Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(74)

Jack’s gaze clouded. “Nécessité.” Deep draw. Pass bottle. “That story true about your armor?”

Under my lashes, I gazed from one to the other. They were lowering their guards a bit.

“Very true. I thought I’d been maddened, suffering from hallucinations, until I found the crypt.”

“So . . . gods are real?”

Aric nodded. “That’s how the game came about. They grew bored.”

When he didn’t elaborate, I had to speak up. “And? What happened after boredom set in?”

“You wish to hear the origin story?”

“Uh, yes.” I passed him the bottle.

“Very well.” He drank, handing it to Jack, starting another round. “A goddess of magic devised a contest to the death for select mortals. She invited deities of other realms to send a representative from their most prestigious house, all youths. Each one bore their god’s emblem upon his or her right hand.”

My heart raced . . . I had been one of those youths.

“These players would fight inside Tar Ro, a sacred realm as large as a thousand kingdoms, harvesting their victims’ emblems; only the player who’d collected them all would leave Tar Ro alive. Naturally, the gods cheated, gifting their own representative with superhuman abilities, making them more than mortal. Secret abilities. That’s why we’re called Arcana.”

“Hail Tar Ro,” I murmured. “The High Priestess told me that.”

“An old-fashioned greeting. She’s quite knowledgeable about the games. Very respectful of the old ways.”

Probably not who I should be talking to about ending the game. “Why did the gods give us a call?”

“Shortage of heralds?” Arcana humor.

“Saw your hand earlier,” Jack said. “You’ve taken out four cards in this game?”

Death had, but he’d hated doing it. I cast about for a change of subject.

“Four,” Aric said, that single word imbued with weariness.

Keen Jack observed, “A Grim Reaper who’s sick of reaping?”

Aric schooled his features. “Ending cannibals and slavers is sport. But they’re different from most Arcana. All things being equal, I’d rather not.”

Jack seemed to be mulling this over as he passed the bottle to me. “You believe this game can be ended?”

“I’ve failed in the past to do so. But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Then Aric told me alone, —I’m particularly invested in believing that.—

Because he wanted to take me back to his isolated castle of lost time. Have kids with me. Live a long life, but not a never-ending one. In answer, I handed Aric the bottle.

After seeing the misery out in the world—the spreading plague, the cannibals, the hobbled women and shackled girls—could I abandon everything?

Our situation was becoming larger than the game. We hunted the Lovers, not only because they’d taken Selena, but also because they’d rained down so much terror on innocent people.

After all my evil in past lives, shouldn’t I atone in this one?

“Some cards will have to be destroyed regardless of the game.” Aric’s free hand clenched. Was he thinking about the Emperor? “They will never come to heel. Just as the Lovers refuse to.”

“We woan have to worry about those two much longer.” Jack absently rubbed his bandage.

“You shouldn’t wear their mark, mortal.”

Jack scowled. “Ain’t like I got a choice, me.”

“Burn it with something else. Another shape.”

After a moment’s hesitation—as Jack clearly weighed and approved of this suggestion—he said, “Why you care, anyway?”

Aric drank deep. “If you knew what the Lovers truly want to do to the Empress, you’d ache to annihilate every last vestige of them.”





35


I stood on a rise, overlooking the plague valley. Matthew was beside me.

The last thing I remembered was crawling into my sleeping bag after the whiskey had hit me like a two-by-four to the face. Now my friend was here with me. “I’ve missed you. Are you feeling better?” How much was this vision taking out of him?

“Better.” He didn’t appear as pale. He wore a heavy coat, open over a space camp T-shirt.

“I’m so relieved to hear that, sweetheart. Why would you bring us here?”

“Power is your burden.”

I surveyed all the bodies. “I felt the weight of it when I killed these people.”

“Obstacles multiply.”

“Which ones?” A breeze soughed over the valley. “Bagmen, slavers, militia, or cannibals?”

He held up the fingers of one hand. “There are now five. The miners watch us. Plotting.”

“But miners are the same as cannibals, right?”

He shuffled his boots with irritation. “Miners, Empress.”

“Okay, okay.” I rubbed his arm. “Are you and Finn being safe?”

His brows drew together as he gazed out. “Smite and fall, mad and struck.”

I looked with him, like we were viewing a sunset, a beautiful vista. Not plague and death. “You’ve told me those words before.”