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I’m not breathing. Raker doesn’t look shaken in the slightest. He shrugs. “I know that you’re miserable creatures sustained by blood. You drink it. You paint your walls with it. You probably fuck in it. You have to be around it, all the time, or you’ll go mad with hunger.”
My eyes widen, looking at Raker as if he’s just lost his mind. We are humans. Standing in front of an immortal bloodbane. A word I’d only ever heard spoken in legends.
Vander’s grin is a mixture of amused and poisonous.
Raker keeps fucking going. “Mortal blood is preferable to immortals, isn’t it? Not tainted by magic?”
I swallow, and Vander’s eyes go straight to my throat. But he does not move a muscle. “As I said before,” he tells me, “if I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.” The veins on his hands stick out more than usual.
His face is severe; he looks almost pained. Like he’s using every shred of his immortal strength to stand still. The words grind out of him. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to feed. And … as much as I would like to keep you alive … whatever you two were doing in here has your blood pounding.” He’s looking at me. His eyes flash with nothing short of hunger as he stares at my neck. The skin there prickles. “Get out of this room, Aris,” he rasps.
I don’t need to be told again. Almost to the door, I hear him say, “Bathe.
Change. Then we’ll speak to the heirs.”
It takes two baths and endless scrubbing to get the blood off my arms. Even then, I can still feel it on me.
I can’t believe we didn’t smell it before, in the room. I was too caught up with Raker’s gods-damned soap to notice. Not just his soap, really.
Vander was right that day when he said I should be running for the gates.
But he was also right when he said he could kill me in an instant if he wanted to.
I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get the invitations I need.
Vander didn’t order Raker to be chained again, perhaps knowing it would be useless. He’s waiting in my room when I walk out in nothing but a towel.
I go still—but he doesn’t turn to face me. He’s looking at the walls, unimpressed. His gaze narrows on everything, as if he is finding fault after fault. I roll my eyes at him.
On my bed sits another gown. I smooth my hand across the wall in a silent thank-you to the mysterious powers of the house before slipping back into the bathroom to put it on.
This dress is lilac, just like the flowers I saw near the Prism Pass. Now that I don’t have to hide, it has a low-cut bodice that’s curved and pointed at each end like a scythe, and a silk skirt. I love it.
The only thing I don’t love about it are all the ties in the back. I’m able to get the ones at the base of my spine, but then I can’t reach any higher. I try for several minutes in vain to do it myself, before giving up. I walk out of the bathroom, only to find Raker still frowning at everything.
“I need—I need your help.”
He doesn’t move an inch.
I roll my eyes and turn. “Please, I just—These cursed corsets …”
His voice is punishing. “If you think I’m going to tie your dress—”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask Van—”
The name isn’t out of my mouth before he’s roughly tugging me back by the strings of my corset, squeezing my ribs, choking the words out of me.
I whip my head back to glare at him.
He’s scowling. “Let’s get this over with.” He starts to tie the strings, muttering curses and something about why dresses are so damned complicated.
It almost makes me smile, then seize as he squeezes the air out of my lungs again. I laugh ruefully. “Famed knight can cut down an entire army without a mark on his armor … but can’t tie a corset.” I turn to see him glaring down at the strings as if they have personally insulted him. “I’m sure you’ve untied plenty of them.”
At that, his eyes slowly drag up to meet mine. They are hard as steel. “Do you want me to untie it, Aris?” he asks, his voice a low rumble along my bones.
I stop breathing. I think about him pressed up against me. His length between my legs. How it felt to writhe against it. My throat goes dry, remembering. Imagining.
I’m dragged out of the thought by Raker roughly pulling on the strings with far too much force, choking me again, like he’s taking out his frustration on them.
When he’s done, he doesn’t even look at me before striding toward the doors.
“Don’t kill anyone,” I say, still fighting for breath. Anyone else, I guess.
He looks over his shoulder at me. His eyes slip down my dress, gaze snagging on my chest, which I can feel spilling from the top of my bodice since he tied it so damned tightly. “Be happy if I don’t kill everyone,” he says, before slamming the door behind him.
Vander has gathered some of the heirs in a room. He’s picked the ones most likely to sympathize with my cause—including Magnus and the other three who I had previously marked, given the locations of their estates. I’ve already danced with all of them. The ball is still going. I can hear the trill of music and laughter just down the hall.
Raker and I stand in the room as the heirs argue. They keep going on and on about a prophecy without naming it. They keep talking about a paladin that was promised.
“What’s the prophecy?” I finally demand. The room goes quiet.
Sixteen glittering eyes fix on me. Not one of the heirs speaks.
Finally, Vander sighs. “We can’t tell you, human,” he says.
I frown. “Why?”
“Prophecies are heirlooms, passed along and earned like blades. It would break the vow of our swords. Even if we wanted to tell you, we couldn’t,”
Vander says.
“And we don’t,” Lord Ashcroft says lazily.
Fine. I don’t care about a fucking prophecy. I just want to get an invitation to the closest estate possible.
“Why are you arguing about it now?” I ask. In front of us. I look at Vander, my eyes saying, I thought we were trying to get me alliances?
His eyes drift away, and that’s when I blink.
“Wait. Do you think … I have something to do with it?”
I expect them to laugh in my face. To roll their glimmering eyes at the fact that some mortal thought she was the paladin that was promised.
But instead of ridicule … I’m met with silence.
I back up a step. I look to Vander, silently pleading him to tell me I’m wrong. Finally, he does meet my gaze again. But it looks sad.
Whatever the prophecy is, it can’t be fucking good.
Still … it’s apparently a good enough outcome for some of these heirs
that Vander is bringing it up now … As a reason to help me.
“We don’t know for certain if it’s about you,” Lord Ashcroft finally says, as if he heavily doubts it. But that’s confirmation enough.
They think there’s a chance I fulfill this mysterious prophecy.
My blood goes cold. Is that why the gods are after me? The God of Death, in particular?
Do I actually have a chance at killing the gods, like I promised?
Lord Ashcroft shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. The prophecy can be interpreted in different ways.” With one last long, lingering look at me, he strides out of the room.
Vander looks at the door, shoulders tense. Then he turns back to the rest of the heirs. “If it isn’t her, then why is there a bounty? Why do they want her dead?”
Magnus looks deep in thought. “The gods are thorough. They’ll eliminate anything they believe fits. It doesn’t mean it’s her.” He seems hopeful it’s not. Which again, makes me desperate to know what it is.
There are murmurings of agreement.
“But if it is?” Vander’s voice silences the room. “Do you want to take
that risk? Not helping her now?”
More murmurs. More whispers.
More debate. One by one, heirs walk out of the room, one ignoring me, one shooting me an apologetic glance, one outright ogling, until only four remain.
One is Magnus. “You know where I stand, Aris,” he says, saying my name just as gently as he held me. Then, he reaches into his perfectly pressed jacket … and pulls out a necklace made of diamonds the size of the town weaver’s buttons. He offers it to me.
My lips part. It sparkles so brightly, my eyes hurt looking at it The cost of
the silver chain alone— “I—I can’t accept this.”
“Please,” he says, his voice so tender it reminds me of dancing beneath
strings of starlight. “I insist.”
I nod, if only not to be rude.
“May I?” he asks.
I nod again, and he walks around me. His fingers lightly brush the nape of my neck as he clasps the lock. I don’t feel anything at all. No chill down my spine. No flurry in my stomach. “There,” he says, admiring me. “Now you shine brighter than the stars and the moon combined.” He bows. “The invitation to my House is always open. I hope to see you again soon, Aris.”
With that, he walks out of the room.
I frown, still dazed by the gift, wondering if it’s some part of this Heartfall Courting Ball, when another heir approaches me. His eyes are dark as night, just like his hair. His skin is pale. Lord Rodin—the heir of the House Vander says is secretly working against the God of Death. The one I need the most.
He looks me up and down with relish. His blade has a black stone in its hilt, and its edges are slightly brighter than the rest of its metal, as if it’s recently been sharpened. He buries it into the ground before me. “You have my oath, human,” he says.
And my knees nearly buckle in relief as I press my blade to his.
I don’t need any others now. His estate is the closest to the Land of the
Gods.
I actually fucking did it.
Relief wins out against the revulsion of his heated gaze.
The last heir other than Vander is tall, and handsome, with light-colored hair and piercing green eyes. He’s the heir of House Drake. Instead of a sword on his back, he wears a bow and a quiver of glimmering arrows, tipped with a glittering metal I don’t recognize. He turns to me and bows. “I will offer my invitation … if you promise to visit me, should you survive the journey. And if you consider my hand.”
My hand. He wants to be … matched. I can tell from the look on Vander’s face that this is a big deal. An immortal heir … considering a human worthy of his House at all.
My brows slightly lift. He is handsome. I’m sure he would make an excellent match for anyone. But I can’t offer anything resembling a future.
Still—I nod. Because even though I already have the invitation I need, the end of the quest is uncertain. I’ll take as many promises as I can get.
His green eyes sear into mine. Slowly, very slowly, he lifts my hand to his lips, smoothing them against the silver markings. Then he buries his bow into the ground. It glimmers with the oath. I press my metal to his and feel it like a whisper through my blood.
He raises to his significant height and turns to Vander. “I’m leaving,” he says. “She’s the only one I want.” He looks over at me, glance heavy but
not ogling. “I’ll see you soon, Aris.”
Then he and his bow vanish.
I turn to see Raker still glaring at the place he left. That glare makes its way to me. “You didn’t have to make every oath,” he says.
I frown, shocked by his anger. “These oaths could make the difference between life or death.” He doesn’t look convinced. “They could be the difference between making it to the gods or not.”
That doesn’t do anything to dim Raker’s fury. Of course not. He hates it here. He hates every one of these heirs. I can almost understand why. He’s a warrior, from lowly birth. Seeing these heirs, perhaps he doesn’t think they earned their armor and metal. Not the way he did, on countless battlefields.
“And you?” I ask, turning to the immortal bloodbane. “Ready to get on your knees?”
Vander smiles, recalling our conversation just hours ago. “In time, human,” he says. “In time.” He looks at my blade. It’s twinkling with the new invitations. “You know how to summon me, if needed.”
I nod.
Suddenly, Ethel steps into the room. She’s holding a magnificent scabbard crafted of Starside steel. Stories have been carved into its metal, endless etchings that must have taken decades to make.
She gives it to Vander, turns her nose up in my direction, and strides back
out of the room.
He hands it to me.
A pinch forms between my brows, and I don’t even open my mouth, unable to find words, carefully taking it.
Vander smiles, sharp teeth gleaming. “No one, not even a blacksmith, will be able to summon your sword when it’s in here.”
It’s invaluable.
“Thank you,” I say, the words breaking. He’s helped me more than I ever could have expected.
“Human,” Vander says, the word spoken with a shadow of appreciation that wasn’t there before. “As much as your attitude speaks otherwise, you are not immortal. Portaling with your sword will expend significant energy.” He looks over at Raker warily. “Especially with someone else.
Your invitations will grant you hospitality at the Houses you travel to. Eat.
Rest. And … I hope you complete your quest.”
“So do I,” I say, nodding my thanks again.
“The other heirs will be ratting you out as we speak, to gain favor with their gods. Your journey will be more perilous than ever. Go.”
We do.
As we get farther from the music, and the laughter, and the wonders of this mysteriously long courting ball, part of me, that pretending part, withers.
That isn’t my life, I think, passing by the beautiful woman in the transcendent gold dress, the one Vander was watching so intently. It’s someone else’s. It’s hers.
This beautiful moment will never be mine again.
As we fetch the rest of our things, Raker remains quiet.
“What?” I finally ask once we’re outside, striding toward the gates, his silence unnerving. It’s like he’s slipped back into who he used to be weeks before. The knight crafted in stone, the monster behind the mask.
He doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t.
We pass the threshold, where Vander portaled me in, and I can’t take it anymore. I whirl to face him, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Clearly, you don’t agree with my plan. Is it just because I came up with it? You’re used to making the plans, not following them?”
My anger seems to call to his, because he finally speaks. “You give yourself away so easily?” he spits. “I would have thought someone like you would have a bit more pride.” He says the words with clear derision. As if he has any right to judge me. As if he has any right to me at all.
“Why do you care?” I demand, yelling, my voice spilling through the empty grounds.
I can’t see his face. It’s beneath the hood again. His hands are in fists.
His entire body is coiled tight.
Then, in a flash, he’s pressing me against those open metal gates.
My mouth goes dry, remembering how he felt against me, without armor on. How he glared as his body responded to mine. How he hated it. How he leaned in just the slightest bit anyway. How his eyes seared into steel as I ground against every inch of him.
My blood pounds with need, remembering. Waiting to see that firm, well- practiced control snap once more, for good.
His hands are on my hips. He’s staring down at me, curved low, and no.
Now that I’ve seen him, I don’t want to look at shadows. I reach up and tear his hood back—and he lets me. He’s not wearing his mask. My heart stutters, just seeing his face. My voice is a whisper. “Why do you care?” I ask again, and I wait. I wait, and when he doesn’t say anything, I place my hands on his, not knowing if I want to remove them, or just feel them under mine.
He grips my hips harder. My breath hitches. His eyes darken into ink, bleeding into mine. Slowly, they drop to my neck, and the diamonds sparkling there. “Take this off,” he demands, instead of answering.
I scoff. “Are you back to ordering me again?”
“It means more than you are aware of.” Again, I am reminded of my limited immortal education compared to a king’s knight.
I lift my chin. “And what if I don’t care?”
At that, his eyes blaze. “You should care about being claimed, Aris. I would have thought that was exactly what you were hoping to avoid.”
Claimed? I rip the necklace off and shove it at his chest, pushing him away. “How convenient that you tarnish every shred of happiness that comes my way. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are, you know.”
I nearly slip out of his grip, but his gleaming gray eyes keep me still.
“This?” he demands, holding up my jewelry like it’s worthless and not valuable enough to feed villages for centuries. “This makes you happy?
Shiny, pretty things?” He shakes his head in near disgust. His head leans low. His gaze slips down my dress and back up again. “I’ve seen you, beneath these fabrics. You don’t need diamonds.” My lips part with a gasp.
He must have heard what Magnus said—how the diamonds now made me shine “brighter than the stars and moon combined.”
You don’t need diamonds.
The words echo through my mind, and I hate him for it. Because he doesn’t just get to decide to say something like that after insulting me.
We glare at each other, chests heaving. He gets closer, as if to say something else, something he wants me to hear clearly.
Then his gaze flickers to the side, toward the shining gates at my back, and I watch him shudder. Shudder.
I turn, wondering what could make a warrior as fearsome as Raker flinch, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but his reflection.
“I wouldn’t want to take away any more of your happiness,” he says, dropping the necklace into my hands.
He turns to go, but my voice stops him. “I told you. The only thing I care about is reaching the end of this.” I shrug. “And the promises mean nothing.
I don’t plan on living that long anyway.”
“So you’ve said.”
“So you’ve said,” I say through my teeth. “Almost exactly.” I tilt my head at him. “Or have you changed your mind about my chances of
survival?”
He says nothing.
He doesn’t need to. I did it. I got Raker medicine. He’s recovered. I got invitations that will get us to the Land of the Gods in mere days.
I push off the gates, shaking away these feelings that are making it way too hard to focus.
The quest is all that matters. It must come first.
And now more than ever, I see a path to the end of it. Breaking up the portaling by going smaller distances might be what’s best for my energy, but I don’t care. I don’t want to waste another moment. My mind is full of my purpose as I dig my sword into the dirt. Power pulls me down, as if something is being drained not only from my metal but from my very bones. “House Rodin,” I whisper.
Raker’s hand grips my elbow—and then we’re gone.
If Raker is surprised by our destination, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he seems pleased we’re skipping all the Houses but one. In any case, I don’t give a shit.
Not when he’s been so unpleasant, even after everything. Does he think I want to beg these men for their oaths? Does he think it pleases me to make
promises I almost certainly can’t keep?
The black iron gates we landed in front of begin to part by themselves, emitting a high-pitched howl.
And it’s immediately clear that this house is meant to honor the God of Death, at least in appearances.
House Rodin is crafted of pure dark obsidian. The walkway is lined in towering statues. All with the same subject. A man with every muscle imaginable, wielding a menacing sword.
Fear inches through my blood. This is the god that wants my head. The same one who is collecting stolen brides.
Is that really what he looks like? Or is it a generous rendering?
The moment we reach the palace doors, they open, just like the gates. An attendant is waiting for us.
The immortal’s posture is stiff. She looks like she exists in a perpetual state of terror.
“Welcome to House Rodin,” she says, bowing low. “It’s been—it’s been so long since we’ve had guests.”
I smile tightly, unease already sliding through me.
“Are you hungry? There will be a feast, of course, but—”
“Feast?” I ask.
She nods. “As is custom for Great Houses. All guests are welcomed with the best we have to offer. Feasts. Gifts. Our most ancient wines.”
It’s still the early hours. I shake my head. “Just a place to rest would be good,” I say. Raker is silent beside me.
“Of course. I—I will show you to the guest quarters.”
The attendant hurries up a set of onyx stairs, looking back at the door as if waiting for the lord of the house to suddenly appear. He doesn’t, and she rushes to show us to our rooms, which are right next to each other. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The moment she can, she scurries away again.
I turn to Raker, only to find him already striding down the hall, instead of going inside his room.
“Where are you going?” I snap. He doesn’t respond.
My eyes narrow on his back as I follow. “Are we back to this? You ignoring me?” Apparently, yes, because he doesn’t answer.
I sigh, following him. This castle is bathed in shadows. I find myself not rushing to be alone in my quarters. I watch as Raker tries door after door,
peering inside, until he finally finds a room that holds his interest.
It’s a library. For how desolate and dark this house is, the library is full of art. Shelves of ancient books fill the generous space. Tapestries line the walls. They all feature the same subject—the God of Death. Unlike the statues, these have color.
The God of Death is silver-haired, tall, and facing a swarm of monstrous creatures. His sword glows just as much as his hair does. Every tapestry is the same. The great God of Death on top of a pile of bodies, or surrounded by severed heads, or sitting on a throne of bones. A statue of him sits in the corner, towering and intimidating. Is it life-sized? I study it carefully,
turning my head. My lips purse.
“You know … he’s kind of hot,” I say.
Raker shoots me a scathing look.
I lift a shoulder. “What? He is.”
His hood is still down and I watch his eyes narrow. “Diamonds and death. That’s what gets you going. What a remarkable pairing.” He clearly finds me ridiculous.
I give him a sympathetic look. “Don’t be intimidated by a statue, Raker.
It’s unbecoming.”
He glares at me.
I slowly walk over to him, eager to ruin his day as he has ruined mine.
“Or … are you afraid? Is that it?” I take another step.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says.
I laugh. “You looked pretty terrified at the idea of kissing me.” I remember how his eyes widened when I gripped his face. When he realized what I was going to do.
His look could make an entire field of wildflowers wither. “I don’t kiss anyone.”
I raise a brow at him. “As a rule?” I say it as a joke, but he doesn’t reply.
My smile fades. “You’re not kidding.” I frown. “You don’t … you’ve never bedded anyone?”
He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “Of course I have. But fucking and kissing are two different things.” He looks utterly revolted as he seems to imagine the act. “I would never let anyone get that close to me.”
The corners of my lips twitch. “You act like kissing is more intimate than
having sex.”
“It is.”
“You make it sound repulsive.”
“Isn’t it?”
I smile fully now. “It isn’t so bad.” Not that I have much experience. I only kissed one boy, once, as a teenager. It was fine, but not good enough that I ever rushed to do it again.
Raker’s eyes narrow. He looks like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and turns around, toward the table.
“The map,” Raker says, clearly desperate to change the conversation. He points at a pile of parchment and pieces of charcoal. Still shaking my head in amusement, I begin to draw.
“We’re here,” I say, drawing the estate, then the desert, with the flaming city at the corner of it. City on Fire. Not far from a place that doesn’t have a name, only endless bolts of lightning.
“We just have to make it through the desert. And hope the cavalry doesn’t find us before we reach the Land of the Gods.”
He nods. He doesn’t look worried at all.
“Vander said a beast lives there. One that will make us enemies of ourselves.”
He just looks at me. His gaze repeats, I’m not afraid of anything.
My glare says, Cocky bastard.
Then, I yawn. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and Vander was right.
Portaling with the blade has sucked away my energy. “Fine. We’ll leave from the edge of these gardens first thing tomorrow,” I say, pushing off the edge of the table. “I’m going to get some rest.”
I lied.
The blacksmith in the Traveling City said one of the Great Houses has a forge, run by someone who might know which god my blade once belonged to.
Lord Rodin’s sword was freshly sharpened, evenly so, with precision, and limited scratch marks along the metal. By a grinding stone, I would
guess.
A device found in a forge.
It’s still a theory. I could be wrong. But something tells me the ancient
blacksmith is here.
I just need to find him.
The attendants aren’t helpful. The moment I spot a few and open my mouth, they scuttle away. You would think the God of Death himself roamed these halls, hanging anyone who dared look him in the eye.
Maybe he does, I think, as I creep down a set of stairs. A forge needs fire.
So far, I haven’t been successful searching the top floors. Maybe he’s below.
For the first few flights, all I feel is endless chill. Then … the temperature changes. It becomes warm when it should be getting colder. I follow the mysterious heat, until I hear it—pounding metal. Like a melody.
“Pass me the iron, would you?”
I do. I’m only ten, and convincing Stellan to let me help him in his forge is the biggest accomplishment of my life.
He looks at me and shakes his head, frowning at my wide, curious eyes.
“You’ll be bored in a week.”
I take not being bored as a personal challenge, especially when shadowing him becomes monotonous. I fill the silence between pounding metal with questions.
“Have you ever made a blade so big no one could hold it?”
“No.”
“Have you ever poured honey into the burning metal, just to see what
would happen?”
“What? No.”
“Have you ever—”
“Here,” he says, handing me his tools. “Why don’t you keep yourself busy by trying all these ideas of yours?”
I blink down at them. My excitement turns to worry. “But what if I fail?”
I ask. Would he let me back into the forge? Would he … would he put me out on the streets? I don’t have anywhere else to go … I try to return the tools.
“Maybe I shouldn’t try.”
He doesn’t take them back. All he says is, “The only way you fail is if you don’t.”
I open an iron door, and a blacksmith turns his focus away from a blade to me. His brow furrows. Then his eyes light with that all-too-familiar terror. “Does he know you’re here?” he asks, looking around.
“Who?” I say, even though I’m almost sure I know.
“Lord Rodin.”
I think back to the man with the dark, oily hair. He didn’t seem that intimidating, though I only interacted with him for a few minutes.
“I’m a guest,” I say, but clearly that doesn’t cut it. He stands as if to close the door in my face, when a tiny voice sounds nearby.
“Who is it, Dad?” Before the man can speak, a small child with hair black as night darts forward. He looks at me and tilts his head in wonder.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he says.
The man leans down and whispers words I can’t hear. The boy unhappily walks away. Then the blacksmith looks at me. His eyes are full of irritation … but also fear. He’s afraid for his son.
“You have to leave,” he says, looking around as if the walls have eyes
and ears.
“But—”
“Come back at midnight.” His gaze lands on the sword over my shoulder, tucked in my new scabbard. His eyes sharpen, just at seeing the hilt.
I slowly ease it out of its sheath so he can see its metal. “Have you—have you seen my blade before?”
The immortal blacksmith’s jaw works. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer me. Then, as if the words will cost him, he says, “I have.”
Hope rises through my chest. I open my mouth.
“Tonight,” he barks, before slamming the door shut.