Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(63)

I couldn’t decide what was more disturbing: how diabolical I’d been in past lives, or that I was even considering repeating history in this one. I gazed out the turret window at the dark sky and recognized the truth. I would do anything to get back to my friends. To get back to Jack.

Even seduce a knight named Death.

I now had a mission, and failure was not an option.





27

“So is this going to be my last meal?” I asked Lark as we descended the turret steps. She’d just unlocked me and Cyclops from my cell for breakfast.

When she pulled her silky black hair over one shoulder, a gecko peeked out from her purple turtleneck. “If it is, I’m not aware of the plan.” Lark looked me over. “You don’t seem crushed by all this.”

Now that I knew my friends were alive, I’d allowed myself to enjoy the shower and the clothes. Tops, jeans, shoes, underwear, and nightgowns—all in my size. I’d dressed in a white cashmere sweater, warm slacks, and boots of butter-soft leather. Even with only a couple of hours of fitful sleep, I felt almost human again.

“You’ve heard from Matthew, haven’t you?”

In a confused tone, I said, “And why would I tell you that, Judas?”

She just shook her head like I was being unreasonable. “No one got their icons. Which means we left them alive.”

“How do you know they’re not still trapped there?” I asked, hoping she roiled with guilt. “Or that they didn’t die horribly over the last week?”

Had she paled?

Once we’d arrived on the main floor, Cyclops trailing along, my attention was less on her and more on my sumptuous surroundings. I tried not to gawk as we passed a library filled with books, a media room with thousands of DVDs, a billiard room, and a well-equipped gym. But when food scents reached us, my mouth watered. “Bacon?”

“If you give this place half a chance, you’ll really like it here,” Lark said, leading me into a dining room.

Inside, Death sat at the head of a long table, drinking coffee, reading a faded newspaper.

No armor! He was dressed all in black—button-down, leather pants, and boots. No helmet covered his blond hair; it was longish, grazing his jawline, creating a perfect frame for his chiseled features.

Naturally he could pull off leather pants and long hair. He looked like a normal gorgeous young man, who was at home here amidst all this wealth. Like the heir to a fortune. Highborn.

And still, my first impulse was to stab him with a table knife. But I knew he was too fast for me to ever get the drop on him.

Without looking up, he said, “I go without armor in my own home, creature. Especially since there are no threats to contend with.” Arrogance rolled off him in waves, nettling me. He was the hostage-taker. The jailor. The reigning victor over a defeated foe.

At the very least, I needed to slap him, my mission seeming farther and farther away. Ignoring me, he turned the page. Why would he be interested in old news?

“Reading an outdated newspaper, Death? How expectedly retro of you.”

Lark said, “He reads anything and everything. He’s already memorized all the books here . . .” She trailed off at his glower.

I noted this chilly exchange. Information was there for the taking. It was time to bite back bile and cozy up to Lark.

When she padded over to a sideboard topped with silver warming pans, I followed to find scrambled eggs, french toast, and, yes, bacon. I picked up the pitcher beside the coffee pot. Fresh cream. They had a dairy cow? “This is quite a spread.”

“We’re not without resources here,” Death said from behind his paper. “We have luxuries—and the means to protect them.”

“Does Ogen do the cooking?” I grabbed a plate. Fine china. Only the best.

Lark speared french toast with a serving fork. “Not quite. We have a human servant. You’ll never see him if you don’t go looking for him.”

I turned to Death. “Then where is El Diablo? If he sits upon Lucifer’s knee, shouldn’t he be at Death’s right hand?”

“He lives in the guardhouse,” Lark muttered. “Not allowed in the manor.”

I gave Death a sympathetic look. “Housebreaking ogres is such a bitch, am I right?”

Finally he glanced up, pinning me with his uncanny amber gaze. “By your demeanor, I can assume you’ve been contacted by the Fool. Perhaps all in your alliance survived?”

“Every last one.”

Lark’s plate dropped, shattering. Cyclops lunged forward to scarf up the food—and the pieces of china. Crunch, crunch.

“Sorry, boss,” Lark said. “Still tired from the trip.”

This was interesting. “Finn lived,” I said analyzing her expression. “His leg’s healing.”

She shrugged, but I could see her relief. So the feelings had gone both ways. Then why would Lark betray the boy she cared for? Maybe Death was coercing her.

I turned back to the food. In the last serving dish was fruit: melon, pineapple, strawberries. When I sensed the energy and potential in those tiny seeds, my head swung around to Death. “These are fresh.”

“As I said, we have luxuries. My home shames any other.”

God, the smugness! “Gas generators for lights? Running water? Big deal. Selena’s house had more electricity than Joules—and a swimming pool. I don’t suppose you have one?”