Page 33 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

He worried that perhaps he had broken her. A tie between them had knotted a little tighter, though, and he no longer needed to wait to be summoned. Wherever she was, he could follow.

The first time he’d tried to find her after what happened with Benji, she’d slammed a door in his face.

Which, considering the crumbling nature of their current home, only resulted in the door falling onto the floor straight through the shadow of his body.

She’d glared at him before pointing to the exit.

The second time, she had ignored him, purposefully looking straight through him like he wasn’t there at all.

It was at this point that he realized perhaps he had pushed her too far. Which was silly, really. He hadn’t made her do anything that she hadn’t wanted to do.

The boy was venal, heartless, dangerous.

This Benji had taken royal lives into his own hands and then crushed them in that weak, sweat-slicked grip.

It wasn’t even an indirect attack. That young man had allowed infected people to walk into the castle and kill everyone who stood in their way.

He was the reason Jessamine’s mother was dead.

She should want to hurt him. Revenge tasted sweeter when your hands got dirty—how did she not see that?

By all the dead gods, he was the consequence of her actions.

And it annoyed him that he was so upset about why she wouldn’t talk to him. He’d never wondered if the witches who served him actually liked him. Liking him wasn’t required to perform magic, nor was it required for him to exist.

But he wanted this one to like him. He couldn’t explain why or how or what it was about her that made him care, but he did.

Maybe he was just getting too soft in his old age.

Blowing out a breath, he stood in front of her room again. Because the door was broken, she’d hung a sheet over the space and remained aloof. Even Sybil hadn’t gotten through to the young woman, who wandered the halls like a wraith.

The only living creature who walked in and out with impunity was the kitten he had conjured. He’d half a mind to tell the creature to do his bidding, but the one time he’d poked his head in, he had seen it resting on her chest, purring so loud he could see its entire body rattle.

But she’d been sleeping. And she hadn’t slept in days.

“Jessamine?” he called out, standing in front of her door like an awkward suitor, hoping for her attention. “Are you ready to talk?”

Nothing stirred on the other side of the curtain.

“It’s been nearly a week. I understand you’re feeling a certain amount of remorse after Benji, but you do realize we’re running out of time? The people who killed your mother are slipping through your fingers while you’re—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence.

The curtain whipped open and sunlight speared through him. It shattered his strange corporeal form for a few seconds before his magic realized she was there. He could feel his body solidifying, all that darkness pooling together and dragging into one body that felt… solid.

Actually solid.

He had a weight to him that pulled him toward the earth. And there was a sensation of clothing on his body, shoes on his feet.

Gods, the texture of clothing distracted him. That there was a heaviness against his skin when he wore it and that the boots on his feet made his toes jam against the tips uncomfortably.

She gripped the sheet in both fists, so hard he worried she might rip it from the wall. “I’m not talking to you.”

He looked left, then right, assuring himself that there was no one else in the hallway before replying, “You’re talking to me right now.”

“Well, I don’t want to.” She brought the sheet closed with another snap.

But that wouldn’t do. He hadn’t felt sensations like these in centuries, and the moment he lost sight of her was the moment he lost all those sensations again. He was back to the cold, unfeeling, bitter existence that had led him to this point, and how dare she try to take that away from him.

Storming into her room, decorum be damned, he followed her to the cot where she had set up a strange-looking nest. The blankets were piled a little too high, and there were quite a few plates lying beside the bed, as though that was acceptable or clean.

Her cat sat on top of that pile, a little royal in a crumbling kingdom.

It blinked at him before curling up into a tiny ball.

Evidently, it also did not want to get involved with him.

She even looked a little dirty and wild.

Her hair hadn’t been brushed in days, it seemed, and it billowed around her head like a rat’s nest. There were dark rings around her eyes, but then there were always dark rings around her eyes.

He found them rather pretty. A pale purple that made her gaze look bottomless.

She spun on him, those dark eyes flaring with an inner anger that seared him to his bones. “You did this!”

“I did what, nightmare?”

“You made me do this. I felt your magic inside me, and I couldn’t stop you.”

He blinked a few times. “Stop me from what, exactly? I’m not saying I didn’t do it, but I certainly don’t want to take credit for your creativity.”

“You made me kill him.” She snapped out the words, the sound of them cracking from her lips like a whip. “You took control of my body and you made me kill someone who meant something to me.”

He wasn’t following, and she wasn’t making any sense. Shaking his head, he tried to reason with her. “A pageboy meant something to you? Wasn’t he only good for fetching your pretty baubles and supper when you didn’t want to dine with the others?”

“He was a person, and he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Ah, he saw where the real problem was. Tsking, he approached until she was backed against the wall. Her chest rose and fell with angry huffs of air, her glare searing in its intensity.

He reached forward and wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger.

So pretty, glimmering like an oil slick.

“Did you really think you were going to take your kingdom back without spilling a single drop of blood? That just because you snap your fingers, your would-be husband will suddenly have to see the madness of his ways? No, Jessamine. You’re going to get your hands bloody, because that is what war is. ”

“They’re my people,” she growled, that anger still flashing in her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt any of them!”

“Even the boy who was the reason your mother died? I’ll take credit for his death if that is what you wish.

A rat stomped beneath my heel certainly won’t prevent me from sleeping at night, but Jessamine, I don’t control the power you take from me.

A part of you wanted him dead for what he did, and so he is dead.

That is all. You need to understand that your desires have consequences.

Especially when you use magic to fulfill them. ”

Her eyes widened as he spoke, and she fought to disagree.

He could see the tiny wrinkles gathering between her brows and the sudden frown that formed lines around her mouth.

“No,” she whispered. “You did this. You had to have done this, because if you didn’t, then I have to live with the knowledge that I… I…”

“Killed someone?” He braced his forearm over her head, leaning ever closer to the shock and horror in her gaze.

“Yes, all humans do. Perhaps they do not realize that a choice they make one morning leads to the death of another, but your little lives are a hand of cards traded for another. You scrabble with tooth and claw to live, and you trade other people’s lives to do so. ”

Her long, pretty throat worked in a swallow. “I am not a monster.”

“No. But I am. ”

He leaned down, swearing he could smell her. The scent of lilies left on a grave. Faintly clove-like, the barest hint of space and the scent of freshly turned earth. It was a scent he remembered well and loved dearly, if it was possible for him to love anything in this existence.

She planted her hands against his chest and shoved. She wasn’t very strong, though. A mere slip of a woman couldn’t force him to move. Not when she barely came up to his shoulder and was so waif thin that he could see her collarbones protruding and the shadows of her cheeks.

She wasn’t taking care of herself. The thought appeared belatedly in his mind. She shouldn’t look like this. He wasn’t certain if it was her death that had done it, or if perhaps she had always looked like this. A hollow woman, just waiting to be filled.

Fire erupted in his chest, coursing through his entire body.

Suddenly, he wanted her to touch him again.

He wanted to feel her hands sliding up the flat planes of his chest. Perhaps her fingers would dig into his shoulders, still angry but seeking some other way to release such emotion.

He had never felt like this about any witch. He needed to know what she tasted like.

If she smelled like the grave, would she taste just as bitter?

When he didn’t move, apparently Jessamine took that as the opportunity to vent her fury. Amused, he watched as she struck him with her fists. Over and over again, growing more angry with each strike even though he’d have thought this would make her feel better.

Perhaps it was not helpful that he wasn’t reacting. So he flinched just slightly every time her fists hit him.

“ You did this,” she hissed with each strike. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she repeated the words. “You had to have done this, because if you didn’t, then I was the one who killed him. And then I’d have to live with the knowledge that I killed him and he’s not coming back.”

He let her hit him. Though he would never admit it, it felt good to have someone touch him, even in anger. He hadn’t been touched in centuries and even then, it was usually in violence. But he took whatever touch he could get.

As her strikes slowed, she seemed to deflate just slightly, those bony shoulders curving and her angry breaths calming, until at last her forehead dropped against his chest.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” she whispered. “I feel so guilty. And I’m also so happy that he’s gone. How can I be happy that someone is no longer alive?”

He shrugged, feeling her head rock against his chest. “I think it’s best not to look into those emotions too much. Diving deeper into that darkness is rarely good for anyone, my nightmare.”

Then she surprised him again. She always surprised him. With a heavy sigh, Jessamine wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked herself in close.

His arms hung awkwardly at his sides. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

She’d just been hitting him, and now she was…

holding on to him. Should he put his arms around her?

He’d seen humans do that before, but they never wanted to touch him like this.

He had thought that in this circumstance he’d know what to do, but he certainly did not.

“Don’t think about it so much,” she muttered. “Just hold me, please.”

Carefully, he lifted his hands. Setting one on her shoulder felt right, the other he slowly slid across her back until his thumb rested on her ribs and the rest of his hand lay on top of her hip.

Yes, this was right. They fit together rather like two puzzle pieces.

She sighed, and he felt her go boneless in his arms.

Something clicked inside him. Something that he wasn’t quite comfortable with.

But it was there now, a small beacon of light glowing in his chest. Licking his lips, he turned his head and gently bent down to rest his cheek on top of her head.

He was enveloped by her death-lily smell, and some of the tension leaked out of his shoulders and spine as he eased himself into the hug.

She was…

Right, he thought. That was the only word he could think of. This was right. This moment had been destined from the first time he’d seen her.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” she said against his chest. “It’s not fair for me to blame you for all my own struggles. I just thought if it was your magic, then at least it wasn’t my fault.”

“You can blame me for whatever you wish, nightmare.” His grip tightened around her, hauling her just a little closer, and he hoped she didn’t feel how desperately he clutched her to him.

This meant nothing. He was touch starved, and he’d never been hugged so sweetly before. He was merely using her to experience something new, not that he enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms.

“No, I can’t blame you for everything. I just am so angry about all of this, and I worry that anger is going to take over.”

“May I ask you a question?” He lifted his head, looking down at her until she stared up at him. Those big eyes were so fearful of what he might ask. “Do you even want this throne?”

She blinked, the bruises around her eyes darkening. “Of course I do.”

That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, though. “Why? Why do you want the throne?”

“Because it is my birthright.”

He hummed low underneath his breath. “That is the answer of a child who has been given everything in her life. You can do better than that.”

“Because I wish to honor the memory of my mother, who is now dead and gave everything for me to have that throne.” Her eyes flicked to the side, as they always did when she lied.

“Now you sound na?ve. Come on, nightmare, there’s a real reason in there, and I want to hear it.”

He released her, even if it felt like bending metal just to let her go. But this was important. He needed her to hear this. He needed her to say it.

Her arms hung in the shape of him for a few moments.

Glistening tracks of tears marred her cheeks as anger flashed in her eyes again.

“Because in the months since I was killed, I have seen the true state of my kingdom. I have seen the best and worst of its citizens, and I know now that we failed our people. My mother and I were not given the whole story. Without knowing the whole truth, we were bound to fail. I will not fail again. I have put in too much work and effort to lose it all to some idiot who thought he could kill me on our wedding day. I fucking deserve that crown.”

“There it is,” he murmured. “Now you sound like a queen.”

He could see the realization fill her body. She would do anything to keep this kingdom, her throne, and everything in between—because it was hers.

And he would do whatever it took to help her get it back.