Page 18

Chapter

Eighteen

M y head jerks toward the door, finding Thorne glaring at me from the other side of the threshold. He leans against the red wallpaper in what appears to be an easy manner, but I can spot the tension radiating through his lean body. He looks as if he’s a moment away from pouncing on someone. Judging by the way his eyes harden as he takes in my proximity to Darrow, I guess that person is probably me.

“What a coincidence to find you both here,” Thorne drawls. “Funny, this doesn’t look like an apothecary in the Lowers.”

“Well,” Darrow drags out the word as he claps his hands together. “You two clearly have much to discuss. Won’t you please come in and join us?”

“Thank you for the invitation,” the reaper says sarcastically.

The enchanter watches with fevered eyes as Thorne lifts his foot, only seconds from crossing the threshold, when he suddenly stops.

A cruel gleam flickers in his eyes. “You didn’t honestly think that would work, did you?”

“Worth a try?” Darrow’s pitch rises as he offers the reaper a pained smile.

Thorne’s gaze shifts to me, utterly unimpressed.

“I’ll wait for you in the alley.” His authoritative tone rankles. “And if I have to come back up here, I won’t be stopping at the threshold.”

Something tells me a little electrocution wouldn’t be enough to take him down. With one last glare, he storms down the hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

“What are you waiting for?” Darrow exclaims as he begins shooing me from the room. “You heard the man!”

Grabbing my shoulders, he pushes me across the carpet and out into the hall.

“Darrow!” I spit his name. Pulling one of my blades free, I take a step toward him.

“Uh, uh, uh.” He wags his finger before pointing to the enchanted doorway between us. “You look like you have a clear intention of harming me. But might I remind you, dear Iverson, that would be bad for your health.”

“Bastard,” I grumble under my breath.

“Takes one to know one, pet.” He smirks, tossing one of his blond curls over his shoulder. “Now, please ask your new acquaintance not to murder me. I’m too beautiful to die.”

“Coward.”

“And proud of it!” He slams the door.

I roll my eyes as I trudge through the empty club. When I come here early in the day, I don’t usually venture past Della’s study. There’s something eerie about seeing the front rooms empty. There’s a wrongness to it, as if everyone suddenly disappeared in the middle of their revelry.

But, of course, MASQ isn’t entirely empty. Della stands in the kitchen, her hands on her hips. The soft pink dress compliments her dark skin beautifully, but judging by her expression, the bright color is completely at odds with her mood.

“I do not appreciate uninvited men banging on my back door and traipsing through these halls this early in the day, Iverson,” she says sternly.

“It won’t happen again,” I promise, raising my hands in a placating gesture.

Steel flashes in her brown eyes. “See that it doesn’t.”

I tuck my chin, staring at the tile floor as I head for the door. Getting scolded by Della takes me back to my childhood. I was constantly getting into trouble with her and Leona, always touching something I shouldn’t. Even though she’s genuinely angry with me right now, I have to bite my lip to stop a nostalgic smile from forming. For a moment, everything is exactly how it once was.

As soon as I step outside, the door slams shut behind me. Several clinks and thumps echo from the other side as she twists all of the locks into place. Her paranoia would be amusing if it weren’t sad.

Thorne stands a few feet away, anger radiating off him as he holds himself slightly too still. If I had to describe him with one word, it would be restrained. Rain soaks through his clothes, molding them to his body.

“The enchanter didn’t want to join us?” he asks, his tone far too soft.

I cross my arms over my chest. “His schedule was already booked.”

“Yet again, he abandons you to save himself.” Thorne takes a few steps closer. “Some friend.”

I shuffle backward, hitting the brick wall behind me. “As I said before, we’re not that close.”

He moves forward, eating up the space I put between us. “You lied to me.”

“You’ve lied to me many times.” I lift my chin to meet his gaze, barely an inch separating us.

A muscle twitches at his jaw. “You two were pretty cozy up there.”

My face heats at the insinuation. “Jealous?”

He barks out a laugh, and his breath coasts across my cheek. “Betrayed is more like it. I don’t enjoy being given the runaround.”

“And I don’t enjoy how you expect me to share everything with you, while you share nothing with me,” I tell him, shocked by how true the statement is. I’m tired of being kept in the dark by those who demand my unwavering loyalty.

“Too bad, my lady.” One side of his mouth kicks up in a half smile. “That’s the way this works. If you have a problem with it, take it up with your lover .”

My hand moves through the air without my permission, halting a centimeter from his cheek as he catches my wrist. The leather from his gloves is soft where his fingers wrap around my skin, perfectly at odds with the anger simmering in his blue eyes. He looms over me, trapping my wrist against the wall above my head.

“What did I tell you, Angel?” Thorne demands, his voice deepening. “Don’t ever touch me.”

“Believe me,” I tell him. “Touching you is the last thing I’d want.”

His jaw clenches as his gaze flits to my mouth. My limbs turn heavy as an unwanted heat settles in my lower stomach. The sensation only increases as his thumb brushes back and forth over my wrist.

My attention catches on a raindrop carving a path down his face, slipping past the freckles on his cheeks before dripping off his chin. A shiver racks through me as my eyes find his again. The silver flecks that mingle within those pale-blue irises are maddening. It’s not right for anyone to be this beautiful. Without meaning to, I find myself pushing onto my tiptoes and closing the distance between us further. We’re both breathing harder now, our chest nearly brushing with each inhale. It would be so easy to lean forward and?—

“Ivy?” a male voice calls, breaking the strange trance between us.

Thorne is gone in an instant.

As if I was being held up by his presence alone, I nearly slide to the ground. Thankfully, no one sees me catch myself at the last moment. I find the reaper with his back to me as he stares at the intruder, a predator sizing up his prey. Several feet past him, stands Nolan, Morwen’s fiancé. His sandy brown hair is plastered to his forehead as the rain pounds against him. Instead of seeking shelter inside, he stands frozen by the back door of his bakery. His throat bobs as he takes in Thorne’s aggressive stance. I don’t miss the way Nolan straightens his posture and puffs out his chest in response.

“Everything alright, Lady Iverson?” Nolan asks, his voice sounding deeper than before.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, keeping my gaze on Thorne as I edge a few feet in his direction. “Go back inside.”

He must do as I asked because I hear the heavy door slam shut.

Hopefully, the reaper won’t think too deeply about why a random man addressed me so informally. The last thing I need is for him to poke around and figure out Nolan’s connection to my illicit activities. The sweet baker is the perfect go between to deliver messages from Della to Morwen, who then relays them to me. Thorne may know I’m the Angel of Mercy, but he has no idea who else is involved, and it needs to stay that way.

Thorne continues watching the door for a few more moments before turning back to me. Whatever existed between us a few moments ago is gone. There’s no trace of warmth in his expression now, only cold suspicion.

“You must come here often to be familiar with the neighbors,” he says, somehow managing to make the statement sound like an accusation.

Swallowing my disappointment over his abrupt change in demeanor, I force myself to be ambivalent. I slip into one of the easy roles I often play and shrug dismissively.

“I enjoy the ambiance.”

His eyes narrow. “That all you enjoy?”

“Oh, Reaper.” I offer him a flirtatious smile. “I’m fond of all manner of things.”

Wisps of shadow curl around the edges of his eyes. “What did Darrow tell you?”

“Go ask him yourself if you think you’ll get anything out of him.”

His head tilts to the side as he examines me, no doubt trying to find a new angle to get what he wants.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Angel.” His tone is softer now, more intimate. “We can share information.”

“Alright,” I agree. “You first.”

He heaves an exasperated sigh, as if I’m the one being difficult. A hysterical laugh bubbles up as something inside of me snaps.

“How did you find me here today?” I demand, stepping forward. “How do you always know where I am, even when I’m invisible? And why can I sense when you’re nearby? Right here.” I pull up my hair, exposing the back of my neck. “I feel you. Why?”

I wait for a response that doesn’t come. Instead, he remains unreadable, offering no explanations.

“Why did you keep my secrets?” I continue, unable to stop. “Why didn’t you tell Baylor the truth? That would have been easier than manipulating me into convincing him to let me help you.”

His face betrays nothing. Whatever he’s thinking is hidden behind a mask of cold indifference. Or maybe there is no mask. Maybe he truly doesn’t care. The thought severs whatever’s left of my self-control.

“What do you want from me?” I scream.

Rain pounds against the ground around us, blurring our surroundings as it creates the illusion that we’re completely alone.

“Why does Death need the sword?” I keep going. “Who does he plan to use it against? By helping you find it, am I complicit in someone’s murder? Another God’s perhaps?”

“Since when do you have a problem with killing?” Thorne steps forward, throwing the words at me like a weapon. “Isn’t it the thing you’re most known for?”

I step back, my shoulders curling inward as if I’ve been struck.

His words seep through my clothes, burning my skin with their truth. I am a killer. In fact, that’s all I am. All I do. I kill and I lie. Guilt boils inside of me as that cell in my mind fractures once more, allowing all of my haunted memories to spill out.

Would you do anything for me?

The reminder of Baylor’s words only fuels my anger more. That cursed night was when my whole world shifted on its axis for the second time.

“You keep your secrets but demand to know all of mine,” I tell him, hating the emotion leaking into my voice. “This isn’t a partnership. I don’t owe you anything. Go back to wherever your accommodations are, and I’m sure someone will find you if you’re needed.”

He watches me with that all-seeing gaze, but I have no idea what he’s thinking. Emotion flickers behind his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak. I hold my breath, desperate for whatever he’s going to tell me. But a noise from behind me steals his attention, and the mask slides into place once more. For a moment, I think I spot a trace of regret in his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly to be sure.

The sound of ripping fabric comes a second before his wings break free. A gasp slips out of me at the sight of the magnificent onyx feathers. Without another word, Thorne leaps into the air. Rain splashes into my eyes as I watch him disappear into the sky, wondering what he might have said if we hadn’t been interrupted. Why were those unspoken words so important to me? Forcing myself to let it go, I turn to find Darrow peeking through the slightly cracked door.

Seeing he’s been spotted, he yelps and quickly slams it shut.

I stomp across the wet ground, silently cursing the way my damp clothes awkwardly cling to my body. I only have to bang my fist against the hard steel once before the handle twists and Darrow cracks it open, peeping through the tiny gap with one eye.

“Enjoy the show?” I ask.

He frowns, having the nerve to look chastised.

“Ask me a question,” he mutters.

“What?” I lean forward, sure that I’ve misheard him.

“Ask me one question,” he clarifies. “And I might answer. If I can.”

My mouth hangs open. Is this his way of apologizing?

“Quickly, Iverson. I don’t have all day,” he snaps.

Fates, even his apologies are petulant. I shake my head, trying to focus on what I want to ask. Half of my most pressing questions are things I’m sure he won’t tell me. But there’s one small thing that’s been bothering me.

Meeting his gaze through the cracked door, I take a deep breath. “Why did you panic when I mentioned falling stars earlier?”

He bristles. “I didn’t panic.”

“Darrow,” I say flatly.

“Fine.” His eyes grow sad, and for a moment, I think he won’t tell me.

Annoyance flares as I turn around, letting an illusion settle over my skin. I’m already walking away when he finally speaks.

“Do you know what almanova means in the old language?”

I turn around, shaking my head even though he can’t see it.

“Soul of the star,” he says softly. “It means ‘ soul of the star .’”

With my back pressed against the hard marble of the clawfoot tub, I keep my head angled toward the door and a blade resting along the edge. When I returned from my outing, Alva thought a bath would help me to unwind from my stressful week. She always fills the water with scented oils and healing salts, telling me they are great for relaxation. Tonight she choose jasmine, hoping it would help me be more at ease.

Unfortunately, every time I try to close my eyes, they immediately snap open as phantom footsteps creep across the stone tiles. I do my best to ignore the imaginary hands brushing over my scalp, threatening to push my head under the water. Somehow, I am even more on edge than when I got in.

Three exhausting days have passed since I went to MASQ.

Each has been spent helping Remy in his search of the city. There’s been no sign of Darby or the sword, but I’ve sensed the beginnings of the chaos Darrow predicted. There’s a layer of hostility in the air, pushing everyone closer to their breaking point. I’ve seen customers snap at vendors over the most minor inconveniences.

Earlier today, I witnessed a man destroy a booth at the fish market because the owner was sold out of oysters. Remy’s soldiers arrested him, but he was far from the only one behaving aggressively. And if Darrow was right, it will only get worse.

We’ve searched all of Darby’s usual haunts and interviewed his known associates, but no one has seen him. And none of the healers admitted to aiding him with his wounds. Starting tomorrow, Baylor has given orders for every home and business in the city to be searched, even the ones in Highgrove and Midgarden. The king must truly be panicking if he’s willing to risk angering the aristocracy.

Darrow’s words from the other morning linger in the back of my mind. Soul of the star . Such a strange thing to name a sword. Could it be a coincidence that the old woman was singing about falling stars?

A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts, sending a wave of dread sweeping through my veins. There’s only one reason for someone to knock this late.

Water sluices down my flushed skin as I rise from the tub and wrap myself in a silk robe. My damp hair leaves a trail of droplets over the floor as I make my way to the door. I open it to find Huxley, one of the kings guards, standing across from me. His cheeks turn bright pink when he notices my lack of attire. Clearing his throat, he coughs several times before speaking.

“The king has requested your presence this evening, Lady Iverson,” he says, the words sliding into my stomach like a knife.

The guards always say the same thing. Always frame it as a request, but the idea that I can say no is an illusion. No one denies a king. A useless scream rises in my throat, but I keep my mouth shut. Giving voice to my rage would accomplish nothing. Instead, I nod politely as I hold up a finger to signal I only need a moment.

The door clicks shut between us. Like the walls of a battle trench, the small barrier offers me only a moment’s reprieve. I remind myself I need to be strong and emotionless. A perfect liar. But more than anything, I want to kill him. Kill all of them. I want to burn this entire city to ash and let the flames consume me too.

But instead, I sit down at my vanity and fix my face like a good actress.

Using a fluffy towel, I soak up some of the water from my hair before combing out the fiery waves. Next, I rub a soothing lotion over my body, making my skin smooth and supple. To add life back into my complexion, I lightly dab a berry tint onto my lips and cheeks, giving me a flushed appearance. My face is perfect, apart from the hollowness of my amber eyes, but he’s never noticed that before.

It’s almost funny that all of this soft beauty is required for such an ugly fate.

Hot tears threaten to spill, but I hold them back. If I let them fall tonight, they’ll never stop. I’d hoped that with Bridgid as his new mistress, I’d have a reprieve from any late-night summons. Unfortunately, it seems the distraction she offers him is limited. I meet my own gaze in the mirror as my fingers dig into the wooden vanity. Could the weight of my rage be enough to crack it?

“You are so much more than this,” I whisper to my reflection.

There was far more conviction in Leona’s voice when she first spoke those words. Deserved or not, she truly believed them. Steely resolve settles over me at the reminder of the late queen. Clenching my eyes shut, I reach for that hidden spot deep within, the place where my power resides. Calling it forward, I let the pain rip through me. My mouth opens with a silent scream as the familiar agony cuts me in half. My nerves are strained to the brink, my cells shredded to bits.

The process feels endless, but in reality, it only takes a few seconds.

I gulp down heaving gasps of air as I lean against the vanity for support. Blood tickles my upper lip as it drips from my nose. I wipe it away with the back of my hand as I gaze into eidolons vacant eyes. She’s an exact copy of me, even down to the berry tint on her full lips.

“You know what to do,” I whisper, wincing from the pounding in my head.

Her silk robe trails behind her as she gracefully crosses to the door and disappears into the hall, taking my place like she does every time Baylor calls me to his chambers. I listen as Huxley greets her, completely unaware he’s speaking to a fraud. When the sound of their footsteps retreat down the hall, I crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head. The first part of this process is difficult, but what comes next is much worse.

The first time I created an eidolon was only one month after Leona died.

In the weeks following her death, Baylor gave me space. I don’t think he expected me to be devastated by it, to need so much time to mourn. But when the first late-night knock came, I panicked. I told the guard I would be right out, but instead I curled into a ball on the floor and rocked back and forth with a dagger clutched in my hand.

I have no idea what I planned to do; I only knew I wouldn’t let them take me to him. I couldn’t let him touch me that way again after what he did. Even just the thought of it made me sick.

That night, it felt as if the world was being ripped apart. Something inside of me was breaking, shattering into tiny pieces that couldn’t be put back together. The collar was so heavy around my neck, as though it was digging into my skin. I was convinced the weight of it was going to crush my bones. I still don’t know how I kept myself from crying out, but eventually, something inside of me snapped.

As the minutes passed, everything calmed down. Sweat cooled against my skin, leaving me shivering. And when I opened my eyes, I was staring at an exact replica of myself.

I didn’t tell a soul what had happened. If the king were to discover it, I’ve no doubt he’d find some way to use it to his advantage. But deep down, a small voice whispered that wasn’t the only reason.

Shame curdles in my gut every time I think about what I use my eidolon for.

My duplicate doesn’t have her own consciousness. She’s more of a machine than a person. She relies on commands, along with my instincts and muscle memory that have been copied into her. She can experience physical sensations to a certain degree, but she has no thoughts or internal emotions.

Still, I hate myself for sending her in my place.

And yet, I’m unbelievably grateful.

Maintaining the illusion all night is incredibly taxing for me, but I’ll gladly suffer the headaches and nosebleeds if it means I don’t have to touch him. I can block out the link that connects us, ensuring I don’t feel anything that’s happening in his room.

Without my eidolon , I don’t think I would have survived the past year.

I don’t think I would have wanted to.