Page 24 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Coming back to the manor felt a little strange.

She’d had a moment in that closed shop with the Deathless One.

She swore there was more of him that she could see in that reflection.

There was the hint of a pant leg, the creased fabric so starched it almost didn’t look real.

Maybe the hint of his hands on his knees as he held himself still, lifting a finger only to tell her to turn so he could see how she looked in the outfits.

His commanding voice made shivers dance up and down her spine. Jessamine did whatever he told her to do, as though he’d wrapped her up in a spell. And he didn’t tell her to do anything that she didn’t want to do.

Instead, he was hyper-focused on making her choose what she liked. So… she did.

Her arms were laden with the clothing that had made her feel good.

Not because someone else told her she looked nice, but because she felt like herself in them.

No painful dresses with so much beading it was difficult to breathe.

Just comfortable shirts that she could tie at the waist, worn cotton trousers that actually fit, and a single brown dress that ended right at the knee.

She still felt like a princess in the soft, buttery material, but also felt like she could move.

She’d expected to have to run on the way back.

There were so many infected on her journey to the shop, she’d anticipated having to sprint for her life.

But there was no one on the streets on her way home, as though a dark magic trailed in front of her, ushering her away from everything and anything that would threaten her.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, was it? She paused with her hand on the manor door. She’d read that witches had patrons, but they weren’t like this, were they?

Thudding her head hard against the door, she tried to jolt the thoughts out of her mind. She wasn’t a witch, first of all, and second, he was trying to manipulate her. Or maybe he had just been bored.

That shadowy kingdom she could see beyond him in the reflection certainly seemed like a boring place. There didn’t appear to be much other than him. And… well, she supposed that made her a little sad.

“Pity for a devil,” she muttered as she finally opened the door and made herself stride into the castle. “You’ve lost your mind, Jessamine.”

“Is that so?” The voice cut through the air like a knife, severing any good feelings attached to Jessamine’s person.

Wincing, she froze in the doorway. “Sybil?”

“You’ve been gone for a while.” The witch slid into the meager sunlight that just barely sliced through the window. “And I see you’ve been out… shopping?”

Right. This conversation was going to happen, no matter what.

She had known that Sybil would eventually find out that she’d stolen from the other woman, and money like that wasn’t easy to come by.

And she was also very aware that there weren’t a lot of places that gave any support to a woman who was clearly a witch.

Sighing, she hunched her shoulders as she prepared herself for the scolding of a lifetime. “If I am going to find out why my mother died and how to get the throne back, then I need to dress the part. No one is going to take me seriously in rags.”

“So you stole them?”

Another wince. “No,” Jessamine replied before straightening her shoulders and forcing herself to look the other woman in the eye. “I paid for them.”

“With whose money?”

“Yours.”

Sybil didn’t respond. She just arched her brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

This was just like when her mother scolded her.

The stinging in her chest only made her realize just how deeply she’d forgotten herself.

Wallowing in the reality of her own pain didn’t bring her mother any closer.

In this moment, it felt like the soul of her mother was staring down at her in disappointment.

So Jessamine did the only thing she knew how to do in moments like this.

Confess.

“I snuck into your room to see if there was anything I could steal from you to get the clothing. I didn’t want to leave someone else with a lack of materials, and I know that means I likely chose their well-being over your own.

But it does seem like you make life easier for yourself without ever leaving this place.

What money you have, I don’t know what your plan was for it.

And I do realize it was the wrong thing to do.

I am sorry. I will try my best to replace it, but know that once I am back on my throne, I will do everything I can to make up for it. ”

Still, silence. Sybil looked her over, calculating and clearly disappointed, but then she… shrugged?

“All right,” Sybil finally said. “I was wondering when you’d start acting like a witch, anyway.”

“I—” More apologies stuck in Jessamine’s throat. What did she mean by that?

“Come on.” Sybil turned and started down the hall. “I figured you’d be getting hungry by now. Yes?”

“I suppose.” Her stomach rumbled. “I’m very hungry, yes. There were quite a few infected on my way into the city.”

“But not on your way out?”

The witch really didn’t miss much. “No, on the way back they all seemed to have moved on. It’s not like they’re hard to get away from, it’s just… Well, I was led to believe there were a lot more, too.”

Come to think of it, she didn’t know how there weren’t any infected bothering Sybil’s home.

Everyone had always made it seem like the infected were crawling around every part of her city.

Her mother hadn’t let Jessamine even leave their castle grounds for a good while before everything had fallen apart.

A tiny mew broke through her thoughts, then the thunder of paws as the kitten came careening around the corner. Like a little black hurricane, it zinged from wall to wall before stopping right in front of her.

Jessamine watched with wide eyes, but the little beastie just arched its back and rubbed against her legs.

“Miss me?” she asked, stooping and picking the little one up. Immediately it pressed against her neck. An impressive rumble started up, sounding much less like a cat and far more like a tiger.

As they wandered through the moss-covered halls toward the kitchen, Sybil snorted. “A stray you found?”

“A familiar,” she corrected. The kitten wound itself around her neck, balancing on her shoulder before stretching over both like some kind of living stole. “The Deathless One claimed all witches have them.”

“I…” Sybil shook her head, a faint smile crossing her features. “Some do, yes. They are exceedingly rare gifts from a patron, however. You are lucky to have one.”

Jessamine tried very hard not to think about what that meant. All she knew was that she had one, and the warm kitten helped ease all her fears as it kneaded tiny claws into her shoulder with every step.

Clearing her throat, Sybil gestured for Jessamine to step into the kitchen ahead of her.

“About the infected. I’m sure your advisors wanted you to believe this city is crawling with them.

The infected are a problem, don’t get me wrong.

But they’re easily confused, and they really don’t bother anyone too much unless they’re in a pack. Then it’s a much larger issue.”

“A pack?”

“That’s what I call them. A group of them, wandering around.

Makes it hard to get away.” Sybil winked as she stepped over to the central island.

“It’s part of the reason why magic is so useful.

Here we are, certain that the only way to fix things is to what?

Gather them all up and ship them somewhere else?

Magic could solve a lot of these problems, but no one wants to admit that we should use it. ”

Setting her new clothes down on a fairly clean spot on the floor, Jessamine peered around the ancient kitchen.

It was the cleanest part of the entire building that she’d seen so far.

Fresh herbs hung from the ceiling in neatly tied bundles.

The counters were now filled with flowering plants that spilled down to the floor in vibrant colors.

The island was clean, mostly, and held a few freshly picked fruits and vegetables.

The ancient cast-iron stove in the back had seen better days, but it was free from rust or the effects of time.

Everything smelled warm and herby, and with the faintest hint of freshly baked bread. This was clearly a room well loved, and often used.

Sybil chuckled at the look on her face. “What? Did you think every room in the manor was falling apart?”

“Yes.”

“A hearth witch wouldn’t be caught dead with her kitchen in disarray.

” Sybil walked around the island and started putting a plate together.

She unwrapped a wax-covered cheese from the cloth, pulled down a small slice of cured meat, and…

Was that jam in a jar? “Have a seat. I can see you’ve been talking with the Deathless One again. You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“How did you know?” Jessamine sat down carefully on the stool in front of the island, just in case the rickety old wood decided to collapse.

“Flushed cheeks, bright eyes.” Sybil set the plate down in front of her, then reached under the counter and somehow procured a small fish she tossed to the kitten. “No charcoal on your neck this time, though. You must have pleased him.”

She didn’t want to think about the last two times Sybil had found her after talking with that god. The charcoal took forever to wash off. Something about it just clung to her skin.

Maybe it had something to do with the part of her that was connected to him. The fact that he’d given her life had certainly made it hard to get away from him, that was for sure. She supposed it was as good a guess as any.