Page 31 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Staring up at the Owl’s Nest, Jessamine realized she’d never been quite so afraid. Even when she was wandering the streets and scrounging for scraps. Even when she had tumbled down the cliff’s edge toward the ocean.

Because if she believed what she herself had seen, then all this was real, not some lengthy fever dream, and the people closest to her really had betrayed her in a murderous coup.

The only thing standing between her and the truth was the young man at the top of this building, who had been part of her life since he was a boy.

What could have turned his loyalty away from the royal family? They had fed him, clothed him, given him every opportunity to better himself.

And instead, he had chosen to hide here, in this building that leaned drastically to the left, crowned with a strange hat of random sticks poking out in all directions.

At one point those had probably formed a dome; it might even have been elegant.

But time and neglect had eventually ruined the building.

Beams rotted, and the original beauty of this place had faded beyond recognition.

The Owl’s Nest sign still hung, even if precariously. She wondered if it would fall on someone someday, and if anyone would care.

“I’m going to stay down here,” Sybil murmured; her face was drawn, and dark hollows shadowed beneath her eyes. “I’m not sure I can… can…”

Jessamine really looked at the witch, then.

The pallid sheen on Sybil’s face was one Jessamine had only seen when someone was very sick.

The shaking of her fingers was concerning, as was the way she leaned against the wall.

Sybil’s shoulder barely held her up against the building, which looked like it might topple over on her at any second.

“Stay down here,” Jessamine replied. “I can do this on my own.”

A dark mass gathered behind Sybil, the shape now very familiar to Jessamine’s trained eye. She turned away as the Deathless One pulled a wriggling shadow off his form and brought it to Sybil as the witch fumbled to open her gown.

Her stomach twisted, knowing what they were doing.

She wanted Sybil to feel better, but she hated the relieved sigh that echoed in the small alleyway.

The strange feeling felt almost like jealousy, which was silly.

She wasn’t a witch, nor did she worship the Deathless One.

Not like Sybil did. She wanted nothing from him but answers.

Scuffing her shoes in the dirt, she tried to remain silent as they finished… whatever it was they were doing.

This was part of being a witch, she reminded herself. It didn’t matter that she could hear the sound of rustling clothing or the faint sigh of a witch being fed. She didn’t want to know that part of the ritual because she herself would never have to endure it.

She had not given herself to the Deathless One. They were bound for reasons beyond the mere transfer of magic.

Finally, Sybil groaned and said, “I’ll cast a few spells down here. A containment spell to keep him in, and a silencing spell. That should be enough for you to get what you need.”

Would it? Jessamine wasn’t so sure. There were so many risks, and she didn’t think Benji was just going to tell her what happened. In the best-case scenario, he’d prove he had nothing to do with it at all, that he was still the same boy who’d brought her mother sweets.

But Jessamine knew better than to hope for that.

“Thank you,” she said as she started into the building.

The front door nearly fell off its hinges as she opened it.

Immediately she was hit with the rank smell of mildew and rotting wood.

There wasn’t even a reception hall any longer, or much of anything left.

Just piles of what might have once been curtains and a mound in the back that she suspected was once a desk.

It had the general shape of what might have been a tavern, but certainly was not any longer.

The stairs, if one could call them that, were just as terrifying as the rest of the building.

Missing wooden planks made every step precarious as she clung to an iron bar screwed into the wall, though it felt as though it could rip off at any moment.

Every creak and shudder of the building made her wince.

But there were only three floors. She was brave enough to manage three floors.

Jessamine held her breath the entire time until she got to the top, which opened onto what had once been a dining hall.

Or, considering where she was, a place where the unscrupulous held their parties.

Though there was hardly a roof, and water dripped onto the floor made of old and shattered tiles, she could see this used to be a welcoming room.

Stepping over the cracked shards, she covered her nose as she was assaulted with the smell of refuse. Whatever was up here had died a long time ago.

“Benji?” she whispered, her heart squeezing in fear.

Then she kicked something thick and… wet.

Wincing, she stared up at the sky while trying to steel herself for what she was about to find.

Casting her eyes downward, she breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of what might have once been a boar.

Even if it made her stomach roll to see it, at least it wasn’t human.

The rib bones stuck out from where someone had been cleaning pieces of it off.

Whoever was carving this shouldn’t be eating it any longer. The meat was long past spoiled.

Still holding her nose, she moved deeper into the room, where the light from the moon didn’t quite reach. Her sight was different now, though. She felt power flowing through her body, burning behind her eyes so she could see through the darkness like a cat.

And that was when she found him.

Benji lay on top of a pile of silks and velvets, colors she recognized. A deep blue, a vivid azure, the signature colors of her court, and he lay on top of them like they were rags.

Then a twinkle of moonlight hit more of the items surrounding him.

Jewels and gemstone-crusted necklaces. Goblets made of pure gold that glimmered and winked in the pale light.

He snorted and rolled, a ring falling out of his hand and thudding onto the floor.

A familiar one, with a face carved into a sapphire and surrounded by priceless diamonds.

Bending down, she quietly scooped up her mother’s signet ring and put it into her pocket.

Tears burned in her eyes. Benji was lying here, completely unaffected, surrounded by her things. Her stolen things. The precious items that had been passed down through her family for generations, and he lay on top of them like they were trash.

She sank a vicious kick into his side. He rolled off the pile of silks and velvets, flailing as he struck the floor with a startled shout before sitting up and glaring at the person who had dared to wake him.

It shouldn’t have been so satisfying to see the blood drain out of his features. Pale lips, tired eyes, and shaking hands that clutched something beside him as he stared up at her.

“Are you a ghost?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Worse,” she replied. “I died and came back, Benji.”

He lashed out at her with the thing in his hand.

She didn’t have time to gasp as he stabbed a knife into her shoulder, but strangely, she couldn’t feel the pain.

And when he ripped it out of her skin, there was no blood.

Only a smooth black shadow that wrapped around the wound and then warped into a smooth silver line.

Paper white and trembling, he scrambled away and bolted for the window.

Jessamine wasn’t sure what he planned to do, perhaps throw himself out of it and hope the ground was less hard than his own guilt.

But instead of open air, he struck the barrier that Sybil must have built.

Invisible but hard as stone, it threw him back into the room.

He landed on his behind, skidding to a halt against the opposite wall.

Dust plumed down on him, mold spores and mildew flakes frosting his hair like snow.

He coughed a few times, trying hard to hack up a lung and gain sympathy from her before he sighed and stopped acting. “So you somehow survived all that?”

Oh, how quickly the pretenses dropped.

She clutched her mother’s ring in her pocket so hard it bit through the skin of her palm. “Who paid you?”

“For what?”

“Don’t be cute, Benji. I know you wouldn’t have betrayed us like that unless a significant amount of money was involved. What I don’t understand is why, and who.”

“I didn’t do nothing, Miss Jessamine.” She could see him piecing his mask back together bit by bit. He gathered up the person she recognized and laid those pieces over his own face.

It was disturbing to watch, and even more heart-wrenching than she could have guessed.

“Don’t do this to me,” she whispered. “We gave you a home, a safe place to rest your head. We fed you, gave you new clothing. You said you thought of me like a sister. Now you have to tell me who wanted me dead.”

“Your husband. He was the one who threw you off the cliff. We all thought you were dead.” He got onto his knees, looking up at her with big eyes just the same as he had the first time she’d met him.

“Please, Miss Jessamine, you have to understand. I would never do nothing to harm you or your mother.”

A dark shadow descended around her. She could feel his cold arms wrapping around her shoulders, drawing her into a deep, inky mire. “You don’t believe him, do you?” the Deathless One asked. “Surely you don’t believe these lies.”

“Are you lying to me?” she asked. Even Jessamine could hear the sorrow in her words.

Another puzzle piece clicked back into place over his features, and she could see he planned to use her own emotions against her. “Why would I want to hurt you? You said it yourself. You gave me everything.”

“He’s still lying.” Again the Deathless One whispered. “He knows what happened. You saw him open the gate.”