Page 17 of Mistress of Bones

He smiled then, a cruel curve of his lips that let her know he was allowing her the last word because that was all she had left.

All Azul could do was grit her teeth, dig her nails in her palms, and follow.

He took her back to another room, its open window bringing in the scents of the queen’s blooms.

“You shall cease these attempts to use your foulness,” he told her.

“I will,” she assured him.

He cocked his head, her lie obvious to them both. “What you do has no place in this world. Why do you insist on doing it?”

Azul walked to the window, putting some space between them.

The view into the patio had changed. The bushes and plants looked less dreary, standing strong against the darkness of the night, thanks to Luck and Wonder’s moonlight.

If that wasn’t a sign meant to encourage her, Azul would eat her shirt.

“People who needlessly die deserve the chance to be brought back to life.”

Enjul drew closer. “And who are you to decide these things? A mere human? A blight on the world nobody would miss if it was gone. Why this life and not another? Why Silvo Zenjiel and not a neighbor done in by their horse?”

She glanced at her hands, tinted golden by the lamp in the room. “Silvo Zenjiel died by my hand, and so it’s fair my hand brings him back.”

“If I am not mistaken, his death came at someone else’s hands a while back. They found a pistol ball among the remains.”

“But he was…” She waved her hand, frustration threatening to choke her. “He was alive again. And I—”

“How did you know?”

Azul turned enough to peek at Enjul. His proximity was unsettling, his presence close to asphyxiating.

He fed her guilt for bringing Isadora to her death with every mocking twist of his mouth and the way he spoke, as if her fate were a done deal.

Fear mingled with irritation that this man could take her away and nobody would put up a fight. “What?”

“How did you know he was a walking corpse? The description of your sister’s death was different from what happened in that room. This other malady’s results are somewhat different from yours, so how did you know?”

Did he think of Isadora and Zenjiel as dead flesh walking, with no soul or thought of their own? “How could you not tell?” she chal lenged. “Aren’t you Death’s emissary? Were Zenjiel simply a walking corpse, shouldn’t you have noticed?”

Enjul drew back the chair in the room and sat down. “Death is death. It all feels the same. Except for you.” The lamp’s position made it impossible to read his eyes under the frame of bone, but she sensed his stare nonetheless. “Answer my question, Del Arroyo. How did you know?”

Azul returned her attention to the patio.

What she said next would mean the difference between going freely to Cienpuentes or having to attempt escape again.

She didn’t need a great mind to know that from now on, it would be nearly impossible to get away.

Even if by Luck’s grace she managed to escape this grand house, Enjul only had to wait for her at Cienpuentes’s ossuary.

“I could sense it. I’m sorry,” she added as he opened his mouth, “my mind is too simple to describe it any better.”

“And yet I must ask that you find the words.”

“No.”

He leaned back and linked his fingers on his lap. “I am in no hurry, but you seem to be. This house is comfortable, and I wouldn’t mind using it for an extended stay.”

It was Azul’s time to openly study him, taking care to blank her features and hide the fear, the anxiety.

The hope. With relief, she found that none of those emotions made it into her words when she spoke—the emissary would latch on to those like a bloodthirsty hound.

“I’m sure it is. And if I were to describe every detail of how I identified him, no doubt you’ll leave me to enjoy the house’s amenities while you attempt to find others like Sirese Zenjiel.

I am obvious, Emissary Enjul, but not thoughtless.

If you want to find more ‘walking corpses’—and you do, because you relish reminding me that death is all you are about—you will need me. ”

“You finally show some sense,” he agreed. “I wonder how long it will last?”

Ah, the emissary was willing to play. She got her rising triumph under control but allowed a slight curve of her lips.

“If Sirese Zenjiel were to be brought back, mayhap he could tell us who killed him, and who brought him back to life. They might be the same person; they might be different. It might be a conspiracy; it might be chance.”

Enjul shook his head as if disappointed her good sense had lasted so briefly. “I will never allow it.”

She stared straight into his eyes. Golden. Violet. Beautiful. Something told her if she didn’t take care, she might get lost in them. “But think about it,” she said almost gleefully. “Wouldn’t it make your investigation easier?”

He held her gaze, meeting her dare, returning her mocking smile until the thrill of anticipation hitched her breath. But of what? She wasn’t sure, and something told her she didn’t want to know.

“Explain what you do,” he said, ignoring her goading. “Did you control your sister’s body as if it were a doll?”

“No!” Azul exclaimed, the game forgotten. It suddenly felt very important that he understood this. That while he might think her a malady, she was no monster. “It’s not possible. It can’t be done.”

“But you had some kind of connection to it?”

“To her .”

A snort when she elaborated no further. “Miss Del Arroyo, you can answer my questions here, in a holding room, or back in Valanje. It’s up to you to decide the ease of your travel and the quality of your living.”

For a moment, Azul envisioned taking out Nereida’s dagger and plunging it into the side of Enjul’s neck. The image was so heartwarming she took another step toward him, her fear forgotten long enough for words to slip out of her throat. “But we’re not going to Valanje, are we? Not yet, anyway.”

Enjul stood, so slowly, so gracefully, fear ran up her spine like icy fingers. A predator reminding its prey of who was in charge.

But he was not completely in charge, was he? Azul had something he lacked.

“And where are we going?” he asked, his tone so dark and smooth it threatened to make a mess of her heartbeat. And not because of fear.

“Cienpuentes,” she answered, locking her knees when he took a step closer. His scent filled her lungs. Not the kind of rotting smell that ought to follow a man like this, but rich like soil under her hands ready for the blossoms of spring.

“Is that so?” he said, leaning even closer until his mask filled her vision, and that strange mix of thrill and anticipation coursed through her veins again.

She fought the urge to meet him halfway until something broke—his mask, her forehead, or their gazes.

“Do you happen to know who the other malady is, then?”

Sense returned, and she took a step back. His scent followed. “No. Until today I thought I was the only one with my gift.”

He cocked his head. “Why do you insist on calling it that?”

“Because it is a gift. I’m no scary monster from old tales.” I’m not you , she wanted to say.

“If you truly thought of it that way, wouldn’t you be using it more?” He must’ve noticed her flinch, because his tone became persuasive. “Yes?”

As if such a thing would work on her. “As you said, I am no god. I have no right to judge.”

“Ah yes, you will only use it on those who die by your hand. Is that how your sister died to begin with? Were you curious to see if you could use your gift on a person and killed her?”

“No,” she bit out.

“How selfish of you, then, to use it only on your sister. I think, Miss Del Arroyo, that you well know it’s no benign gift but a foulness. It gives me some hope that you are merely misguided instead of simply reprehensible.”

“Reprehensible or misguided as I might be,” she answered through clenched teeth, angry at herself for allowing him to rile her, “perhaps it’d be good for you to lower yourself to my level, if you wish to apprehend this other malady.

” She took a few calming breaths, short and shallow, while he mulled her words.

He still was too close; she didn’t want to be overwhelmed by his scent and presence all over again.

To be tempted into doing something unwise.

“I will travel—me and De Guzmán will travel—with you to Cienpuentes and help you find whoever brought Sirese Zenjiel to life after his death.” Cienpuentes, where she would find her sister’s bones and hide her away with Nereida’s help.

“And then, when our business in the capital is done, I will go with you to Valanje.”

Enjul allowed the silence to settle and fray her nerves before speaking, “Why should this other malady be in Cienpuentes and not Aviene or Rozas?”

“Why would anyone care to kill and bring back one of the Valanje’s ambassador’s trusted men but for political reasons? And politics means Cienpuentes.”

A gleam of triumph flashed in his eyes, and Azul knew she had given away more than she meant to.

“Why kill and bring back a man unless there is a way to manipulate them and learn what they know? There is a connection between you and the corpses.”

“There is,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Does it exist with everything you bring back?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “I could sense Isadora was alive, and now I can tell she is no longer here.”

“What about animals? Surely you must have practiced your foulness on them. Does the link exist as well?”

“Yes.”

“As I thought.”

Irked by his knowing tone, she spoke again: “But Sirese Zenjiel felt different from my sister.” As if he were a simple animal, not a person. This she kept to herself—why give the emissary more information?

“If this other malady has no control over the corpses, as you have said, then why kill and bring him back at all?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”