Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(89)

“They tell a story, one I can never forget—even if I die in this game. Each morning I look at them in the mirror to remind myself. And I’ll never reveal it to you, so don’t bother asking.”

I pursed my lips. “Will you tell me what you do between games? Please?”

Leaning forward aggressively, he said, “I wander the earth and see men age before my eyes. I read any book or paper I can get my hands on. I watch the stars in the sky; over my lifetime some dim, some brighten. I sleep for weeks at a time and chase the dragon.” When I frowned, he explained, “Opium.”

Made from poppy, one of the Empress’s symbolic plants. Their red blooms adorned my card.

“I take it any way I can ingest it.” He seemed to be daring me to say something about that, which I would never do.

I couldn’t imagine how harrowing his existence must be, thanking God—or the gods—that it hadn’t been my fate. Was that why I’d pitied him when I was younger? When I’d gazed at his card with fascination, I must have sensed something about this man. His horse looks sick, and he has no friends.

“On the cusp of a new game,” he continued, “the anticipation is like fire in my veins. I endeavor to locate other cards. To shepherd them, or mark them for elimination. I prepare for all different catastrophes. This is what I’ve done for millennia.”

“I see. If you’re looking for judgment, you won’t find it here,” I said. “All I want is to learn more about you. Will you tell me about growing up?” Maybe he had happy memories like I did. “Where are you from?”

He gave me an accusing look. “Why should I tell you? You won’t remember it anyway.”

“That really bugs you, that I can’t recall the previous games.”

Instead of answering, he stood and crossed to a wall safe. Withdrawing something glittering, he handed a jeweled piece to me, his forefinger briefly brushing my wrist. “Perhaps this will assist you.”

My gaze narrowed on the stunning emerald necklace. “You gave this to me once.” He must have taken it off my corpse. After he’d killed me last time. “I’m surprised you were able to get my blood off it.”

He scowled, turning toward the window. Lightning forked down in the distance.

“Why show me this?” I set it away on the desk, not wanting to touch it any longer. Though I was amazed that he’d kept it this long, the piece reminded me of a bloody and violent death. “Why not just tell me what you want me to remember?”

“Because relating our past won’t have the same impact. Because you won’t trust what I say.”

“Fair enough. In the meantime, you can at least tell me about yourself. I know you were born three games before this one. What was your boyhood like? Will you finally tell me your name?”

“My name?” Staring out into the night, he murmured, “I was called Aric. It means a ruler, forever alone.” Harsh laugh. “How prophetic of my parents.”

Aric. At last, he’d told me. When I’d first arrived here, he’d said, “Death is all I’ll ever be to you.”

No longer. “Go on.”

“When I was a boy, I was well aware that I’d been blessed with fortune. My father was a warlord who ruled a fortified settlement, a great trading center in what’s now Latvia.”

So that was his accent.

He returned to his seat. “We were the wealthiest family in the land, and my parents loved each other very deeply. Wanting what they had, I agreed when my father urged me to marry. I’d just turned sixteen, and it was time for me to start a family of my own.”

Had Death—or rather, Aric—been married? I’d never imagined it was even possible. I felt a surprising flare of jealousy. “But your touch . . .”

“I wasn’t born with my curse.” Shot, refill. “My father held a dance for me to choose a wife. I danced with many. The next day, they were all plagued with illness—just from holding my hand. Yet at the time, no one had reason to believe I was the cause. It wasn’t until my curse grew in strength, until my touch killed in seconds, that I knew I was responsible. Two of my last accidental victims were my parents.”

Even after all this time, the guilt in his expression was raw.

“Crazed with grief, I left my home, stumbling blindly into the game. In time, I began to comprehend what I was. I was damned to win, to be immortal for all time, to be alone.” He exhaled a weary breath. “And then I met you.”

Was he finally going to reveal what had happened between us?

“I’d gone more than a year without contact by this time. It doesn’t sound like much, but imagine that long without a single handshake or a relative’s embrace. Without so much as a brush of skin as coin changes hands.”

Even here, I’d had contact. I roughhoused with Lark, and I’d had those fleeting contacts with Death. His existence must’ve been a living nightmare.

“I stroked your face, intending to end you. Yet you never fell ill. I can still remember how shockingly soft your skin was. How warm.” He seemed to get lost in the memory. Voice gone hoarse, he said, “I shuddered to feel it against mine.” He glanced up sharply, clearing his throat. “You were as stunned as I was.”

“Did we . . . ?”

He gave a curt shake of his head, eyes beginning to glow—this time with fury.