Page 39 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Jessamine sat up straight, breathing hard and blinking back into reality. She hadn’t just…

They hadn’t just…

No. There was no way she had kissed him.

He wouldn’t have let her do that. The almost-kiss by the statue had been a mistake, but this was a disaster.

Besides, an ancient god wouldn’t waste his time with a mortal woman like her.

He’d likely had more partners than she could imagine.

Hundreds of beautiful women who had thrown themselves into the opportunity to kiss a god.

To do a lot more than just that. Kissing a human must make him feel like she had no talent in the arts of seduction at all.

Groaning, she ran her hand down her face before stopping at her lips. Her kiss-swollen lips that made her feel a little drunk the moment she touched them.

Because she had kissed him. Like some wanton little witch, she had wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and drawn him down to her lips so she could suck on his bottom lip.

She’d kissed him with all the desire in her body that she’d kept pent up for years.

For much longer than she’d known him. Jessamine had put all her heart and soul into that kiss, and she was an idiot for doing so.

“You all right, girl?” a voice called out.

Looking up, she realized that a woman, a dirty rag around her head, was leaning out her window, peering down from the third story.

“Fine!” she called out, trying very hard to smile and make it seem like she wasn’t beating herself up for stupid decisions. “Just a lot of bad choices last night!”

“Stupid to linger in the streets,” the woman scoffed. “You have heard there’s more infected in the city now, haven’t you? That new king is bringing them in droves by the day.” With a shake of her head, she withdrew, slamming the window shut.

Jessamine’s entire body went cold. So Leon had made good on his threat. He really was bringing more infected into her kingdom, making it a dumping ground for all the bodies. Eventually, there would be more infected than healthy people. No one would be able to live here.

“This won’t do,” she muttered, getting to her knees and reaching into her bag.

She shrugged off the rags that she’d piled on to camouflage herself while she slept. Some ragged scraps still clung to her form as she yanked out a black candle and the other components she needed.

She could hear Sybil’s warning in her ear. Don’t practice magic where anyone can see you, girl.

She glanced up at the woman’s window—too many early risers in this alley.

She needed to find a darker, more secluded corner to put some of these spells to good use.

After slipping silently from her hiding spot, she darted down the main road until she saw a hidden location, barely an alley, more like an awkward crevice between two listing buildings.

She slunk into the dark, then dug through the bag and racked her mind for her best option. A summoning spell to a patron, that was all she could think of. She needed him here because it seemed everything was worse than they had expected.

How long had Leon been dumping the infected here? How long did she have before some of them set upon her?

“Earth, air, wind, fire,” she muttered as she placed small brass bowls around the candle, then struck the match and lit the oil within one bowl, blew on another for air, tossed dirt into the third, and dripped water out of her container into the last. And then she lit the black candle. “Deathless One, I seek an audience.”

Nothing. Just the sound of the wind in her ears, like Elric was ignoring her.

But he couldn’t do that, could he? The spell was used specifically to speak with a patron, and maybe she didn’t necessarily worship him, but her plea had to mean something. He couldn’t deny a frantic request from someone who needed his help, could he?

“Elric,” she tried again, staring into the flame of the candle, which was supposed to move. “Elric, answer me!”

Was it because of the kiss?

“You are a thousand years old,” she hissed. “You should be able to face someone after you kiss them. This is important.”

And still, there was no response. In fact, the candle guttered out, extinguished either by the wind or by a pouting god angry because she’d stopped a divine kiss.

“Oh, you brat!”

After pinching the end of the candle to make sure it was completely out, she doused the second fire in the small brass bowl that Sybil had given her.

Apparently, bowls were rather important to witches.

She said no spell was right without brass or copper, but Jessamine was so frazzled she couldn’t remember why.

Boots stopped right next to her hands. Dirty boots, covered in soot, and certainly larger than her own.

Glancing up, Jessamine froze as she stared into the gaze of a very large man who stood over her. His grizzled features were hidden mostly by a beard, but bright green eyes stared down at her with no small measure of hatred.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“I was making sure my bowls were clean so that I could use them to get f-food,” she stammered. Hopefully, that sounded at least a little convincing.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. Why?” Jessamine stuffed the offending metal into her bag.

“Because it sure looks like you’re practicing witchcraft.” He crouched next to her, massive thighs bracing his hands as he glared. “And you don’t want to know what we do to witches in the Factory District, little girl.”

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that punishing witches without the explicit permission of the royal family had been outlawed years ago. But then that would reveal far too much. What street rat would know that?

So instead, she closed her mouth and nodded.

“There are no warnings here. You hear me? We see you practicing magic, and someone will off you right on the street. No one will even pick up your body. The rats will eat you down to your bones.”

“Understood,” she said through gritted teeth.

The man stood and spat on the ground next to her feet before walking away. Her bowls clanked together as she threw the bag on her back. Perhaps that interaction should have scared her into making sure that she was less easy to spot, but all it had done was ignite a flame in her chest.

She wanted to cast spells publicly now. She wanted to shout out that maybe she was a witch, and anyone who tried to touch her would burn for it.

Of course, that wasn’t possible. Jessamine barely even knew how to light a candle with her magic.

But she suddenly wished she could wield it like a weapon.

Maybe the Deathless One had been right. She did want to hurt people, and now she needed to learn how.

Muttering under her breath about men who picked on small women, she left the alley and started back toward the inn.

Hopefully, the crowd would be a little more welcoming during the day, so maybe she could ask a few questions about Callum.

Someone in this district had to remember the young man who had grown up to be the right hand to the queen.

Rounding a corner near the spot where she had left her message, Jessamine almost bumped into the back of a tall woman standing at the edge of a crowd. So many people were gathered here that it was impossible to cross the street.

“Excuse me,” she said, placing her hand on the back of a smaller man to her right. “I just need to get through. I’m going to the inn.”

The man gave her a dirty look but let her sneak in front of him through the crowd. It was then that she started hearing the murmured words.

“It can’t be true, can it?” a woman asked, pulling her dirty hair band off her head and wringing it in her hands.

“Course not,” the man beside her scoffed. “We all watched her fall off that cliff. The royal wedding was a sight for everyone to see, even all the way down here, and we all saw her hit the water. No one could survive that.”

Her breath caught in her lungs. They were talking about… her?

Glancing toward the alley where she’d left the message, she realized the crowd was there for her. They were all staring at the message, and those who were closest didn’t even touch it. Like they were afraid the mirage would fade if they did.

“The princess is dead,” another man shouted. “We all watched her die!”

Someone dragged a crate in front of her message and stood on it, dropping their hood from their face so the crowd could see a blond woman with wild eyes.

“I believe it! That damned new king wants us all to bend a knee and suck his dick. Well, I ain’t doing it!

If the princess is alive, then fuck the king! ”

A few other people shouted the words as well. “Fuck the king!”

Her heart had never felt so full. These were the people she spoke of when she said her kingdom was strong. These were the people willing to stand up for justice.

A man behind her chuckled, then she felt a meaty hand shove her shoulder.

“Don’t look so happy, girl. That princess is dead, and this is all a trick.

I heard the new king is a wily one. He wants to know who to off next.

Just you wait, everyone in this crowd who’s falling for this bullshit is going to be missing their heads in a few days. ”

She didn’t want to think like that. Everyone in this crowd was so close to the truth.

If they reached for it, just a little more, they’d see it.

They’d realize that there was still a chance the kingdom wouldn’t fall to ruin.

If they just hoped and held on for a little while longer, she could take back her throne and destroy the usurper once and for all.

But the fear that spread after that man’s words was strong. The crowd started to peel off, pieces of it ripping and tearing like Leon himself was slashing through them with a knife.