Page 17 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)
The Deathless One sat in the corner of her room, his fingers steepled and pressed against his lips. Every time he visited her in the living realm, it drained some of his magic. But he was learning.
He had to gather up his magic from that realm of endless power that was his to control.
He had to bring it with him, because he had no connection to that realm here.
If he had a body, he would be connected to both living and dead.
But for now, he was limited by his spectral form, which could only store so much power.
His strength would ebb, and he would find himself sucked back into the same shadow realm where he had existed before.
It was infuriating.
And it was more infuriating that he even wanted to see her. He had things to do in that realm of darkness. Plans to make for the moment he was released from his confines. Now that he had a reason to be awake and aware, he remembered almost everything that he’d lost.
Jessamine had made that happen, even if unwillingly. She had awakened the demon deep inside him, and now he wanted to seize the world again. He would punish the witches for what they had done to him, even if that meant that he had to scour the earth for the few living ones remaining.
This one would bring him into an age of ruin when he would finally get his revenge, and she didn’t know how much it would eventually hurt her. Although, considering the past few nights he’d been watching over her, he suspected she might know something.
She lay on that pile of rags like a lost soul he’d found in the rubble of a fallen empire. Legs splayed, her skirt had ridden up those pale thighs. Though he couldn’t see that much of her, the sight of her skin made a fire rage in his chest.
He wanted her, and that was a problem. The last time he’d wanted a gravesinger, it had ended poorly for him. No one could blame him for thinking she would be the same.
If she was like the others, then she would soon try to seduce him.
She would wriggle her way underneath his guard and then be angry when he didn’t give her everything that she wanted.
The pouting and the tears would get under his shell even more.
Pathetic creatures like her had always been his weakness.
So he had to beat her to it. He had to seduce her first. Get her under his thumb until she couldn’t think of a life without him. Then, and only then, would he have complete and utter control over her.
“What are you doing here?” Sybil’s quiet voice interrupted his staring at the little woman currently curled in the bundle of rags.
“You know what I’m doing,” he grunted.
Sybil stood in the doorway, lingering in those shadows like she feared coming into the room. “But you’re…”
“Patrons can summon me at will. Gravesingers I can find without needing a summons. You know how this works, witch.” He looked over at her, certain that she couldn’t tell where he was looking unless he turned his head and she saw the movement.
“I wouldn’t need a summons at all if I had my body back.
As you were supposed to convince her to do. ”
“I’m not asking for the how. I’m asking the why.” Sybil stepped into the room quietly, her hands wringing the skirts around her waist. “Why are you here with her?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. Only that she was here, and so was he. Sitting in the corner of her room like some bird of prey, just waiting for the twitches she made in her sleep that made him want to leap on top of her.
Sybil blew out a long breath, casting her eyes up to the ceiling, and he could see the caution running through her head. She was telling herself not to say anything, and yet, she opened her mouth anyway. “She dreams of the other gravesingers.”
“Nightmares are normal in her situation.”
“She dreams of your gravesingers. They tell her things that are dangerous for her to learn this early.” At his sudden jerk in her direction, she took a step away from him and added, “They tell her to take from you. To rip from you.”
This was a problem. He didn’t want her to think that there was another end to this story. Why Sybil didn’t want her to hear it, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps this witch thought she would take his power from him before Jessamine did.
She was wrong, but he did not care what reasoning she had. He nodded and turned his attention back to the sleeping woman. “I will take care of them.”
“Can you?”
“They exist in my realm, witch. I cannot destroy the energy they have left behind, but I can and will control them.”
At least he thought so. They were bound to him just as he was to them.
They were the lingering remnants of those witches who had sacrificed their lives so the one remaining gravesinger could use that power in whatever way she saw fit; they were the ones who had dragged him down into the muck.
Their curse was a thorn in his side, but not one he couldn’t control.
Chains would do. Once he got back into that realm, he would loop the chains over their forms. Over and over again until they were trapped in a small section of his realm that Jessamine would never find.
And if they still bothered her, then he would cut out their tongues.
A shudder rippled through his body at the feral thoughts. He wasn’t… like that. Not with witches. Not with anyone, although he had very little experience in any of these matters, he supposed.
The Deathless One was a god who was used and then discarded. That was his function in life, and always had been.
Sybil still hesitated, standing in that doorway with more thoughts on her mind.
“What is it?” he growled.
“Isn’t there something you can do for her? For now? She’s just… She’s awfully frightened. It’s hard to teach someone who is so afraid of what she might turn into.”
He sighed. “I do not know anything about comforting witches. That is why you are here.”
“You’ve been around us for centuries on end, and you still don’t know how to make us feel better?” She clearly had not intended to blurt the words, because the moment she said them, her eyes went round and her jaw hung open. “I’m sorry, Your Holiness. I should never have thought—”
He lifted a shadow hand, pausing her apologetic rant. “You do not have to be fearful, witch. I have use for you yet.”
Sybil nodded but was already backing away. “I will do my best.”
“I tire of the bowing supplicant. Think of me as your…” He didn’t know what to call himself. He was her god, and she should be afraid of him. “I am your patron, witch. You may speak your mind without fear.”
She’d already ducked out of the room, though. Leaving him with a unconscious gravesinger and a hundred questions running through his mind.
Though it might have been smarter to think about the opinionated witch with some semblance of power, he couldn’t focus on Sybil. His gaze continually returned to Jessamine’s trembling figure. Over and over again, no matter how many times he told himself to stop.
What was going on with this little nightmare who had walked into his life?
He had all her memories. He knew every step of her past and all the decisions she’d made.
Nothing was hidden from him. Not the number of times she’d snuck into her room to pleasure herself, not the trysts she’d had with neighboring dignitaries, nor the disgust she felt when they did not satisfy her.
And why was he even thinking about those memories? He didn’t care about her sexual history, just like he didn’t care about Sybil’s. They were both witches. Both creatures who would stab him in the back the moment they were given the opportunity to do so.
Still, every time she shivered in her sleep, something coiled tighter inside him. A knot that he could not loosen, no matter how much he tugged at it.
Dropping his head into his hands, he ran those scarred fingers through the strands. “Comfort the witch,” he breathed.
There wasn’t much that he knew comforted their kind, other than power.
They didn’t call him to ask for anything along those lines, anyway.
All they cared about was his magic and what he could offer them.
That was the nature of his patronage, unlike his brother the Warrior Son, who fucked anything with legs.
Some that didn’t have legs, too, if he remembered right.
Although his memory of his family was still rather hazy.
Blowing out a breath, he sat up again to look at her. She was such a tiny thing. Nightmares were apparently terrifying to her, and he had no way of knowing what would ease that fear.
A low rumble rolled through his chest, the growl deep and echoing in the room. Strangely, she seemed to hear it. Jessamine relaxed in her sleep for a moment, and then went right back to twitching.
Warmth. Rumbling sounds. What else had she liked when she was a child?
It seemed he could still sift through her memories even when he wasn’t in his realm.
Interesting. A small part of him wanted to explore her current thoughts just a bit more—was she thinking of him?
—but he had all of her past to go through whenever he wished.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair of him to want to know more.
He flipped through the memories of her soul until he found the perfect thing. And it was so easy to conjure.
Sinking onto his knees beside her, he hovered his hands over her. Words poured from his mouth, the ancient tongue flowing with power and pulling at all the meager remains of magic he had to keep him in this realm. But he needed to do this.
Shadows ripped from his hands, wispy things, delicate as smoke but strong as steel.
They coiled around each other, drawing in until they had almost a physical manifestation.
Baring his teeth, he forced them into a tighter swirl, giving them life where there had been none before. Just as he had for her.
With one last spark of power, nearly dragging the air out of him until he could no longer breathe with it, he severed the spell. Gasping, he braced himself with a fist on the floor. He had to stay here. Just to see what he had conjured—or, if he was being honest, to see her reaction.
Jessamine stirred, her eyes blearily blinking open to see the small bundle of shadows that had curled in the vacant space near her belly. She was wrapped around his gift, her knees drawn up to cradle it against her heartbeat.
“What?” she whispered, her hands coming down to comb through the fur that he was certain was soft as velvet. “Where did you come from?”
The tiny void pressed against her skin yawned, revealing a bright pink tongue and a set of teeth that were razor sharp.
Its tail was maybe a little too long for its form, and it was certainly the largest kitten he’d ever seen in this realm, but it was a cat nonetheless.
Pointed ears flicked at the sound of her voice.
It stood, stretching its front paws out and flexing long nails in the rags.
Tail in the air, it flattened its chest against the floor while pinning its ears back in a long stretch of its spine.
But then it sauntered up to Jessamine’s face, rubbing that soft fur against her chin before curling up again next to her chest.
The heavy sigh that followed clearly said the kitten was exhausted, and what was all the fuss about?
Her eyes flicked up to find him crouched there, his hand still braced against the floor, looming above the two of them.
“Was this you?” she whispered, as though she was afraid to disturb the kitten now purring very loudly.
He didn’t know what to say. The way her eyes filled with tears, and all that hope in her gaze, it did something to him.
The Deathless One decided then and there that he preferred her angry.
The feisty witch with a scornful mouth was infinitely easier to deal with than the woman before him.
He didn’t want to see her so pliant from sleep, warm and snuggling with one of his creations.
He didn’t want to see that small smile at the corners of her lips, or the way she looked at him like maybe he wasn’t so terrible.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the nightmarish god that she’d always heard about.
This soft version of her was too tempting, and it hurt too much to look at her and know it was all a lie.
Grunting, he stood so he didn’t have to look at her. “Every witch needs a familiar, nightmare. Make good use of it.”
“What am I supposed to do with a familiar?”
He shrugged, already feeling that ever-present tug of his realm. He’d used too much power, and now he could hardly keep himself here with her. “Care for it. Get rid of it. I don’t care what you do with the beastie.”
But the lie fizzled on his tongue even as he said the words, because she drew the kitten closer to her face and breathed in the scent of his magic still lingering on its fur. “Thank you.”
He disappeared before he could do something foolish. Before he could decide to stay a little while longer and crawl onto those rags with her. A kitten would keep her nightmares at bay for now.
He would banish them forever.
The cold breeze of his realm covered him, sinking into his skin as ink immediately grabbed at his legs.
The remains of those gravesingers wanted to keep him here.
They had given their lives to lock him away for good, to steal his power in one final attempt to save a dying kingdom.
And they had failed. Instead, they were stuck with him here. Knowing what they had done.
He turned toward their spirits, dark claws pushing through his fingers even as he summoned chains out of the dark waters. He would think about these complicated and unwelcome thoughts later. For now, he had witches to bind.