.

Their eyes, filled with both resentment and resignation, bore into my soul. They were corporeal ghosts of lives extinguished, a haunting reminder of the choices I never truly had. But guilt still gnawed at me.

A tugging on my conscience pulled my eyes from my victims to the dais. To Orin, standing strong behind the throne of golden skulls his father sat so comfortably in. My knees weakened and steps faltered. His once-vibrant eyes were hollow, consumed by unfathomable darkness. Veins of black snaked beneath his collar, a visible manifestation of the madness that gripped his very being.

My heart shattered as I realized that his father's power had swallowed him whole, erasing the man I loved. I couldn't stand to see him like that, yet I couldn't bear to tear my eyes away either, even though he didn't seem to notice me. He hadn't come to my side the way Ezra had come for Paesha. He hadn't moved an inch. Orin was lost. Just as I'd feared. Though standing here now, in the heart of Death's court, I finally realized there was likely no way of ever being able to save him, not under his father's watchful eye, as Ezra had warned us, and even if I could, where would we go? How could we return?

Building up the courage, I looked into the hard face of Death next, his beautiful features so similar to Orin. I wondered how I hadn't seen it before. Perhaps it was the angles the moon's light cast through the vaulted windows above or the identical robes they both wore. Maybe it was the obsidian eyes or impassive faces, but seeing them side by side was eerie.

Each time I'd let myself look into Death's face, a serpentine smile had formed, and he'd stroked my cheek just as Orin had, always keeping hands on me. Now that I knew the truth of my power, I realized why. Not for healing, as my husband needed, but to keep the darkness, his potent magic, stronger than the other, mostly dormant within me.

When he looked away, the smile finally forming, I followed his gaze to a woman standing at the bottom of the steps between us. Her eyes were fixed ahead, as if trapped within an unyielding trance. Vaguely familiar features mirrored my own, causing a surge of recognition that sent tremors through me. My mother, the woman whose death had carried me into this world, marking me his before I could ever belong to anyone else. An innocent child, Life's Maiden, robbed of a happy beginning.

She stood maybe fifty steps from me, stirring a whirlwind of emotions—a longing for a mother's love and the profound ache of loss. But perhaps more intense than that was a festered anger that had coiled for so, so long, I thought I'd burst soon, staring back at Death, the monster that'd taken everything from me. My past and my future. And he'd done it with that smile on his face, calculating and cunning. Bastard.

Curiosity got the best of me. I whipped my head around, staring in the direction my mother was until I found two familiar, hateful green eyes peering directly into mine. My father. Scorned by his own death. Based on the way my mother watched him in disbelief, I could only imagine that Death had held them apart, saving their happy reunion until this moment, though neither looked jovial.

"My lovely Deyanira," Death purred, rising from his gilded throne to melt down the steps and stand before me. "Welcome home."

"I'd say thank you, but I'm not feeling very grateful at the moment."

"She speaks again." Pure delight lit every one of his features. "Such a lovely voice. Though I prefer the time you screamed. Shall we revisit that moment?"

I glared. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Why do you look at me as though I'm the villain? Look at the room. Look at the faces. You damned them, not me."

I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. "You made me your monster! I never meant for any of them to die."

The group of harbingers behind me all began to laugh, the cacophonous sound snaking through the room until it ignited a fire in my veins. I wasn't like them, and I never would be.

"Such a temper." Death clicked his tongue, so cool and collected while I felt like I was falling apart.

You never, ever lose your fight. You never let someone defeat you. You never falter. You stand. You step. You rise.

Ro's voice rattled in my mind as I thought about the way he'd pursued her. What it must have been like to be the object of his obsession after all these years. An obsession that spanned lifetimes and twisted worlds. The very pit of who he'd become was nothing more than a desperate man, a being, chasing a woman who didn't want him. I made him weak in my mind. As small as I possibly could, until I stared down into those black eyes with pity. There was only one way forward. I would become his villain. And I would do it silently. Because even gods could fall.

"Feel like a little reunion with mommy dearest?"

He snapped his fingers, and from the shadow of a giant pillar stepped Drexel Vanhoff, pallid skin full of sweat, red hair a mess, and smelling like the piss stain on his pants. He shuffled forward, lifting a key from his neck and holding it out to Death with trembling hands. The man who'd been such a villain had fallen to meek compliance.

"What's the matter, Maestro?" Death purred, rolling the word. "Cat got your tongue?"

Drexel said nothing, casting his eyes to the floor. I chanced a glance at Orin, to see if he cared about the fall of his uncle, but he hadn't moved an inch, gripped by the darkness that claimed him. My heart hammered, and my skin crawled. I'd never felt so trapped within my own body, wanting to go to him, to save him, and also biding my time. Still, the invisible bond between us hummed, but only on my end, it seemed.

Without a word, Drexel slunk back to his shadows, and Death held the skeleton key toward me, letting it swing back and forth between us, that fucking smile never leaving his face, begging me to slam a fist into it.

The knife on my belt grew heavy, an urging to pluck it free and bury it into Death's heart. But he could not die. None here could. The power that made me his in Requiem turned to ash in eternity.

"Take the key, Deyanira. Free your mother."

I fell into mock compliance, gripping the key and snatching it away before walking to the base of the steps, staring a familiar stranger in the face, and freeing her of the chains around her wrists.

"Be careful," she mouthed.

No ‘hello'. No ‘nice to meet you', no hint of emotion. Simply a warning before she glanced over my shoulder, locking eyes with my father once more. How she must have wished she could get to him, just as I pined for Orin, steps away, locked in darkness.

I whipped around, walking back to Death as if I didn't care for the woman at all, and tossed him the key.

"Say thank you."

The challenge in his eyes lit me on fire. I couldn't. Wouldn't. No matter how much I'd sworn to bring him down. I'd never bend for him, and he knew it. Likely counted on it. So, I stood, chin high, mouth pressed shut as the audience grew restless, uncomfortable. Because who was I to challenge Death?

"Say thank you, Deyanira."

One steady breath in, one breath out.

He leaned in, so close I could smell decay on him, the truth behind his beauty. "Do not make me look like a fool before our special audience," he growled into my ear.

A blink. And another.

His breath was fiery hot along my skin, causing my flesh to rise, as the familiar pulse of power radiated from him. But when he reached for my face, to grip my cheeks as he'd always done, his fingers hissed against my skin. Yanking his hand back, he tried to hide what had happened. Tried to keep his composure, though he looked at me in utter shock. It wasn't his power I'd felt at his proximity. It was mine.

"Orin," he said, his self-control wavering. "Take our new guests to the pit. Both of them."