Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(61)

How close was this menagerie? The fog lies.

I glanced up, caught Death studying my reaction. Did he actually care what I thought of his home?

Lark saw my look of horror. “Hotel California, Evie. You can check out, but you can never leave.”

“She’s right,” Death said. “You will never leave this mountaintop alive.”

I waved that away. “I thought your lair was gleaming black, with ruins from all different ages.”

“Ruins?”

“It looked like you, I don’t know, collected them,” I said as we climbed a few steps toward the huge copper-plated front doors.

“Then you saw inside my mind. I wonder why the Fool would give you access to me.”

Aghast, I said, “That’s what it looks like in your head?”

“Explain to me why it should look any different.” He sneered, “Do you really think Death should dream in color?”

“I doubt you have dreams.”

“Would it shock you to know I once did?” he asked in a strange tone—as if he were accusing me.

Before I could ask about this, we passed through the front doors into an opulent foyer, with a chandelier dangling above. He dialed on a wall switch, and the foyer went ablaze, crystals projecting prisms, lighting a grand staircase. If the exterior had been forbidding, the interior was quite the opposite.

I’d grown up in a stately southern mansion. As we walked deeper into this palatial building, I realized Haven would look quaint in comparison.

When the corridor intersected with one leading to another wing, Lark veered off. “See you in the morning, boss. Night, Evie.”

I glared. “I hope you die before you wake, Lark.”

She cast me a fake wince. “Ooh, burn.” She trotted off, leaving me alone with Death.

“Follow me.” The corridor wound seemingly forever. At last he stopped to unlock an oak door. Behind it lay a curving stairwell.

We climbed so many steps that I knew he had to be leading me to that soaring tower. The walls of the stairwell were cold, weeping moisture. I could only imagine what my cell would be like.

“Try to keep up, creature.”

“I have a name.”

“As you always do.”

“And what’s yours?” I asked. “Ogen and Lark have given names—don’t you?”

“Call me Death. That’s all I’ll ever be to you.”

The double meaning didn’t escape me.

At the top of the stairs was a stone landing with a single door. He unlocked and opened it, ushering me inside.

The room was . . . lovely.

The lofty ceiling and exposed beams were painted stark white, stretching to a tented point above. The queen-size bed had a costly crimson spread on it. Rich drapes in the same material bordered panoramic windows. Up this high, the wind gusted, pelting the glass with raindrops, but the lavish room was snug and dry. A plush rug covered the stone floor, and the grand fireplace had logs already set up for a fire.

Again Death studied my reaction. I scuffed over to a cedar wardrobe. Scores of clothes filled the closet? Most looked like they would fit me.

In an adjoining modern bathroom, I found fresh towels and toiletries. Unable to curb my curiosity, I turned on the shower’s hot water spigot. Almost immediately, the water began steaming.

A hot shower? I hadn’t had one since we left Selena’s house. When I experienced a little thrill, I went awash in guilt. My friends might be trapped in an icy mine, but I was looking forward to a shower?

And more, I didn’t trust Death’s motives for providing all this. “Why these kindnesses?”

“To keep you on edge. You’ll pine for these indulgences all the more when I deprive you of them.”

“You think I can’t escape? I could jump.”

“If you somehow made it past the outer walls of the compound and didn’t get swallowed up on the mountainside, you’d face the world with no abilities, at the mercy of any you stumbled upon. Besides, the glass here is fortified, unbreakable for one with such minuscule strength. Even Judgment would find it difficult to break you out.”

“Are you expecting Gabriel to try?”

“I hope he does.”

My heart was sinking even before he said, “In any case, you will have a guard.” He thinned his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Giant paws padded up the stairs.

You again, Cyclops? I’d noted earlier that he must’ve gotten zinged by one of Joules’s javelins; the wolf’s fur was now permed like a poodle’s.

“Try to escape the grounds, and the beast will make a meal of you.” Death’s eyes glittered, as if he’d be happy for me to try.

Enough. “Why do you have such a burning hatred for me? That night you murdered Calanthe—”

“Murdered? That’s rich. They ambushed us in an open field, with no cover from javelins—or from a winged soldier like Judgment.”

“Anyway,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “when you beheaded Calanthe, you appeared weary, as if it was an unavoidable chore.”

“Perhaps it was.”

“But not with me.”

“No,” he said gravely. “Not with you.”

How had we gone from To my bed, Empress to this? “Will you ever tell me why?”