Page 17

Chapter

Seventeen

D arrow sleeps peacefully in his guestroom at MASQ.

The furnishings here are as decadent as the rest of the establishment. Rich green paint stains the walls, contrasting nicely with the small gold chandelier. Darrow is tucked into a four-poster canopy bed, lying on his back with his hands resting over his middle. I’ve never been in the upstairs apartment in Darrow’s shop, but I imagine its similar to this.

The lock on his door was surprisingly easy to pick. I expected more of a challenge from an enchanter . Perhaps a trap or some sort of alarm? But the entire process was disturbingly easy.

The silver gleam of my dagger flickers through the dark room as I rest the cool metal against his throat. The steady rhythm of his breathing changes slightly.

“What a strange dream I’m having,” he murmurs.

“I’d prefer to be described as a nightmare.”

His eyes blink open, connecting with mine instantly. “I’m honored to be threatened by you for a second time in as many weeks, but couldn’t it have waited for a more reasonable hour?”

“Blame yourself.” I shrug. “If you don’t want people to break into your room, perhaps you should make it more difficult to pick the lock. I could have been a murderer.”

He gives me a flat look. “If you meant me harm, you would have been electrocuted as you passed over the threshold. Never underestimate an enchanter , my dear wraith .” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I have the sudden urge to dig the blade deeper into his skin. “But since you’re perfectly fine, it would appear that this pet is all bark and no bite.”

“Don’t,” I warn him as I slowly drag the blade across his neck, my pressure not quite hard enough to draw blood. “I didn’t come here with violent intentions, but a girl can always change her mind.”

His throat bobs as he takes in my sinister smile. Stepping back, I return the dagger to its sheath and make my way to the other side of the room.

“Noted.” He grabs the robe from the end of his bed and wraps it around himself before sliding off the mattress. “So, why did you seek me out?”

“I require information,” I say as I walk over to the armoire. Opening the top cabinet, I find it stuffed full of various suede jackets and satin shirts. What a curious amount of clothes to pack for what’s supposed to be a short stay.

Rolling his eyes, he knocks my hands out of the way before shutting the cabinet. “I should start charging you.”

“You owe me.” I keep my tone light, but we both know there’s truth under my words. “What do you know about the almanova ?”

“The what?” he asks in an even tone as he slips his feet into silk slippers.

“Oh, my apologies. Would you prefer I call it the whisperer?”

His eyes widen slightly. “It appears you’ve been quite busy, Lady Iverson.”

“I trust you’ve heard about Grell Darby?” I ask, helping myself to the cushy chair in the corner.

He nods, pursing his lips. “Have there been any updates?”

“He paid a visit to his wife after stealing the sword,” I tell him. “She claimed he had a nasty injury on his leg.” I lean back, watching his reactions closely. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No.” His expression betrays nothing.

I narrow my eyes. “He didn’t come to you seeking aid?”

“If he did, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been at the shop since the last time I saw you,” he reminds me.

“Mhmm.” I cock my head. “That wouldn’t that have anything to do with a certain dark-haired gentleman, would it?”

“I simply wanted to take a few days off.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Do I need to explain my comings and goings to you?”

“I’d rather you explain how the almanova is connected to my collar.”

He stiffens. “It’s not.”

“You have a bad habit of lying to me. Perhaps we should break you of it.” I pull out a folded piece of paper from my coin purse and hold it up to Darrow. He glances impassively at the illustration of the sword. “Those stones look familiar, don’t they?”

“One ruby is much like another.” He shrugs. “What makes you think they’re connected?”

I bite my lip, unsure how much I want to reveal. He’s being cagey, and I’d rather not give up more than is completely necessary. Still, I need answers.

“There’s something going on with my collar,” I admit finally, twisting uncomfortably in my seat. “It’s been… behaving oddly.”

One of his blond eyebrows arches. “Care to elaborate?”

I take a deep breath, praying for the courage to be honest.

“It gets hot,” I whisper, gesturing to the object in question. “And it pulses against my neck.”

I tell him everything I can remember about both occurrences. My skin itches as I freely offer the information, but Darrow is the only person who might be able to explain what’s happening. As wrong as this feels, I know this is a chance I have to take. As I speak, Darrow paces across the rug, his extravagant robe trailing behind him.

“Is it possible Darby was still in the tunnels when you felt it the first time?” he asks once I finish.

I shake my head. “According to our timeline, he had already been gone for hours by that point.”

His nose scrunches. “Certainly makes one curious what else is being kept down there.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I swallow thickly.

“And you said the second time you approached the house, the collar didn’t react at all?”

“No.” I shake my head as I lean back. “And all we found there were some blood stains and a woman who was rambling about rats and falling stars.”

He comes to a halt immediately. His gaze connects with mine, his eyes flaring. “She mentioned falling stars? You’re sure?”

I nod as a frisson of apprehension curls around me. “Why?”

“Tell me everything she said,” he demands, his tone more serious than I’ve ever heard it.

I lean forward. “She said ‘he’ was coming for me. I asked if she meant Darby, but she wouldn’t respond.”

His face pales as his gaze falls to the floor. “It’s already starting.”

“What are you talking about?”

Feeling too anxious to stay seated, I rise to my feet. My fingers fidget with one of the rubies on my collar and I desperately wish I’d never come here. Anything that could terrify Darrow this much is something I want to stay far away from.

The enchanter turns around, leaning both hands against the dark wooden dresser as he frowns at his own reflection. After a few moments, he sighs in disgust and closes his eyes, as if he can’t bear to look at himself. It’s a feeling I’m uncomfortably familiar with.

“How much do you know about the sword?” he asks softly.

“I know it was used to kill Claudius.”

His eyes snap open as he spins around. “Where did you learn that?”

I cross my arms. “Doesn’t matter.”

He scowls, but I raise my brows defiantly. I’ve been forthcoming enough for one day. The book is my secret, and I’m not sharing it.

“Never mind.” He waves me off. “Do you know why it’s often referred to as ‘the whisperer?’”

“I’d guess it has something to do with the voices Baylor warned me about.”

He nods. “The almanova is more than just a sword.”

“It’s merely an enchanted object,” I insist, despite my intuition telling me he’s right.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s much more than that. The almanova is a living, sentient being. It has its own will, its own desires.”

My mouth is suddenly dry as I try to swallow down my rising uneasiness. “If that’s true, then what does it want?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he mutters, not meeting my gaze. Cagey bastard.

“What happens when you touch it?” I ask, remembering Baylor’s order.

“Never touch it!” His eyes flash as he nearly shouts the words. “Once you touch the sword, it owns you. Controls you.”

“That’s not possible,” I whisper.

“I wish that were true,” he says darkly. “Being in close proximity is all it takes to begin hearing the voices, but once you touch it, it’s over. Very few would be able to fight against its will at that point.”

My mind returns to the passage I read in my book.

“Is that what happened to Philo?” I ask, referring to the first God of Love and Hate.

He nods. “As a God, he probably would have been able to withstand its influence for a short time, but it would have taken all his strength. Eventually, he would have been too drained to keep fighting.”

I always think of Gods as being indestructible, but they aren’t. They were created by the Fates to unite our realms and rule over them, but they can still die. Even among the supposedly immortal, no one lives forever. While a high fae might live two or three thousand years if they’re lucky, a God’s lifespan is more than triple that. Like fae, Gods age slowly. Cassandra, the Goddess of Divination is the oldest among the current set, probably due to her ability to see threats in advance.

Claudius may have been the first God to die, but he wasn’t the last. Many have been slaughtered by other Gods over the years. Though, I’ve never heard of one being felled by a mortal or fae.

“An Heir would succumb to the sword much faster,” Darrow adds, referring to the children of the Gods. “They might be able to use it once, but even for someone with divine blood, it would be a risk.”

A great rumble of thunder crashes outside, the force of it shaking the building. I move toward the window, wincing as lightning strikes nearby. These storms are getting out of hand.

“It’s going to get worse,” Darrow echoes my thoughts. “That tsunami that happened up north will be nothing compared to what the Fates will rain down on us.”

He reaches for a decanter of brown liquid, pouring several fingers worth into a crystal tumbler. He holds the glass up to me, but I shake my head, politely refraining from commenting on the time of day or the generosity of his pour.

“You believe what they say about the storms?” I ask. “That it’s Baylor’s fault?”

He nods, taking a sip. “Him becoming king wasn’t part of their plan.”

Darrow is usually more careful than this. That small confession, offered so freely, was treasonous. While he may toe the line occasionally, he typically chooses his words more carefully. What’s different today?

“Why are you telling me this, Darrow?”

He swirls the liquid in his cup, watching me with sad eyes. “Because I think you’ve finally seen Baylor for what he is.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mistake,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze.

“Is there any way to help those who’ve succumbed to the sword’s influence?” I ask, changing the subject.

Thoughts of Alice’s haunted face cloud my mind. Even if Grell Darby could break free of the sword’s hold, the damage has been done. I don’t know if she could ever see him the way she did before. Unfortunately, love is simultaneously the strongest force in the world, and the most fragile.

“Sometimes distance helps.” Darrow knocks back the rest of his drink and sets the glass on his dresser before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Where did you learn all of this?”

He doesn’t respond.

Strangely, his silence is a relief. As much as I want answers, his uncharacteristic forthrightness was worrying me. Whatever is truly going on with the sword, it’s shaken him more than anything I’ve seen before.

“Is there anyone who would be immune to it?” I try another question.

“The Goddess of Illusion,” he says, surprising me. “Or one of her descendants. But since she’s missing, and the existence of her Heir has never been confirmed, no. There’s no one who could wield it without consequence.”

He moves to the window, peeking through the gap in the curtains. There’s a faint tremor in his hands as he scans the streets below.

“Thorne isn’t the only reason you’ve been avoiding your shop?” I ask tentatively.

Dropping the curtain, he turns back to me. The fear in his eyes is palpable. “It’s dangerous, Iverson. More than you understand.”

He moves closer, gripping my shoulders tightly. On instinct, I crane my neck back to put distance between us. I don’t like anyone being this close to me.

That’s not true. You liked being close to Thorne, my inner voice reminds me. But he didn’t like being close to you.

“Do not trust anyone,” Darrow orders. “Especially those who’ve come into contact with the sword. It doesn’t matter how well you know them, or how close you are. Once the whisperer has them in its grasp, they are a stranger to you. Anyone can be corrupted by it. Anyone. ”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as shivers skate down my spine.

“The almanova digs its claws into the minds of its victims, making puppets out of them. It can see all their desires, whispering to them to take whatever they want. And no one can resist it for long. Never forget, the Forsaken are capable of anything.”

My brow wrinkles. “Forsaken?”

“That’s what they’re called,” he says. “Those who are under its influence.”

Heaviness settles onto my shoulders as the full weight of his words sinks into me. The situation is precarious. It’s as though this city is teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if the balance will hold. The sword is out there, corrupting who knows how many people. What are they capable of?

My gaze drifts back to the window, seeing faint outlines rushing down the avenue below. They scurry for cover as the streets soak with rain. How quickly will it turn to blood?

“That’s why I’m going to remain here,” Darrow says quietly, dragging a hand over his face. “In the comfort of Della’s hospitality until this matter is resolved.”

“Wait.” I pull back, shaking my head. “You’re not going to try to help at all?”

“No good deed goes unpunished, Iverson. While you hunt the sword, don’t delude yourself into believing it’s not hunting you too.”

The thought makes me shudder. Despite everything I’ve heard today, some part of me still doesn’t believe it’s possible.

“You’ve spent all these years turning yourself into a predator,” he continues. “But I know you still remember what it’s like to be prey. You need to be careful.”

“And what exactly should she be careful with?” a deep voice cuts in.