The man crunched through his apple and glared at her as he chewed. “Don’t piss on me just because he’s going to hang you from the ceiling for what you did.”
Elysia’s eyes grew large. “He would hang you for helping me?” Her question was cautious. What was she getting herself into, and why was every ruler the same? Dead or alive, god or mortal, they just killed anyone who upset them.
Both Maya and the newcomer turned and looked at her carefully, noting her distress. The man tilted his head, his thick brows going together. “Not literally, obviously. Do you really think he would do that?”
Maya slapped a hand over his mouth. “You need to stop talking.” Taking the apple, she shoved it back into his mouth. “Much better. Come on, Elysia, you’re running out of time. Say goodbye to the piglet.”
Grabbing her wrist, Maya dragged her into a hallway, walking until Elysia no longer knew all the turns they had made. Even as they hurried, Elysia’s eyes drank in the endless paintings and small sculptures decorating the halls.
Speaking over her shoulder, Maya gave Elysia a devious look. “Should be right where I left him.”
Throwing open a pair of double doors, they entered a large, beautiful but minimal room. Stale air and a general sense of disuse had her looking around curiously. Elaborate oil lamp chandeliers with black iron flowers and vines hung from theceilings. On the floors were pewter candelabras almost as tall as herself with half-burned black candles flickering steadily as wax puddled onto the stone floors. Splitting the room in two, a long burgundy rug directed you to the room’s purpose—the plain black dais at the very back.
Elysia had been around enough riches and power to know that the people who demanded gilded chairs and piles of glimmering stones were not the ones to fear most. It was the ones who were silent, unimposing, and felt no need to boast who made her shiver. Because behind their quiet was a certain confidence—a certain security in the depth of their power and reach.
She shivered now. Because upon the dais was a black throne. Simple in construction, the only adornment blackened skulls staring out from the posts of the throne. The chair bore no cushion as if its owner knew a throne wasn’t meant to be a comfortable thing.
And on the throne sat the man she had met at the river, looking absolutely unbearably pissed.
“Maya.” Not even his velvet voice could hide the irritation shooting through her name.
Maya’s face remained guileless. “Yes, my most feared deadliness? Wouldn’t you like to come and greet our guest?”
Even the dead themselves likely felt his displeasure. It crept out like shadows from behind the throne, the air growing cooler as it neared.
Maya picked at her nails, sliding her eyes over to Elysia. “He hates when I call him that.” She glanced back at him and shrugged. “I’d say I’m sorry, but you have your goals and I have mine.”
The god before them appeared vexed, his long face that might as well have been hewn from stone by an artist’s handsstared at the ceiling. His lips moved as he spoke silently to himself.
Elysia looked at Maya. “What is he saying?”
“I think he’s chanting that he can’t kill the dead.Can’t kill the dead. Can’t kill the dead.” She nodded even as her eyes remained trained on the god upon the throne, who was now releasing a slow controlled breath. “He’s been working on his communication skills. One of the dead here used to be an advisor for some mortal king. Suggested that he use a mantra whenever he feels like losing his shit. Spends half his day reminding himself he can’t kill us now.”
Glaring down at her, the god of the dead responded with tight politeness. “Maya, I am going to need you to undo your magic.Please.” The added please sounded as though it cost him, the word barely fitting through his lips.
Maya’s eyes lit with a very satisfied sort of pleasure. “I knew you overexerted yourself the other day. You’re really stuck, huh?” She turned to Elysia thoughtfully. “Maybe you should present your deal now before he figures out how to move.”
“He can’t move?”
She answered matter-of-factly. “Not from the waist down. I left him with full control of his upper body.”
“You stuck a god to a chair.”
She lifted a shoulder. “And from now on, he won’t let his power get so low. If anything, I deserve a thank you.”
The man stuck to the throne interrupted them. "Maya, if you don’t release me from this throne, then I’ll be forced to assume you aren’t a fit guide for anyone. Roles can be revoked, do you understand?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have that kind of sway.”
“Don’t I?” He stared at her, unblinking and looking a little bit murderous before finally speaking again. “Release me.”
Maya must have believed his threat because she threw her hands up in defeat. “Sorry, new girl.” With a snap of her fingers, he jolted forward, falling onto one knee as if he had been straining to break free.
But Elysia hardly noticed Maya now. Breath caught in her throat, her eyes were held captive by the man crouched at the foot of his own throne. Dark hair falling out of place, royal blue eyes flickered behind the disobedient strands. Long, elegant fingers steepled against the floor, his back rippling as he rose back to his full height.
He towered over them now. His body neither thin nor thick, it reminded her of the men in Relaclave who could cut through the sea as if it were nothing for their bodies to move through such tumultuous waters with ease. Entranced, she watched his fingers redo the button on his jacket, tugging his cuffs back into place.
With a roll of his shoulders, the man moved his neck from side to side. Smoke dissipated in his wake as if his power, while apparently diminished, could not be contained within his body. Elysia swallowed at the sight of him. He was a dark, beautiful god. And she was deeply in over her head.
