Page 142 of Till Death

“She speaks.” He chuckled.

Again, I tried to fight him, pulling away, though I had no idea how I would escape beyond his grasp. I didn’t matter, though, not as white-hot pain raced across my palm, burning my flesh to embers as a name was given. A name I couldn’t bear to see.

“Look, Deyanira.”

I couldn’t. Squeezing my eyes shut so he would not see the tears, I willed myself to wake, but the hold did not waver, and the heat of Death’s court didn’t retreat.

“I will hold you here until I see your face. Do not test me, my darling. I’m far better at this game than you are.”

He could’ve gripped my throat and ripped all the air from my lungs. He could’ve shoved his hand into my heart and squeezed until I felt as though he’d ripped it from my weakening chest. But he hadn’t. All those sensations were my own as I crumbled to the ground and held those burning letters to my chest, so afraid to see which of my family he’d selected.

“Look,” he demanded again. And, as though the power of his words ripped my will in two, my eyes fell to the name burned into my palm, just as every piece of my heart shattered.

Orin Faber.

The love of my life.

My husband.

The single death I would never recover from. The man that had carried me would now die at my hands. When I glanced up at Death’s beautiful face, it twisted into something far more grotesque. He delighted in the visceral pain throbbing within my soul.

“Thank you for sharing this moment, my Deyanira. I will see you soon.” He pulled me from the rocky ground with a firm grip on my bicep. “I have a really good feeling about this one.”

And then he was gone. His court fell to darkness as my dream faded.

The cool sheets of our bed grounded me, though the tears were silent. I could feel him lying there, the arm wrapped heavily around my waist, the soothing breaths on my ear.

Orin.

The magic pulsed; a hairline tinge of madness curled around his name in my mind, and I thought I’d be sick with the panic of it.

As slowly as my racing heart would allow, I slipped from the bed and darted down the hall, tears running freely. Ripping Thea’s door open, I ran to her, shaking her awake with all the fear and hysteria present on my face, I was sure.

“You have to wake up,” I cried. “You have to save him. I can’t stop it. You have to help me. Thea. Please.”

She was up in seconds, ripping the blankets away with a fury as my panic became her panic.

“Slow down, Deyanira.” Her words were measured and calm, an attempt to bring me a semblance of peace, but there would be none for me. Not now. Not ever.

“Look,” I answered, shoving my palm into her face. “You have to lock me up, Thea. You have to make chains with magic. Something I can never escape from. You have to save him. Please.”

“Oh, gods,” she whispered, pulling my hand toward the small light in her room to take in the name.

She shook her head, her own tears welling as she stood from her bed and threw her arms around me. “Please don’t do it, Deyanira. Please.”

Her words, the plea in them, sliced into my heart. After all this time, she knew I didn’t have a choice, but still, to hear those words on her lips only made the wound dig deeper.

“You have to lock me up,” I cried again. “Somewhere he cannot find me.”

“I can’t. I could never. We’ll find another way.”

“No,” I hissed, pushing her away far more forcefully than I’d wanted. “Unless you want to see him die, Thea, you’ve got to.”

“If your intention is to wake the whole house, you’re nearly there,” Paesha yawned from the door. “What’s going on?”

But the second she took in my face, her eyes fell to Thea cradling my palm in hers. And then she knew. As if the words had been spoken aloud, she knew.

“There’s only one way to save him, Paesha.”