by Kresley Cole
Jack told Rodrigo, "Take ole Milo here and the two bodies back to his tent. He and I are goan to have a chat."
"Yes, sir." Rodrigo could barely hide his glee. He ordered soldiers to carry the three, adding, "You might want to wear gloves."
Jack said, "Death ain't contagious."
Aric looked astonished. --He does listen to me on occasion.--
"Oh, of course, sir," Rodrigo said. "If you'll follow me."
As we made our way through the crowd, Jack shook hands, accepting thanks. By the time we reached Milo's tent, the man had been already tied to a chair, prepped for interrogation. The carnates lay on the ground, atop a layer of extravagant sawdust.
Rodrigo said, "Sir, there are about thirty mercenaries who are loyal to him. They fought back before we overpowered them. What do you want to do with them? Firing squad?"
I frowned. "Like Milo used to do?"
"Non. But they got to be punished."
Aric leaned against Milo's desk. "And how will you do it, mortal? Will your leadership be callous? Or merciful?" He sounded fascinated with this subject. Of course, his favorite book was The Prince. "If you plan to be a leader, then the actions you take now could resonate for your entire life."
"You think I doan know that?" Jack turned to Rodrigo. "Exile them fifty miles from camp with no shoes, shirts, or coats. Give them each a map that leads to five packs filled with gear."
"I'll organize that right away, sir." And off he went.
The corners of Aric's lips curved, his eyes lively. "Most will kill or be killed long before they reach their destination. And I don't suppose there will actually be packs."
Jack opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to think better of it. "That's army business, and you ain't army."
I surveyed the tent. The lavish area was spotless, except for around Milovnici's desk. Books, pens, and papers had been swept to the ground. A framed picture of his weird children lay with broken glass. He must've been sitting there when he passed out. "Do you think Milov--I mean, Milo will give up information on his kids?"
Jack moved to stand in front of the man, hatred stamped on every line of his body. "He's about to give up everything. I'll make the twins' torture look like love taps."
I blinked at Jack. So ruthless. So unyielding. A million miles away from the drunken boy who'd cared about nothing after the Flash.
Selena had told me that Jack had changed. Yeah. That.
He backhanded Milo. "Wake up, you fils de putain." Not a twitch . . .
While we waited, Aric knelt, lifting a weighty black book from the ground. He brushed sawdust from it, then laid it on the desk.
I drew in. "What is it?"
He didn't answer, just turned to the first page. Handwritten text covered the weathered paper. I couldn't determine the language.
Aric's radiant eyes illuminated the page. "Gods in heavens."
"What is it?"
"Chronicles." He turned that brilliant gaze to me. "The Lovers' chronicles."
33
"What is this?" Milo demanded, spittle flying into the air. Finally, he'd come to.
Jack stopped mid swing, lowering his hand. "Look who's up."
Milo's pale blue eyes widened with shock. "I know you! The notorious hunter! What do you want from me?"
"Your children," Jack answered. "The real ones. You're goan to give them to us."
When the sounds of the outside celebrations filtered into the tent, Milo's shock deepened. "This isn't possible--my soldiers are loyal!" His lips drew back from stained teeth. "They will retake control." His hands twisted against his bonds, his fingers tipped with long yellow nails. "And when they do--"
"Your loyalists are as good as dead. Just like your twins." Jack nodded to indicate the carnates. "Or their placeholders, anyway."
"That's Death's mark." Milo whipped his head around with confusion, settling on Aric.
He sat at the man's desk, leaning back in the chair, steepling his fingers. The book lay open in front of him.
Milo glanced at it, then studiously away. Did he hope we wouldn't figure out what we possessed?
For once, we'd had a turn of fortune. The book hadn't been in Milo's safe or hidden away.
Because he was the Lovers' chronicler.
At the time a canister rolled into his tent, he'd been recording an entry. The last written word trailed across a page.
The bad news? The language was ancient Romanian.
The good news? Aric said he could translate it in time.
Milo snapped, "Death wasn't part of the deal!"
"The one your kids already welshed on?" I pointed out.
"You!" As I'd suspected, Milo's face grew even redder. I'd never been looked at with such contempt. "All my life I've known who to blame for generations of this family's misfortunes--the Empress. Here she stands."
"I understand your blaming me for the last game. But all the following centuries? That's a stretch."
He gazed at the circlet of roses on my head, making a face of revulsion. "Without your treachery, the Duke and Duchess Most Perverse would have won, becoming royalty. No, becoming immortal gods! They could have watched over and enriched this family eternally. Each generation knows how you robbed us. Our line is forged from vengeance!"
So the Milovnicis had grown more and more bitter about my betrayal? More twisted?
"My children will right this wrong. They are retribution. They will win this, so they can punish you in the next game and the next." He bared yellowed teeth. "Enjoy your final days in this life, you treacherous bitch!"
Jack clocked him for that.
The man grunted in pain, taking long moments to focus his vision.
"Let's talk about those kids, Milo. We're goan to ring them up, inform them of our upcoming hostage swap."
"They won't trade anyone for me."
"For their chronicles, then?" Aric slid the tome into a waterproof sleeve he'd found.
Milo redlined on the crazy meter, spittle flying. "Thief! You have no right to those!"
"Stay on topic." Jack backhanded him again, rocking the man's head to the side. "Your kids. Where are they?"
"I will never give them away!"
Jack just smiled. Though I knew Milo had earned the retribution he was about to receive, I didn't want to watch him tortured. Especially not by Jack.
Plus the red witch would probably view it as recreation and crave similar forms of entertainment.
I caught Jack's gaze.
"I got this, Evie. You want to wait outside?"
Aric rose, book in hand. "I'll take you."
As we exited, Milo told Jack, "I remember your pretty sister. Vincent told me she liked to beg in French--"
His scream ripped through the night. Even as I flinched, the red witch found the sound as pleasurable as a petal's caress.
I took a seat on a bench not far from where the petrifying Thanatos waited, giving passersby the willies.
When Milo let loose another strangled scream, Death began to pace, his spurs clinking. "If the mortal can't control himself, this will not work. Torture isn't as simple as one would think." Pacing, pacing. "Does Deveaux know how to torment his victim while leaving the man conscious? Will he avoid major arteries? It's not so easy a feat."
"You want to go back in, don't you?"
"The sooner we retrieve Selena for Deveaux, the sooner you return home with me."
I parted my lips to argue, then decided not to waste my breath. I waved him away. "Just go."
"Don't leave this place, sieva, and keep your guard up. There could still be loyalists about." He returned to the tent.
As I waited, Milo screamed intermittently. But I could also hear people talking about Jack, Aric, and me. A group of women gabbed about the hunter's "hot-as-fire" Cajun accent and "steely" gray eyes. They found Aric "eerily gorgeous."
Jealousy flared on both counts. I was used to feeling it over Jack and Selena, but not as often for Death. For kicks and giggles, I imagined Aric kissing
someone else.
My claws budded.
And what did Azey North think of me? The men found me "unnerving" yet "definitely doable." The women? "She's so creepy." "Did you see that vine snaking around her head?"
Still, whenever people walked by me, I smiled in greeting. They nodded politely, but couldn't hide their nervousness.
I sighed. Just over a year ago, I'd been in high school, making friends with such ease.
Then I caught a fragment of conversation coming from the other side of the tent--about Jack. Was that Rodrigo?
Sidling closer, I eavesdropped as he told another soldier how the hunter had single-handedly ganked dozens of Baggers last night--with nothing but a tire iron.
After Jack had promised me not to take unnecessary risks?
The. Hell.
I strode over to the pair. "Rodrigo, can I talk to you for a second?" Something in my tone made the other guy scurry off.
Rodrigo swallowed. "Sure?"
"You were exaggerating about Jack. Right?"
"No, ma'am," he said, relaxing a touch. "Some of the older guys didn't believe the rumors about Deveaux and Baggers, so they told him to nut up or shut up. I saw him charge into a horde with my own eyes. That guy's fearless."
Jack had broken his promise to me--the same night he'd given it. "Thanks. Uh, carry on, soldier."
When he wandered off with a bemused grin, I pulled that red ribbon out of my pocket.
Why did Jack feel he could risk himself like that? Maybe he did have a death wish.
By the time Aric and Jack emerged, I'd decided not to confront him. For now. We were too close to freeing Selena; nothing could get in the way of that. Not my anger, not his disregard. "Well?"
"That man could dish out the torture, but couldn't take it, no." Jack scrubbed a palm over his chin, his scarred knuckles bloodied. "He told us the twins are in a blast-proof bunker."
"It's over a day north of here," Aric added. "High in the mountains and accessible only by horse. A place they call the Shrine."
Milo could be lying. "Can you trust what he says?"
"Ouais. I usually got a good sense about these things, and I think he spilled some truths--in between spitting out teeth like yellow Chiclets. Just to be sure, I can confirm." Jack unclipped a transceiver from his belt. "Got the jammers turned off, me. You ready to ring up the twins' bunker?" I might have been mistaken, but I thought he'd asked me and Aric.
"Let's do this." I held my breath as Jack hailed them.
And released it with dread when we received no answer.
34
"I can't remember when I last beheld such a show." In the doorway of our roadside shelter--an old clapboard church--Aric stood silhouetted by lightning. Bolts teemed across the black sky.
Inside, Jack was inspecting the explosives he'd requisitioned from the army. Milo was tied up, fettered to a rough-hewn pew. So I'd joined Aric to watch the fireworks.
After pushing for miles through a brutal squall, we'd found this isolated, still-standing church and rewarded ourselves and our horses with a few hours of rest.
In the nearby graveyard, the tombstones were all crooked and scorched, as dark and foreboding as Aric's armor. When we'd first stopped, he'd breathed in deeply amid the crosses, headstones, and slabs, so at home that I'd raised a brow. "I like churches," he'd said with a grin. "Graveyards especially."
Even though he'd named his horse Thanatos and he'd discovered his armor on a corpse in a bone crypt, I'd never thought of Aric as so, well, death-y.
This wasn't off-putting to me. In fact, I found his fascination with deathly things attractive, because it was a part of him.
A particularly fearsome bolt spanned the sky. "I could almost swear the Tower called this down upon us," Aric mused. "In past games, he was this powerful."
"I can barely imagine that."
Aric's noble face was relaxed. A hint of blond stubble had regrown over the day. Bolts reflected in his amber eyes until his irises appeared on the verge of starlit.
As I gazed up at him, I realized my feelings for him continued to deepen. I might be . . . falling for him.
Really falling.
"The Tower could throw javelins from both hands, with lightning combusting between them," Aric continued. "The first time I encountered him, I was awestruck by the spectacle. To my detriment. I was new to the game, just sixteen."
Right after he'd left his home. After his parents . . . I shivered.
He straightened at once. "You're freezing. Come back to the fire." He led me inside.
The church's roof had a couple of burnout holes; Jack and Aric had made our fire beneath one. At times today the two had almost appeared to get along.
Without a word between them, they'd dismantled a pew for firewood and secured the horses in an adjoining alcove. Sword and bow raised, they'd cased the immediate area for Bagmen. As if by unspoken agreement, they'd disguised their animosity, presenting a unified front to Milo.
Their dynamic was changing. It had started when they'd stormed the slaver boss's house together. It'd continued evolving with our victory at Azey North. Their mutual scorn of Milo had seemed to blunt their hatred of one another.
Were they still enemies who would murder each other?
Absolutely.
But they might not savor the kill as much as they would've before.
"I didn't mean to take you from the show," I told Aric.
"I'm keen to get to my translating." He ushered me to the fire across from Jack.
I sat cross-legged, raising my waterlogged hands to the flames. I could feel Milo's hateful gaze--two pale eyes surrounded by bruises. He twisted his bound hands, as if he longed to strangle me. Good luck with all those broken fingers.
"Obviously, you don't know this, Empress"--his swollen lips and missing teeth distorted his speech--"but you ride with the very one who killed you in the last game! He's played you false!"
"Nope, I knew. He decapitated me. Blah." I sounded blase. I was anything but about our history.
"Then you're even stupider than I thought."
Like a blur, Aric was in front of him. "Now, Milo, we talked about this. Remember? You do not speak to her unless you'd like to be castrated by horse hoof."
"She's about to know agony as never . . ."
Death slowly shook his head with such menace that the man swallowed. That got Milo to shut up--at least to me. The moment Aric left him, the man turned to Jack. "It doesn't matter how many explosives you stole from me, you'll never breach the Shrine."
"Non? You sure sound confident for a man who spent the day hog-tied over a saddle."
Back at the encampment, the Azey had been delighted to see their former leader trussed up in such a humiliating position. Well, except for the bound loyalists who'd been on their way out to endure their own set of difficulties.
The horse Jack had chosen for Milo was one of the finest the army had to offer. He planned for Selena to use it on the way back.
How confident Jack was that we could rescue her--that she'd be able to ride. Whenever my mind turned to what the twins might be doing to her, I had to shut those thoughts down. . . .
Aric took the chronicles from that waterproof sleeve. He sat near me, leaning against a wall. With a look of anticipation, he cracked open the pages.
"Thief!" Milo's beaten face grew an alarming shade of red. "You've stolen what doesn't belong to you! You have no right!"
Milo truly believed he was the innocent party. Aric was a thief; I was a treacherous bitch who'd wronged generations; Jack was an insurrectionist.
When the man got zero response from Aric, he said, "Save yourself the trouble--you'll never read them."
Aric flipped a page without looking up. "Won't I?"
"It's written in ancient Romanian." Somehow Milo's expression was both frenzied and smug.
"I speak ancient Hungarian, which shares roots with that language." Another turned page.
Milo's smugness faltered. "You want to know the c
ontents? It's a revenge contract from one generation to the next. We've renewed our hatred of the Empress over and over."
"I look forward to a little light reading, then," Aric said. "Know that I'll translate every word of this scrawl eventually."
"Eventually? You won't live past tomorrow. My children will reclaim our chronicles off your corpse."
Jack smirked. "So we are headed in the right direction then?"
"It doesn't matter that I told you the Lovers' location. You can't breach it."
"Popping open a bunker woan be as easy as, say, stealing your entire army from you. But we'll figure it out. Tomorrow, we're goan to eat good off your stores, and drink too. I already stole the whiskey from your desk." He pulled a bottle from his bug-out bag, keeping it at the ready. "Twenty-five years old? Um, um, um."
"Enjoy it, hunter! Tonight's your last one on this earth." Veins stuck out in the man's forehead as he grew more frustrated. He was used to terrifying people; I think I'd yawned at him a couple of times in the last hour. "Tomorrow you die."
"I've never heard that before," Aric drawled. "And yet . . ."
Jack returned to his explosives inspection, eyeing a serious-looking detonator. "Seems you like to bluster, Milo. The weak ones always do."
Aric glanced up. "I've seen that trait over and over throughout the years. I remember Philip the Second once wrote to the Spartans, saying, 'If I enter Laconia, I will raze Sparta.' Do you know what they wrote back? One word: If. "
Jack paused at that, cocking his head. I'd bet he was committing that story to memory.
"My children will reign over this world as immortal champions. Unlike you, Reaper!" Milo spat a mouthful of watery blood. "What did you do as champion of the Arcana?"
"Hmm." Amusement. A flipped page. "What should I have done?"
"The entire world could have worshipped death. Cults of it, to pay homage to your deity."
"Historically, Arcana who reveal their secret gifts fare ill. Even so, I haven't done too shabbily. Everyone has heard of the Grim Reaper. And cults of death? People pray before tombs and crypts every day. Cemeteries are hallowed. Look outside these very doors. What's left standing? Monuments to death."
"You could have conquered so much more. Ruled over man as a god. Enriched your relatives' line. You could have sown fear as my twins will sow destruction."
"And in your imaginings, when your spawn win, what would mankind worship?"
"Love. It's the most destructive force in the universe."