She laughed, a rare, genuine thing. “Get us another round of drinks, and perhaps Ilys two pints down will consider it.”
He shot to his feet before she’d finished, a rare spark of eagerness driving him as he crossed the room to the barkeep. She watched him, the way his mortal form moved, the way his shoulders bunched as he leaned over the counter, the effortless grace that remained despite the flesh and bone.
When he returned with their pints, she sighed, setting her cup down. “I did not expect such willingness.” Standing, casting one last glance around the room before nodding toward the stairs. “Come. Let’s take them to the room. I shan’t draw you with all the ruffians about.”
He grinned, smug and pleased, falling into step beside her as they made their way up the narrow staircase. The wooden steps creaked and the lanterns lining the hall burned low, casting long shadows along the walls.
He set the drinks down on the small table by the window and leaned against the frame, watching her as she rummaged through her pack, pulling free a small book and a stick of charcoal.
Ilys sat on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages until she found a clean one.
“Sit,” she commanded.
Death did as she asked, lowering himself into the chair across from her. He draped one arm lazily over the back, watching her with quiet amusement.
“Will I look handsome?” he roguishly queried.
“That remains to be seen,” she echoed dryly, pressing the charcoal to the page.
Her gaze drifted to him again and again, to the light tangled in his dark curls, to the warmth his mortal skin seemed tohold. Even diminished, he unsettled her with how easily beauty clung to him. Even more so, perhaps. Ilys sat cross-legged on the bed, her charcoal-stained fingers smudging faint streaks of black across her knee as she wiped them absentmindedly. Death leaned closer, the edges of his form bathed in flickering gold of the fire, his mortal warmth a stark contrast to the cold nights they had spent in the open air.
She focused on the lines of his face, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the tired weight beneath his eyes. A god wearing a man’s flesh. A man wearing a god’s past. He let her work, his gaze drifting out the window, fingers idly tapping against the table.
“The Veilmarch,” she started, watching as his attention sharpened. “Did you walk Baron?”
His brows knitted. “I do not–”
She held up her hand, shaking her head. “Sorry. You have not met him. You would not know.” Her voice softened as she turned back to her drawing.
Then she stopped, studying his face before speaking again. “He was a hulking man. Beard. He knew Grim well. Loved us both well.”
Death regarded her in silence, gaze turning contemplative. “I do not remember.” His voice slipped quiet with reluctance. “I am sorry, Ilys. I carry so much with me, even in this mortal form, but so many parts are blurred, unattached. I do not know.”
She nodded, exhaling softly, returning to the piece.
“What were you like as a mortal?” she asked after a pause, taking a break to drink her ale. “Before,” she added.
He pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to answer.
She tilted her head, studying him as he watched the fire, avoiding her gaze.
With the final strokes, she turned the drawing toward him. “Do you like it?”
He took the parchment in his hands, his fingers brushing against the edge as though he might unravel from the charcoal itself.
“It is well done, " he complimented, his voice thoughtful. Then he looked at her, dark eyes softening. “Ilys,” he chided gently, “you have kept this a secret.”
She smirked, stretching her right arm behind her. “If the unknown parts of my being are secrets, then there are a million hidden truths between us.”
“I should like to know them all.” His voice dropped, soft and rough at once, and he leaned close, so close she caught the faint sting of ale on his breath, the heat of his skin bridging the space between them.
She moved to finish her drink, shaking off the feeling. “A game?” she offered.
He leaned back on his hands, eyes narrowing playfully. “I am not in the mood to lose.”
“Then don’t.” She shrugged, the barest hint of flirtation curling in her voice.
They set up Fox and Geese on the floor, their knees nearly brushing as they placed the pieces. The wood grain bit against her fingertips
