And, the truth is, I’ve scoureddozensof books in the last few days. I can’t remember much more than a few sentences here and there. Warlock ability has allowed me to read quickly, but my comprehension isn’t anywhere near Gavriall’s. Most importantly, I’ve wastedtoo much fucking time. My magic is devouring me. I’m devouring it. I don’t know how many weeks I have left, and if I can’t find something soon…
Grudgingly, I glance at Gavriall. At the books. At the curtain behind us hiding the demon from sight. Do I really want to end up like her? A swift death. A quick burial. It’ll be as if she—as if I—never existed at all.
Clearing my throat, beckoning Gavriall closer, I lower my voice to a brusque whisper. “What I tell you stays within these walls. Do you understand?”
“Sure. Of course. Definitely,” he agrees hastily. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I mean it, Gavriall. Don’t give me another reason to punish you.”
He lifts a shaky hand in awkward salute. “Promise, Warlock Stone.”
I exhale a harsh breath, hesitating for one last second. Gavriall is an addict, a criminal, and I shouldn’t trust him—which all pales in light of my imminent death. “I’m interested in the Fall of Mortem.”
Gavriall’s eyes narrow in immediate confusion, and his chair thuds back on all fours. “Oh-kay? There are many texts on the subject. Tutors teach it to young children—”
“I know.” I wave a terse, impatient hand. “I’ve heard the stories. Details change depending on who teaches it and where, but the bulk of the legend remains the same: The God of Life was tricked by a mermaid thirsty for his power. She carved out his heart to eat it. However, he did not die as she believed he would, and the god murdered her before she could consume it. Though, he did not escape unscathed. Without his heart, he lost the powers of life, but instead of withering to oblivion, he developed new ones—powers of death. He was the first god to conquer the afterlife, where he erected the Fathoms in his image, creating a safe place to harbor all human souls who pass through this world. That is when Mortem became the God of Death.”
“Sounds about right.” Gavriall leans forward, tilting his head and crossing his arms atop the table. “So what are you interested in exactly?”
“Some mythological interpretations believe the heart is buried somewhere. They say Mortem hid it where no mortal could ever find it, in fear they’d abuse the divine powers he left behind.”
I am no mere mortal, however, and I have no plans toabusehis power. No. If I’m correct—and I usually am—his heart might be the only thing to save me. Such raw, unfiltered power, the power of agod, would stabilize my magic as nothing else can. My heart pounds at the possibilities; it floods magic through my veins until my chest aches and my limbs tremble. I clench every muscle to keep them still.
More than stabilizing my magic, the heart would renew it.Strengthenit. The immortality of a god would ensure I neverdie—the only warlock to live forever. There are no known cures for our magic, no antidotes in the thousands of histories I’ve read.
There is only this. There is only Mortem’s fabled heart.
My hands curl into fists beneath the table.
If it’s even real.
Gavriall nods along, still stroking his chin well after I’m done speaking. “Devoutly Spunby Iris Gabris,” he announces suddenly, as if the answer has just been plucked from his brain. “Page two hundred ninety-four.”
I shake my head. “Gabris? She writes poetry. Rhyming nonsense.”
Gavriall leans even closer, his breath hot on my face. I resist the urge to kick his chair away. “Readclosely,” he says.
Then he whirls around and pulls a book from the bottom of my discard pile, slamming it down in front of me. Magic flares from my fingertips—bruising my ribs—as the slender book opens itself to page 294. My gaze catches on the second stanza.
Deep in a chamber
A heart doth lay
Torn from a god
A cold, wintry day.
Life befalls Death
Death befalls Life
For true balance
Makes no sacrifice.
Love, love, love blossomed here
In ruins of white and eyes wide and clear
