A growl rumbled low in Mal’s throat. ‘And why can I not dothe same?’
Thanatos merely shrugged, careless. ‘Because you have not yet learnt how.’
Mal’s purple eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Then teach me.’
‘Oh?’ Thanatos drawled, a smirk curving his lips. ‘I thought you said you had no need of me, Melinoe. That I had nothing to teach.’
In a blur of movement, Mal dropped Makaria’s hand and slammed Thanatos back against a tree, her forearm pressed hard against his throat.
‘You will not invade my mind,’ she hissed, her voice dark with fury.
He showed no fear, if anything, he appeared amused. Lifting a hand, he brushed a strand of her black hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
‘I will not invade your privacy,’ he said solemnly. ‘I promise.’
‘If you ever read my mind again, Thanatos, I swear to the go—’ Mal ground her teeth together, realising too late the mistake she'd made, and saw at once that he had caught it.
‘Swear to the gods?’ he teased, even as her pressure on his throat increased. ‘You may swear to me instead, if you like, Melinoe. Or better yet... worship me.’
Mal spat on the ground beside them, her lip curling.
‘I would sooner eat a wyvern’s shit,’ she muttered.
Thanatos laughed, unbothered, and Mal released him with a forceful shove, stepping away with a look of disgust. The urge to punch him surged through her, but instead she returned to Makaria’s side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her anger.
Behind them, Thanatos followed, the very image of infuriating amusement.
The forest of ghostly trunks and blackened leaves abruptly gave way to a wide, open field, a field of black roses stretching as far as the eye could see. Mal's breath caught in her throat at the sight. She knew this flower well; in her own world it was called Nightrose. Drawn as if by an invisible thread, she reached out, brushing the tip of her finger lightly against one velvet petal.
The field unfolded endlessly before her, a dark sea flecked with thorns and sorrow. Among the roses, souls drifted, some tending the blooms with patient care, others wandering aimlessly, lost to any sense of direction.
A soft laugh rang out, and Mal turned to see Makaria rushing ahead, her hands snatching at the roses as she made her way towards two drakonians busy gathering blooms into woven baskets.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Makaria called over her shoulder, her voice bright with innocent wonder.
At Mal’s side, Thanatos spoke, his voice low and steady. ‘The souls of those who have died from heartbreak,’ he said. ‘They roam these fields until their wounds are mended. Once they are whole again, they are moved to the meadows, or to Tartarus.’
‘And if they never heal?’ Mal asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Then they remain here,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘Time holds no dominion in this place, Melinoe. The souls here would not even know how long they have wandered.’
Mal was about to respond when something caught her eye, movement far across the field. She stepped forward, instinct tugging at her, but Thanatos' fingers closed swiftly around her wrist, halting her.
‘Do not wander off,’ he said.
‘I am not a child.’
‘Iam well aware of that,’ Thanatos replied, his tone even. ‘But these are not mortal lands. The souls here... they are desperate. They seek an anchor back to life. You may wear the mantle of a god, but you are still strongly tethered to the mortal world. They will try to cling to you.’
Mal exhaled sharply and stepped back. Reluctantly, Thanatos released her.
‘Do you know the truth about my father?’ she asked, her eyes drifting back to Makaria’s lively figure amongst the flowers.
‘Which father do you speak of?’ he asked, a glint of mischief in his voice.
Her jaw tightened. ‘King Ozul.’
‘I do,’ he said.
