Page 115 of Till Death

“The best one,” he answered as we began the rest of our trek down the hall.

“Stay here,” Orin ordered, placing his hands on the hidden door to the theater a while later.

Moving to stand beside him, I drew my blades, letting the feel of their solid handles kick-start my adrenaline. “You couldn’t pay me enough coins to sit in this tunnel while you go offer yourself as bait.”

His lips parted to argue, but as his eyes fell on his mother and shifted to Quill, he stopped, likely realizing what was at stake. He nodded, swinging the door open. When it was only him and I in the silent, dark theater, he reached for me, for my hand, steadying both of us as we moved like wraiths.

But the theater was completely empty. Not a soul. Not a heartbeat. Absolutely no one had come yet. Early though it was, we’d been so confident there was a battle to be had. Winding through the halls, we searched the rooms; even Drexel’s office was dark and empty.

“It’s in the terms, he can’t hand me over to the king,” I said, pausing in a hallway.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t step out of the way.”

“Think about it, though. His posters are promising the greatest show ever and free admission. He’s not going to do something like that without cutting off Icharius. Drexel’s been playing this game a lot longer than Icky. He’s smart. Too smart. He’s been running these cities for a long time.”

Orin stroked a thumb across his bottom lip, eyes flickering down the dark hall. “True. But you’re saying we have to place bets on which beast has the biggest bite right now.”

“That’s never going to be a question. Drexel’s always going to win that war. There’s no way Icharius isn’t where he is because your boss had a hand in it. I just can’t figure out the puzzle. Have you… have you ever tried to…” I slid my thumb across my throat rather than speak the words aloud, just in case. “I know he’s your uncle, but…”

He leaned closer to breathe his answer into my ear. “Yes. Twice. But he never knew it was me, and he never died.”

“Maybe his claims of bargaining with Death were real.”

I took a step to continue our journey back to the hiding Syndicate members, but he stopped me. “In hours, this theater is going to fill with people. Probably more than ever before. If he’s truly making deals with Death, promise me you’ll be careful. Stay hidden until showtime, even if we’re all called away. Make no more bargains, okay? In and out.”

I nodded as he pressed his lips to mine. “This marriage is only getting started, Wife. I won’t see it end before I have a chance with you.”

Chapter 44

One hundred seventy-six, Lysander Claude.

One hundred seventy-seven, Elara Vossen.

Names.

People.

Faces.

Souls.

Those that I’d reaped danced through my mind like a severed string of pearls dropping to the marble floor of my father’s throne room. With my back against the wall of Thea’s tunnel hours later, alone and wary, seconds melded into minutes, into hours recklessly. Once Orin had convinced his mother and the three Syndicate members who were not linked to the Maestro to go back to the apartment, I’d been left alone with my thoughts.

The hall beyond was abuzz with excitement, performers whispering of the gathered crowds and the unforgettable show that was promised. My name had never been uttered on so many lips. Drexel’s plan, in full swing.

One hundred seventy-eight, Matthijs Rademaker.

One hundred seventy-nine, Seraphina Klaase.

The others had gone hours ago, slipping into the line of performers one by one to prepare for whatever tonight’s show would bring without friction. And while I imagined they’d dressed in their finest, keeping Hollis on his toes, I also pictured Orin, sitting before his polished cello on a dark stage, a single spotlight on him as he poured every worry, every truth, and every lie into those notes he’d so carefully crafted.

His kiss lingered on my lips even now, alone and hidden in a hallway, letting the nerves the Maestro had conducted so flawlessly build to a crescendo, reminding me that the anticipated fear was far more potent than unexpected fear. A well-crafted plan.

“Deyanira?” Thea’s whispered voice surged through me. She pressed the door open to peek around the corner, eyes sinking as she took me in. “It’s clear, but we have to hurry. The show’s about to start.”

I jerked back in surprise. “It is? Is it late already?”

“Orin wanted to wait so you couldn’t be locked in anywhere else. Genevieve has your performance orders, and Hollis is ready to dress you backstage.”