River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(45)

Figures. Maybe not all prisoners get their own servants and coffee, but the one thing we have in common is that we don’t have our freedom.

Freedom. The one thing I always took for granted. Now I’m stripped of it, shuttered in another world. Come to think of it, I took my father for granted too. Now I’ll never see him again.

“This has to be a bad dream,” I say to myself. “It just has to be. None of this can be real.”

But real or not, it is my reality now. I collapse to the floor in a fit of tears, crying for my father, for my old life, for my new one, for how quickly everything can change.

I don’t know how long I stay on the floor crying, but I don’t realize Raila has come back in until I see her black cloak obscuring my vision.

I brought your coffee, she says, as if I’m not curled up at her feet. And I managed to sneak a honeycake from Pyry. It’s made with Hallabee Honey, a Tuonela speciality.

“I’m not hungry,” I say like a petulant child. Truth is, I’m starving, but eating is the only thing I can control right now.

That’s fine, I’ll put it on the table. You can eat and drink it whenever you wish, though the coffee is better hot. So the master says.

I push myself up so that I’m staring up at the black veil in front of her face. It could be anything or anyone back there, but judging by her voice, I’m picturing a cherubic-faced blonde.

Would you like a hand? she asks, about to set down the tray on the bed.

“No, I was just having a moment,” I say, getting to my feet. It’s then that I notice her hands. She has black gloves on, satin with obsidian pearls.

It’s good to have moments, she says, bringing the tray over to the table and setting it down. A waft of coffee hits my nose and even that makes me feel more alive. I was told to never cry, to always keep it in, that my feelings didn’t matter. I believe my life would have turned out differently had I let my emotions out. To keep them inside is far more harmful. I learned that the hard way. So did everyone else.

I sit on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do with myself, but intrigued by my new companion. “You said you had never served a mortal before? Are you a God of sorts? Or a spirit?”

Raila laughs. It has a musical quality. Oh, good gods. No. I was a mortal, just like you. A very long time ago.

I frown, feeling uneasy. “So…you’re dead?”

She nods. I am. Quite dead.

I swallow hard, suddenly afraid of what’s behind her veil. Perhaps it’s not a cherubic blonde after all. “How long have you been dead?” It sounds like an insane question, but I’m asking it.

She shrugs lightly. It is hard to say. Time is different over here. It’s slow at times and fast at others and doesn’t obey any laws. It has to be that way, otherwise this place would be overrun by the recently deceased. In our old world, the Upper World, I believe there were hundreds of people dying every minute. That’s too much for any God to handle. Here it slows down.

“I thought all the dead were in the City of Death?”

They are, she says. Well, not all of them. There are the Deadhands and the Deadmaidens, who serve the master and his family. Then there are the Stragglers.

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard the term Stragglers.

“So you died and you…have to work? For Death? Like, forever?”

She nods again. It is an honor.

“Is it, though?” I squint at her.

I was an Inmost Dweller before. I can assure you this life is quite the improvement.

My mouth drops for a moment. “Isn’t that Hell? Or something like that?”

Yes, it certainly is.

“Why did you go to Hell?”

I killed my whole family, she says simply, and I try not to flinch. Alas, I had to pay the price. But the master was having a contest and I won the chance at redemption by working for him here. It’s the same for all the Deadhands and Deadmaidens. We’ve all been given second-chances at a better afterlife.

I stare at her, dumbfounded, feeling the skin prickle at the back of my neck again. She’s a murderer? Who was in Hell? And now she’s my personal servant?

I know what you’re thinking, she says. I can assure you that my past is my past. I have changed and grown while I’ve been in the sanctity of Shadow’s End, my new life devoted to serving Death.

“What about the others in this castle? Are they as reformed as you?”

She hesitates and I both wish and don’t wish I could see her eyes. Not all. But they try. The ones in the house are mostly though. They know a good thing when they see it. Pyry is crass but she’s a good cook and gardener. Harma is head of the household, and you’re best to stay out of her way or she’ll hit you with her femur. And then there’s Avanta. She’s Loviatar’s Deadmaiden. She’s a nice girl but she’s been mute for decades. Death put a spell on her, as a warning of what happens when you don’t shut up.

At the mention of Lovia’s name my heart races. “Lovia lives here? Death’s daughter?”

She does. When she’s not working. Her brother and her trade off in ferrying in the dead. I believe she’s with Death right now, having a meeting.

“Oh fuck.” I look down at my hands and start wringing them together.

What?

“I’m pretty sure Lovia wants to kill me,” I say, glancing up at her and seeing nothing but the veil.