by Jen Printy
Leah turns and pats at the perpetual cowlick that spikes up on the crown of my head, trying to tame it. From the way the corner of her mouth lifts in a reluctant smile, she has little success. I press my lips to hers, and then unwillingly, I release her. Flipping open the ring, I dump the pills into my palm. With a mixture of angst and resolution, I hold them out to her, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are vacant as if she’s staring at some distant place.
“Leah,” I say, shaking her shoulder with my free hand.
Leah’s eyes, now alert, fix on mine. Without warning, she slaps at my hand, causing the pills to drop to the floor. Before even a word can fly from my mouth, her heel crashes down, crushing the pills into powder, which she then brushes away with the toe of her sneaker.
“What did you do?” I yell.
Two quick raps break through the hush of the room. My heart leaps. Panic-ridden, I reach for my concoction of hemlock before remembering Otmar confiscated it. The thick door opens, its hinges squeaking in complaint, and I look straight into the amused face of Domitilla.
I thrust myself in front of Leah, holding up my forearm as a shield. A shiver coils at the base of my neck and runs like icy pins and needles down my back. A low growl rumbles deep within me.
“I was wondering if you’d be here,” Domitilla says, her tone filled with malice and humor. Her attention roves around the room. “A love nest. How quaint.”
I tense, glaring at her.
“That’s right, you’re a gentleman. You’d never kiss and tell.” She winks. The corners of her mouth inch upward until it breaks into a sinister smile.
As Domitilla circles us, I keep her at my front and Leah to my back. Leah’s voice echoes in my head, but her words muddle together, a flurry of urgent sounds. I keep my focus on Domitilla’s slow advance. Her eyes are watchful, looking for any signs of weakness. Our only hope now is that I can subdue her and retrieve my bag from Otmar, or find Artagan.
Domitilla glances toward the door, but I hear no sound—a diversion tactic. Her ploy gives me the small window of opportunity I was praying for. I lunge and smack into her with the full force of my weight. She yelps in pain and surprise. I thrust my forearm into her throat and slam her hard against the wall. “That’s for Grady,” I hiss into her ear so only she can hear. She struggles, trying to break my hold, but I only push harder, staring straight into her eyes, now darkened with shock.
A sharp pain across the back of my head brings me to my knees. Someone drags me backward, and Leah screams.
Head throbbing, I look up into the eyes of my subduer, which burn red from their shadowy orbits. Death hovers above me. A sharp prickle of alarm runs up my spine. I twist to free myself from his grip, but there’s no escape. With no more exertion than it would take to swat away a fly, Death lifts me and hurls me across the narrow room. I hit the far wall and fall with a heavy thud to the flagstone.
Small, bright flashes zigzag through my vision. I stagger to my feet, bracing my shoulder against the rock wall to keep my balance, readying myself to defend. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leah, held in Domitilla’s clutches. Past the buzzing in my ears, I can hear Leah begging for me.
Death stalks toward me in silence.
Listen to me! I think, praying my words are invading Leah’s thoughts. There’s a plastic bag of hemlock in the back pocket of Otmar’s jeans. Get it any way you can!
With a flick of Death’s hand, I sail across the room and slam against the wall with a crushing blow, causing the air to explode from my lungs. Moaning, I roll to my side, and against my will, blackness closes in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I surface out of a disorienting darkness. Every inch of my body throbs with each beat of my heart, and fatigue encumbers my senses. All I want to do is sleep, but I force my lids open. At first, the world blurs around me. I blink and then blink again. The surroundings come back into focus bit by bit. For a moment, I’m confused when all I find is the dull gray of a vaulted ceiling. As my thoughts begin to clear, the memories flood in with perfect clarity.
Leah.
I jerk upward in a sudden panic. The room tilts and spins, and once again I’m lying flat on my back on the cold floor, but not before seeing what I already feared. I am alone in the narrow, shadowed room that first served as Leah’s cell then as our bridal chamber.
I grit my teeth and make a fumbling effort to stand. The smallest exertion feels colossal. Another wave of dizziness comes over me, making me sway, but I manage to stay upright. Regardless of the chill shrouding the room—the once-blazing hearth has dwindled into a handful of glowing coals—beads of perspiration soak my face and drench my back.
How long have I been out?
I pause at the door, gripping the frame to steady myself. Then with a deep breath, I make my way down the hallway, back the way I came. After every few paces, I have no choice but to sag against the wall to catch my breath. A swell of fear rises in my veins because I know if I find Leah in front of the council, all that will be left for me to do is watch the Shadow of Death tear all I love apart. But I keep moving, because no matter what the future holds, I cannot let her face it alone.
All the while, I grapple for a strategy, trying to assemble a half-decent plan to keep her out of the grip of Shadow Death. The only thought my foggy mind produces hinges on my ability to repossess the hemlock hidden away in Otmar’s pocket. If Leah hasn’t been able to retrieve it, then I must. Somehow.
Everything will be all right, Jack, a voice breaks through the anxiety, soft and rhythmic like a melody. Even though I know it’s only my subconscious, I latch on to the sound, letting illusion give me the strength to move forward. Despite the gravity of the situation looming ahead, that voice—her voice—helps me hold on to a shred of hope. Maybe small and frail, but hope nonetheless. Still, one memory stalks me. The image of Leah smashing the tiny capsules beneath her heel replays in my mind.
Why did she do it?
I shove the question from my mind and push on. At the end of the corridor, the wall rounds into a curve. Stairs. If my calculations are correct, this particular set should lead me to the far corner of the vestibule.
The spiral stairwell ascends in dizzying flights. Between the diminished light and my throbbing head, I find it difficult to approximate the distance from one stair to the next. I stumble numerous times.
When I finally emerge out of the gloom, I stand stunned, staring at the sunshine pouring through the windows and casting the narthex in a golden glow. As the glowing embers in the fireplace indicated, I’ve been out long than a few minutes or even an hour. Though still morning, it’s well past dawn—the time Artagan said the council scheduled Leah’s punishment. A cold desperation spreads through my veins. I clench my hands into tight knots as emotion hits, leaving me winded and weak. My vision telescopes until all I see is a pinpoint of light in the darkness.
Then Leah’s voice pierces through my grief. At first, I believe it’s only an illusion. But when I hear it again, I know it’s real. The voice is not the fanciful one my imagination conjures up, but one full of stress and worry. I turn and face the set of double doors that leads to the nave.
One door sits ajar. So as not to be seen, I keep to the shadows, pushing the door open a bit more to peer in. At the center of the expansive room, Leah stands, eyes staring down at her feet as she sways in place. Members of the council and their descendants cluster in groups of two and three about the room, leaving a wide berth between themselves and Leah. Artagan waits by her side, his back to me. While I can’t see his face, I sense the tension rolling off him even from this distance. Before them all, Death stands with Thanatos, their heads drawn together in deep conversation.
From the murky threshold, I scan the room, looking for Otmar. Easily six foot seven and burly, he’s not hard to spot towering over the crowd, leaning against a column at the far side of the nave. His eyes grim and cheeks drain
ed of color, he’s unable to look in Leah’s direction. All are good signs that maybe I can sway him to help once more.
“Would you care to join us?” Death’s voice rises over the murmur of the assembly, capturing my focus. I move deeper into the shadow of the archway, a knot forming in my stomach. My eyes return to Death. I relax when I find his attention fixed on the opposite side of the room, well away from my little hiding spot. Then his gaze shifts, focusing his attention on the doorway in which I stand. He swishes one finger in the air, and the shadow cloaking my whereabouts dissolves, leaving me exposed in a beam of light.
All faces turn in my direction.
“I said, join us,” Death repeats, his voice only a soft exhalation—part irritated but mostly amused.
I pray for enough strength to make it through and shove the door open wide, the need for evasiveness gone. I feel as though I’m on the edge of some precipice. I take in a long, steady breath, releasing it to ease my nerves, and step into the room. Leah and I exchange a long glance, and I look away.
“Pardon the interruption.” I try to keep my voice formal, but I hear the steeliness in my tone.
A faint murmur of voices follows my progress as I make my way around the small bands of immortals toward Leah. Lips curl into mocking smiles and eyebrows lower into scowls as I go by. Clearly, the story of my botched attempt to save Leah has made its way to the masses. I walk past them, my eyes focused straight ahead.
At Leah’s side, I slip my hand into hers. I risk a brief look in Artagan’s direction. He doesn’t acknowledge my arrival. I’m pleasantly surprised to see Otmar has moved to Artagan’s right. A bit of luck, then.
I concentrate, aiming my thoughts toward Artagan. Otmar has my hemlock in his back pocket. If you—
Too late. It takes every ounce of my strength not to look at him. Artagan must sense this because he adds, Death has it now.
As the last flimsy thread of hope snaps, something deep inside me breaks. I hold tight to the warm hand in mine. Although I know there’s nothing I can do to save its possessor—all options have been depleted—that won’t stop me from protecting Leah. Not until the last breath leaves my body, I promise myself. Because anything less would go against my nature.
Death’s attention moves from council member to council member, and then as he speaks, his eyes land on the beauty by my side. “Leah Winters, immortal scion of Vita, you have been found guilty of our highest crime, the refusal of gathering an assignment.”
Leah looks as if she wants to reply but reconsiders. Shoulders slumping, she looks away.
“From this day forward, you will live out the remainder of your eternal existence far from all you love in Shadow Death. As I said, I wish this had turned out differently,” he says, sounding a touch too sympathetic. “Step forward and receive your punishment.”
A growl bubbles from my throat. I swing Leah behind me and, in doing so, seal my fate.
“Jack, no,” Leah murmurs.
“Shhh,” I say so only she can hear. My gaze stays fixed on Death as I cast the only card I have left. “The trial was a sham. Leah was under mind control. She intended to carry out her duties. And if you or your children believe otherwise, you are being fooled.”
A stirring reaction rises from the crowd.
Death’s eyes are cold with amusement. “Leah refused. We all heard it. It’s only natural the girl regrets that decision now and wishes for a different outcome, but the trial was valid,” he says, and silence falls over the assembly.
Death snaps his fingers, summoning Akio to step toward me. I turn to face him, keeping Leah behind me. His sparse structure doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen his speed and agility in the games, and Otmar has told me stories. According to one of the tales, Akio sailed with the Minamoto clan into battle to gather the six-year-old Emperor Antoku. Akio’s cunning, ruthless tactics took the young emperor’s life and, in the process, won a decisive victory for the Minamoto that put an end to a five-year war. Otmar claims the blade strapped to Akio’s waist is a sacred sword said to be lost at sea that same day. He brought it back, presenting it to Death. So touched was he, Death insisted Akio keep it as a show of his loyalty.
Akio doesn’t advance but hangs back, a purposeful expression thinning his lips.
A cutting pain across my shoulders answers my defiance, and an unseen force shoves me flat to the floor, pinning me down. Akio walks around me. Then, taking Leah by the elbow, he steers her toward Death. Leah resists, but Akio tightens his grip on her arm, making her wince, and forces her forward.
I feel something robust and seething surge inside me, past the pain, past the unseen force, compelling me up. “Take your hands off my wife, you bloody bastard,” I say, rage chafing my voice raw.
A buzz of whispers builds around us. Over Akio’s shoulder, I see Death. One brow raised, his eyes zero in on me, alight with a new emotion. What? Disbelief? Humor? I’m not sure which description fits. He barks a sharp order for silence. Then in a blink, he disappears. I catch a flicker of movement a little too late. Before I can react, he reappears from a swirl of shadow at my side.
Death seizes me by the wrist. Pushing his thumb against the outer part of my hand, he jams it between the thin bones. Pain spikes. It feels as if the bones might shatter from the pressure of his grip. I try to pull away but only doom myself further. In one fluid motion, Death flips my wrist and drives my hand down toward my inner arm. With my limb trapped in place, I can’t move without intense pain.
“As I told Artagan not that long ago, all I want is what’s best for all of you. Going behind my back and plotting against my decisions is futile. Even the greatest civilizations have fallen when the people have forgotten their loyalties and not adhered to the laws. We can learn from them. As your father and head, I love you and care for you. And I will not allow this kind of treachery to destroy us, which means from this day forward any of my children or their descendants discovered working against me will face the consequences.” Death strolls around the room while he speaks, towing me with him. Every movement sends a bolt of pain up my arm and straight through the top of my head. Dizzy, I keep my eyes fixed on the floor as I shuffle, bent forward at his side.
Death forces me to my knees. “Jack, here, was planning Leah’s escape. Even after all of you found her guilty. Now, let him serve as a reminder.”
“No!” Leah shouts.
I control the fear rising within me. “Don’t look, love. Close your eyes,” I say firmly. I cannot see Leah’s face, but I imagine the air of uncomprehending horror that must overwhelm it now. And above all else remember I love—
With a quick twist of my arm, Death halts all thoughts and drives my teeth together. I hear Leah shriek my name. A bolt of agony sears through my arm as the muscles and ligaments are stretched to their limit, bringing me to the edge of fainting.
A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead as my body bends and contorts to his will. Then he brings my arm hard across his knee. There’s a sickening snap, and a scream barrels up my throat. I clench my teeth tight to restrain it, but the attempt does no good, and the bloodcurdling sound breaks from my lips. Death releases me. I collapse to the floor in a quivering heap.
Warm wetness soaks the thin cotton fabric of my sleeve. My arm is bent at an odd angle, and I see a glimpse of the white shard of bone jutting through torn flesh past the rip in my sleeve. I cradle my deformed arm tightly against my chest and scoot away, fighting through nausea and dizziness, not allowing myself to lose consciousness. Blood seeps from the wound in warm crimson streams, soaking into the layer of dust that covers the floor. I feel myself growing weaker by the minute.
Death turns his head away with an air of grim satisfaction. “Keep an eye on him, Pacal. I want him to witness this.”
Pacal seizes me by the shoulders and yanks me to my feet. Pain ripples through me in successive waves, and I wobble. His bronze arm darts around my n
eck.
“Bring the cup,” Death commands.
Out of the shadows, a thin young woman from Leah’s welcoming dinner appears, her dress exchanged for a flowing cloak. Held high, level with her eyes, she carries the golden chalice—an object that still haunts my dreams. It glitters in the sunlight, dancing across the relief-carved skeletons encircling the rim.
Six shrouded figures follow her, marching in line formation out of the darkness. They approach with pageantry, the hems of their long black cloaks swishing across the uneven floorboards in lapping waves. The dull thud of feet thrums in a rhythmic beat, like an executioner’s drum, relentless and cruel. As the final figure passes—a boy, his face still rounded by youth—I catch a flash of silver, a chance ray of sun glinting along the blade of a bone-handled dagger laid across his outstretched palms.
The thin woman glides to a stop in front of Death. In the wake of a theatrical bow, she places the cup in Death’s outspread hands and then takes her place with the other black-cloaked figures who have banded together at the foot of the apse’s stairs. The boy waits by Death’s side, a detached expression on his innocent face, the knife still resting in his open hands.
“Would the accuser come forward,” Death says. A thick layer of formality coats his voice. Domitilla slides out from the crowd, satisfaction twisting her lips into a smile.
Thanatos takes the knife from the boy. Domitilla rolls up the sleeve of her blouse and holds her arm out over the lip of the cup. Thanatos grips her wrist, and then, following a quick flick of the blade across Domitilla’s ivory skin, three drops of blood drip from the wound into the steaming liquid before the cut knits back together.
After a ceremonial bow, both Thanatos and Domitilla return to their places, and Death signals Akio to bring Leah forward. The nave is quiet, charged with electricity like the moments before a storm. Even the shadows themselves seem to have breath and movement.