“Ah…isn’t there, though?” I drawl with a serpentine smile. “Death is unavoidable.” I lick my lips, my ribbons spiraling into the air around me as each taunt hits the Aeternalis like a blow to the chest. “It comes for us all, Peter. Even the most Eternal Boy.”
The Aeternalis’ fear and rage shimmer in the air between us. The world seems to freeze as fully as the breath in my lungs. Then, at once, his shadow lunges, fingers outstretched like they long to wrap around my throat. I let out a wild peal of laughter as magic explodes from his chest, his power billowing toward me. The Aeternalis has the ability to create any reality he wishes, a magic more powerful than any other.
Except mine.
My ribbons rise between us, flailing and writhing until they are a wall of darkness; of silence. The Aeternalis snarls in fury, and I laugh harder as his golden power slams into my death. The resounding clash reverberates through the ship, rattling the glass of the windows and lanterns, as every bit of the Aeternalis’ magic dissipates into nothing.
Peter jumps to his feet, his eyes flared in fury. He grinds his jaw tightly as he stares me down, and I revel in the indignation blazing over his face. For a brief moment, he does not appear as an ethereal eternal being. He appears as he truly is—an obstinate child unaccustomed to not getting his way.
The Aeternalis does not have the fortitude to claw, to scrape, as the universe has always gifted him everything he could ever want. Now that it hasn’t, he doesn’t know how to bend it to his will, how to force it into submission. And he never will, as it is a skill only learned by the downtrodden, both their curse and their strength.
“I did try to tell you,” I remind him with a grin. “Death is infallible. It is the end of even the most fantastical of dreams.”
Peter seethes before me, his shadow looming large against the opposite wall. His jaw works as he calculates whether or not he’s quick enough to slit my throat before my ribbons can touch him. Which begs the question: how much does he know of his own curse?
He knows the person who loves him most has the power to end him, but does he understand my ribbons cannot steal his death, no matter how they wish to? The Darlings cannot be killed by magic, only by the hand of the one who loves them truly. Willa’s imperviousness to my magic is proof enough.
I don’t correct his misassumption. Instead, I allow my ribbons to draw closer and watch in delight as he vibrates with rage—withfear.
My death shudders in pleasure as I drink it in with relish, as I remember the first time I realized the Everlasting feared me.
I was ten years old, kneeling before his throne in a pool of my own blood, knees scraped raw by the stone of the Hollow City. The Aeternalis had ordered me punished because I’d disappointed him again. He was an ancient god—the most powerful being in the universe—and so it was inevitable for us mere mortals to fail him. But I seemed to fail him more than most.
By that point, I’d been on my knees more nights than not, and I was accustomed to the loud jeers of the Strayed echoing from the stone. The Everlasting considered it a deepest insolence to remain silent when others were tortured, as all of his decisions were to be met with the greatest excitement. But even if he had not encouraged them, the others would have cheered.
They could not touch me, nor take the vengeance they so often bestowed on one another. My skin was deadly, and though this made life in the Hollows lonely, it also granted me the unique privilege of escaping most things unscathed. I could not blame the other Strayed for their hatred of me. So, when the Aeternalis brought me before him night after night, it was not the other children’s excitement that made me feel like crying.
It was my own failure to earn the love the Aeternalis so easily bestowed on others. Those like Marina, the pixie who fluttered behind the throne, stone-faced and ethereal as she stared down at me. Those like my brother Dawson, who brought the glass-laced whip down over my back with an unforgivingcrack.
Lash after lash, I stared up into the green of the Aeternalis’ eyes. The Creator always appreciated strength, but he didn’t appear to appreciate mine. I never made a sound during my punishments. I never even flinched, which only added to the rest of the Strayed’s dislike. They did not understand that nopunishment was worse than the pain I endured daily to hold the curse of my death close to my heart.
Another lash, and then another. My back was raw, skin peeled back from muscle, hanging in grotesque slices, and still, I did not cry out. The cacophony of the Strayed began to shift, the sound no longer angry and clanging but—awed.
Hatred flashed like lightning in the Everlasting’s eyes. Hatred and something else I couldn’t place as he rose quickly to his feet, and snapped, “Enough.”
I thought it was a mercy; I thought maybe I’d finally proven my worth to him. It wasn’t until years later, I understood.
I’d scared the most powerful being in the universe because pain did not control me. Becausehecould not control me.
As I meet his gaze now, I see the same thing in his eyes. The deep-rooted fear of abandonment that binds his simultaneous repulsion and obsession with death.
“I brought you to the land of dreams, Nikolas. I freed you from a lifetime of mediocrity and brought you to a world that gifted you unprecedented power. I gave you a family, I gave you an adventure. You should be on your knees before me.” He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval. “Your insolence and arrogance have always been your downfall. They will be again.”
Ice cold rage surges beneath my skin, the sharp and jagged edges carved by a childhood of wanting. Rising to my feet, I snarl, “You gave menothing.”
“I gave you everything.” His shadow grows so large, darkness seeps over each of the walls and creeps over the ceiling. “Get on your knees before your Creator, or I will take everything I’ve gifted you, Nikolas. Piece by piece.”
I pull the pistol from my waistband and level it at his heart. The Aeternalis’ eyes fall to the gun, as both of us wonder the same thing:
Do I still love him truly enough to end him again?
“I was born with death in my heart, Peter. You have no claim to my power.” I thumb the hammer back with a metallic click. “Iam the fucking King of Carrion. Of this realm and the wards to every other. I get on my knees for no one. And you have ten seconds to get off my fucking ship, before I pull the trigger and find out just how much love remains in this decayed heart.”
The air shimmers angrily around him, like it’s taking everything he has to keep his magic from bursting from him. But his eyes narrow in that clever manner of his, his sudden calculation far more bone-chilling than any threat of violence.
“From what your brother has told me, that isn’t quite true,” his voice is calm once more. “There is one who’s brought you to your knees.” His eyes glint. “Over and over, if the stories are to be believed. And we both know, truth lies at the center of every tale, no matter how fantastical.”
My heart ratchets higher in my chest to flail against the cage of my ribs, even as I school my face into cold indifference.
