Chapter 65

Spinning, I tried searching the darkness for Orin, running one way toward his screams and then the other as they drifted away, until my desperation overwhelmed me. Until I didn't know which way to turn. How to get to him. As if Death dangled him in front of me like a lure, playing the game just like Ezra had warned me he would do. Our night together became tainted. Stolen by Death.

A chill fell over me, gripping my throat as I jerked backward, realizing the fabric had changed into a backless gown, and I now stood in a spotlight on a black stage, staring into the eyes of an audience so vast, I couldn't see the fading edges. Front and center, down below, just before the rows of souls, Death stood, his fingers steepled and pressed against his lips as he stared with delight.

Then the screaming started again.

Orin.

To my right, locked in a familiar golden birdcage, lying on the ground and writhing in pain lay Orin. I tried to move, to get to him. Touch him. But I couldn't. My feet were stuck to the stage.

Death's laugh silenced the restless crowd, the fear palpable among the thousands and thousands of souls. Those dark features were narrowed on me, the challenge sitting between us as he lowered his chin. "Dance, Deyanira."

I didn't let the surprise of his command show, though I felt it in my stuttering heart. "Respectfully, go fuck yourself."

His response was almost giddy. "Sometimes you can be so predictable."

He pointed a long finger toward Orin, who stopped screaming for merely a second, warm eyes flashing to me.

"Please," he trembled, reaching a hand toward me. "Send her home."

His screams began again. He gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Death's cackle reverberated off walls so dark, I could not see them at all. "Why would I do that when we could have so much fun together? We can break that stubborn will, together. I have been waiting so long for this day. Dance, Deyanira, and I will make it stop."

I flinched. Giving in was too easy. It's not what he truly wanted. And if I caved, even though every single thing in my body wanted to free my husband from his torture, I knew Death wouldn't stop there. So again, I refused. Shaking my head, though a tear fell, and my breaths ceased.

"Not even one teeny, tiny sway for your husband's sanity? I think you've been lied to, son. I don't think she loves you at all."

Orin roared, fighting whatever monster consumed him as he pulled himself to his feet, staring at his father, though every black vein showed and every muscle grew taut. "You know nothing of love."

His father jerked at those words, the surprise of Orin's conviction to stand and fight evident within his wide eyes. But the shock was there and gone in a flash. Mirth melted into fury at the challenge from his son before a group of people that were meant to hold only fear. Never hope. And in that moment, Orin was hope. He was everything his father could never be. And that was a huge problem.

A set of stairs appeared, and Death took them, one by one, eyes never leaving his son as he prowled forward. The cage flew to pieces, golden shards of metal flying everywhere. They stood toe to toe for only a moment before Death reached out and placed his thumb to Orin's forehead, taking him to his knees.

"Good boy," he said. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. You see, we must remind everyone who you are. What you are. And why you can never be anything more than that."

He spun, his dark cloak flaring behind him as he took several steps away. Orin pinned his eyes on me. I could see the fight at first, the struggle to defeat his father's darkness. But it lasted only a second before he shifted to pure anger, then absolute rage as he ran across the stage, snatched me by my throat, and lifted me from the ground, his beautiful, brutal face void of any recognition.

I tried to grab his hand to send him my power, but he was quick, and I wasn't prepared for him move, to slam me into the ground so fucking hard the air was stolen from my lungs and the wooden planks of the stage shattered below me.

A stabbing pain seared my side, and I couldn't gasp over his grip. There was not an ounce of mercy in his eyes. He was gone. I squeezed the hand holding me, scrambling to loosen the fingers that crushed my neck.

"Son," Death said, so calm it felt like a violation to this rancid world.

Orin released me, staring down as I turned to the side that hadn't been impaled by a massive splinter of wood and coughed, the sound becoming a choke as whatever damage he'd done to my esophagus refused the air to pass. I closed my eyes, the tears on my cheeks my only companions as I fought for a breath.

The rattled sound was a small but mighty win against Death.

Orin grabbed my arm, lifting me from the ground as his fingers closed around the board that stuck out from my side. There was a single flash of empathy before he yanked, freeing me of the wood but sending me back to my knees, blinding white pain claiming me.

For several moments, there was nothing beyond the agony of the splinters left in my body and the torn flesh at my side.

But that sickening peace found in pain was ripped away with Death's next words. "Tell me why you chose to have those flowers placed on your back. Who put them there?"

I gulped down air, the world reforming around me. On my hands and knees before Death's entire court, I vomited.

Before I could think of a passable lie, Death had taken Orin's place above me. He crouched, waiting as the shadows he commanded settled along the stage like fog on a lake, taking away the bile, the blood, the splinters and repairing the wood. He leaned forward, careful not to touch me as he whispered in my ear. "Tell me about the flowers," he hissed. "Where did you get the markings?"

I didn't even consider responding.

Shadows snatched my hair and yanked my head back so hard I saw stars. "Tell me or I will make you wish you were never born."

"Too late," I spat.

"Son," he crooned. "What do you know of these marks on your lovely wife's back?"

Orin's answer was numb, forced. "One for each life she's taken."

"And their origin?"

He lifted a stiff shoulder.

"A game, then," Death announced to the crowd. "A parade, if you will."

He paced along the edge of the stage, hands clasped behind his back. A few waves of his power and Orin was back in a new birdcage, this one adorned with golden skulls along the top. Death's shadows grew from the floor, winding around my ankles like shackles before snaking up my body, a violation that churned my stomach. The shadows slipped up my arms, forcing them to spread wide. He twirled a finger, and they twisted, tightening, pinching the skin until I hissed. He'd made sure I stared directly at Orin, not to the audience held in captivated awe by their jailer's show.

"Dey," Orin whispered, darkness gone but full of fear, brows knit together. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Should he reach his hand through the cage, he might've been able to touch me, but I couldn't move. The more I struggled against the magical bonds, the tighter they became.

Death stepped into my line of sight, squeezing my chin. I wiggled, trying to pull from his grasp, but there would be no escape.

"Speak their names."

My mouth formed a thin line.

"So beautifully stubborn."

In a flicker of motion, a long, corded leather whip appeared in his hands. "You either say the names or tell me where you got that tattoo."

"I will not break," I spat.

His breath curled hot around my ear as he whispered into it. "Yes, Deyanira Sariah Faber, you will. And you will do it so beautifully our crowd will weep."

He shoved my head to the side, forcing me to look out to the people. I nearly vomited again when I saw one green eye and one blue staring back and me, full of tears, as Paesha held the hand of her lover, a massive hellhound standing guard behind them both.

"You will speak, or maybe she will take your lashings for you."

He didn't wait for me to respond, circling like a vulture. The backless dress had been planned. He knew what he was going to do with me the second he saw the tattoo when I was lying in that bed… the familiar flowers that belonged to Ro piqued his curiosity, his desperation to win the game with her.

Ro. A goddess. But also, a victim. The one who'd saved me when I didn't know I needed saving. The one who'd never truly asked me for anything but to keep her secret. The one who'd promised, should her name show up on my palm, she would hold the blade, she would take the guilt. And she'd saved Orin, too. She'd found a way to keep his darkness at bay; she brought us together. And she was a victim. I could and would be strong for her because I couldn't die here. Only suffer. Just as she had been doing silently for centuries.

The anticipation of pain caused every muscle to shake. The whip cracked through the air, its sharp sound reverberating before the angry strike, biting into my flesh like a thousand venomous serpents. I gritted my teeth, swallowing the cry that caught in my throat. Death circled as his hollow eyes bore into mine, waiting for my decision. I knew what he demanded, and the weight of the choice pressed down upon me like a mountain.

Orin screamed. He'd never recover from watching me suffer. There was a bit of darkness that would never leave him now, and I accepted that as warm blood trailed down my back.

"Garrit Faden," I managed behind locked jaws, purposefully skipping my mother.

Death smiled, turning to the crowd. He pointed to the man who'd been the first to truly haunt my dreams, and Garrit surged forward on an invisible string of magic, his lifeless eyes and sunken face every bit as dark as I'd remembered.

The second lashing was faster, snapping through the air on a wave of promised pain, ripping into the flesh of my back as I arched.

"Marian Achlen," I managed.

She was plucked from the audience, but this time, I couldn't look her in the eyes. Instead, I held mine locked with Orin. He growled, and Death responded with another wave of pain in his direction, taking him back to his knees, though this time, he was silent, too. An unspoken oath between us. You could bend us, but we would never break. And so he rose once more.

The third crack of the whip, accompanied by another name, ripped so much skin from my back, I felt it hang, dangling. The fourth shredded me, taking away my breath as I stared at Orin, his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out. Maybe not for himself, but the sight, I was sure, was its own nightmare come to life.

With the fifth and sixth lashes, each crossing each other, I faltered, my head hanging, my bones rattling, my heart fading. I managed a glance to the side, managed to see the group of my victims standing there, watching. Some were horrified, while some felt vindicated.

"I mourned you," I whispered, though I wasn't sure they could hear me. "I honored each of you. I remembered your names, and I've carried you with me all this time."

They probably didn't care, but I did. I needed to remind myself that I was human. I was partially light, not only darkness that everyone in Requiem believed me to be.

Death became maniacal, hardly giving me time to say the next name before ripping through another row of flowers, delighting in his twisted show as the crowd on stage grew. The crowd down below stayed silent, and Orin, my loyal, sacrificing husband, slowly sank back to the floor of that cage.

My skin peeled in ribbons, and I stood in a pool of my own blood. I thought I couldn't die—I was confident, in fact. But slowly, the edge of my vision faded, the world spun, and whatever contents had remained in my stomach had long since been discharged.

The only thing I could hear were the sobs from Paesha, the crack of the whip like a metronome, and the names I'd delivered from memory. The ones I'd spoken so many times before, I didn't have to dig through my mind to find them. They sat, waiting on the threshold.

With the next lash, the arch of my back, the white-hot searing pain, I gasped. Finally showing Death the suffering he so loved.

"Stop this!" Orin yelled, unable to stand it any longer. The way his voice broke, the way he remained on his knees, the way he looked at me through tear-filled eyes, I knew we had to be near the end. "Let it be me. Gods, let it be me instead. She can speak the names and I will stand for her."

"No," a deep voice boomed from below. "I will take the lashings."

Ezra. The strong and loyal man who would bend for only one. Would break for her, too.

"No!" Paesha yelled. "I'll do it. You threatened her with me. Let it be me."

I had suffered too much blood loss, suspended in the air by shadows. I could no longer feel my hands or my legs. Even my back had grown numb between whippings. I could still feel my heart, though. The way it beat for all of them. The icy spirit within me that still would not give him what he truly wanted.

But when Death circled me again, the scarlet blood dripping from his weapon of choice up his dark stage, I raced through every crevice of my mind, searching for a way out of this. If not for me, then for them.

He knelt outside of Orin's cage, reaching through the bars to take his chin, letting the darkness radiate until all emotion swept from Orin's face, the final tears that fell, meaningless. "I can see we just haven't given her enough motivation, son. And I grow bored. Go back to your realm, find the little girl, find the blacksmith. Find your mother and send their souls to me."

"No!" I screamed, the very pitch of desperation racing through the night. "I want to make a bargain."

His head snapped sideways. "Will you tell me how you came to have that tattoo?"

"I'll do more than that. If you agree to my terms, I will tell you where to find your missing goddess."