Endless Knight(81)

The first week after, I’d tried to block out everything. The next week, I’d replayed Jack’s behavior countless times. Since then, I’d been spiraling even lower, imagining how he might have done it. . . .

Walking in a fog, I’d wandered the halls of the manor. I hadn’t felt the pouring rain as I scuffed across the grounds, shadowed at every second by Cyclops. I’d never cried again, but only because I sensed Death was always watching me, or Lark through the wolf.

The few times I’d seen Death outside, he’d been sharpening his swords with those rhythmic movements, the ones that seemed to soothe him.

What the hell would he need soothing for? I was the one in a spiral—because of him.

I hadn’t belonged in a nuthouse before. Now? I might. My grief over my mother’s death had been reopened. After her passing, I’d been on the run for my life, mayhem around every corner; I’d had little time to think about how much I missed her.

Currently I had all the time in the world, and it was killing me.

At night, I dreamed of my life with Mom at Haven. I’d had reveries of sugarcane harvests and horseback riding. Of shelling pecans for pie and picking blackberries along the river. Mom and I had been happy before Matthew’s disturbing visions had begun.

I remembered how she’d looked that last morning, pale, her chest still. She’d been clutching a photo of me, her, and Gran, taken during a time when life had been so good. . . .

This week, I’d climbed up to my tower and never come down. Lark kept leaving food at the door, but I rarely touched it, giving the spoils to the wolf.

Whenever Matthew called to me, I shut him down. —The Army grinds on, a windmill spins.—


Tell that to one of your allies. I’m not among them. Though tempted to demand from him how Jack had hurt Mom, I decided that knowledge might send me over the edge.

I would’ve thought I’d miss communicating with Matthew more, but I found the absence of decoder-ring talk a profound relief—


My door suddenly opened.

Death. He was dressed in black jeans and a black cashmere V-neck that molded over his chest muscles, looking as impeccable as ever. But his eyes were dim.

“You ever hear of knocking?”


He rested his shoulder against the doorframe, arching a brow at finding Cyclops on the bed.

That wolf was about the only living thing I didn’t want to strangle. I’d gotten used to having him around. Petting his frizzy fur was soothing.

Death studied my face.

“Come to gloat?” I asked. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I recall you telling Lark that you like seeing me suffer.”


“If you’re going to languish up here, then I might as well end you.”


“How did you expect me to react?”


“As you would have in the past—with a vengeance that would have made the earth tremble. You’d have sharpened your claws and bayed for the mortal’s blood.”


“Baying for blood? What will it take to convince you that I’m not that person?” I asked, even as my conscience whispered, You wanted this man’s blood when you attacked him, and Lark, and Ogen.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “There is nothing you can do to convince me.”


“Why are you here?”


“Determining if you plan to starve yourself. Our game is no fun if you’re weak.”


“Plan?” As if I had one.

“Before I was exiled from your thoughts, I understood your missions to be: kill me, and find your grandmother.”


What was the point of either? I longed to see my last living relative, and I’d promised my mom I’d find her. But the more I remembered of Gran, the more I comprehended that she would expect me not only to play—but to win.

Could being with her tip me over the edge? What if I went full-on Empress, and never turned back to Evie?

“Even if you escaped this place, which is impossible,” Death said, “you would never reach her. With your healing powers, you might be safe passing through the plague colonies, but there are still cannibals out there, including others unrelated to the Hierophant. Militias, Bagmen, and slavers swarm the roads and countryside. I know this; I ride those roads often. Wouldn’t she be angry that you took such risks?”


I glanced up at Death. “So my plan should be to wait here, docile, until you murder me? Along with the rest of your lackeys?”


Saying these words out loud was like a corner turned, a line crossed. One answer rang through me.

Never.

After my mother’s sacrifice for me, I’d be damned if I rolled over now. I owed it to her to fight.

I had a new mission: self-preservation. I had to get this cuff off, so I could protect myself from Death. Sooner or later the novelty of having me here, his princess in the tower, would wear off.

I needed to be ready.

“Ah, and there’s the conniving glint I’m used to seeing in my Empress’s eyes.” He appeared relieved, as if he’d just found more comfortable footing. “You’ve destroyed armies; it should take more than one mortal to bring about your downfall.”


“Why didn’t you tell me about Jack earlier? And Matthew? Why not just torpedo me from the beginning?” Jack and grief had grown intertwined in my mind. I couldn’t separate them, could scarcely think about him without going down a rabbit hole.