Beside him, he felt Elyse go unearthly still.
“She’s cheating!” Thomes shouted, pointing a gangly finger at Death. “She used magic.” The twins looked equally vexed as Thomes.
Death’s stare was flat, unnerved. “I am thousands of years old,” she postured. “I cannot survive without some magic. Nor can I be denied access to the souls I harbor.”
“Put your finger down, boy,” Julian ordered. “The wards here are to prevent magic that could lead to cheating or violence,” he said with a huffy look at the twins before returning his gaze to Thomes. “I didn’t ward against your ridiculous hair, which was no doubt dyed using magic. Though I wish I had,” he added.
Thomes seemed reluctant to accept this explanation. He crossed his arms and scowled at Death.
Killian didn’t care. He was too enamored with the chest and the words Death had spoken.
“There’s a soul in there?” he asked.
Death nodded, and a shiver caressed Killian’s spine.
“Whose?” He didn’t need to ask. The knowledge was already pouring through him, a wave of possibility and conflict that threatened to drown him. He couldn’t breathe as he watched Death.
She smiled, a wicked confirmation. Her dark eyes rested solely on Elyse.
“It’s mine,” Elyse seethed. She crossed her arms, but her intense focus never left the chest. “If you think you can tempt me with that, you’re wrong. I’ve no use for it.”
Death’s smile spread slowly, her red lips stretching with arrogance. “You may not, but he does,” she said with a tilt of her head toward Killian.
Killian was aware of how everyone else gawked at them, their curiosity filling the small room. He said nothing, too busy trying to comprehend his luck—and his calamity. He could win the game, he had no doubt about that. He could claim Elyse’s soul as the prize, and force her to reunite with it. But they would be left without the Blade of Hanael. Without a way to kill Lazarus. And that would mean letting Elyse down—the true Elyse, who deserved her revenge.
“Oh, this has become quite interesting,” Julian trilled. “Is anyone opposed?”
No one said anything. Either they didn’t dare to offend Death, or they were too enthralled by the shift in dynamic to object. Elyse opened her mouth to protest, but Julian said, “You don’t get a vote, love. You’re lucky to even be here.”
So the chest containing Elyse’s soul was placed in the glass box alongside the other prizes. And Killian had a decision to make.
18
Elyse
Saint’s five.
General’s three.
Councilor’s three.
Councilor’s eight.
Executioner’s nine.
It was a shit hand.
Elyse looked down at her cards and tried to keep her face neutral, despite the grimace wanting to slip its way across her lips.
Covertly, she glanced at the other players. Their expressions were flat—not at all helpful. Killian looked downright bored. Death eyed the others with curiosity, and Elyse shot her a glare.
Fucking bitch.
It wasn’t that Elysewantedher soul back. She felt liberated without it, like so many emotions had been holding her back allthis time. But she did despise the fact that anyone held a piece of her, near-goddess or not. And to have it flaunted so brazenly before her… Even now, with the chest holding her soul atop the velvet cushion, locked away inside that glass box, it seemed to mock Elyse. She tried her best to ignore it. Every time she glanced at it, she wanted to knock Death’s teeth right out of her arrogant little mouth, but had opted to best her in the game instead.
The problem was that her cards were no help.
The idea of the game was to get a straight of three cards in the same suit. There were four suits, each meant to exemplify the roles of a king’s cabinet: the Saint for piety; the General for military prowess; the Councilor for wisdom; and the Executioner for meting out justice.
