A few men and women leered at her when she passed through the crowds, inhaling the addicting scent of the bonfires and the muddied ground. And as she reached the edge of the fenced cemetery, she took a moment to look at the castle she had come for.
Her fingers strummed over the cold iron, and she hummed her favorite lullaby about Death himself, the one she’d been taught as a child. The song, the texts said, would summon him if the ritual was performed perfectly.
It was an exaggeration of the witches. She had tried it. Multiple times. Thinking she would get out of all this work if only she could entrap him.
So now she sang it out of habit.
Tick-tock goes the clock, to watch your world fall apart.
Tick-tock, in the dark, say his name, and he’ll take your heart.
Tick-tock, bend the mark.
The night goes still. The lightning barks.
He comes for blood. He comes for new.
Run, run, girl. The clock is after you.
The warmth of one great bonfire heated her left cheek as she stared into the cemetery past the great monoliths and vine-covered headstones. Paths wound through the short moss-laden dirt between the stones, creating a maze all the way up to the dark hill where Castle Corvus sat.
She paused and wrapped her hands around the twisted bars, memorizing the brushed iron beneath the pads of her thumbs, and she stared at the singular amber glow coming from the high tower.
Her claw scratched against the bar, creating little sparks.
The castle was smaller than she’d anticipated. More like a looming mansion compared to some of the other castles she’d resided in over the years. Though she supposed, with only the one person residing there and no offspring, a mansion would do just as well as a castle.
She wondered if the king was ever lonely.
King Samarius Cain.
The name rippled over kingdoms as a forbidden whisper. He was rumored to be Death, a reaper in human form that took mercy on those who begged for their ends.
Fairy tales, Ana thought.
Death was a monster who chose favorites.
And yet, she still romanticized the thought of him.
She wondered if it was true, if Samarius was Death. If he was a beautiful monster, who was just as likely to be her salvation as he was her end—not that she knew the difference on some days.
It was the first assignment she was actually nervous and slightly excited over. She had a knot in her stomach every time she thought about one day walking into his castle and meeting him. It raised her blood pressure and pushed her adrenaline.
“I haven’t heard someone singing that song in years,” came a woman’s voice behind her.
Deianira turned, finding a shorter brunette girl with pale brown skin hidden below a purple hood staring at her. The makeup she wore was not of skulls like so many others. On her lids, the woman bore a bright green shadow and exaggerated liner that reminded her of cat eyes.
“Careful, girl,” the woman said, lips splitting into a sly smile. “You sing that one too loud here, and you might find yourself beneath the boot of the reaper himself.”
Deianira went to respond, to tell this woman that perhaps that was her intention, when the woman turned on her heel and walked past her to where a few had begun running around the bonfire again, hand-in-hand.
“She’s exaggerating,” a man said from her left.
The man was leaning against the bars a few feet away, his pale blonde hair spiked high, the sides shaved. A dark liner rimmed his eyes, contour on his cheeks to make them more pronounced. He wore a striped shirt and black jacket, along with tall platform combat boots, and the dark colors stood stark against his pale ivory skin. She met the man’s bright blue eyes and nearly smiled.
“Is she?” Deianira asked. “Here I thought this the only place in this damned world where it might actually summon him.”
The man chuckled but didn’t reply directly to her musing. “Are you enjoying the show, love?” he asked her.
