“You could fall, just like this?” she pressed, gesturing faintly, praying her eyes did not betray the murderous ache in her heart.
Baron. Baron. His name thundered through her blood.
Death’s expression softened, unexpectedly somber. He reached across, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. “I could, yes.”
A beat. Then he hummed, and threw his head back in sudden, tipsy, startling laughter.
Struck by the strangeness, she pressed him. “What?”
He smiled, almost fond. “I’ve just remembered where I know this inn from.”
Ilys narrowed her eyes, suspicion tugging at her.What game did he play now?
“Has Grim told you of our time in Hirth?”
She shook her head in response.
Death grinned, tilting his cup , watching the dregs swirl. “We passed through here once, years ago. A miserable place. Always wet, always cold. I don’t think Grim spoke a single word for three days. We were tracking an immortal. Someone careless, leaving signs of their work like breadcrumbs. It should have been easy.” Death paused, amusement flickering in his gaze. “It was not easy.”
Ilys waited.
“We opted to blend in. Stopped at this inn.” He gestured vaguely to the room around them. “It was packed. A man singing, traders gambling, drunkards loud enough to wake the dead.” He let the words settle. “Grim endured.” The slight lilt at the end of his sentence told her he had enjoyed saying it.
“One of the men, drunk, bumped into Grim. Spilled ale down his sleeve. Started throwing a fit about Grim being in his way.”
Ilys raised a brow, fighting a smile.
“Grim listened,” Death continued. “Didn’t react. Took the insult, took the spit to the face. Wiped his sleeve off and let the man feel like he’d won.” Death tapped a finger against his cup.
Ilys tilted her head. “That’s Grim,” she noted wryly.
Death smirked.“That’s what I thought. But the next morning, the entire inn woke to the man screaming because a horse had shit in his bed.”
Ilys choked on her ale, a chuckle surprising both of them.
Death swirled the last of his drink before finishing it off. “The moment we stepped outside, Grim started laughing. Lost his mind.” He shook his head. “That was when I realized he had done it. He had put it there.”
Ilys pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. “How?”
“I did not ask.” Death’s expression fattened into thoughtfulness as he watched her, his dark gaze flickering with earnest mirth.
Ilys traced the rim of her cup, absentmindedly.
“He spoke of you often,” Death noted, his dark eyes hazy at the edges, his usual precision dulled by the drink. “He was impressed. Proud.”
A flicker of a smile ghosted across her face, but the warmth of it collided with a juvenile ache. The sentiment naturally juxtaposed through the medium of evil that spoke it. That, and Grim’s absence nipped at her. She turned her cup between her fingers. Death had plucked at a soft spot of hers. She willed her hatred to rise again.
Baron, she thought.He killed Baron.
Death leaned close to Ilys, his warm breath brushing her cheeks.
“I’ll tell you what,” he whispered. "It's probable this tastes just as that horse shit did.” He pushed the cup toward Ilys,knocking food off the table with the movement, a knife clattering to the ground.
The innkeeper gave them a wary glance from across the room.
“Hush,” Ilys reprimanded under her breath.
Death smirked, holding up a single finger to her lips. “Hush,” he mimicked, grinning as though he had won a great and grand prize.
