Page 5

Chapter

Five

A s Lynal Skynner finishes his fourth ale of the night, I wonder if he has any idea that it will be his last. He isn’t a particularly remarkable man. Dirty blond hair clings to his damp face, flushed red from the alcohol. Round ears mark him as mortal, but that’s to be expected.

While the city isn’t technically divided by species, it’s generally known that high fae live in Highgrove, closest to the palace, while the half fae community has turned Midgarden into their artistic haven. Across the river in the Dockside District, commonly referred to as “the Lowers,” mortals such as Lynal have carved out lives for themselves.

I recognize him as a regular, but I’ve never taken much notice of him before tonight. He was just another drunk making a fool of himself, not a unique signifier around here.

He’s surrounded by a group of similarly useless men, all taking up one of the high-top tables near the bar. Lynal appears harmless enough, generous with his smiles and laughter. Tonight, he’s being generous with his coin too, which is unusual for anyone around here.

“This should cover our tab tonight,” he brags, making a big show of handing his silver coin to the waitress. “Drinks are on me tonight, lads.”

He blushes as his friends pat him on the back, all cheering at their good luck. But around the room, covetous eyes watch the transaction closely. It’s risky to show silver in a district where everyone pays with copper, but Lynal is no doubt feeling invincible after the deal he brokered this afternoon.

Looking at the man now, most people would never guess what he’s capable of. But over the past year, I’ve learned that even the most innocent face can hide a myriad of sins.

And after all, Della is never wrong.

I’ve spent the last few hours cloaked in an illusion, sitting at an empty table in the back corner of the pub. In my line of work, there’s a lot of waiting. The constant quiet before the brief storm.

But as the babble of the crowd washes over me tonight, I don’t mind being patient. I enjoy coming to this pub for a reason. Sometimes the silence in my room at the palace eats away at me. The quiet burrows under my skin, stretching it tight until a single sound might snap me in half. But in a place like this, the noise never ends.

My corner is dark and far from the bar. It offers me privacy since most people prefer to remain near the action.

Except Calum.

The elderly gentleman comes here almost every night and always sits in the same spot, drinking the same ale. I’ve followed him home a few times to ensure he makes it there. He’s gruff, and sometimes his mind strays from the present, but I appreciate how genuine he is.

Lynal and his companions throw their heads back in an uproar, laughing at a crude comment one of them made about the barmaid. Judging by the number of drinks he’s consumed within the past hour, it shouldn’t be much longer now until I can make my move.

“Keep it down, lads,” Calum grumbles, the rich dialect of the northern villages decorating his words. “Yer not as funny as ya think ya are.”

“Shut up, you old drunk,” Lynal shouts from across the pub, spit permeating each word. “Before I make you.”

“Just like yer humor, yer threats leave much to be desired,” Calum calls back, shaking his head. “Nothing but empty words from an empty mind.”

The men at Lynal’s table freeze, all of them waiting to see how their ringleader will respond to the insult. The man to his right, whose name I’m pretty sure is Taron, leans closer.

“You’re not going to let him speak to you that way, are you?” he asks, his brows raised.

Lynal’s face hardens as he slams his ale down, causing several drops to splash onto the table as he stands up. “Not a chance.”

My shoulders stiffen as Lynal makes his way to our corner of the bar. A few of the other patrons shoot apprehensive glances in Calum’s direction, but none of them attempt to intervene.

“Why don’t you piss off, you old drunk.” Lynal glowers as he places his hands on Calum’s table, looming over him in a domineering position. “Go back to talking to the wall like you usually do.”

The sight of Calum’s tan face flushing red has me reaching for one of my blades.

“Or you could do us all a favor and die already,” Lynal continues, whispering so low I can barely hear him. “Save us the trouble of listening to you ramble?”

I grip the pommel of my sword tightly as he leans closer. If Lynal touches him I’ll end his life here and now—damn the consequences.

The older mortal meet’s Lynal’s cool stare with one of his own.

“You first,” Calum challenges.

Fury detonates across Lynal’s face, and for a moment, I think he’s truly going to try something, but just as quickly as it appeared, his rage is replaced by smug condescension.

“I doubt that will happen.” He laughs as he turns around and rejoins his friends. “You’ve got one foot in the grave already, old man.”

Taron, the one who spoke earlier, pats his friend on the back as he returns to their table. The others cheer, pushing drinks and compliments in Lynal’s direction. Calum grumbles quietly, returning his attention to the foamy ale in front of him. Releasing my weapon, I drop my hands to my lap, wishing I could wrap them around Lynal’s throat instead.

Patience , I remind myself. He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.

As the men continue laughing, a familiar sensation has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. There’s a palpable shift in the room as the atmosphere becomes heavier. I glance around at the patrons, but they don’t seem to notice. Is it because they’ve dulled their senses past the point of caution, or is there some other reason why only I can feel this?

My eyes shoot toward the door a moment before he enters.

Reaper.

His wings and shadows are nowhere to be seen, but he’s no less menacing without them. Another thing that’s missing is the stubble that hugged his cheeks. It seems he’s shaved since I saw him last night. Silver flashes beneath his heavy cloak, drawing my attention to what is most likely a weapon. Though why he bothered to bring one, I can’t say. Perhaps he’s going for subtlety. Those shadows would surely spark hysteria if he whipped them out in here. But that would be nothing compared to what would happen if he summoned his scythe.

Before the Novian war, reapers would go around spearing souls on their scythes and ferrying them to their final resting place. But when the first Gods rose to power and created the veils, reapers became obsolete. Now, when a soul leaves its body, it feels an undeniable pull to the closest veil. Clara, my old governess, used to warn me to stay away from them.

Never pass through a lonely stone archway, love . For that way lies only death with no return.

It’s commonly believed that no one has seen a reaper in nearly five thousand years. There are whispers that they still exist, living in seclusion deep within the mountains of Death’s realm. After what I saw last night, I can now confirm that these rumors are at least partially true.

Now that he’s entered the pub, the conversations dissolve into silence as everyone turns to behold the stranger.

Lynal and his friends stare at the reaper with varying degrees of awe and fear. Patrons who were standing near the door scurry in the opposite direction. The barkeep, Sam, glances up with a smile, ready to greet his new customer, but it slides right off his face as his mouth falls open in shock. An empty glass slips from his hand, crashing against the ground.

The sound seems to restart time, and everyone slowly begins to pick up their conversations again. Although they’re far less boisterous than before. I doubt any of them can tell what the reaper is, but they sense something unsettling about him.

His dark hair is pushed back again, giving me a clear view of his narrowed eyes as they scan the room. Even in the dim light of this dingy pub, he’s heartbreakingly beautiful. I spot a few women sneaking appreciative glances, no doubt debating the danger of approaching him.

The corners of his mouth curve as his gaze settles on my chair, and my heart gallops as he walks this way. Yet again, he has no trouble sensing me despite my invisibility. Him showing up at the same pub I’ve been staking out all night can’t be a coincidence.

He’s here for me.

The reaper ignores the rest of the patrons as he strolls past them and slides into the chair across from mine, arrogantly turning his back on everyone else. That’s either bold or foolish. Alcohol tends to make men brave, giving them the courage to pick fights they have no business starting. My pulse spikes as I notice a few hostile stares gazing in our direction. I can’t afford to get caught up in whatever game the reaper’s playing tonight.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice.

Calum glances up, turning to glare at the reaper with annoyance. “No, I had’na planned on it.”

The reaper ignores him, keeping his gaze on me. “I’ll sit here all night if that’s what it takes.”

The old man’s head falls back as he releases a long sigh.

“Goddess spare me from the young,” he grumbles before taking a long swig from his ale and twisting in his chair to face my new companion. “Hello, lad. How’s yer evenin’?”

Foamy beer clings to his white mustache, causing me to bite down hard on the humor that threatens my foul mood. The reaper slowly turns his head toward the elderly mortal. His expression is cold, but I spot a flash of amusement in his eyes.

“Are ya happy with my greeting, since it apparently means so much to ya?” Calum demands.

“My apologies, sir,” he responds evenly. “But I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Calum glances around our empty corner, his brows raised. “Who else would ya be talking to, lad?”

Without missing a beat, the reaper gestures in my direction. “Why, the beautiful woman across from me, of course.”

I silently thank the Fates that no one can see the heat rising in my cheeks.

Calum eyes the seemingly empty seat before shrugging his shoulders with nonchalance. “Don’t go thinking yer special, lad.” He waves the reaper off before taking another gulp of ale. “She talks to me all the time.”

His silvery blue gaze flickers in my direction as one corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does she now?”

Calum nods. “Always flirting with me, isn’t she? I keep telling her it’s no use. My heart will always belong to my Francie, Goddess rest her soul.”

Leaning forward, I can’t help myself from speaking up for the first time since I walked into the pub. “You can’t blame a girl for chasing the most handsome man in the room.”

His wrinkled cheeks blush instantly as a bashful smile plays at his lips.

“And that includes you, lad,” Calum taunts the reaper. “She fancies me the most.”

“So it would seem,” my companion says, sitting back in his seat as he stretches an arm across the back of the booth beside him. His other hand pulls a few copper coins from his pocket and tosses them to elderly gentleman. “But I do need to speak with the lady privately, so why don’t you go to the bar and get another round on me?”

Calum pockets the change. As if seeking my approval, he glances toward my side of the table, his rheumy gaze settling on a spot several inches to the left of my head.

“Go ahead.” I keep my voice quiet, hoping not to draw any further attention.

Sparing one last glare in the reapers direction, he rises and makes his way to the bar. His steps are stable, but there’s a frailty to his stature that betrays his age. Turning back to my companion, I find him staring at me with a strange expression. For someone who can’t actually see me, he does a surprisingly good job of judging where my eyes are.

“What interesting friends you have.” The hushed, intimate tone of his voice sends chills dancing across my arms. “I confess, I’m jealous. You’ve never commented on my good looks.”

“Because you’re hideous,” I lie, crossing my arms as I lean back.

One hand moves to his chest in a scandalized fashion. “Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

“We’re not friends.”

His pale eyes glimmer with suggestion. “I think last night makes us more than acquaintances.”

My eyes narrow. “I threw a dagger at your face, and you decided to elevate me to friend instead of enemy?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, my lady.” A lazy grin pulls at his full lips. “You threw four daggers at my face.”

“Pity none of them hit their target.” My fingers move to the hilt of the sword I carry tonight, wondering how well he’d dodge a weapon of this size.

“You did draw blood, though.” He leans forward, appearing genuinely impressed by this. “It’s been years since anyone managed that. You should feel proud.”

“And yet I feel patronized.” I roll my eyes, catching sight of several other patrons who are watching the reaper with varying degrees of nervousness.

“Why are you following me?” I ask, taking charge of the conversation.

His head tilts. “Who says I am?”

“I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

“Good.” He shrugs, sitting back again. “I don’t play with cheaters.”

“As your friend” —I instill every ounce of derision I can manage into the word— “I should probably point out that everyone in this room is staring at you. They think you’re talking to an empty chair.”

“How embarrassing,” he says gravely. “Am I blushing?”

Frustration builds within me as my temper flares.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning close enough for me to smell his bergamot scent as his voice turns soft, intimate. “If you’re concerned about my reputation, you could always reveal yourself.”

“You know, if you keep asking me to reveal myself,” I whisper, “I’m going to take it the wrong way.”

He bites his lip to stop a smile. “Then they’d really have a reason to stare.”

The reaper’s face is only inches away from mine, his breath floating against my cheek. I shoot back, realizing I’d leaned closer to him without meaning to. Swallowing thickly, I glance at the bar and freeze.

Lynal is gone.