“Only you?” A terrified laugh catches in my throat.
As I grow accustomed to Death, like eyes in darkness, another feeling rises above the fear, one more powerful, one meant for the fae. I stumble upon the shores of my anger once more, a small island of reprieve in my muddled grief.
“Are you well?” he asks. “You look tired.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thank you.”
I spit on the toe of his boot. He glances down.
“Mm,” he grunts. “Brave or stupid, spitting on Death.”
“I just see a dog who sits when Master commands it.”
That gaze narrows like a panther’s. Have I struck a chord? “Stupid, then,” he amends.
“I’m a gift to the king. It would bestupidto do anything to me. Besides, my mistress would know, too.”
“There are many ways to harm without leaving a mark.”
I only exhale when he looks away, willing my legs not to shake.
“I assume you knew the faerie who died,” he says. “The younger brother sought to protect you.”
Ihateyou, Avery. I hate you and I will never, ever forgive you. I hope the king hurts you.
Tears burn my eyes.
“You didn’t hesitate,” I rasp. Humiliation should drag me down, but it would first have to pry me from grief’s iron grip. “You didn’t hesitate at all.”
That raised hand, our gazes locking. We never shared a goodbye, any goodbye. I never got the chance to tell him what he truly meant to me. I never will.
“It’s not my job to hesitate,” the executioner says.
“A dog, like I said.”
The air around us drops. It is a funerary silence, filled withbuzzing insects and bellowing bullfrogs, swishing grass. The executioner could reach out and dissolve me into mist. He could use his shadows to strangle me or unsheathe his sword and cut in places others will not see.
Instead, he says, “Your friend is in a safer place now.”
“How can you know that?”
He says nothing for a moment, then, “Your soul is weary.”
“Are you offering to eat it?”
“You can always declare the Desert Walk. Either you perish in the sands and join your friend once more, or complete the Walk, reach the House of Death, and be absolved of your balances.”
“Death or banishment; either way I will be free,” I mutter. It is tempting, so tempting, like finding a plot of land to rest on after years of walking. But although my legs feel like giving out and my heart like giving up, I cannot.
“I must protect the younger brother,” I say.
“Then that is your reason to keep going.” Before I can press the executioner further, he turns. “Something has upset the king.”
The ground trembles. In the corridors above me, the pound of feet, guards shouting.
“What’s happening?” I ask, but he has already disappeared, the last wisp of smoke fading from the air.
