He looked back at the sunset, its glow reflecting in his eyes like liquid gold.“Yes. He pronounced himself asGrandmaster of the Eclipse Order. But there are others, too. Humans. Monsters flock together. Villains always find a banner to march beneath.”
I put my glass on the table and glanced around. How many of the travelers were his spies? Would I ever be safe again, even if Emrys Caerwynne was just a memory?
“That woman you loved... What was she like?” I asked, feeling a lump in my throat for some God-unknown reason.
His gray eyes drifted toward something far away, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
“She was… made of fire. And she burned everything around her until the flames caught her, too. I knew it was coming and couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect her.”
His throat bobbed, and I looked away, stung by something I couldn’t name. A strange mix of curiosity and sadness. The knowledge that I’d never be like her.
“How did she die?”
“In my hands,” he said. “She paid with her blood for the freedom of her people. There’s that thing about freedom, Miss Daphne. It never comes for free.”
He looked down at his hands, fingers flexing slowly. “I spent decades hunting down everyone involved in her murder,” he said. His voice sounded hollow. “Killed them all. Every single soldier who attacked that village among the blooming poppies. And for a time, I would’ve gone further. I was ready to kill their families. To take from them what they took from me.”
He exhaled, the wine in his glass glowing blood-red as it caught the last sunlight.
“Luckily, Camille found me before I became a monster. She pulled me back. Reminded me who I used to be.”
I looked closely at him, noting every detail. The dark stubble along his sharp jaw, his wide pupils, blacker than midnight. This man was a murderer. I remembered all too well the quick work he did of the Hollowborn and Vexley’s men at the manor. Then why did I feel so safe in his company?
“And you, Miss Daphne?” His lips stretched into a sad smile. “Captor of forgotten goddesses. Breaker of wards. Was there anyone who made your heart beat faster?”
Dust motes shimmered in the air between us. I tipped back the rest of my wine. “I always found Prince Tamino from The Magic Flute rather charming,” I said. Warmth spilled in my chest when his smile deepened, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.
He thoughtfully tapped his lip with a finger. “Hmm, odd, you didn’t strike me as one in need of a savior.”
I looked away to hide my flushed face. Somehow, this was the best compliment I’d ever received. “Not a savior. Someone noble enough to help those in need.”
“Someone with a magic flute? I’d say, Miss Daphne, you’re building quite the reputation among retired gods and immortals.” He smirked. “I suggest you rest now, little thief. In Paris, we’re going to do what needs to be done.” His voice got darker, and my stomach dropped. Odd as it was, I was not looking forward to that moment, even if it meant I’d finally get my freedom.
“Fine,” I said and pushed up to my feet. I almost lost my balance. The French wine and the speeding train were a tricky combination.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To the powder room, just across from here, Emrys.” I pointed at the door at the bottom of the car. “No gentlemen are allowed there, so you stay here and keep an eye on Nibble.”
He nodded, and I could tell his eyes followed me when I walked to the far end of the cart. My skirts brushed the wooden paneling of the narrow corridor leading to the powder room. The sounds of the restaurant—cutlery clinking, soft laughter—faded behind the heavy velvet curtain. I did my business, then washed my hands at the porcelain basin. Why was it suddenly so cold? The hairs on my arms stood up, and I glanced into the mirror above the copper faucets. My reflection seemed… slow. Damn it. I shouldn’t have drunk that much. I took a step, and for a heartbeat, my reflection didn’t move.
Wine. I told myself. Just the wine. I am not used to drinking.
A cackle startled me. Two stunning young brunettes dressed in the latest French fashion burst in. After sparing me a condescending gaze, they went on with their conversation, the taller one fixing her high-pinned hair. Our eyes met for a moment.
Sweet Mother Mary. In the reflection, their eyes were two maggot-infested holes, and their skin was gray and decaying. I pressed my palms against my mouth and turned around, ready to scream. The girls were carried away in their conversation, looking completely normal. Did I imagine this? I shook my head and headed to the exit. Flying demons, a mental asylum, spirits, and an undyne. Life had not been gentle lately.
As if it had ever been gentle. I straightened my back and walked past the women.
Paris was an hour away. And with it—my chance at freedom.
Daphne
Paris of the Dead
The train hissed into Gare du Nord in a plume of steam. Brakes screeched. The street lanterns cast long, flickering shadows over the colorful crowd. Emrys stepped off first, offering a hand. I hesitated only a moment before taking it.
The station’s iron ribs stretched overhead, swallowing the whistles of the porters and hasty goodbyes. We crossed the marble floor, past iron-wrought gates and a wall of glowing timetables.
