by Karina Halle
A cry strangles in my throat. Pain and pleasure blur, my eyes rolling back in my head and there’s no resisting this. I succumb to him and let go. In this moment, and only in this moment, I am truly his.
Death knows it. He unleashes himself on me. With his fingers bruising my skin, he slams in and out, his cock going deeper, somehow feeling even thicker each and every sordid pump. I’m like a ragdoll, at his mercy, bouncing on the bed, lost to his punishing rhythm while pleasure builds and builds inside my core.
Then, with a low growl, he reaches forward and grabs me by the throat, his gloves gripping tight, and lifts me back toward him so I’m just on my knees and I’m struggling to breathe. With his hand pressed against my neck, his other hand slides down over my stomach and starts fingering my clit, the texture of the glove still rough despite how wet I am.
I try to talk but can’t. I reach up to his fingers and try to pry them off my neck, feeling like I’m losing consciousness. At the same time, I’m close to coming and I’m realizing they’re pretty much the same thing, a total submission to the unknown. Gray spots invade my vision, and I’m standing on an edge, ready to give in and take the plunge into darkness.
Then his grip lessens, and I’m gulping in air just as his fingers work me faster, the wet sounds so lewd in the dark of the room.
“Fly away with me, little bird,” he grunts in my ear, stroking my clit harder and harder until it feels like the beating of wings. “Fly away with me.”
Oh, god.
“Fuck!” I scream, the word shattering in the air and then I’m shattering too. The pressure releases, my body lets go, and I’m shot into the unknown. The whole room turns black, and silver stars fill the space and I don’t even know where I am anymore, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I’m just bliss, just a being floating through time, lost to the waves of pleasure that rip through my body, making my limbs shake, my heart pound, my cries echo…
Oh my god, I’m not dead am I?
He didn’t accidentally give me the hand?
I blink and then suddenly the black velvet night and the silver stars fade away until they’re just outside the window. I’m in my bedroom again, and Death is still inside me, his thrusting slowing, his rough gloved hands still stroking me, holding me tight.
His breath hitches, there’s a gasp, then he quickly pulls out of me with a shockingly wet sound, leaving me hollow inside. I feel him come on my back in hot spurts that never seem to end, his shuddering moan shaking the bed.
The room fills with the sound of our panting breaths, my head pounds with my beating heart. My limbs start to tremble with the strain and Death releases me, so I’m collapsing to the bed.
Good lord that was…there are no words.
I lie there, staring out the window at a crystal-clear night sky. But Death isn’t asleep. He’s awake. With me.
Until he’s not.
He reaches forward and retrieves his mask.
I want to roll over, look at him, say something, cover up, but I’m hit with a tidal wave of exhaustion.
My eyes close just before he leaves the room.
We never said a word to each other.
Chapter 17
The Sect of the Undead
The next morning Raila wakes me up.
You’ve slept in, dear Hanna, Raila’s voice slides into my head as her gloved hand roughly shakes my shoulder. Time to get up now.
All the finesse of an ox this one has, I think groggily to myself.
My eyes open, blinking at the light coming in the room.
Sunlight.
It’s not streaming in, but it’s there. It’s diffused. The morning is misted over as always, but today I can make out the Everest-type peak of Mount Vipunen. Beyond that, the sun is trying to burn through the clouds. I try and recall the name of the Sun Goddess. Is it Päivätär? So many of the Finnish names sound the same. Either way, this is the first time I’ve felt her presence.
“It’s bright outside,” I say, rubbing my bleary eyes.
Yes, it is, Raila says, sounding chipper as always. This is good news for the garden. Pyry will be happy. She has so many things she wants to grow in the sun.
I briefly wonder if it’s my doing. I mean, I don’t want to toot any horns or anything, but unless I was dreaming, I’m pretty sure Death got off on me last night. When I move, I can feel the dried places where he marked me. In a weird way, it’s kind of hot, even the next morning.
But that feeling only lasts a moment. Because then the shame comes in.
I invited Death into my bed. He fucked me raw. He came on my back. He got what he wanted from the start.
Then again, I got what I wanted too. I mean, at least I got off. I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy the whole experience, that would be a lie. But my hormones and my emotions are all sorts of vulnerable this morning, like a nerve exposed to air. I can’t say this is new to me—even when I have one-night stands, I have this oppressive feeling that sets in the moment the orgasm fades—but even so, I don’t want to dwell on it.
I don’t want to think about what’s next.
Because that can’t be it, can it?
Did Death just want a taste of me? Was I enough for his liking? Or is he still planning on yeeting me into Oblivion?
You’re looking particularly well this morning, Raila says to me as I sit up. From the knowing tone of her voice, I have no doubt her face matches beneath that veil. Are you coming around to Shadow’s End?
I’ve been coming alright, I think but I manage to hide my smirk.
“I must have gotten a good night’s sleep,” I explain.
I bet you did, Raila says, and there’s more meaning in her words than normal. I wonder if the others in the castle know what happened last night. Then again, the brighter weather must be a sign, and there’s no secret that I’m Death’s prisoner. The writing might be on the wall.
I left your coffee and breakfast on the table, she says to me as she glides away in her dark robes. Let me know if I can offer you anything else for the time being.
“Actually,” I say, straightening up. “You can help me.”
She stops, turning her faceless head toward me. Yes? She sounds excited. Usually I just dismiss her quickly.
“You know that Death has given me freedom to roam the castle?”
She nods. Oh yes. The Master told us at the morning meeting the other day that you’ve been freed to go where you like. I would consider it a great honor.
“Yeah, it’s something,” I admit slowly. I flash her a smile. “And since there’s so much of Shadow’s End that I haven’t seen and won’t understand, I was wondering if you could give me a tour.”
Me? She clasps her satin gloves together. Well, of course I would be happy to. It is my one duty to serve you. And the Master, of course.
“Of course,” I tell her with a placating smile. “Well, let me have my breakfast and get ready for the day. Can you come back here in an hour?”
It would be my pleasure, she says with a bow, and then glides out of the room, the door closing behind her.
I exhale loudly the moment she’s gone. As much as I’ve grown to appreciate having Raila around, she still gives me the creeps.
There’s a phhhwomp sound from the side of the room and I look over to see one of my towels on the ground and Bell hoisting herself half-out of the fish tank, looking at me with annoyance.
“Hanna,” Bell says sharply. “Did you forget I was even here?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, getting out of bed. “That was the plan.”
I walk a step and then groan. My muscles ache…everywhere. Death wore me out last night with his exuberance. I suppress a smile at that, feeling guilty for even enjoying that thought and then delighting in it, like a novelty.
“Well, in case you didn’t notice,” she says, “putting a towel over my fish tank doesn’t block out the noise. I heard every single thing that happened last night.”
My cheeks flush. I’ve had sex in a
public washroom before, I’ve had sex at a party when I knew people were outside the door listening. It doesn’t bother me; if anything, it gets me off. But I’ll be an old, cranky woman before I get used to the idea of a little mermaid overhearing every lustful groan and ragged breath.
“Thankfully, I forgot you were there,” I tell her, going over to my breakfast. As usual, there are honeycakes, as well as some slices of grouse bacon fried in lavender syrup and the eggs of a silverloon, the yolks a bright blue, sprinkled with poppy flakes and moonstone salt. I keep the honeycakes and bacon for myself but bring the eggs to Bell. They’re her favorite.
I let her grab the eggs off the plate, her tiny arms sinking into the yolks, and she sucks them down in seconds flat.
“Jesus, do you know how to savor your food?” I tell her.
“Savoring belongs to Gods and wealthy mortals. Everyone else eats as much as they can, when they can, never knowing when it will be their last.”
Damn. I almost feel guilty.
She wipes her dainty mouth. “I know you enjoyed last night.”
I roll my eyes and bite into a piece of bacon.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Hanna,” she adds. “Death knows what he’s doing.”
“Okay, don’t you find it weird that we’ve both, you know, slept with him?”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because…I don’t know. Generally you don’t hang around women that have been with the guys you’ve been with.”
“Why not?” Her bright blue eyes are wide with innocence, and I know she’s being truthful. But of course, I can’t really figure out how to explain it.
“I don’t know. It’s a territorial thing. I guess.”
Her brows furrow. “Did you know that mermaids are very territorial when it comes to hunting grounds? I can understand that. There’s only so much fish to go around. But dick? I mean, where’s the deficit?”
I can’t help but laugh. She actually has a point. “Fair enough,” I tell her.
“And really,” she goes on, “why are you getting territorial over someone you pretend not to care for?”
My eyes go wide and I nearly drop my food. “What? I don’t care for him. I fucking hate him, Bell. I’m his prisoner. And before you bring up the fact that you are too, just know that in my world, prison is a bad thing, power dynamics are real, and grudges are held for life.”
Her frown deepens, creating a line between her brows. “Okay,” she says carefully, her tone icy. “So then who cares if I’ve been with him? He’s had a wife too, you know. There have been other mermaids, other Goddesses. He’s not a God of Virtue and Abstinence. He’s the God of Death. Death has the most power in all the realms. He does what he wants, takes what he can. Sometimes it’s me…sometimes it’s you.”
I shrug. “That’s fine. I really don’t care. I just think it’s weird to be talking about having sex with the same guy, that’s all.”
“Guy?” she laughs, pronouncing the word like it’s foreign. “He’s a God, Hanna. Not a guy, not a man, but a God. You should be receiving him with wide legs and an open heart.”
I shake my head vehemently while giving Bell the last slice of bacon. “No. That’s not how we do it back home. A God doesn’t capture people and use them for his own amusement.”
“His own amusement? I heard plenty of your amusement last night.” She grabs hold of the bacon and wolfs it down. “And in your world, Tuoni doesn’t exist,” she says through a mouthful. “I don’t exist. Tuonela doesn’t exist. But now you know that it all does. That your world is only one of many worlds, all linked by this one. Maybe the Creator is untouchable, unknowable, but the Gods? They’re just as fallible as all of us. The only difference is that they can’t die.”
“Well, they can, if Death gets a hold of them,” I point out. “Which asks the question…what kills Death?”
Bell stares at me for a moment, as if the question takes her by surprise. “I don’t know if anything can kill Death,” she muses. Then a darkness comes over her eyes, turning them the color of rough seas. “Maybe love.”
“Love kills Death?” I scoff. “That doesn’t sound like the prophecy.”
“Maybe losing love,” she clarifies. “Maybe loss of love is what actually kills him.”
I shake my head, walking across the room to my coffee. “You hate to admit it, but you’re an incurable romantic at heart, Bell. If loss of love killed Death, don’t you think he would have died when Louhi left him for that mariner, or whatever his name is?”
“Arranged marriage,” Bell says. “He never loved her. I am sure he tried, but I know he didn’t. He never even wanted to be with her to begin with.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I heard. It was arranged because her father was some demon who used to rule Tuonela.”
“You’ve never met Louhi,” Bell says adamantly. “She’s awful. Death was forced into that marriage because of politics, and in the end, she’s the one who cast him aside. That’s got to bruise the ego.”
“Honestly, maybe Death’s ego can stand a little more bruising,” I say.
“Well, if you want out of this twisted world, Hanna, then your job is to stroke Death’s ego,” she points out with a sigh. “Judging from last night, you’re already off to a great start.”
It sounds bad, but I want to drill her about that. I want to ask her what she thought of what happened, if it sounded normal, or if I really rocked Death’s world. I want my little ego stroked, so I know to keep going. But I manage to keep that to myself.
Instead, I give her the rest of my food and a sip of coffee and get ready for the day. I put on a white empire-waisted gown and bring my hair up high above my head, while Bell reminds me that the full moon is three nights from now. Now that I can leave the room and I know where the Stargaze Tower is, I’m pretty sure her escape plan will go off without a hitch.
Mine, however? That’s still a work in progress.
Raila comes by later for my little tour. I don’t know how crafty she really is, but I don’t underestimate her either. Who knows how long she’s been around, who her alliances are really with, and what she really thinks of me? Because of all the unknowns, I have to tread lightly.
So, where would you like to go? Raila asks as we step outside of my room, black satin hands clasped at her waist.
“How about the Library of the Veils,” I suggest.
There’s a pause, as I knew there would be. I’m afraid that area is off-limits, she says.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Death did say I could go anywhere.”
Anywhere you’re allowed, she says. I have been given strict orders not to allow you, nor anyone, into the Library of the Veils.
“Anyone?” I repeat.
It is forbidden.
“Why?”
There is magic in there that could overthrow the Master and upturn the whole realm, possibly even all the realms as we know them.
That much power in the Book of Runes, I ponder. If I could get that book one day, I could change so many things. I wouldn’t even bother with Death or Tuonela, I would just make it so that I could be back with my father, back in the real world, and that nothing from this world, nor any malicious shaman, could hurt either of us. I know I have to die one day, and I must admit there’s some comfort in knowing I’ll most likely be put in the Golden Mean instead of the nebulous question mark, but I want to postpone my death as much as possible.
But that’s not why I’ve called upon Raila today. The Book of Runes is just a shiny distraction.
“Well, that’s understandable,” I tell Raila. “Why don’t you give me a tour of Shadow’s End, from the top to the bottom then. Wherever I’m allowed to go.”
I will do my best, she says.
And so I take another tour of the castle, this time with Raila’s commentary.
This is the solar room, she says as she takes me into a large room with floor to ceiling windows. Aside from the iron framework, it’s pretty much a solarium and right now,
with the sun trying to burn through the clouds, it’s bright and hot.
Usually Death is in here having his morning coffee, she says. But he isn’t a fan of the sun, even when it’s his own doing.
I take my time looking around. It really is an incredible room with a three-sixty view of the area. Though the mist hasn’t completely cleared, it’s enough that I can make out the craggy mountain ranges to the north, the sea to the south. From here it really feels like you’re on top of the world and ruler of the kingdom.
But it isn’t the view that has my curiosity piqued. It’s the details in the room, each one telling me something about its daily inhabitant.
There’s a black leather chair and footstool with an iron side table beside it, a stack of books underneath. I can just imagine Death sitting there, his coffee beside him, his feet up, book in hand, while the land stretches out beyond the windows. The image delights me for some reason and I crouch down, taking a look at his current TBR pile: The Art of War, The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, In Cold Blood, The Holy Bible, and Lord of the Rings.
My brow quirks up. “Lord of the Rings?”
The Master is a very prolific reader, Raila says, watching me. Have you read it?
I smile. “Yes, I have.”
He says Tolkien got some things right about Tuonela, like Kokko, the giant eagle, but he failed to capture the intricacies of the land, Raila explains.
I nod and look around the rest of the room. There’s a wine rack, a stocked bar that has crystal decanters that sparkle like diamonds, housing jewel-colored liquids in amber, crimson, emerald, and amethyst. Then there are a few bottles of Scotch and even tequila thrown in there, obviously smuggled from my world, plus an array of glassware and iron-welded vessels.
“I have to ask, what’s with all the iron?” I gesture to all the iron details in the room, which is nothing compared to the rest of the castle. I mean even his dog is made of iron.
Tuonela is built from iron, she says knowingly. A material that created a whole world. Iron is magic and can give life to things, attract things, as well as repel. The longer you are here, you will learn to work with both iron and it’s ally, silver, to your advantage. I keep an iron cross by my bedside, just in case.