Endless Knight(69)

I had asked him questions—about the weather, his home, the game, pet peeves, favorite food, anything—and he’d ignored me as if I were a pesky fly.

To my face, he showed no interest. Yet I felt his eyes on me constantly. When I took my daily walks outside to get the lay of the land, I would sometimes peer up and see him staring at me from his arched windows. And this morning, as I’d stood at the sideboard, I’d sensed his penetrating gaze on me. Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I’d caught him raising the paper—with his hands clenched into fists. . . .

I stopped pacing and sat in the turret’s window seat. From here, I had a view of the entire compound, including the training yard where Death practiced every day. He never wore armor for this, usually didn’t even bother with a shirt. Which made sense—clothing was going to prove harder and harder to come by.

He was down there right now, training with his horse, Thanatos, charging a moving target: a shield suspended from a swiveling post, moving in the wind. Even at full speed, Death hit it every time.

Though gusts whipped his blond hair, he seemed oblivious to the cold and rain. Mud splattered his bare chest, across those runes, as if he were fresh from the fray. Even with his new scars, Death was breathtaking.

As he practiced, I found myself lulled by his precise movements and harnessed aggression, my lids growing heavy, as if with . . . satisfaction. As if I was right where I was supposed to be. Which freaked me out. Satisfaction when in the lair of a murderer? One who planned to kill me?

Unless I got to him first.

—Empress? You awake?—


I’m up. Matthew, give me some good news.

—The snow hasn’t come yet.—


Great. Is Jack doing any better?

—No.—


I squeezed my eyes shut. As much as I hated the thought of Jack suffering, I knew we couldn’t be together, not until I succeeded here. You’ve kept him off my trail?

—You’re in my eyes.— Matthew showed me a live vision. Through his gaze, I could see the interior of a run-down house, could see Jack there. God, I missed him!

His expression wild, he punched his fist through a plaster wall, then swung around to turn over a table stacked with maps. Even through the vision, I could feel his frustration, would give anything to ease it.

He stormed up to Matthew. “You know where she is, coo-y?n!” he bellowed at the boy. “Doan tell me different. You’ll find her, just like you did in Requiem.”


Matthew turned his head to show me Selena and Finn sitting in silence, as if waiting for this to blow over.

As if used to it.

I noticed Jack wasn’t drinking, and that departure from his normal behavior concerned me as much as everything else I was seeing.

He raked his hand through his hair. “Why woan you help me, boy? I told ma fille I’d be coming for her.” My girl. When his gray eyes misted wet, my heart lurched. “What the hell is he doing to her?!”


Matthew, you haven’t told him I’m safe! Do it now!

—Won’t lie.—


Another worry to put on the heap of them. But for now, all I could think about was Jack.

Voice gone raw, he asked Matthew, “Is that bastard . . . is he hurting her?”


Tell him I’m fine, just passing time until the storms end! Tell him I’ll meet up with you in a couple of weeks. Please, please don’t make him suffer like this.

Jack looked like he would go insane if this went on for much longer. Which put an even more pressing clock on my mission to win over Death.

Matthew, please, I’m begging you to help Jack.

—He’s tempted to beat your location out of me. But you asked him to keep me safe.—


I thought you couldn’t read Dee-vee-oh well.

—Doesn’t take a Fool to foresee this! Jack Deveaux talks with fists.—


You sound almost admiring.

—Jack is . . . unexpected.—


Unexpected? That was something for a psychic to say. Even I didn’t know what Jack would do if his back was against the wall.

And it was. Which meant mine was too.

—Work on the Reaper, Empress.—


The man hates me. I can rarely even get into the same vicinity.

A couple of days ago, I’d hit my limit with everything—being a captive, missing Jack and Matthew, even Finn and Selena. And I’d been fed up with this place. It might have all kinds of luxuries, but no one laughed here, no one conversed or joked. It was like a giant tomb.

Fitting.

So I’d ignored Death’s threats—and dire warnings about his privacy—and marched down to chew him out. Or seduce him. Whatever.

Before I could ever reach his off-limits rooms, Cyclops had nipped my heels and tripped me over and over until I’d given up.

Later I’d told Lark, “You’ve got to call off your wolf.”


“So you can go snag a paring knife and cut on yourself to remove your cuff? Lemme get right on that. Besides, the wolf isn’t just there as a jailor.”


“Because I need protection from Ogen?” He’d had another fit midweek.

“Do you think you don’t need it. . . ?”


—Death wants Life.— Matthew said. —Proximity, seduction, freedom.—