Page 2 of Till Death

Death pressed cool lips to my cheek as he did with every meeting. Floating above my victim, he drew Thomas’s soul from his body, eyes glistening with mirth before he laughed and dragged him off to his eternal court.

Chapter 2

The definition of benevolence had been lost to this godless world ages ago. Stolen with the innocence of a child and captured within the final tendrils of an unanswered prayer. Ripped away upon the capture of one’s last hope and buried in the graveyard near Tolliver’s Pointe. Duty over morality, though. Death’s promise reigned overall.

Leaving the slums of Perth behind, bone-tired, I stepped into my carriage, begrudging the beauty after such an act, and wiggled the reins enough to wake the horse. Black as night, moving like a shadow, he needed no direction from me to carry us through the narrow streets, past the barrage of flickering streetlamps, and on to my father’s home, my prison. A constant reminder that, had I not been born with my supreme title as Death’s Maiden, princess might’ve led me through a completely different life. A life with a mother.

An hour later, Regulas stood at my bedroom door with perfect posture, perfectly pressed black clothing, and a perfect sneer on his aged face. “He’s waiting.”

“He is always waiting.”

“For his beloved daughter,” he said, eager to emphasize each sarcastic syllable of that word.

This particular member of my father’s council used to fear me. As most did. But over the years, his fear changed into smugness. And, while I could reach out and snap his unnaturally thick neck, the baser part of me remembered that I was not like the Maidens and Lords that came before me. I was a weapon by fate, not choice. And a princess, all the same.

Planting my feet, I straightened my spine and ran a finger over the ornate design on Chaos’s curved handle, finding comfort in the weapon that never left my thigh. “I am a member of this royal house, Regulas.” I narrowed my gaze until he flinched. “You will not forget yourself again.”

He bowed, clearing his throat, though his words were laced with annoyance. “Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.”

“Just because my father has chosen to forgo formalities with you within the walls of his castle, does not mean I have. Should you wish to see the sun again, don’t forget your place. I answer to Death first and my king second.”

Holding himself bent at the waist while waiting for my dismissal, his balding head flushed, the lights along the ceiling illuminating the bulging veins. I checked for dirt beneath my nails and the corners for cobwebs before finally dismissing him. Setting my hand on the cold metal knob, I contemplated the escape of my bedroom. Such luxury would have to wait, though. My father was not a patient king.

He’d meet me in the throne room and nowhere else, choosing formality in every moment we shared. My father resented Death and the power he stole by selecting me in the womb as Maiden, the first and only royal to hold the title. A king deserves power over his kingdom but covets control over his family.

Two heavily armed guards, both with expressionless faces and long swords crossing their backs, opened the doors in unison, never bothering to look at me, though I could see the Adam’s apple bob in one’s throat as I passed. His weapons were for show, good for maiming at best; mine were soul suckers, a guaranteed eternity in Death’s court.

The obsidian columns wrapped in iron burst from the floor as if they’d been banished from hell and sent to hold my father’s throne room erect. And at the top of fifty towering stairs, he sat on his dais, staring down at the world like he’d summoned them instead.

“Deyanira.” His voice echoed off the walls. “Must you always disappoint me?”

Ten years ago, his words might have inspired a reaction, but after so long, I’d become numb to him, confident it was better to hold my tongue than engage. Instead, I silently begged the old gods for reprieve of this torture. Of this life where I’d never know love or kindness or laughter. The closest I would ever have was Ro. And even she was fickle. Still, my eyes flashed to Regulas, who was standing behind him, mumbling something with the same sneer on his face as earlier.

I didn’t move, flinch, or breathe as I stood waiting for him to begin. Eventually, he gripped the smooth edges of his throne and descended the steps, one loud booted step at a time. Clasping his hands behind him, he circled me like a vulture, assessing as he always did.

“Report!” he demanded.

I stared straight ahead, unwilling to let my green eyes, the twin to his, fall. “The victim’s name was Thomas Vanhutes. He rented a rundown apartment in Beggar’s Row, near the Badger Hole. He died in hi?—”

“His sleep. Yes. You are a merciful murderer. And the Maestro? Does he continue to hunt you?”

“Of course, he does, but there were no signs of him or his men.”

“Don’t you find it odd that you miraculously avoid him? You wouldn’t be keeping secrets from me, would you?”

I sighed, drawing the same repetitive explanation forward. “It’s not a miracle, Father. It’s a skill. I’m always aware of my surroundings and danger.”

“How lucky for all of us.”

Teeth clenched, I didn’t miss the indignation in his tone. He knew I could have tortured them all. He assumed Death’s magic begged me to slaughter. But my stubborn will allowed me one grace. Choice.

“And the Life Maiden?”

I gulped. “No news.”

“We haven’t had a Life Maiden in twenty-six years. More people than ever are sick, with no one to heal them. She must be hiding. It’s impossible that you haven’t heard a single word, Deyanira,” Regulas said from behind my father’s throne, his puny voice echoing off the brushed gold walls until it crept down my spine. He’d purposely left my title out.

“I’m not the Huntress. Blame someone else. Blame yourself, councilman,” I snapped at him.