Page 10 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

He’d told her to ask for his help, though! That had to break the rules? He had forced her into making this decision, and she’d only… she’d done…

Exactly what he wanted.

Her knees turned to jelly, and she almost sat right back down into the sand. He wasn’t playing fair, but why would he? The Deathless One had never been a just god, and it was shocking that he’d outlived all the others.

Or was it? After all, his name explained why he was still here. And why he had decided to torment her.

She pointed at him and the sea and all the nonsense that her life had devolved into. “I will not do what you want me to do.”

She wouldn’t destroy her kingdom. And she damn well wouldn’t rebuild it in his name.

Another wave rose, higher than she was tall. The image of him loomed, larger than life, a pillar of darkness that consumed all living things within it. He was the night, and she did not have enough sunlight to beat him back.

“No,” she whispered again, taking another step back. “I won’t do it.”

“I gave you your life,” he hissed, the wave holding impossibly still. “I can take it back.”

It rolled toward her, all the strength of the sea mashed into one terrible wave that surely would drag her into the depths. She braced herself, certain that he would make good on his threat and throw her out to feed the sharks.

But the wave didn’t crash over her head. Instead, it merely lapped at her toes. Just like all the others.

Blinking, she opened her eyes to see that the sea had evened out. It was calm and still, with sparkling diamonds of sunlight in the tiny ripples. Smooth. No deathless god trying to convince her to do his bidding.

“Excuse me?”

The voice interrupted her thoughts like a blade through her ribs.

Awkwardly raising her fists, she stumbled into the waves before leaping out again for fear of what that god would do to her.

It left her dancing back and forth between the person who had startled her and the person she actually feared.

A woman stood there, one arm hooked through a lovely wicker basket full of seaweed and shells. Her dark hair was pulled back from her equally dark face, but her dark eyes watched Jessamine with amusement. “No need to be startled. I won’t hurt you.”

Jessamine lowered her hands, her face flaming with embarrassment. She’d never hit someone in her life. What did she think she was going to do with her fists?

This newcomer didn’t seem to mind overmuch, though.

She just shifted the basket to her other hip and watched as Jessamine gathered herself.

It took a while to remind herself that she was the princess of this land, the rightful heir to the throne, and…

Well. She knew how to treat someone with respect.

“My apologies.” Jessamine cleared her throat, trying to straighten her shoulders and regain a decent posture. “It’s been a trying few days. Weeks, if I’m being honest.”

“It looks like.” The woman hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “My house is just over there if you’d like to clean up. I don’t have much room, but I have enough for a spare cot and a good bowl of broth.”

Was this woman going to be like the men in the sewers? Would she have to run for her life yet again?

Jessamine looked over her shoulder at the cold, bitter sea, and a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. She was so tired. Tired of running, of hiding, of fearing whatever shadow lurked over the corner.

For once, she just wanted to trust someone.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Alyssa. My name is Alyssa.”

“Sybil,” the dark woman replied, and then started down the beach. “Care to share what trouble you’ve found yourself in?”

She didn’t. Jessamine trailed along behind her until they reached a small hut by the shore.

The exterior wood had gone gray with age, urchins moving along the sides and dead barnacles all over the planks.

The door hung off one hinge, but Sybil didn’t seem all that concerned.

She opened the door, ignoring the folded metal roof as it groaned, and gestured for Jessamine to go ahead.

Into the shadows. Into the darkness. Where she’d already gotten into more trouble than she could abide.

Gritting her teeth, she walked into the single room before her.

It was rather… cozy, she supposed. Herbs hung in neat little bundles above her head.

A single cot in the corner was covered with a patchwork quilt, clearly loved and well taken care of.

A small table on the side was covered with more seaweed and jars filled with what looked like sea creatures, although none that Jessamine recognized.

“Thank you again,” she said, peering through the shadows for where she was meant to clean up. She’d assumed she would find a bath, or at least a bucket of fresh rainwater. But there wasn’t much in here at all.

Sybil walked in behind her and deposited her findings on the table. “You’re welcome. Anyone touched by the Deathless One deserves favor among witches.”

It felt like the floor dropped out from beneath her. Jessamine suddenly couldn’t breathe again. She wanted to claw at her throat, but when she touched the long length of it, all she could feel was that damn scar. It was a rope around her neck that tightened with every breath.

“Sit,” Sybil said, taking her arm and forcing her down onto the cot. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Isn’t he?” she whispered. Jessamine stared up at the witch with pleading eyes, for surely this woman knew the ancient magic.

“I don’t know what I made a bargain with.

There was a book in my library that spoke of him, but in language that made him sound like he was dead. All the gods are dead. Aren’t they?”

“His name speaks volumes. The Deathless One. Did you really believe he was dead, too?” Sybil somehow manifested a stool—had that been hiding underneath the table?—and sat in front of her. Folded over her knees, the woman looked more like a crone than she had mere moments ago.

Fingers laced together, the witch surveyed her, watching her every twitch and move. But Sybil’s eyes always landed back on the scar around her throat.

“What?” Jessamine asked. “What is it?”

“Have you not seen it yet?”

“Where would I have found a mirror? The Water District isn’t kind to people who…” People who had nothing. People she should have protected but hadn’t even realized were alive while she luxuriated in her castle above them all.

The witch reached into her pocket and pulled out a small mirror. She pressed the button on the front, which clicked it open, then turned it toward Jessamine.

And there it was. The thick, terrible scar that was banded around her neck.

Impossible, considering she’d been murdered only a few weeks ago.

Yet the scar around her neck wasn’t like any other she’d ever seen.

The wound was silvery, and as she stared, it seemed to writhe, moving underneath her skin as though there was something embedded within.

Gasping, she pushed the mirror away, trying to catch the breath that refused to fill her lungs. “What is that? Why does it look like that?”

“You’ve been touched.”

“Touched?” Jessamine stared at the other woman, wondering why she wasn’t panicking as well. The scar around her neck was moving . “Touched by what?”

“By whom.” Sybil gathered Jessamine’s hands in hers and squeezed.

“You know the Deathless One. You have met him, have you not? You’ve stared into those soulless eyes and have seen oblivion beyond them.

He is the beginning and the end. The only god who cannot die, and he has been gone for far too long. ”

The words echoed what she’d read. Fanatics, her mind whispered. She feared his followers would stop at nothing to raise him from the dead. They wished to bring him back to his full power, and if she did that… if she gave them that power…

Again, Sybil squeezed her fingers. “Would you like to see him?”

“Who?” Jessamine whispered, but she already knew the answer.

“The Deathless One. He’s been dying to see you.”